Enmity of Atlas

Even after everything he did, all the effort he’d put in, all of the focus, it still meant nothing. The very moment the darkness was cast, Leo was helpless, his fire doing nothing to help pierce the magically induced wave of absence. Off in the distance, he could hear when the man and Trenton fought, he could hear when Trenton was struck, he could hear when the man cast that massive spell, he could hear Trenton’s body failing, his blood splattering across the ground. And he could do absolutely nothing about it.

In this moment, Leo did not feel sorrow; he was not upset; he was not somber; he was furious, his body teeming with wrath. He simply couldn’t stand the feeling. He just couldn’t bear it anymore. At first just a spark, then a brilliant twisting tornado shooting up into the sky, fire burst from his body, the darkness shying away from the sheer magical energy. The light in the darkness, a raging whirlwind of flame which consumed the battlefield, the roar of the fire deafening.

The man stood stock still, watching Leo in shock. To overcome darkness, one needed light of at least equal strength. But that only applied to photomancy, the exact opposite of the man’s magic. To overcome magical darkness, fire didn’t just need to match the strength of the original spell, it needed to dwarf it completely, outshine to such an astonishing extent that the initial spell looked like a drop in the bucket. The man’s spell was that of a powerful normal cast, the lowest tier of base spells, something that would set him apart from normal warriors already. Leo’s, however, was something much greater, the second tier of magical potential, right beneath a zenith cast–a grand cast.

Leo leveraged the raging flames within his body, forcing the wild storm to bend to his will, to yield to him. He refused to fail now. The fire coalesced around Leo in a handful of blinding motes, each one strong enough to incinerate down to ashes in less than a second. Leo demanded the fire forward, throwing it towards the man with everything he had, the fire obeying his will. All the man saw was a flash of light so blinding that he could no longer tell what was happening, the only indication of the real world the searing of his flesh.

The wall of fire radiated forward, obliterating all in its path, incinerating hundreds of tons of stone, its light clearly visible even miles away. When all was said and done, Leo staggered forwards, falling down to his knees, his entire body shaking violently. In front of him, the complex stood in ruins, an entire section of the building reduced to a massive smoking hole. Never before had he cast a spell like that, every section of his body now throbbing with unbearable agony. This must’ve been what Garrote had been talking about before, overuse of magic. Leo was heaving, pale, sweating, and cold, the fire having left his body, leaving him without a primary heat source. He collapsed, unable to support himself any longer, submitting to laying on the ground with his eyes closed. It was over.

“You,” the man's voice rang out, its tone full of bile.

In front of Leo, the man was limping towards him, his sword no longer in his hand, his muscles and bones clearly visible. The fire had devastated his body, his ability to walk practically miraculous. He slowly made his way towards Leo, his step uneven. He was struggling. Leo tried to get to his feet, but he only fell again. He was far too weak. He couldn’t do anything. He had failed. He had tried, and he had failed. Just like every time before, Leo was helpless–useless. Leo hung his head, accepting the inevitable. There was nothing he could do. He was powerless. The man raised his blade, hovering over Leo, his breath labored. Leo closed his eyes, preferring not to watch, so he couldn’t see what happened next; but he could hear it. The swift swish of a blade swinging, the clang of metal, the grunting. It sounded like a scuffle.

Leo opened his eyes. Standing in front of him was Garrote absolutely drenched in blood, his face a mix between a grimace and a smile, “You did that? Hell yeah!” He crouched, holding out his hand for a high five, which Leo barely returned. “I was a little far away, but that spell gave away where you were. That was some damn fine work! Leave the rest to us.”

***

Kiva stood next to Garrote, both of them in front of Leo, Trenton nowhere in sight. The man was laying on the ground some 30ft in front of them, struggling to rise. Garrote’s magic was surprisingly strong, easily pushing the man back even in Garrote’s clearly exhausted state. Kiva herself wasn’t too fresh, either. For the last 10 minutes, she had just gone around slaughtering the black robed figures, searching for Trenton and the others. She’d only found her way there when Leo cast whatever that spell was, so most of her magic was already gone at this point. She’d need to really push herself if she intended to help this fight. Garrote looked way worse than she did, and he was raring to go, his eyes locked on the man slowly standing.

