Dual Wielding

In front of Wyn, a massive root burst forth from the ground, scattering stone and dirt like water breaking from a wave. Monsters charged at the sudden movement, but he was already moving, dashing up its length, over them. The monsters weren't his target.

Sloth's staff glowed as he chanted a spell, and Wyn thrust his arm forward, causing another small tendril to burst out of the ground at the acolyte's feet, interrupting him.

Haoma's roots spread throughout the entire city, one massive body entangling every inch of Liresil and beyond. In the area around him, Wyn could feel that body as though it were part of his own, like he'd sprouted a third arm. He wasn't used to using it, but when he called, the tree answered.

Flying, climbing, leaping, monsters surged towards him, and he swept his sword in wide arcs, burning through them like wheat in a field. With the power coursing through him in the wake of his new bond, he hardly felt a strain at all.

Thestor scrambled back and Wyn pursued, leaping over a crack in the ground that appeared as a large pincer grasped up from below. It caught his ankle, arresting his momentum and slamming him against the stones.

He twisted, turning over and slashing blindly, and the pincer burned away as he was buried under a wave of claw and fang.

Wyn swung wildly, calling on the roots to throw them off. Spirit fire spread, burning hotter than before as it engulfed the entire pile, and his vision was swallowed by its light. He'd discovered the new property on his way over, though he wasn't sure why it had changed.

'I get it,' Eia said as she flew above him, her voice filled with wonder. 'Spirit fire forms our bond, yes, but it's also born of it. Unlike the contracts we've made with spirits in the past, this new bond is closer to what we have, and the blessing has latched onto it like new fuel.'

Wyn pushed himself up out of a rapidly fading heap of ash, brushing himself off. He'd gotten stabbed, bitten and scratched a few times, but his cloak and leather had taken the worst of it. "Good to know."

He turned back towards Sloth, who was laughing as he finished chanting a spell of some kind. A line of blood ran down from his nose as a massive crevice stretched out behind him, yawning open into unknown depths below. Haoma's roots ran there, and Wyn felt something disturbing them as it made its way upwards.

Reaching out, Wyn ripped the roots out of the ground, blocking any path of escape for the acolyte, though the man no longer seemed interested in running.

A dark shape streaked up from the rift, shooting into the sky with a warbling screech before crashing back down in front of its master.

The monster was some twisted amalgamation, its emaciated, winged body was twice the size of a baro beast, some twenty feet tall, with six limbs and the head of a vulture with milky white eyes. It was like some sickening, twisted, yet admittedly large, griffin.

Thestor was laughing, bent over uncomfortably low. He raised a finger and pointed at Wyn.

"Kill him kill him kill him!"

The faux-griffin beat its wings, and a gust of wind—abnormally strong—threw him off his feet.

He righted himself in the air and landed lightly, but the bird was already on him again, snapping with a razor-sharp beak.

Wyn rolled out of the way, jabbing upwards, but the creature twisted in air, avoiding the flames before battering him with its huge wings once more.

'Watch out!' Eia shouted a warning, giving him just enough time to avoid a large ball of sludge sent through the air by Sloth—some sort of spell. It splattered on the ground, hissing angrily as it steamed up, dissolving the dirt and stone beneath.

Wyn didn't need Eia's warning to know what came next, and he breathed out as much of his aura as he could as the winged monster beat its wings again. The overwhelming wind threw him, and he twisted just before crashing through the wooden wall of a nearby building.

He got to his feet calmly, shedding the shakiness in his limbs.

'Are you alright?' Eia asked nervously.

I'm just fine, he thought back. I took it on my mantle.

The blow had used up all the aura he'd breathed out, but that was fine—he'd just been caught a bit off-guard. Even from such a quick exchange, Wyn could already tell the faux-griffin was on a different level from the rest of the monsters Sloth had summoned. It reminded him of the leviathan, but with incredible speed instead of thick scales.

The wall crumbled a bit more as he stepped back through, locking eyes with Thestor from across the gap. The acolyte's body was frail, and from what Wyn could tell, he was more like a mage than a channeler.

If he had any real strength of his own, it might have been different. But Wyn knew, with absolute certainty, that he could kill this man.

Reaching under the ground, Wyn grasped one of the roots in his mind, drawing it up until it almost broke the surface. He charged, and the faux-griffin dove with a triumphant screech. He dove under its claws, and a thick root burst from the ground, snatching its leg and dragging it down.

It slammed against the ground, thrashing wildly in a tumble of feather and claw.

Wyn's instincts proved right. The first strike didn't kill it, and for the first time he felt some level of recoil, like the punch of a child. But it could do nothing as he slashed again and again, leaving only ash behind.

"Those flames…" Sloth's eyes widened as Wyn turned back towards him. For the first time, he showed true fear. "What are they?"

