Alchimia Rex (056 & 057)

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[056] [Words]

"I call for parley!" Rick shouted at the treeline.

He stood halfway between the walls and the forest, squarely in the unofficial no-man's-land. Trees and large boulders had been cleared out or leveled by a small squadron of Orcs over the past two days. The prospect of using the opportunity to lay traps in the area had been tempting, but they knew they were being closely watched.

Everyone in the city expected the ferals to blindly rush at them as they came, but the scouts had come time and again reporting on ferals keeping themselves just behind the treeline. Rick suspected the only reason the ferals weren't tearing each other apart for the sake of a simple meal had to do with the parasite plant pumping the host full of drugs and hormones. It was a half-confirmed hypothesis seeing what was going on with Monica.

To his left was Urtha as the muscle and true protection, carrying a massive orcwood shield she'd built with his input on modern warfare. On his right was a Centaur carrying a similar shield, but her role was to use her affinity with the earth to keep an eye on potential underground movement. Behind him was Eli, the Hound's sense of hearing and smell the sharpest he could find amongst those with combat experience. And in his shadow was Eva, the Fledgling's role being mostly to draw attention by virtue of her inability to keep her presence hidden from more skilled maidens.

By contrast, Rick felt like an overdressed piece of glass. The clothes had been delivered to his place by a seamstress that had been hired by Kiara prior to the attack. It was a slick black suit with gold and silver embroidery that leaned into simplistic highlights.

There was a conspicuously empty spot meant for an insignia on the suit, and Rick suspected the Succubus had made plans to jump the question on him.

Urtha's hand on his shoulder snapped his mind back to his surroundings. "Guide the anger, do not allow it to control you."

His hands had been so tightly clenched they were hurting. Rick breathed in and let it out slowly. "You're right." He couldn't afford to mess things up.

They'd spent the entire night discussing this, the question of what could and should be done. One of the ideas that persistently lingered was the prospect of peace, that keeping the enemy alive was the better option when dealing with the kingdom. As long as these "wildlings" remained, the kingdom would not focus on him, buying them precious time. And maybe, just maybe, if they provided some of his explosives, the wildlings could become an even bigger problem.

The plan was short-sighted, desperate, and aimed at avoiding the impending violence at any cost. It was the part of him that was haunted by the image of Thorley's blue, lifeless eyes as he lay on the stone, blood pooling all around him. It was the fear that he would be the one lying on the stone soon enough.

"There's movement approaching," Eli whispered.

Almost on cue, four figures emerged from the forest, their appearances as diverse as they were alarming.

The first of the group was a maiden as tall as Urtha, clad in wicked black armor that concealed all her features. The weight of the metal alone would have made Rick topple over, yet the maiden moved with ease, carrying an ax that weighed as much as the armor did.

“That might be a Malumari,” Eva whispered. “Can’t be sure, could just be an Orc.”

“Not unless she cut her own tusks off.” Urtha chipped in. “Helmet’s too small on the mouth area.”

"Anything of concern for right now?"

"If she is one, then she could detect Sir Whitneye's truth medallion,” the Fledgling explained. “They’re also well known for their capacity to disrupt others’ abilities.”

“None of them smell like a psychic would,” Eli pipped up.

Rick nodded, relaxing just a little. The enemy having a mind-reader was a prospect he didn’t want to contend with. “Next one?”

It was a maiden who hobbled their way, resembling a finely-dressed, half-burnt corpse. A woman with skin as black as coal, her long flowing dark blue robes poorly concealed the skeletal features of her frail body, and she relied on a gnarled piece of wood to walk. Dark gold and green eyes glinted with a hint of amusement.

"Warlock, definitely a matron too."

"No surprises there, then." Rick frowned at the third.

For a moment, he hadn't been sure whether it was another new face or not, as there was a sense of deja-vu. As she got closer, he realized it was the monster from the fortress, just wrong in too many ways to count. From the empty black sockets where her eyes should have been, to the sickly green skin and vine-like yellowed hair.

