Maxwell

  “My meeting with The Baron proved about as guileful and revolting as I had expected it to be. The daemon offered me a great sum of yldings, greater even than the sum I had originally asked for. And all he wanted in return was a promise.

  At a glance, such a deal seems entirely too good to be true. Yet, that is without taking the weight of the promise into consideration. For being in The Baron’s debt is never a favorable outcome.

  Yes… The more I think upon it, the stronger my conviction becomes. I feel I shall live to regret this promise greatly ere long.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2154 Post Separation (PS).

  As we ventured deeper into the forest, the mist grew ever thicker about us, wrapping our surroundings in an impenetrable blanket that obscured all that lay beyond a handful of feet. The hairs on my neck were standing on end, waves of unease crashing over me with each passing moment. I kept stealing covert glances at Amelie, silently grateful for her presence and the reassurance it brought me.

  We were following what appeared to be an old game trail through the forest, carved into the underbrush by animals seeking water and sustenance. The trail was narrow and winding, bordered by thick vegetation and gnarled roots that seemed to reach out like grasping fingers.

  For the past few hours, there had been precious little in the way of conversation. Our earlier jocularity now seemed a distant memory as we delved ever deeper into the heart of the abyss, the mist and the trees the only constants in a world of vacant obscurity.

  It also did not help matters that just a little while ago, I had spotted a strange outline concealed in the fog, following us at a distance. Every now and again, it would disappear entirely, only to materialize anew in a different location. Naturally, such manoeuvres pointed squarely towards a singular conclusion; that something was stalking us through these woods, for reasons unknown to either one of us.

  However, it was not before I laid eyes upon the figure for the fifth time that I at last tapped Amelie on the shoulder, intent on alerting her to the danger. Studying the outline, I realized it was much too short and elongated of stature to be human, yet something about it seemed strangely familiar all the same.

  “What is it?” Amelie asked, turning her head slightly at my touch.

  “There’s something over there,” I started, squinting into the woods. “It’s been following us for a while now. I can’t make out what it is, but it looks like some kind of… animal, maybe?”

  “Animal?” Amelie said, sounding confused. “What kind of animal? How big is it?”

  “It’s difficult to tell…” I said. “Like a big dog, maybe?”

  “A dog?” she said. “Are you certain it is not a-”

  Something heavy crashed into my body. My head jerked to the side as the force of it dragged me from the saddle, my arms cleaving empty air as I fell.

  For a moment, the world hung in suspended animation, my mind reeling from the sudden impact. Then, the ground came barreling up to meet me, and I landed hard on my shoulder, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  The creature on top of me offered no reprieve. It dug into my exposed skin with pointed fangs and sharp claws, raking my flesh and drawing blood. A warbled groan escaped my lips, uttered on a choked whisper. I could neither breathe nor defend myself, my body paralyzed by the vicious onslaught of shock and pain.

  Somewhere in the distance, I heard Amelie give a startled cry, followed closely by a brilliant flash of radiant orange, lighting up the mist-riddled woods around us. A deafening howl sounded as an intense wave of heat washed over my body, throwing the creature off me. My vision swam with spots of white as I struggled to my feet, thin rivulets of blood streaming down my arms.

  Through the haze of confusion, I saw Amelie dismounting Waylan in a hurry, her raven-black hair flowing behind her in a mesmerizing wave. Her eyes were alight with a deep anger, crackling flames dancing in the palm of her hand. Beneath her feet, the grass slowly withered to a dull brown, its life-essence stolen by the sigil on her back.

  The creature, now illuminated by the glow of her flames, arched its back in warning, displaying blood-stained teeth and wild eyes. At a glance, it resembled a giant wolf, its fur a matted grey streaked through with lines of white in places where faded battle scars peeked out from its coat. It was larger than any canine I had ever laid eyes on, reaching up to my lower chest when standing on all fours.

  A closer look at its face revealed a deeper truth, however. For where its left eye glared at us with bloodlust and malice, the right one spun wildly about in its socket, infected by writhing tentacles of dark-green make stretching out from a point just below its ear. There, burrowed into its skin, I spotted an oversized lump of swollen flesh, pulsating with a strange rhythm as it feasted on the wolf’s body.

  It had attached itself to the animal, burrowing its tendrils deep into its flesh. It was a sickening display of forced symbiosis, one that was clearly driving the wolf from reason.