“He’s weak, but so are we. Follow my lead. We’ll trade positions, weave in and out,” Garrote said, heaving from the strain of standing upright.

“Hit and run? Are you sure?” Kiva asked, keeping her eyes forward.

“It’s our best bet. We have to assume he’s a lot stronger than we are, even weakened. It looks like he took the full brunt of Leo’s attack and he’s still standing. I don’t know about you, but that absolutely would’ve killed me.”

“Fair point. I trust you.”

Despite the many grievous injuries on the man’s body, he wasn’t bleeding, the heat likely having cauterized every wound he’d received in an instant. The man swayed there, his eyes locked on the sky, his blade nowhere to be found. He looked lost, his eyes faded, his body ravaged. It was the look you’d see in a daydreamer, one whose mind was off in some heavenly landscape,maybe a beach, maybe a deep forest. Whatever the case, the man didn’t seem to be paying too much attention. Garrote and Kiva sprinted towards him, flanking on either side.

“But you…ravenous…never satisfied. Why…why do you sleep…are you hiding from something? Not us, surely,” the man said, his voice faint. “Your will is mine to bear. In your absence…it is your absence, yet whole, that I must be fulfilled,” the man suddenly brought his arms up, his eyes focusing.

From her body, Kiva sent a volley of thorn spikes towards the man, Garrote magically pushing him forward into the barrage. The man didn’t even bother to dodge, curling his body and raising his arms over his face, the thorns peppering his form with little holes. Using the forward momentum from Garrote’s push, he rolled across the ground, conserving his momentum to launch at Kiva. Kiva stepped back, breaking off a piece of bark and forcing it to grow into a large tree, its branches launching towards the man. The man wasn’t deterred, however, leaping through the branches with incredible grace, closing the distance between them completely.

Kiva flourished her blade at him, but he was even quicker still. He ducked a slice, knocking her sword arm to the side, laying into her with his incredible strength: once in her stomach, once to her chest, once across the face, knocking her to the side, and a kick to the legs, knocking her off balance. Kiva stumbled backwards, falling onto her back. Above her, the man raised his foot to crush her skull, his whole routine incredibly efficient.

Garrote barreled in from the side, using magic to push the man off, the man twirling over himself to land light on his feet. Garrote was a far better close ranged fighter than Kiva, even with the incredible wear on his body, so he would stand a far better chance than she. It seemed like the hit and run was out of the question, in any case. Garrote pushed the man back, flowing with his sword and magic in bursts, keeping the man on his feet. If ever the man got too close, Garrote could push him back, to the side, down, up, whatever he needed to keep the man at bay. It was truly an incredible ability

The man was bursting towards Garrote with the mindset of a berserker, outspeed, outstrength. But Garrote continued pushing him back, using his magic to slam the man against a wall, pressing and contorting his body against the solid stone. The man screamed, his limbs twisting the wrong directions, his bones audibly snapping. With nowhere left to run, the man dug his feet into the stone, pushing through the incredible well of gravity, overpowering Garrote’s magic with his strength alone. He jumped forward, tackling Garrote, slamming his hands into Garrote’s vulnerable body. Garrote tried to use his magic to push the man off of him, send him into the air, but the man held on, gripping onto Garrote’s body with impossible vigor.

They tumbled across the ground, rolling over each other, Garrote dropping his sword to focus on martial combat. Eventually, when the man got underneath Garrote, he planted his palms plainly against Garrote’s chest, his hands glowing with an unusual darkness. He was going to cast a spell straight through Garrote’s chest. At that range, it was sure to kill. Kiva scrambled to her feet, but she was still wounded and much too far away. Kiva could only watch in horror as a thick shadow tendril burst out of the man’s hand, pushing Garrote straight up into the sky, way past the skull hovering over them. Push? The spell should have gone through him, but instead it just pushed him up, no blood coming from Garrote’s body. Maybe someone was looking out for them after all.