"She... oh no."

"Eva?"

"That's a Seraphim." Her words came with a sense of terror, making everyone around them shudder. "She... she... she must have absorbed the power from the shattered stone and used it to ascend."

"I take it that's bad." Rick tried to find anything in the Seraphim's expression to betray her intent, but there was nothing to be found. Her face was devoid of emotion, blank as if not even entirely awake.

"Their light cannot be avoided, only blocked." Eva's voice was shaking. "Nothing escapes."

That was reassuring. "And the last one?"

"I don't know."

Despite the Seraphim being the main reason for Eva's concern, the fourth maiden's almost unassuming appearance rang alarm bells in his mind. It was a maiden that wore a set of green clothes eerily close to military fatigues. They lacked any form of embellishment or decoration other than a simple white veil hiding her face from view. The way she moved carried an edge of disciplined stiffness, every step perfectly considered and executed, like a retired soldier whose training still lingered.

"We should've brought more fighters." Urtha whispered harshly under her breath. "I can feel them all the way over here, they're being loud."

"Pretend that this is just another perfectly normal day," he replied, putting his thoughts in order and preparing himself.

"Is that what you do?" The Orc snorted in amusement.

Rick inhaled. In a world of maidens, humans were easier to break than paper. "Too often."

Rather than wait for the four, he began walking forward. The three maidens behind him were caught slightly by surprise, taking a moment to catch up. Of the approaching maidens, the Warlock's expression wrinkled ever so slightly, seemingly trying to scrutinize them.

Something shimmered in the air, a tickling itch that crawled through him, a power that made all three maidens accompanying him hesitate for half a step. Rick didn't hesitate, however, and they had to move to reach him a second time.

"Interesting trick," he greeted.

They halted, expecting to maintain some sort of distance. Maidens, as a general rule, had a sense of personal space that was rather large, one he promptly ignored. He stepped directly toward the largest of the group, pausing close enough to reach out and offer a hand to shake. His guards experienced a minor panic attack at that, but it was a small price to pay to put these maidens, who wanted his head, off balance.

"Name's Richard, current head honcho of Sinco."

Out of the four maidens, only the Seraphim didn't tense. The winged green-maiden appeared not to register anything about her surroundings other than the masked one. For half a second, the air grew tense, the trio gauging him closely, probably weighing the chances of him having a hidden advantage they weren't aware of.

The mountain of armor moved, extending her gloved hand, each gauntlet-covered finger being half as thick as his wrist. "I am Embla," she declared.

Rick shook her hand earnestly. "It's a lovely name, shame that we have to kill each other." Without missing a beat, he turned to the wrinkled older one, giving a slight bow. "You must be the Warlock, the one who's scried on us, right? By any chance, have you continued snooping?"

He had to toe the line between lie and truth since, as far as he knew, they had truth detection.

Her expression betrayed nothing. "Where is White Claw?" she asked with a raspy voice, croaking out every syllable. "I would've thought she'd be here."

"You cannot imagine the joy I feel at knowing you aren't sure where she is." The smile was cold, and the maiden's eyes opened ever so slightly. The other two maidens glanced downward, and Rick was left with the impression they were trying to spy through their own shadows.

They would be disappointed because the only one there was the poorly hidden Eva. This whole meeting was one shot in the dark after another, gamble after gamble.

He didn't wait for them to say anything else, glancing at the green lady. "I'll skip the introductions with you, I still have some bruises from the last time we met." He turned his full focus to the true mystery. "I can't say I know who you are, however. By any chance, would you be the one responsible for this whole mess with the plants?"

"What would make you think that?" Her voice was smooth, polite, and nearly robotic in its lack of inflection.

"It's just a shot in the dark with a little process of elimination. Warlocks aren't known for creating abominations of nature, the former Archangel is clearly the victim in all of this, and Embla struck me as more of an honorable warrior."

