His arms wrapped around the sight of the injury, tasting the irony flavor of his blood nestle upon his tongue. Charging in close to Raphael and Shinon was Calvin, willing to do anything to stop this madness. Knowing that the assassin was coming, Raphael wanted to make Shinon scarce. He held his left hand out in front of him, its palm open and aimed towards Shinon's chest.
A circle of warm, bright energy began to form before Raphael's left palm, it charged up with power. This made Calvin dash that much more urgent, knowing that Raphael was going for the kill. But his human body wasn't fast enough, cursing himself for hitting his limit. He was helpless despite his effort, only able to watch as Raphael took a life.
But something would come out from nowhere to cease this from happening, a gigantic battleaxe made of a dark cornflower blue colored metal. It vibrated with anger, the sound of deep, frustrated grunts filling the air. The axe did not fall upon the head of the young man, it was stopped just before it could reach him. His body swift with the reaction, his free right hand finding the wielder's arm connected to the axe.
His hand fastened around the large, muscular, fur-covered arm, his arm like a twig compared to this arm. But somehow, the arm was stopped of all activity, ceased with all animation. His fierce, terrorizing glare cast upon whatever it was that tried to make an attack. His eyes began to take to the air, forced to climb upwards. He found that face then, a face of the creature wielded an axe.
It was a large, hunched back creature with the head of a minotaur, clenched in its left hand was a giant battleaxe made of rune. Its body was bulky and short, while its arms were thick and muscular, its legs were thin on the top while larger on the bottom. From its head rose great, tall horns that curved inwards. From the back of its head to the middle of its back held straight spikes that were aligned like a spine, they stood upon a body which wore a cuirass made of rune. Its fur pale brown, its eyes a jarring pale blue.
Calvin recognized it as the summoning familiar known as the Rune Minotaur, pausing in his step. What stopped and stunned the assassin was that Raphael was, not only able to react to the minotaur's coming, but hold off its attack like it was nothing. At the corner of his pale blue eyes did he see the genius up on his knees, his face clenched up in a grip of agony.
The minotaur tried with all the strength it could muster to bring its axe down, but his arm was absolutely not going anywhere. It was as still and unmoving as a stubborn child, his arm was completely under Raphael's control. The young man's left hand then quickly pulled up towards the minotaur, the glowing, pulsating ball of power following loyally beside it.
Seeing Raphael go after his minotaur as he planned, Telvern braced himself. He knew that his minotaur had to take the blow, and that he had to take the punishment. If it meant saving them for just a moment, then it was worth it. A beam of engulfing, purifying light spewed from that ball of energy, spearing through the minotaur's chest. The creature let out a harsh, painful shrill, its face reacting to the agony of its death.
Exactly where the minotaur felt its pain, so too did its master. Telvern slammed his teeth shut, his face growing heavy with a grimace. His right hand clenched tightly onto his chest, his body falling over as it was overwhelmed by this plague. An malady forced its ways upon him, a strong, powerful pain that overcame him. His upper body hunched over, still above the ground but its front was hiding.
With this distraction at hand, the assassin knew that this was not the time to freeze and gawk. His feet were quick to move on, break free from the ground. Calvin watched as the minotaur began to disintegrate like time on a clock, and that's exactly how he treated it. He swooped on in, quickly throwing the injured archer's right arm around his shoulder and bailing him out of his mess.
Raphael pulled his hands back to his sides, his beam of energy no longer there to exist. His glowing eyes cast over the genius, seeing that he had changed position since last he left him. Scanning him, it didn't really matter if his position did change. He proceeded to address him neutralized for the moment, not a threat.
His head turned to his left, looking back at where he left Shinon. But something was amiss, seeing as the red-headed archer escaped his judgment, eluding him for just this moment. The familiar-faced being searched the field, looking left and right, then left and right again. But it didn't take long to find the archer again, seeing the back of Shinon and Calvin turned to him, fleeing from him. This prompted him to take action, causing him to pull up his left hand once again.
Not sure if any creature will show up from nowhere, but nevertheless the being with the familiar face knew well his task at hand. The ball of energy appeared once more, its flame-like appearance swirling with energy as it charged. His eyes set deathly upon the backs of those two who attempted to dash to some kind of safety, he was not about to let them get away.
Very slowly did the genius pull his head upwards, his blurry vision scrolling across the plane. He saw the threat upon the lives of his comrades, and once more he was called to make something happen. With all the strength he could muster, with all the will that managed to stay his hand from his life since that day those years ago, Telvern's body began to shakily lift.
A burden of a ton weighing heavily upon his back, the impuissant genius quickly ascended upwards. The pain his body felt was excruciating, at many points did he begin to feel himself give up, but he would not give in. The fate of his allies hung in the balance, but more importantly, his promise to
her.