  “A-Amelie,” I coughed, getting to my feet, my breath coming in quick and shallow bursts. “It’s infected…”

  “I know,” she said, her eyes scanning the woods around us. “And it is not just one. There are more of them hiding in the mist.”

  I felt a chill run up my spine at those words, the bitter gall of panic rising in my throat. This was bad. My arms were bleeding heavily from open cuts, painting my skin crimson. If I did not bind these wounds soon, I would likely faint from the bloodloss.

  “Take in some Astra,” Amelie said, her gaze fixed firmly upon the snarling wolf in front of us. “It will hurt like hell, but it will slow the bleeding.”

  I nodded, feeling lightheaded as I squeezed my eyes shut. It would not be difficult to siphon energy from this place. The whole forest was practically choked with Astra. It ran in abundant rivers beneath the ground, rivers which became instantly visible to my mind’s eye as soon as I opened it to the immaterial.

  I reached out for one such stream, and the Astra came in a great flood, flowing into me with vigor and celerity. At once, the cuts on my arms exploded with pain, dragging a howl from my lips.

  To my left, Amelie swung her hand out in front of her, sending forth a wave of flame towards the wolf. The creature growled and jumped, dodging the blaze with deft precision before leaping forwards, mouth open as it sought to sink its teeth into her neck. She ducked just in the nick of time, causing the wolf to go flying above her head.

  I watched the battle unfold with tense eyes, teeth grit against the pain. The Astra swelled within me, straining against my skin with a violent temper. It wanted out of this human-shaped prison, to be unleashed upon the world in a powerful flood. I would not let it. Not yet, at least.

  A low growl caused me to spin around on my heels, my mind screaming bloody murder. Another infected wolf emerged from the mist, this one missing half of its ear and a section of its jaw. A bulbous parasite clung to its throat, its viscous exterior pulsing and constricting.

  Further back, I spotted at least two more, their hulking forms appearing from the white oblivion.

  There was too many of them, I thought, feeling my panic deepen at the sight. We could not fight them all.

  Behind me, Amelie was still facing her original opponent, her battle-cries echoing through the woods as she called forth a great spectacle of fire and heat. It was an amazing display of ability. A seamless weave of elemental manipulation mixed with precise movements and swift spellcasting. There was no fear in her eyes as she ducked and spun around the wolf’s ferocious attacks, narrowly avoiding death each time.

  I could tell she was at a disadvantage, however. In such close-quarters combat, she could not throw out any of her larger spells, lest she risk hurting herself in the process. The result was a carefully measured dance of firelight and nimble evasion.

  Where did she learn to fight like that? I wondered to myself as I wrestled with the Astra within. If only I could be more like her… then maybe I wouldn’t be so helpless.

  Around me, the wolves were starting to close in, teeth bared as they circled their prey. The gleam in their eyes promised slaughter and devastation. They would fight till the last drop of infected blood had been spilt from their veins.

  “Well, come at me then!” I snarled, looking at each one in turn. “I’ll drag you all kicking and screaming to the abyss!”

  The wolves considered me for a moment, their primal instincts conflicting with the parasitic corruption driving them. Low growls rumbled in their throats, their bodies tense, as if they could sense the strange power pulsing within me.

  But then, the leftmost wolf found its courage, and came for me at a dash. This one seemed to be almost blind, as the parasite had attached itself to the bridge of its nose, infecting both of its eyes. The wolf shook its head violently from side to side as it ran, as if attempting to shake off the alien intruder even as it was forced to do its bidding.

  I spared it a single pitying glance, before I allowed the Astra to shape and form itself before me, weaving together mighty winds that accumulated in my hands. The feeling of power was incredible. It seeped through every bone in my body, chasing away the pain and bringing a smile to my lips. And yet, I remembered what had transpired the last time I allowed myself to get carried away with Wielding. The costly toll it had exacted on my body.

  And so, as I sensed the gentle warmth in my arms build towards a greater crescendo, I purposefully cut off the flow of Astra partway through, denying it the opportunity to grow out of control. Then, with a bellowing cry, I released the pent-up energy in a surge of vigorous gales, blasting forwards with the unstoppable fury of the storm itself.

  The charging wolf did not stand a chance. It took the full brunt of the attack head on, the powerful winds cleaving through its bones with ease. In the span of a breath, it had collapsed onto the ground in a lifeless heap, now missing several chunks of its head and face.