The maiden kept both hands behind her back, observing him through the cloth. "What if I kill you here and now?"

"Considering Archangels can shoot at anything they can spot, I imagine you've had plenty of chances today," he shrugged. "But the real question is, what would stop Monica from looking for Barry after I bite the dust?"

Embla and the faceless maiden failed to hide their stiffness at such a proposal. But it was the Seraphim that reacted more openly, her head turning in his direction. "Ba... rry?" She spoke slowly, voice hollow, the formerly expressionless face appearing to focus. "Y... ou... You..." The vines on her face began to wriggle, deforming her features as she grew within the confines of her creaking armor.

The faceless maiden was the first to move, turning to the winged maiden and making a vague gesture with her hand. Rick caught the scent of lilacs mixed with something else. "Calm down," the faceless one commanded, the Seraphim complying, returning to her passive blank state.

He made an effort not to shudder, to keep his smile amused. Truth detection only worked on statements, not on everything that surrounded the statement, such as body language. "If I'd created such a thing, I wouldn't let just anyone carry the leash either." He did his best to ignore the cold sweat running down his back.

That caught her attention. "You're an inventor?" The emotionless inflection had shifted abruptly; there was an edge of sincerity, but it hid a smile that sent shivers through him.

Rick kept his tone even as he answered. "I'm sure you'll be seeing a few of my ideas in action soon enough."

"I am Sivent." She reached out faster than he could react, not giving him the chance to pull away, squeezing his hand tightly enough that his bones groaned. "If you surrender now, I will keep you as a pet, mostly untouched. I am immortal, and I hold much knowledge you could learn from."

There were no lies in her words, and that made them all the more terrifying. "Unfortunately, I already have my own immortal lady, and Succubi are very possessive—or so I'm told." He let out a small chuckle, if only for himself. "Don't tell her, though; she wouldn't be happy about me sharing that fact."

Out of all the reactions he had hoped to see, Embla turning to face him fully had not been among them. The giant practically tore her helmet off, revealing snow-white hair and dark oak skin with pointy ears that flowed in the wind. "You have a Succubus as a companion? As your property?" There was something intense about the question, the tone holding edges in extremes.

"She's no one's property, much less mine," Rick managed to yank his arm out of Sivent's grasp when she had loosened it. "Officially, she's my human wife. It's not like we can go around sharing these things out loud when the kingdom might take things personally."

Dark Elves were persecuted — was that why she had reacted so strongly? He met the amber eyes of the maiden, trying to figure her out. Absently, he noted the scowl from the Warlock intensifying, the first true shift in expression she had given away since the beginning of the meeting.

"You called Monica 'White Claw'; you've met her before, haven't you?"

Embla relaxed slightly at the question. "We'd set up camp outside of her territory, but not far enough that she wouldn't attempt to steal our supplies. We fought her a few times until we moved further away." There was a fondness in her words, almost bittersweet.

"That does sound like her, alright." Rick found his tension easing as he chuckled a little, giving a slight nod. He couldn't let himself be distracted, however, so he turned his attention to the bag of bones. "Moving on, it's my understanding that the whole parley thing typically involves some half-hearted false attempt at making peace, no?"

The Warlock scoffed. "You do not truly think you will win?"

"Your plan relies on too many things going your way to succeed." It was the most poorly worded statement of the whole meeting, the most important shot in the dark. It relied on them having truth detection in place, and it relied on them believing he meant this particular battle and not the grander scale war they would be getting themselves into by going up against the kingdom. "Your little army will be crushed."

The bag of bones bristled, revealing pearly white teeth in a vicious snarl. "You stand in the way of a just cause."

"Good." There was little surprise that the truth-detection medallion didn't go off in response to her words. Everyone thought their cause was just. "I'd much rather avoid being on the same side as anyone that turns their own allies into that and calls it just." He made a gesture at the catatonic, eyeless creature that stood next to Sivent.