On the verge of launching his beam, Raphael readied his aim to perfection. Calvin could feel it too, his back tattooed with a massive crosshair. But just before he launched his beam, an unexpected action was made upon him. That being whom he deemed unopposing suddenly sprang to life, tackling him from behind. Or, at least hitting his left arm.
His beam had launched in that moment of his arm being smacked, and Telvern's action was just enough to take the heat off of Calvin and company. The beam's almighty hand pounded into the wall to Calvin's right, causing a large explosion to erupt. Its force pushed Calvin and Shinon off of their feet, casting them downwards upon the ground.
Calvin took the brunt of the impact, hammering down rather hard on his left shoulder. He took the force of both the explosion and Shinon's weight coming down upon him, causing his face to curl up in pain. But this was no time to rest, the assassin realized, his pale blue eyes looking up and seeing another threat.
They became under attack by the heavy rain of thick smoke and the sharp gunfire of shards of adamas, all of which hailed down upon them. Calvin did what he could to protect both him and Shinon for the assault, hunching over Shinon while hiding his head in his arms. A few such shards did manage to hit them, though it was primarily Calvin who took the blows.
For the most part, the adamas hit him on the side he'd want to be hit by. Though it was like taking a barrage of haymakers, the pain of the heavy jabs bashing into his body could be ignored with a bit of time. It was, however, the next card of pain he was dealt that would torment him. He felt it peck him like a stinging, drilling kiss, a thick, irregular shard finding his right leg.
His visage gripped with even more pain than he expected to feel, his eyes tightly closing shut as his agonized groans filled the room. In the aftermath of the explosion, when the smoke settled and the shards were forced out of their homes, Telvern's eyes had a second long glance to take in what had happened. He saw the ghastly injury upon Calvin, hearing him as he bellowed from the pain, clenching his leg, watching as the blood flowed freely.
Telvern was on one knee, his left hand planted firmly in the ground as a life support. His right hand still held fast up to his chest, his right eye closed shut as arrows of sweat rolled down his skin. His brown eyes taking a glance over towards the two, gripping his teeth in disgruntlement. "Dammit..." he grievously growled.
Putting his left hand back at his side, seeing the results of his attack not being as he desired, Raphael stared at there for a moment. He failed to take into account the genius, a person whom he did not believe stood even a chance of posing a threat. "Make him suffer," the voices then suddenly commanded, causing Raphael's head to slowly turned to his left, glaring down at the kneeling genius. "Make him pay for his insolence."
The situation was dire, one of the utmost desperation. Death was a very real possibility, seeing now that everyone around Telvern was practically on the verge of losing their life. The genius began to feel it too, Raphael literally beating the very vitality right out of him. Life had begun to slip from their fingertips, able to see Death looking upon them. Their hearts so fraught with hope and dreams, with the wish to rise again.
Was this to be the end, the end of all of that? After all that they had gone through, was this to be the end of them?
The End of Chapter 24,
Next Chapter,
Chapter 25: La Ma Vatem
Thank you for reading, I appreciate it.
All right, so there'll be another chapter posted in either a couple of days or a week. It entirely depends if I get unlazy and do it,
buuuuut
... I'll probably get it up by Thursday-ish. Maybe.
Anyway, hope everyone had a terrific holiday. I wish you all the best New Year!
Pain coursed through him, rippling into him like a mad sea tearing apart a careless ship. The genius of the former Lumbridge Resistance was taking quite the beating, one he'd argue he perhaps deserved. From body shots to utterly devastating blows to the face, Telvern was getting absolutely pummeled. All of this punishment was being dished out by one he had lied to many times, or at least a being who wore that person's face.
His blood splattered across the floor, covering his pale-skinned face. Every punch he felt was like a massive explosion across his nerves, feeling it pierce straight through his bones. She was able to sense it too, the woman on a mission back within the enslaved, unforgiving, cruel world of Gielinor. She detected this ill situation that hung with such dread, making her stately, commanding walk even more rushed.
Libitina had climbed up the stairs that led down to that pit under the earth, feeling as that tug on her very existence grew even stronger. Its presence echoing, calling her name, demanding her foremost attention. Standing in the doorway that led down to the underground chambers, her powerful, stern red eyes scoured the landscape. Her vision passed by swaying palm trees and aging ruins, breezing across shimmering, crystal clear waters.
A pair of eyes drew to the motion of a person coming out from under, those eyes belonged to a young woman in black robes. She saw then a familiar face, skin as pale as death and eyes as red as the most vibrant of rubies, this woman at the very epicenter of her life. Her face lifted higher than the sky, her eyes resembled smiles. "Queen!" the woman happily exclaimed, rushing over to be at her side.
