Soulweaver 104: Cyrus

We didn’t wait. We didn’t coordinate. We exploded into action. Everyone, at the same time.

Eskil jumped high into the air, soaring above the battlefield with what could only have been a ridiculous Dominion stat or some Blessing.

Aerion and I surged through the mass of troops ahead of us, ripping and reaving, working in perfect harmony achieved without a single word or sign between us. I shielded her when she attacked. 

She killed every ice soldier who even looked my way, and all the while, Richard backed us up, crippling the enemy from behind. His support was difficult to quantify, but the combined effect resulted in a sort of magical cleaver that drove through the enemy nearly as well as Eskil could.

We reached the Supreme Commander before long, where we found Eskil battering the poor guy with swings that would easily level a house. The force of his blows was so strong that it sent shockwaves through the air and tremors through the ground.

And against this onslaught of destruction, the Supreme Commander held his own. In fact, he kept one hand on the reigns of his ice horse, taking the Viking’s earth-shattering slams one-handed. 

In that hand was a two-handed greatsword made of ice. The strength he had to have to deflect that sort of blow must have eclipsed even Eskil’s.

The Viking didn’t have a chance on his own. Luckily, he had us to balance the scale.

Aerion and I immediately set out to dismantle the fucker. I hit him with my most powerful strike—my sword’s twin abilities firing at the same time right before contact, while [Snap] accelerated my arm at the last moment. 

We both aimed for the same spot on his torso, and to reach it, Aerion had to hit him with a flying strike. 

It was like striking a gong. My bones rattled so hard, I nearly dropped Light of the Fearless, and both Aerion and I were sent tumbling onto the ground.

“That’s no armor,” I muttered, climbing to my feet. “He’s got an ability.”

Against everyone’s expectations, it wasn’t Aerion or Richard who replied, but the commander himself.

“That would be [Repel],” he rasped, sneering at us. His voice was like ice shards grinding against each other. Hoarse, broken, and cold. “‘Tis a Peak Divergence-Rank ability. And not one you’ll likely overcome.”

“Chatty, aren’t we?” I said, trying to buy some time. How the fuck were we supposed to attack a guy who could reflect physical damage?

“Basic courtesy, is all,” he said. “Or is that concept no longer practiced in your time? When I was alive, it was customary for warriors to introduce themselves to one another.”

“Oh, it’s alive and kicking,” I replied, trying to make sense of his words. What did he mean by ‘when I was alive?’ It reminded me of what that ice warrior had told me earlier. Seriously, what the fuck was going on here? “I’m Greg,” I said.  Big guy’s Eskil, my buddy back there is Richard, and the rampaging elf is Aerion. You’ll have to forgive her. She doesn’t really understand ‘cease-fires’ in that state.”

“A [Sylvan Reaver]?” the Supreme Commander said, even as he deflected Aerion’s vicious strikes. All three of us had ceased our attacks, but Aerion, still under the effects of [Reave], was still attacking, as if she hadn’t even noticed. She probably hadn’t. “I admit, it has been some time since I fought one.”

That was… interesting. Not only was he sapient and lucid, he was aware of ranks and Blessings, too? What else did he know about us? And how was he getting that information? Did he have elevated System privileges because he was a dungeon boss?

“Well met,” the Supreme Commander rasped. “I am Cyrus the Great. First Emperor of the Achaemenids. Or I was, once. Now, I lead this army of Fallen, and I am afraid I cannot allow you to pass.”

“Really? Because it’s really not that hard to step aside,” I said. “We’re after that sphere in the sky. Not you.”

“We waste our time speaking with this vermin,” Eskil said, spitting at the ground. “Only Einherjar Aerion understands. Look! She continues to swing her blade, even now.”

Then, screaming “For Odin!” Eskil jumped into the fray, officially putting an end to our pleasantries.

I wish he hadn’t. I had so many questions. Wasn’t every day you encountered a dungeon boss who was this amicable. I somehow doubted the Obsidian Dragon would’ve enjoyed a polite discussion.

Oh, well. “Richard!”

“Backing you up, friend.”

Good enough for me. Bellowing my own roar, I jumped into the fray.

What followed was a blur. Mostly because with three warriors pummeling the same enemy, there was scarcely a moment when Cyrus wasn’t defending against one attack or another. Eskil’s strikes were heavy, fast, and fierce, and while Aerion couldn’t match the sheer weight of his impacts, hers came easily thrice as fast, and were no less intense.

For my part, I tried to slot in between the two, thwarting any attempt Cyrus made to sneak in an attack.