Wyn raced forward, sword blazing as a final, desperate wave of monsters rushed in to stop him, throwing themselves in front of their master.

His blade arced through the air, and monsters fell. There was no art, no skill, they burned before him in droves, and Sloth looked around, desperately searching for a way to escape.

But he would find none.

Sloth screamed. "What are you?"

The final monster turned to ash in front of him, and Wyn drew back his sword.

"I am your end."

A red gash opened up on Sloth's chest—a shallow cut. His robes were enchanted. He didn't burn like the rest of the monsters, and Wyn felt that was somehow wrong. The acolyte touched a hand to the wound, and staggered back as though in disbelief.

He muttered to himself deliriously, and his eyes widened as he looked back up. "No no… I remember now." He pointed at Wyn with a blood-stained finger. "Those flames of yours… I know who you are! Torchbearer!"

Wyn's grip tightened. Torchbearer. So that was the name they'd given him? Appropriate.

Manically, Thestor reached into his robes, pulling something out from within, a syringe, filled with an oozing black liquid. A wicked grin stretched across his face, and his despair morphed to laughter.

"You think this is the end?" He stepped further away, back towards the huge wound in the earth he'd used to summon the faux-griffin, his eyes dancing with madness. "My life is forfeit anyways! I have nothing left to lose!"

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He drew the syringe back, preparing to plunge it into his chest. Wyn rushed forward, instinct telling him he shouldn't let the man finish whatever he was trying. He had to kill him first!

Then Sloth tripped.

Somewhere in the mess of broken stone and overgrown roots covering the ground, his foot snagged and he tumbled backwards, landing right on the edge of the crevice. For a moment, he teetered, trying to steady himself, but he couldn't stop his momentum.

His voice fell as he did. "Wait, no I—" He desperately grasped for the ledge, and the syringe shattered, glass shards digging into his palm, and he found no purchase, no grip. He screamed.

Out of something like instinct, Wyn reached out a hand to catch him, but it didn't matter. It was too late.

Thestor fell, his screams fading as Wyn skidded to a stop at the edge. He slammed against a shelf partway down and pitched over again, falling further and further until he vanished from view. There was a final dull thud, somewhere down in the darkness below, and then silence.

Wyn stared into the dark for almost a minute, listening, waiting, but there was no change.

Only then did he finally let out a breath.

His eyes turned to the shattered syringe on the ground next to him. The contents had spilled over the floor, a deep black sludge, throbbing and pulsing, almost like it was alive. Testingly, he took his sword and jabbed it in.

For the first time since awakening, he felt serious backlash from his blessing, and his vision darkened before he pulled his sword out, stumbling away from the substance. His body felt cold even through his blessing.

Eia drifted down to the gunk, then let out a sickening retch. She spoke verbally, without the aid of their bond. "Wyn… we have to burn that."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But it's dangerous. The very essence of my being is repulsed by it. Under no circumstances can we let it continue to exist."

She looked up at him from the ground, and her eyes were intense in a way he'd never seen before, matched by the feelings from their bond.

"I understand." He nodded and held the tip of his blade to the sludge, flames igniting once again.

"Wait," she said, holding up a hand. "I think I can help. The bond with Haoma is ingenious… he's taking on some of the burden of purification—though only a little. I think I can do the same."

She closed her eyes, nodding after a moment.

Wyn stabbed the sludge and braced for the backlash.

A wave of nausea washed over him, pushing through his blessing as his soul shook from the strain.

Eia fell out of the air, and her form grew hazier, but she stayed focused, holding out a hand towards Wyn.

He grit his teeth and beared it, sending more flames down his blade. After a moment, his bond with Haoma seemed to grow sturdier, and his spirit fire burned even hotter, lessening the strain.

A few seconds later, the sludge was gone, and the flames faded away into nothing.

Wyn caught himself on his sword, stopping himself from falling as his strength wavered, slowly returning in the wake of the burning.

"You do that every time?" Eia groaned, collapsed on the ground. "That sucks."

Weary laughter escaped his lips. "It felt like Haoma helped us more towards the end, I'll have to thank him later."

As he straightened back up, the sound of clattering stone sounded behind him, and he turned without worry, already knowing what had caused it.

The gap in the outer wall had been blocked by debris when he'd pulled up the first massive root from below. Sadirah was climbing over the top of the pile, causing disturbances in the rocks as she went.

"It got really quiet!" She yelled out over the space. "That means it's over, right?

He called back, quieter. "Don't shout, you might attract more of them. But yeah, the fight's over."

"But if I do attract more, you'll just take care of them anyways won't you?" she joked, jumping off the pile and walking to where Wyn was resting.

Wyn smiled. "Are you trying to make more work for me?"

Sadirah reached the edge of the pit and looked over. "Did he…?"

