I Want To Go Home - 29

The Holy City

And then we saw the city.

I somewhat wished I’d not showered such high praise onto Lanara, because it left me lacking in words to describe the Holy City. Great spires rose over it, dominating the horizon as much as Toronto’s skyline ever could. Yet these towers were not the simple boxes of a modern skyscraper. Something like the old Art Deco skyscrapers in New York would have probably just barely been able to sit as one of the plainer spires. There was something Art Nouveau to a few, while others felt like the perfection of Art Deco. And yet others seemed to be some new branch of Gothic architecture that had never happened on Earth. Each looked carved from various types of stone, a range of rock types that I was pretty sure couldn’t have possibly come from the same location.

It might be important to clarify that there weren’t nearly as many towers as a city skyline back on Earth. This was more like medieval cathedrals or mosques, scattered around the city, with space between them. But, in a way, it seemed more impressive, those few towers beyond the human scale rising above dense apartment blocks built with people climbing stairs in mind. Especially with one tower rising above all the others, into the clouds themselves. Something about it told me that it was the tower of Loj. The aquamarine colours reflecting off of it, even in the gloom beneath the clouds, seemed to scream Sea God.

Getting closer, there were no walls around the city. No sign of it ever having needed to be defended. Or being currently defended, which was rather more suspicious.

Moving into the outer areas of houses, we passed by abandoned street after abandoned street. It was clear that anything flammable had burned, but the stone the buildings were made of seemed effectively immune to flames.

“The palace is just a bit past of the centre of the city,” Ne’avo said, in a hushed voice. “At the base of the Tower of Loj.”

Uke’el nodded and focused on steering the float-carpet, though said nothing. Apart from Ne’avo’s brief whisper, the only sound in the city was the soft clapping of the pegasus’s hooves against the cobblestones behind us. My nerves were frayed by the anticipation as we moved, avoiding any main squares as best we could. They seemed the perfect place for an ambush. It was like Guuji all over again.

That strategy of hiding and sneaking came to an end when we reached the edge of the palace grounds. Grand buildings were scattered about on the other side of a large tree-lined boulevard, dead patches of greenery sitting between the buildings. The architecture itself reminded me of Ancient Egyptian or Ancient Greek buildings, which may have been more a sign of the technology when it was built than anything. Endless pillars running along the sides of open-air buildings. Blocky walled structures scattered about within them. Large terraced garden structures abounded, though nothing was growing any longer.

The buildings only held my attention for a few moments, though, while I clambered down from the float carpet along with Ne’avo and Sukura left the pegasus behind. Once we started crossing the boulevard, we grew close enough for me to realise the poles scattered about in the fields of palace grounds were not a sort of street lamp, as I’d assumed at first.

No, the poles were spears. Pikes, probably. And the bits at the end I had mistaken in the distance and gloom for unlit lamps were... there was no kind way to say it. They were heads. Ones that seemed impossibly well preserved for how long the war had been being fought.

Getting closer, Ne’avo visibly gagged, bringing her hand to her mouth.

“Are you ok?” Sukura asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

The muscular Elf gave a small nod. “I just... I recognise him. That’s the head of the guards.”

I offered another hand, helping to steady her as she centered herself. “It might be best if you keep your eyes down?”

“No,” Ne’avo said, shaking her head. “I want to remember them. They deserve that respect.”

“I understand,” Sukura replied.

Taking in each face as we walked, Ne’avo whispered to herself what she remembered of each of them. The rest of us stayed quiet, both out of respect for the dead and out of apprehension for the situation. We made our way towards the foot of the Tower of Loj, where we’d been told the throne room was. That seemed the most likely place to find Nemza. It was where all the roads led, after all. The centre of everything.

We’d reached the foot of what was surely the building holding the throne room when we were met with a semi-circle of pikes. Each was decorated in the grisly manner of the others, though these pikes had flag fluttering from them as well, marked with a symbol that radiated evil. Upon getting close enough to make out the faces, Ne’avo froze, legs shaking.