There wasn’t much of that, though. He seemed perfectly content to defend against all three of us with his enormous blade, moving it faster than he had any right to.

“My Blessing’s got no effect on him,” Richard called from behind. “I’ll screen the others. Ensure they don’t get in your way.”

“Understood,” I yelled back, sneaking a glance at the army of ice soldiers, who stood at a respectable distance away from us. They hadn’t attacked once yet. Nor did they show any intent to. Still, it was good to have Richard watching our backs.”

Cyrus’ defense last. Slowly, we learned the pattern of his blocks, the timing of his parries. Aerion broke through his defense first, landing a strike on his armored chest. 

It didn’t crack, though. Not even after Eskil landed a full-on blow against Cyrus’ chest, finally causing him to lose his balance on his horse. Seeing an opportunity, I rushed forth, thrusting with Light of the Fearless.

It worked. While my blade didn’t crack his armor, it did finish what Eskil’s attack started, unseating the once-emperor from his horse. 

Cyrus half-fell, half-slipped off his mount, landing lightly on his feet. He twirled his sword casually.

“He taunts us! Crush him!” Eskil cried, rushing forth. But not before Aerion.

She was on him the instant he was down, pummeling him with her attacks, a cold, silent reaper against Eskil’s berserking frenzy.

The sight of them attacking together was almost enough to make me wonder if they did indeed belong on the battlefield together. As good as my synergy with Aerion was, theirs was perfect. It was like they shared some bond from both being Berserkers. If it was me they were attacking, I wouldn’t have lasted a second.

Cyrus, however, deftly dodged, parried, and blocked with minions that just oozed of nobility. Every motion was as small as it could possibly be, without even a ounce of energy wasted. He almost looked like he was dancing around them. That level of skill didn’t come from any ability. It came from decades of practice, honed to the absolute limit.

Which only heightened my misgivings. This wasn’t some one-dimensional monster, to be killed. This was a man. A real man, who had lived a long and storied life. Who’d soared to the greatest heights.

Which meant that the sea of ice soldiers surrounding us were, too. As were those poor souls buried under the ice in the serpent’s lair. Just what the fuck was going on?

I’d all but given up hope of unearthing any more of that mystery when an opportunity arrived from the most unlikely of sources.

“Why won’t you die?” Eskil cried as he landed the heaviest blow I’d ever seen. It was so strong, in fact, that the ice cracked under Cyrus’ boots, forming spider webs that streaked through the ice for several feet.

“As I said, I have died a great many times.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, ceasing my attacks to seize on the opportunity. Aerion and Eskil had no such desire, and so kept attacking.

Miraculously, Cyrus kept talking, even as he defended against them.

“This is your fate, delvers, should you fall.”

“You were a delver?” I asked. A sense of dread began to form over my head like a dark cloud. “Like us?”

“We all were, I’m afraid. Now, we are cursed to this corrupted immortality. Doomed to fight and die, again and again.”

“Why fight us, then?” I asked, right as Aerion landed a blow that actually forced Cyrus back a half-step. [Fading Fury] was amplifying her power, which meant she didn’t have a lot of Essence left. A quick glance at her Status Screen proved it. She was down to 25%. Much more of this, and she’d be out.

Even so, I found myself unable to stop talking. There was something here, I was sure of it. A key to the greater mystery, or at least a hint.

“Because for every delver we kill,” Cyrus said with a smile, “we gain a year of respite from this hell. For every Champion, we gain a lifetime. How lucky for me, then, that I have an opportunity to earn three at once.”

Eskil snorted. “You must be poor at counting, demon! There are but two Champions here.”

 “Oh?” Cyrus’ rasped, his smile growing into a toothy grin as he stared directly at me. “Is that so?”

“Listen not to this fool’s lies,” Eskil said, saving me the trouble of diverting the conversation. “This ends now!”

Then, in a rare feat of synchronization, both Eskil and Aerion pummeled Cyrus at the same time.

Except this time… This time, something happened.

Fifty Ice warriors nearby shattered all at once, and without warning.

Frowning, I looked around. Was it just me? Or had that endless sea of Ice Soldiers thinned out just a bit? 

Eskil attacked again, but this time, I wasn’t looking at Cyrus. I was looking at the crowd. And when  a dozen soldiers shattered at the exact moment Eskil’s strike landed, I came to a horrifying conclusion.

We’d fucked up. Big time. We’d been fighting the wrong enemy all along, and now, we were about to pay the price.