  I flashed my teeth in a grim smile. It had felt surprisingly good to watch the creature die, as I painted the grass with its flesh and brain-matter. To command such immense power… what terrible euphoria.

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  A sudden scream from behind cut my impudence down to size, however, as I spun around to witness Amelie being tossed to the ground by a wolf that had snuck up on her. Her former adversary lie dead in the grass, its fur seared with burn marks in several places.

  I tried to make a run for her, but was promptly cut off by a third wolf emerging from the mist, its jaws dripping with blood. It growled as it came to a halt in front of me, blocking my path to Amelie. A long gash ran down the length of its flank, as if someone had driven the tip of a spear along its body.

  “It went this way!”

  A baritone voice sounded from the white sea around us, followed closely by the muted thuds of boots trodding grass. A wave of relief flooded my senses as I heard them approach.

  Oh, thank the Stonefather, I thought. Help is on the way!

  “Maxwell!”

  I dragged my attention away from the newcomers and back to Amelie, who was now laying on her back some distance away, arms outstretched as she attempted to hold back the snarling jaws of the wolf that was standing on top of her.

  Shit.

  “Amelie! Hold on!” I shouted, as my lips drew back into a grimace. She would not be able to keep the wolf off for long. I had to act fast.

  Calling upon the last vestiges of Astra yet flowing through my veins, I imagined a powerful current of electricity gathering in my hand, its raging fury sending jolts of energy running up the length of my arm. With a roar, I forced the illusion to become manifest reality as I lunged forwards. The Astra heeded my call with frightening ardor, infusing my hand with the charge of a veritable lightning strike.

  The wolf attempted to dodge the blow, but my assault was much too sudden and unanticipated. My fist connected with the side of its face mere seconds later, transmitting the electricity in the blink of an eye. The result was a vigorous smite of such proportions, it sent the wolf reeling to the ground, its body twitching as its brain was cooked by the voltage.

  A maniacal grin settled onto my face. By the Stonefather, what a thrill! Who knew killing could feel so empowering?

  “Maxwell, a little help please!” Amelie grunted, hands slipping as the wolf atop her won the contest of strength. With a snarl, it closed its jaws down upon her shoulder, biting hard into her flesh. She grit her teeth in pain as its fangs dug their way into her skin.

  “No!” I cried, utter dread coursing through my veins. “Amelie!”

  All sense of reason left me as I made a mad dash towards her and the wolf. Seeing her injured had awoken something within me; a fierce protectiveness that ran deeper than I thought possible. The image of her being mauled alive, torn asunder by this beast…

  However, to my great surprise, it was neither fear nor trepidation I saw upon Amelie’s face. Rather, her mouth had twisted into a vicious grimace as she flared her nostrils in anger. And before I could even get close enough to strike at the wolf, she lifted her hands to its neck, and channeled her Astra directly into its body.

  At once, the entire wolf caught fire. Its grey fur exploded with conflagration, lighting it up like a bonfire. It howled in pain as the flames roared to life, its mouth retracting from Amelie’s shoulder.

  “Filthy mongrel!” she spat, pushing the wolf off her with newfound strength. The flames did not seem to hurt her as she did this, causing the wolf to stumble to the side. “You shall not have me!”

  Getting to her feet with her face cast in shades of rage, she called upon the flames once more, holding out her hand before her. A stream of blood surged down her arm to pool in her palm, siphoned by unseen forces from the now open wound in her shoulder. As I watched, it began to shape and mold itself in a familiar outline, growing rapidly in both length and size.

  I felt my eyes go wide at the sight of it.

  Within moments, she was clutching a burning sword in her hand, made entirely of her own blood, set ablaze by infernal powers.

  “My name is Amelie Harthway,” she said, holding the blade before her. “Daughter of Lord Escanor Harthway, and Bearer of the Sigil of Flame. I have faced horrors borne of hatred, creatures borne of corruption and men borne of wickedness. I have delved deep into the Darkenlands, held the lives of plenty in my hands, and conversed with gods and daemons alike. I have battled monstrosities far more gruesome than any you can imagine, and thus I say with absolute certainty - you shall not have me!”

  My jaw slackened as I took in the visage of her, the power of her, the majesty of her. She was at once the most terrifying and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, with her flowing black hair and eyes like twin sparks of flame, alight with the spirit of purgatory itself.