“N-n-no,” she whispered, holding for a moment before she fell forward onto her knees.

And let out a scream of primal pain.

I think all of us glanced to where she had been looking, and saw the faces of a pair of Dark Elves, male and female, for whom the resemblance to Ne’avo was rather clear. I leaned down to comfort her as her body shook.

“Like what I’ve done with the place, do you dear cousin?” a sickly smug female voice called out from the building entrance.

Turning, I felt hatred bubble in my heart as Nemza strolled out from the shadows. She was smiling, hands out as if she were welcoming us to her home. Like we were old friends she’d not had for a visit in years.

“How—to your own family?” Ne’avo asked, her voice raspy after that scream.

“They got in the way of what I deserved,” Nemza replied in a casual tone. “Not as directly as little Prince Nerine, but they did nothing to undo the system that let him steal my inheritance from me. And did even less to keep him from stealing my mother’s life.”

“She died in childbirth,” Ne’avo muttered.

“Yes. Bearing the little thief,” Nemza hissed, having reached the bottom of the stairs. Once there, she blinked and gave Ne’avo another once over. “I thought your voice sounded different... not that it matters if you’re a woman or a man. You deserve to die as much as the rest of them.”

“Wait,” I said, the pieces sliding together. “Did you do all of this... did you plunge the world into darkness and war, simply because you moved down the line of succession when your brother was born?”

“And because I hated my family in general, but... yes,” Nemza replied, her tone and body language casual.

Well, apart from that scorpion tail she’d given herself. That was likely a bodypart incapable of being ‘casual’.

I stared at her, the hatred in my gut mixing with disgust. Any reluctance to kill her in an effort to end all this washed away. “You’re… you’re just a monster.”

With that, I summoned a magicka blade and dashed forward, swinging it at her. She slipped out of the way, moving with speed and grace I still could match.

“Still too slow, Justice,” she replied, summoning a physical blade of some sort to launch a strike of her own.

I barely parried, forced to backpedal. She continued her assault, thin and elegant looking blade moving with a dexterity I couldn’t possibly hope to out maneuver. Swings and jabs of the blade that showed she had a mastery of sword fighting I was still years from grasping.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sukura draw her own rapier, beginning to charge ahead, when a dagger shot into the ground just ahead of her. Risking a momentary glance in the opposite direction, I saw a number of Janzori warriors emerging from the throne building.

My attention was forced back onto Nemza as I desperately blocked her blade. As focused as I was, I still noticed more Janzori emerging from every building around with my peripheral vision. I attempted to break into a run, hoping to get some space between myself and Nemza to deal with some of her minions in any momentary respite I could get.

She, however, was on me with equal speed to my best attempt to flee. A few blocked blows later, I attempted to jump to safety, ready to rely on my enhanced strength.

Landing on a nearby roof, however, I turned to see her smile and leap after me.

At least it had bought me a moment to see the others battling. Uké’el was unleashing a barrage of magical attacks. Aara seemed to be summoning swarms of insects. Sukura was dodging and slipping around a half dozen Janzori, with a grace that I was sure could have rivalled Nemza.

Ne’avo, though, still seemed to be in shock.

That assessment was the best I could do with the split second I had before Nemza landed. I then used the rest of the moment to leap backwards again, getting more roof between myself and the dark sorceress before unleashing a blast of mana at her.

She had a shield up before it hit. Then she was on me, sword nearly through my head, if I’d not raised a shield of my own as soon as I’d released the blast. Then my heart skipped a beat as the sword proceeded to drive into my magical shield, slowly pushing towards my head once more.

Terrified, I decided to try to experiment. Maintaining the shield didn’t use all of my mana production. Which meant I had a little in reserve to attempt to launch a mana blast while holding up the shield.

