Survival
Six remained alive.
Five male recruits, the latter a female general. Exhausted and bloodied, they ran through the underground TzHaar city like harpies fresh out of hell.
At the moment, they’d settle for hell.
“They’re on our heels, Abigail!”, a recruit shouted to his general.
“This way!”, she panted. The group sprinted down the brightly lit corridor. The patterns on the ground resembled brain-matter to Abigail, giving off a brilliant yellow. The universal light source throughout the city worked in her pursuers’ favour.
The hooded figures were fleet footed, forcing the party to quicken their pace. Abigail took a glance back. Something caught her footing; she went down.
The group proceeded, only one noticed her falling. “Go! Hurry!”, she urged.
The icy daggers of dread sank in her empty stomach. She found herself alone – very alone – and a prone target to a group of mages. She swallowed hard and silently prayed to Saradomin, her faithful deity.
A magical attack struck her, igniting a slight headache, but nothing more. She closed her eyes, praying harder to deflect the magic. She dug into her chainmail vest for a small stone. The fear that clawed into her stomach heightened when she couldn’t find it. The injuries she sustained earlier only accentuated her desperation. Her veins were hot like lava, head throbbing, vision blurred. Her tortured limbs were bathing in a sea of misery.
She stood up with giddy reluctance, accepting death. The stone she sought was floating between her and the band of mages. What appeared to be the leader, hooded in a mail coif and chainmail robe, stretched out his hand in a cat-like manner.
“Amusing, why didn’t you use this earlier?”, he asked.
She recognized the voice, but was not certain who it belonged to.
“I wouldn’t leave my band behind,” she spat.
He laughed mirthlessly. “They left you behind and Saradomin seems to have failed you as well, alas.” The goading hit something in her. Perhaps Saradomin did fail; her prayers were ineffective in resisting the magic.
He quietly motioned his group of mages past her, down the long corridor to catch the rest of her team. The leader and Abigail faced each other alone. She drew her leaf-bladed long sword.
“Not smart.”
He concentrated on his magic, his arcane stream necklace glowing. “The arcane stream runs smoothly, like a river.”, he said with a laugh. “You cannot resist.”
“Who are you?”
“You’ll have plenty of time to think about that in solitary confinement… just before I incinerate your bloody corpse.”
“Wait, I know you!”. Recognition hit her like a blow to the head, and her eyes watered. He raised his hand to attack her again, and from a good distance. She prayed again, and made a leap. Her long sword slashed the stone in place. A clunking noise; the impact jarred her arm.
She felt her body sink into the ground, teleporting away.
Materialised in the city of Varrock, she wept.
Lady Phalanx
:)