  Behind me, I heard the unknown voices from before draw close, appearing from the mist to regard the battlefield with yelps of surprise. Help had finally arrived, though at present, it did not seem entirely needed. The shouts of bewilderment only grew louder as they laid eyes upon Amelie and her burning sword, followed closely by muted swears and words of prayer.

  “A witch!” someone said, his voice a thin waver.

  “Nay,” the baritone responded. “That there is no witch. It’s a Wielder. I’ve seen their kind before.”

  “So a pampered noble then,” a female voice said. “That’s worse than a witch.”

  “Enough chatter. There are still wolves about,” the baritone said.

  I had yet to turn around and face the newcomers. My eyes were locked firmly on Amelie and nothing else, and thus, I had only their voices to go on. Even so, I felt I could picture them clearly in my mind; a group of untested travelers led by an experienced warrior, likely the one with the baritone voice.

  "Stay back!" Amelie said, wild flames dancing about her. “These ones are mine!”

  “Oh, would you look at that?” the female-sounding one said. “She’s got some fight in her!”

  “Gwyn, on your left!” the thin voice screeched.

  A raucous howl sounded from behind me, followed by a stunted cry of pain. I promptly spun around to assess the situation, pulled at last from my awestruck reverie.

  I could not have foreseen the sight that awaited me.

  Three individuals of drastically different make stood locked in battle with several wolves, their weapons clashing against fur and fang. Their leader - a tall, broad shouldered man with a shaven head and a strong salt-and-pepper beard - swung a massive claymore with practiced ease, cleaving through a wolf’s side. To his left, a lanky man with pale complexion held back a taut bowstring, arrow nocked between index and middle finger. His short-cropped blonde hair appeared slick with sweat as he unleashed it upon a nearby wolf, which stood primed to strike above a redheaded woman on the ground.

  They all wore breastplates and vambraces made of boiled leather, of the sort fitted for flexibility whilst still providing some protection. At a glance, this placed them either as a group of traveling sellswords, or as members of a village militia. But there was an additional detail to them that made such designations seem wholly discrepant.

  Each and every one of them had a ghost riding on their back. Or, at least something approximating a ghost.

  Phantasmic silhouettes constructed of mist and shadow clung to their necks, hollow faces peering over their shoulders. They looked vaguely human in shape, though yet lacked any defining characteristics with which to identify them by. Faint wisps of smoke could be seen emanating from their outline, as if they were constructed entirely of vapor.

  These apparitions twisted and turned in sync with their hosts' movements, like marionettes tied to invisible strings.

  “Gods… damn… this fucking mutt!” the redheaded woman groaned, pushing the now whining canine off her body. The bowman’s arrow had embedded itself deeply in the wolf’s flank, near where its lungs would be. “Just my luck… to get jumped!”

  She was bleeding from a bite mark in her forearm, the puncture wounds clearly visible in her left vambrace. Her “ghost”, if it could indeed be referred to as such, seemed entirely unfazed by the attack she had just suffered. It simply repositioned itself according to her stance, spectral limbs crawling upon her body until it yet again lingered on her back.

  “Remain alert!” their leader said, swinging his claymore in a wide arc that sent a wolf sprawling. “There’s more of them hiding in the mist!”

  I saw that he was right. For as he put another wolf to the sword, there were yet more coming from the woods, fangs bared, eyes wild with hunger and bloodlust. They were all infected by parasites, attached to various parts of their body.

  I turned my attention back to Amelie, her form a blur of fiery motion. She fought with a ferocity I had never seen from her before, each strike of her sword leaving trails of flame lingering in the air. The wolves that dared to challenge her were swiftly cut down, their bodies engulfed in otherworldly conflagration.

  And yet… it was a futile endeavor. There were simply too many of them for us to slay. For every wolf we put to death, there was another to take its place. And they were slowly but surely wearing down our defenses.

  “Stonefather damn it all,” the lanky man spat, nocking another arrow to his bowstring. “There’s no end to them!”

  “Aye, this doesn’t look good,” the redhead nodded, clutching the wound on her forearm. “Gareth, what say you? Do we retreat?”

  The bulky man with the claymore pulled free his blade of a wolf’s corpse, tendrils of blood sticking to the metal as he did. He leveled a sharp gaze at the surrounding woods, taking stock of the situation.

  “There's more of them than I expected,” he said. “That’s troublesome. They have never ventured this close to the city before.”

  “Then we come back later with more men and sharper weapons,” the lanky man responded. “For now, we ought to focus on saving our lives.”