It seemed that was not something Nemza counted on me managing. Or the fact I was firing it at point blank range gave her no time to react. Either way, it exploded in her gut, sending her flying across the roof of the palace building.

She didn’t drop the sword, but it had her on enough of a back footing for me to launch myself towards her. I had no plans for a higher strategy. I just wanted to see how well grappling might go, relying on my superior divine strength. In my desperate attempts to block, I’d realised I had that as my only real advantage.

The impact drove us both off the roof, and I used what flight abilities I could to try to slam us into the ground harder. We slammed into the stone below with a crunch that seemed to pain her. I managed to grab the wrist of the arm she held the sword in and slammed it against the stones. It wasn’t pretty, but it was the sort of thing I’d learned in middle school, when I’d gotten into fights with the ‘other boys’ for reasons I’d not understood. Dirty moves won fights.

The sword out of her hand, I then shifted my weight, pressing my knee into her gut. That got a hiss of pain out of her, but there was also a flash in her eyes I did not like. As if she were enjoying this.

That look sparked a momentary hesitation that caused me to miss her other arm raising up to summon a sort of magicka dagger to jab into my gut. I let out a hiss of pain as she’d twisted it, but pushed that pain into determination. I flashed my own magicka blade to drive into her shoulder.

“I must say, you’re a more brutal opponent than I expected,” Nemza said, with the audacity to grin maniacally.

“Murder is dirty business and… there’s no point in dressing it up with honour,” I hissed through the pain.

“True, though it’s nice to have fun with it,” she replied, before wiggling her eyebrows.

And then vanishing into smoke.

In confusion, I looked around. I saw Uké’el and Aara seated on the float carpet now, having risen into the air a few metres to rain swarms of insects and magical strikes onto the dark warriors around. Sukura was drawing the attention of most of them, dancing between their blades with still impossible grace.

At the base of the pikes, Ne’avo had gotten to her feet, a few Janzori robes lay on the ground around her, but she still seemed somewhat in her own little world. Until she turned my way, and then her eyes filled with fear.

She began running, and I realised there was a threat behind me. Turning, Nemza was there, her scorpion tail launching forward. The stinger hit my shoulder before I finished turning around. Pain shot through me.

It was like when I’d used a life-shield to block that Discordance dagger, only... worse. So, sooo much worse. Any pain the magicka dagger had left me with was nothing next to that.

I barely had time to let out a gasp of pain before Ne’avo was at my side, the Sword of Loj slicing down through Nemza’s tail. She gave her own hiss of pain, scrambling backwards.

Nemza raised a shield, only to have Ne’avo let out a roar of rage and slam her divine greatsword against the magical shield with enough force to crack it. Further swings followed, the muscular woman apparently undaunted by the initial failure. Nemza, her tail bleeding sickly green blood, vanished once more, seeming to turn to mist. The process did drop her shield, however, allowed Ne’avo’s blade to slice through the smoke.

When the wisp shot across the air and reformed at the top of the stairs to the throne room, Nemza had a gash running down her torso. Hissing, the dark sorceress retreated into the shadows of the door.

“GET BACK HERE!” Ne’avo roared, her nose flaring as she spun about.

Then she was off.

Through the pain, I somehow got back to my feet, seeing that Nemza had reappeared at the top of the steps towards the throne room. Ne’avo has already at the base of the steps and taking them two at a time.

Not being in any shape to run after her, I lifted my good arm towards the Janzori that Sukura was fighting.

“Sukura! Duck!” I shouted.

She heard me, gave a look of concern for a split second, but then complied, dropping to the ground just as I unleashed a sheet of mana to slice through the crowd of dark warriors. A few had been smart enough to duck when Sukura had, but it thinned them out enough that she had sliced through the others a moment later. The dust was still dissolving as I pushed through the pain and scrambled towards the steps of the throne building.

At the top of the stairs, Nemza had apparently raised a magical barrier, which Ne’avo was attempting to smash her way through. It seemed the dark sorceress was cornered.