The man rose to his feet, withdrawing the shadow tendril to himself. He stared up into the sky, waiting, but Garrote never came back down. Was he hovering above them? Maybe, but it wouldn’t make sense. The skull, Garrote was on top of the skull. He probably rolled off the second he got the proper height. The man, presumably also having realized this, started rising into the air on a shadowy platform, Kiva following close behind on tendrils of bark she bore into the ground to keep steady. The two of them flew through the cold night air, the man ascending much faster than Kiva. When they were getting close, both of them leapt off of their platforms, rolling onto the surprisingly flat top of the skull with stamina.

Standing there, his hands held high, was Garrote. Garrote’s eyes flicked over to Kiva, the movement almost lost in the darkness of the night. He was still preparing. He needed more time. Kiva leapt forward, engaging the man again, interjecting herself between the two men. This time, she was able to hold her own, the damage that Garrote dealt significantly slowing the man. She pushed him back, slicing at the man’s arm with the intent to lop it off. The man, however, simply twisted his body, throwing his right side forward, allowing Kiva to cut through his arm, nothing above the elbow remaining. But at the same time, he’d close the distance, suddenly shifting his weight to his left, driving his remaining hand into Kiva’s skull with an ungodly might.

Kiva was sent sprawling back, her momentum carrying her towards the edge of the skull. Kiva planted her sword into the ground, somehow having managed to hold onto it, but the blade snapped against the thick black scales of the dragon’s skull, its simple steel nothing in comparison to the strength of whatever this thing was. In a wild last ditch effort to keep herself on the head, Kiva dug her fingers into the scales, catching grip in between the large scale plates while dangling off the side, the top only barely visible. As Kiva struggled to hold on, her legs hanging over the 100 foot drop, she peered over the ledge, watching as the man dove into Garrote. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, the man raising his arm high above his head to finally kill Garrote.

Garrote chuckled, his hands glowing a scintillating white, “Goodbye.”

The man flew off of Garrote, his body spinning widely through the air like he had just been struck with an entire building. Garrote was still laying on the ground, staring blankly into the sky, his magic presumably spent. Kiva tried to pull herself up, to get to stable ground, but her fingers slipped, her body also entering free fall. She and the man twirled through the air, Kiva sending out vines to slow her fall, cushion her landing, but it barely helped. Kiva slammed into the ground, her whole body exploding in pain, the anguish of her snapped limbs and ruptured organs blooming throughout her entire being. She lay there, alone, her breaths light and raspy. The man was already dead, so all she needed to do was heal herself. If she could just get some of her serious wounds dealt with, it was over.

“No…never,” Off in the distance, the man struggled to his feet, his whole body shaking violently, blood rapidly pooling beneath him. His jaw was hanging loose, one of his eyes was missing, and his right arm looked like it had been shattered, the man likely having sacrificed it when he struck the ground. The man’s eyes locked on Kiva, the closest person to him. “First,” the man started limping over to Kiva lying on the ground, a hunk of stone in his left hand. He was muttering madly to himself, his eyes wild and unfocused.

Kiva attempted to roll onto her side, to move, to cast magic, anything, but nothing came. Her body creaked and groaned from the effort, her vision going black for a couple of seconds, the man approaching all the while. He was going to kill her. Once more, now disregarding the state of her body, pushing through the pain, Kiva rolled over, placing her feet beneath her. She only managed to stumble a couple more feet, however, before falling again, her agony somehow rising even higher. She squirmed on the ground, trying to move herself further, tears streaming from her eyes. She could only watch with desperation as the man kept approaching, his form now looming over her.

“First,” he said, raising the stone chunk high overhead. Suddenly, Kiva heard the pounding of feet on the ground, the sound of blood splattering against the stone, A sudden swish of air. A massive shadowy figure slammed into the man’s chest, sending him sprawling back again, his body audibly popping on hit. Standing before her, with dozens of large circular holes through his body, somehow still alive, was Trenton, his breath heavy and his left arm mangled beyond repair.