  He moved to say something else as well, but was cut off by a sudden whistling sound, moving with great speed through the air. A moment later, an arrow embedded itself deeply in his neck, making his eyes bulge in their sockets.

  All lay in silence as we stared at the arrow now protruding from his neck, a slight trickle of blood gushing forth from the point of impact. Then, the lanky man let out a loud gasp, and fell to his knees, features frozen in shock and fear.

  “O-Oh…” he said, his mouth opening and closing on repeat.

  “N-No,” the redheaded woman said. “No! Arthur!”

  “H-Help me,” he wheezed, grabbing onto the shaft with trembling fingers. “It’s… stuck. Can’t… breathe…”

  Then, a second arrow came flying through the air, hitting him in the back. He promptly fell to his side, mouth agape in unspoken words. As soon as his head hit the grass, the “ghost” on his back begun repositioning itself. But this time, it moved with great purpose and alacrity. It crawled onto his chest, where it lingered for just a moment before it began to force itself into his mouth.

  I watched on in petrified silence as the ghost entered his body through whatever orifice it could find, its ethereal form shifting to mist and vapor as it seeped into his airways. His muscles twitched and spasmed as it did, his eyes rolling back, his stomach cramping.

  “No! Mistmother, please!” the redhead screamed. “Please don’t take him! Please!”

  “Gwyn, there’s no time!” the leader said, sheathing his massive claymore on his back before running over to her and grasping her by the shoulders. “His life is forfeit! We must run!”

  “I won’t leave him!” She shook her head violently from side to side, tears running down her cheeks. “I refuse!”

  “He’s already dead!” the leader said, pointing at the man whose body now lay convulsing in the grass. “His flesh belongs to the Mistmother now! We must run, before the Marauders fall upon us!”

  “I’ll die here with him!”

  “You will do no such thing!”

  Throughout the entire ordeal, I had stood as a statue upon the ground, rooted in place by shock and trepidation. Now, I felt my senses come alive again, as the last vestiges of Astra trickled from my skin. The pain in my arms flared up anew, accompanied by a pounding in the back of my head.

  “A-Amelie…” I stuttered, turning frantically to my companion. “We have to go…”

  Amelie was standing amidst a veritable sea of burnt corpses, her sword alight with crackling flames and burning radiance. A collection of fresh scrapes and cuts marred her pale skin in several places, leaking blood onto the grass beneath her. As I watched, she dismissed her blade at last, the flames dissolving back into a red spray that fell unceremoniously to the ground.

  Then, she got to one knee, and started heaving for breath.

  “I won't go! You can't make me!”

  The redhead was yet arguing with her leader, her voice tinged with notes of hysteria.

  “We don't have time for this!” the burly man growled. “I will not allow you to die here!”

  Around us, the wolves circled, a ritualistic dance promising death by claw and bite.

  I knew that I had to act, that I had to summon forth the Astra once more, to save us from this hellish situation. But I was drained. There was nothing left of the power I had wielded just moments before. And the thought of siphoning more from the lands and corpses around us left me with a profound headache that threatened to overwhelm me entirely, should I allow it to fester.

  From somewhere deep within the sea of mist, I heard a new set of voices approaching. The so-called “Marauders”, I supposed. They did not sound a friendly bunch.

  “Come… to me…” Amelie forced out in-between choked breaths. “I have… a little bit of Astra left… I can use it to… clear us a path.”

  The tall man with the claymore turned his head at her statement, ignoring the screaming redhead for a moment to lock eyes with Amelie. They regarded one another with a diligent sort of wariness, the kind that was prevalent among those who had spent a considerable amount of time in the wilderness, where danger was common and duplicity a fact of life. Despite her injuries - or perhaps because of them - Amelie looked every bit the warrior he did, and I sensed a begrudging respect between them that had no need of words to convey its sentiments.

  “We are in your debt,” he said at last, lowering his eyes yet again to the redhead, who was still shouting her denials and protestations in his face. Ignoring her pleas, he promptly put his hands on the side of her legs, and took her in his arms, bridal style.

  “Maxwell,” Amelie rasped, bringing my attention back to her. “Once I do this… I am likely to pass out… so you shall have to carry me.”

  “That’s-” I started, before closing my eyes and nodding my head. “Alright. I can do that. Just… don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No promises.”

  And then, she exploded with the fires of damnation itself, becoming a beacon of flame amidst the swirling mists of the forest.

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