"Yeah," Wyn glanced back into the darkness himself. "All the way down."

She took a deep breath. "Then that means it's time?"

He nodded, heading back towards the exit. "Let's go get your siblings."

All he had to do was cure them and take them back to the guild. After that, he'd meet up with Corrin and Luscien to storm the sanctum together.

They walked through the archway, and Wyn looked westward. The sun peaked over the mountains in the distance.

Wyn's mind exploded.

Spirit fire drained out of him to feed the bond with Haoma as it suddenly deepened, and he felt his senses expand, stretching out miles in every direction. He drowned in the vast sea of information pouring into his head: he could hear the roar of the waterfall over the southern gorge, he could feel a bird landing on a branch thousands of feet above. He could taste the poison seeping into the roots all over the city, bitter and rotting. He could see the depths of the dungeon below, and hear the whispers of the adventurers trapped by the sudden movement of monsters.

Then, as abruptly as his mind had expanded, it collapsed back in on itself, omniscience springing back into a realm his brain could actually handle. He gasped for air as he remembered he needed to breathe.

"Wyn? What happened?" Sadirah was asking as he picked her voice out of the endless sounds slowly fading into the background. She'd grabbed his hand to steady him as he stumbled.

But his voice wouldn't yet work, and so he looked east, back towards Haoma's base. He could feel it there, just like how he could tell where Eia was through their bond. It was hiding within a dense forest of above-ground roots, and thrumming with power.

The Sanctum.

But that wasn't all. With a deeper connection to the tree, he could sense the rot slowly working its way through every inch of it. Nearby, he could sense something similar, a trace of the same rot, moving around above the roots. Were those monsters?

Then, he felt something worse.

Two vast masses of filth, like festering, infected wounds, screamed in his bond sense. Compared to what he thought were monsters, they were on an entirely different level, like a thousand monsters had been condensed into each one.

The first of the masses entered the sanctum, and only a few seconds later, the rot spreading throughout the tree intensified ten times over.

Already? And so much!

He could feel the state of the tree now—if the rotting continued at that rate, it wouldn't even last two hours. He needed to move quickly. They were running out of time faster than he'd thought.

He took a step in that direction, but the second mass froze him in place. Not as large as the first, but just as vile, the second mass was further west, another mile from the tree. Unlike the first, it was unmoving, waiting somewhere underground, twisting and growing slowly with each moment.

Wyn's grip tightened around Sadirah's hand. If he was judging the direction right… and the distance…

His mouth dried up. He looked towards the sanctum, then back towards the House of Spring. What should he do? Sadirah's face was worried, her eyes were filled with concern.

Oh spirits…

"Wyn?"

He let go of her hand. "Sadirah. Go back to the guild, run as fast as you can, and don't stop running, okay?"

"Wait, what?" Her face twisted in confusion. "I told you Wyn, I'm going to my siblings."

"I'll bring them to you," he promised, praying it wasn't a lie. "I promise you Sadirah, I'll bring them to you. But you have to go back. Or if you can't go back, find a place to hide and wait for this to all be over. Just… don't follow me. Please."

Unable to wait longer, he took off, pulling as much aura as he could to his legs, pumping them faster. He had to hurry, even as a dangerous pit opened up in his stomach.

Eia! Fly back to the estate and guide them to the sanctum! Can you sense it too?

'Yes, I can, but Wyn—'

There's no time! He already knew what she was going to say, and he squashed any objections before she could voice them. Tell them they have to kill whatever's causing that rot. Or at least, stall it. If this keeps up, it's all over.

She didn't respond right away, but he felt a resolve come through their bond besides his own, and she flew off, back towards the estate.

Please… He ran faster, praying he would make it before it was too late. Please let me keep my promise.

Something was waiting for him.

***

Thestor Lysenthos, an acolyte of Sloth, one of the longest-living members of the church of the old god, was dying.

His ribs had shattered on impact—he could feel a dull pain in his lungs. He couldn't speak, or even breathe.

It was dark in the depths of the earth, so far beneath the surface not even a speck of light reached him.

Perhaps he could have simply died in peace. It would be so easy to just let go. He was tired. He could feel his consciousness slipping. Any moment now, he would be dead. He would not be alive to see the world unmade. Each second he held onto life was an excruciating effort.

But even more than he was slothful, Thestor… was petty.

Torchbearer, I lay a curse on you! He swore, calling on his gift one last time.

Dimly, he heard the beating of tiny wings as a monster came to rest beside him. He reached out in the dark, feeling blindly for its body until he found it.

His fingernails tore into the monster's flesh, dragging across its back, carving out a single, bloody character. A message.

Go. He commanded. The beast obeyed, the beat of its leathery wings filling the silence once more as it rose higher and higher.

In the depths of The Underbough, the Acolyte of Sloth smiled.

And then, he died.