Embla was the only one to show a reaction to the statement, her face turning impassive suspiciously quickly.

"There is nothing else worth saying," the ancient Warlock proclaimed. "The next sunrise will bear witness to your corpse."

Rick met those golden eyes and smiled. "Thoughts and prayers to you too."

Without another word, he turned to leave, maintaining his sedate pace while his three protectors trailed behind him. The route back to the city brought clarity of thought and a chance to calm his racing heart.

"The instant we're back, I want a full report from each of you. Every detail of that meeting, anything you picked up, however irrelevant." He spoke, not really expecting a response right then and there. His gloved hands clenched tightly. "Especially regarding Sivent and what she did to control the... thing."

There were a series of affirming grunts.

He had other things to worry over, but his concerns were pushed aside as the gates opened. Under the shade of the tarps covering the streets, they were greeted by a sea of faces. The road ahead was clear, but each pair of eyes looked on with a mix of tense anticipation, hope, and anxiousness. Faces covered in grime and dirt, desperate for something to cling to.

There was the tribe and the militia; they occupied the spaces further away, but even they looked on, waiting.

Rick spoke the only words that came to his mind, raising his fist into the air.

"We fight!"

The city erupted into a battle cry.

The drums of war began their beat.

[057] [Hammer (Embla)]

"We will change the plan."

Embla heard the words but kept her focus on the city. The meeting with its newest Lord had left a sense of doubt and apprehension in his wake. His words and attitude had carried an almost friendly edge to them, yet there was something concealed in his gaze. For a moment, Embla had felt as if she'd been staring at White Claw herself.

"I agree with this," her mother spoke right after. "This human might lead a tribe of Orcs, but he is conniving."

The Malumari didn't speak, her eyes fixed on the city. The rhythmic beat of drums seemed like a celebration of some sort. "Will you cast a scrying spell? Our flyers can't see past the cover they've set up on their streets." One of several oddities, they'd figured it was the Lord's attempt to keep himself hidden from the Seraphim, but…

"No," the Warlock shook her head weakly, trembling hands gripping the staff, her eyes glaring at the city. "Our better option is boldness. A charge through the main gate."

"I agree to this," the Pinielf declared.

Embla bristled. "And kill them all in the process!? By the time the fight is done, over half the city will be going feral!"

"Better have control of a nearly ruined city than to have nothing at all!" the Warlock snarled in return.

She clenched her jaw tightly, turning to the monster. "What about you? Do you have anything to add?"

It was impossible to read Sivent, the maiden not having uncovered her face. "What matters are the humans and the bonding collars," she gave a slight nod. "It is possible to save enough of both to make the full awakening of the Grove viable. I will make preparations."

The Grove, the place where all the Elves and the Elf Queen slept, guarded by a force fierce enough to make any army quiver in terror. Even now, Embla shuddered at the thought of what would happen once they woke up and mobilized.

"I will perform a ritual of empowerment," the Warlock declared.

Embla shook her head. "Empowering mindless ferals will only worsen the situation." Not to mention that a ritual was something that would only weaken her mother further. The elderly maiden had nearly died when pushing the Archangel to ascend into a Seraphim. Now her aura was impossibly weak compared to the blinding flame of years past, barely a flickering ember that could be snuffed out by a simple breeze.

"Not the ferals, empower you," she answered. "The others will help me with the casting, and provide the energy I lack." The maiden looked up at her daughter with a scowl. "The best way to work against trickery you've yet to decipher is to face it directly."

Embla's jaw tightened, lips curling. "Is your proposal to empower me and not the monster's creation because it would risk the 'seed'?"

The Warlock didn't answer, turning away. That was answer enough.

"Just be done with it."

Turning away, Embla took her spot at the edge of their perimeter. She couldn't stand the thoughts that kept bubbling through her mind. They needed to be rid of the Pinielf, but there was nothing they could do, not when she controlled every one of the ferals. Was this what they should expect when the Green Empress was awakened?