The exact moment her voice faded away into the ears of everyone in the room, literally everyone dropped what they were doing. They ceased all motion, freezing still, their heads looking everywhere for who it was that the woman called out for. They then saw her standing there, and they immediately bolted for her.
The word 'queen' was repeated constantly, everyone uttering it the moment their eyes laid down upon her magnificence. People from all different directions stopped everything to be at that place, darting over to her with such wondrous elation. Sitting at a table at the upper left of the room was the dark robed young man Daevarro, parked in front of him was a book or two.
His ears caught the sudden eruption of activity, his mindset of reading broken by all the excitement. Although he'd like very much to get back to reading, he simply couldn't satisfy his curiosity with simple inked words on some paper. He scrolled his intrigued eyes over to his left, seeing a whole crowd gather up in one section of the room.
His eyes and ears dug into the details, the very core of the commotion, being on the outside looking in. Almost everyone in the crowd had their head humbly bowed down as though their necks were snapped in half, but there was one who did not have their head down.
She was the one that all of the sheep encircled around, praising the very presence of. Her head abandoned of its Desert Assassin hood, allowing her long, black hair to roam free. The desert sun laid down upon her bleak skin, and furious crimson eyes made her stick out like the moon over the sun.
But the woman didn't even speak a word, her head having searched the room enough. She found what she was looking for, the exact source of that tug upon her consciousness... Daevarro and her make direct eye contact, her menacing, stern eyes digging into his very soul. A cold chill swept down his spine, a taut sweat nervously breaking out like a rash across his body.
A few seconds of staring was absolutely all she could spare, her feet becoming animated once more. She took one step, then another, all leading towards Daevarro. An invisible blade sliced a path through the crowd, people respectfully stepped aside for her and only her.
Her powerful, lofty walk humbling everyone, they frantically stumbled to get out of her way like they deemed themselves unworthy of standing before her. She went by many bodies, all looking up at her as she passed with such astonishment. She exited the crowd, inching ever closer to Daevarro.
At this point, the young man was getting quite unnerved. A million different question rampaged like a mad bomber in his mind, and the number of questions only grew with every step she took as she came to him. What could she possibly want with him? Who is she even? He was so very confused, completely full of angst.
In the crowd, others desired to follow on just behind Libitina. They made the move, twisting their bodies towards to eagerly stand by her once again. "Stop," said a voice of reason from the crowd of incredibly humbled ones, causing the eyes of those who wished to praise further to find its source. They found it at one of the people who stepped aside for Libitina, a man second from its inner edge.
The voice belonged to the merchant-turned-assassin Kereske, he who turned his eyes to those who looked at him with question. "We mustn't follow the queen," he told them in a quiet voice, shaking his head.
"Why?" another of those on the verge of moving along asked, their voices just as hushed as his.
"Do you see the boy over there?" asked Kereske, drawing the eyes to find Daevarro.
They saw him, him and his familiar robes. The very second their eyes did find those robes, they recognized them, immediately firing off glares and hate off in his direction. "
Laacrán caza!
" one of the people angrily hissed.
Kereske shook his head. "Don't look at him like that," he advised them earnestly. "He's more than that, far more. He is a bearer of the Avae'vatu, one of those chosen by Lamiaquil'a herself!"
Many of those among the crowd heard Kereske's statement, a very quiet mumbling chorus then ruptured from the bowing group of black clothed bodies. Every person there had their fair share of doubts as to what Kereske was trying to put across, just the idea of it bothered some of the people. To think one of
them
could be chosen as a person who bears her presence, such a thought was simply incomprehensible to some folks.
Those who bowed adjacent to Kereske held another familiar face, and that man's name was Shakir. His eyes weighed heavy with doubt, unable to look at the so-called "fallen one" as Kereske can. "And you're absolutely sure of this?" asked Shakir, making with great certainty that his voice remains down. "Can you sense it?"
The merchant looked down to his left, gazing upon his fellow Lamian. Kereske answered Shakir with a nod of his head. "I've no doubt in my mind," he replied. "This is why we mustn't follow her, Libitina approaches him for that exact reason. There is something of great importance that can only be shared between those two, and us following behind her would only impede that."
Still, such a thought took its time to sink it, being slower than waiting for a tower to drown in quicksand. Shakir hid his face in shame, in contempt. How could that such a despicable, disgraceful cultist become a bearer before him; a faithful, honorable man? How could Lamia do this to him, a man whose devoted everything in his life to her? It utterly bewildered him, but most of all, it infuriated him. The outrage and disbelief reared its ugly head, silently slammed his foot into the ground.