Kneeling down next to a tree, Embla paid no mind to the gathering of Dark Elves or the slow chanting of her mother or the sensation of the air becoming thicker and heavier.

Her eyes focused on the city, and the wisps of energy that rose sporadically. Whatever the human had planned, it wasn't some kind of spell, enchantment, or ritual; there was barely any power to be seen. By contrast, the ritual behind her was sure to be visible to anyone with the same ability to perceive auras the Malumari had; it would be a beacon of energy for kilometers around.

Slowly, she calmed her breath, focused it, and emptied her mind of doubts and turmoil. Embla oriented herself towards the immediate task ahead, the weight of her ax tugging at her arm as she used her power to keep herself stable on the ground, slowly loosening it in preparation.

Breathe in, breathe out. She was a warrior, and this was her duty. The sun inched closer to the horizon, its final rays casting an orange glow on the clouds overhead. She didn't know what awaited her beyond those gates, but she would face it with all her might.

"Pour this on yourself," the Pinielf said, her voice breaking the monotony of chanting, as she offered a wooden bowl containing a blue liquid. "Wherever you go, the subjects will follow."

Embla acknowledged the instruction with a nod, smearing the substance on her armor. She caught the scent of wildflowers and moss. If she was to be the tip of the spear, then she'd ensure she aimed directly at the enemy's heart. She glanced at her mother, the Warlock, who stood in the center of a dozen kneeling Dark Elves. Her staff glowed with purple energy.

"You have one hour," the Warlock declared. "Everything depends on you."

Embla stared at the spell, feeling the Malumari's hairs stand on end. "And the Seraphim?"

"The reserve," the Pinielf declared. "She will be deployed depending on how circumstances evolve."

Pushing her annoyance aside, Embla stepped forward into the ritual. With a gloved hand, she reached out to her mother's staff and gripped it tightly. "I will fight."

"And you will win," the Warlock replied, exhaling softly as the energy crackled around them.

Power surged through her arm and into her chest like a raging inferno, its intensity magnifying with each heartbeat. It coursed through her veins, spreading to her limbs and causing her body to feel aflame with greater strength. As the energy swirled within, the world sharpened, senses heightened to their extreme. Every movement slowed to a crawl, as if time itself yielded to her will. The weight of her armor and weapon vanished altogether, leaving her feeling as light as a feather.

Under her grip, the staff tremored, the purple energy pulsating and crackling in response to the immense power flowing between them. The air around her hummed with energy, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to tremble in anticipation of the force she now commanded. Embla's eyes glowed with determination, and her armor now shimmered with an ethereal aura, as if it too had been imbued with the very essence of the spell.

The staff cracked in her grip, unable to contain the sheer magnitude of power that now coursed through Embla's body. She released it, watching as the fractured remnants fell to the ground, their purpose fulfilled.

An hour would be plenty.

With the final wisps of energy trapped inside her body and rearing to escape, Embla turned to the walled city.

"Go."

She began with a slow walk, weaving past the treeline as she hefted her ax against her shoulder. With a heave, she leapt, the ground cracking under her boot when she landed, now breaking into a full run. Behind her, the ferals stirred, unleashing snarls and barks and howls. With Embla at the helm, they followed in a cacophony of virulent aggression.

Faster, she heard the beat of the drums had changed from the steady beat of a heart into something slower. Commands were screamed, bells were rung, and atop the wall, a dozen fire-casters launched a rain of red. Embla pooled power into her free hand and, with a gesture, released it. The fire vanished as if it had never been there to begin with. A second wave was launched, and she nullified that too. The ground hammered against her as she pushed her body harder.

Next were not attacks of fire, but of wood. Her eyes caught the glimmer of orcwood spears as the maidens atop the walls took aim. With a snarl, she began to cast a spell of protection. The forms flowed through her faster than she could keep up, and a barrier shimmered into existence, larger than she'd intended it to be.

Closer, closer, the ferals were catching up. All around Embla, bodies began hitting the ground, pierced by spears that had been thrown with enough force to embed themselves a meter deep. Her own barrier cracked under the blows. Many ferals died there and then, but many others pushed forward, ignoring their own bleeding injuries as the vines grew and spread across their bodies.

Focusing on the gate, Embla began a second spell, wrapping her weapon in a protective cocoon of power. The closer she got to the gate, the more fiercely the spears rained down upon her, the cracked defensive spell gone. The Malumari used her ax to smack away the spears as they came.

Breaking her connection with the ground, the inertia of her massive weapon allowed her to fling herself whichever way was most convenient. In this way, her progress towards the gate did not slow, only turning more into an erratic path ahead, with more and more spears wasted trying to attack the places she'd been in only a second prior.

She reached her goal, and the defenders poured what she'd thought to be boiling oil from atop the gate. Embla moved out of the way, only turning to look at the liquid when she'd heard the angry hissing against the ground.

There was a split moment of hesitation as the plume of smoke choked her lungs and burned. The few ferals nearest to her had been caught in the splatter, and the liquid seemed to keep burning even as they clawed at the gate in blind, unrelenting fury.

Staying here would be a mistake. The maiden shifted the whole of her focus towards her weapon, planting her legs firmly so she could pull her full strength to bear. With a deafening scream, she brought the ax down onto the wood, cleaving one of the crossbars behind it. The second strike removed another, and the gate buckled.

The third strike tore it down, and the way forward opened just in time for her to avoid the second downpour of the mysterious liquid. The ferals behind her weren't so lucky, toppling over within seconds, clawing at their own faces in a gruesome sight.

Embla let out a battle cry, charging forward, fully prepared to cleave through everything that stood in her way. Instead, she found nothing but an empty, blackened street. A powerful gust of wind blew through now that the gate had been opened, carrying with it an overpowering pungent vinegar-like smell mixed with smoke that made Embla's eyes water.

The warrior slowed, ax at the ready, eyes darting every which way in search of enemy combatants. There were no screams, no torches, no light. If not for the magic coursing through her body, she would be completely blind. The streets had been walled off, creating a singular funnel forward. The beat of the drums had shifted to a deafeningly loud series of beats that rattled the very ground under her feet.

To her enhanced senses, it was torture, pounding through her helmet and against her skull from every direction. Part of her could sense some of the enemies atop the walls, further ahead, and all around. Not one of them was within immediate reach, nor were they attacking in any way. There wasn't any energy to be found in the streets, and whatever this trap was, it made her hackles rise and shivers course down her spine.

Barely able to think, she threw herself at the nearest wall, determined to prevent the stream of ferals from continuing down this path and to open a new one. Her armored bulk tore through the stone, with her weapon aiding in the task.

The street was narrow and cramped, clearly filled with rubble and debris to obstruct movement. Nonetheless, she clambered on top, pushing ahead to clear a path for their improvised, unthinking forces to follow.

The Malumari glanced over her shoulder and froze, finding only a handful of feral Doggirls in her wake, the maidens blindly stumbling forward through the wreckage, hissing burns on their claws, shoulders, and faces. But there were no more; every other feral was still rushing forward, past the hole Embla had made, charging in a blind rage.

The drums intensified, changing their rhythm in some imperceptible way that turned it into a cacophony. Vaguely, Embla discerned the sound of a series of screams, each one repeating the same ominous phrase: "Fire in the hole!"

Every hair on her body stood on end, and alarm bells rang in her mind. The maiden swiftly cast a spell of protection to envelop herself. There was a flash of blinding light, accompanied by a force that hammered against the spell from every direction. Embla found herself hurled into one of the buildings, teary eyes blinking away the lingering lights as she tried to take in her surroundings. She was inside one of the houses.

A second set of explosions shook the ground, and suddenly there was nothing to stand on.

She fell, and the building came crashing down on top.

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