章 54: Micah - 5.1
The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the lingering echoes of battle, a stark reminder of the day's events. But amidst the ruins, a sense of uneasy calm settled, as if the city itself held its breath, waiting for the next storm.
Master Beswick, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and pain, turned to Magnar, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seal me," he pleaded, his tone desperate and raw. "And never release again."
Magnar's eyes narrowed, his expression a mixture of concern and disbelief. "Those greys... How long, Sebastian? Will you even see one hundred?"
Beswick's eyes, clouded with fatigue, met Magnar's. "Just lock away this torment, please," he implored.
Magnar nodded solemnly and began to weave a complex enchantment, the same intricate circles he had used earlier in the battle. The air hummed with energy as the spell took shape, but as it neared completion, it shattered, the delicate pattern dispersing into the night. Magnar frowned and tried again, but the outcome was the same.
Frustration and a hint of desperation crept into Magnar's voice. "Boy, I require you!" he yelled, his gaze locking onto mine.
I jogged over, confusion and curiosity warring for dominance on my face. "What do you need me to do?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
"Grab his hand!" Magnar instructed, gesturing urgently. "You should be able to quell his swelling mana."
I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and clenched Master's arm. A jolt of heat flowed into my palm, raw mana drifting from Beswick to me. His eyes, previously unfocused, locked onto mine with an intensity that made me shiver.
"Great! Just hold him until his mana is lesser than my reserves," Magnar ordered.
As I maintained the connection, I felt a strange sensation wash over me. My vision doubled, the clouds above overlapping each other, creating a disorienting effect. I saw two Grandwardens, slightly offset, and Magnar creating two similar but slightly off magic circles. The difference grew exponentially as we stayed connected. The moons and stars vanished while also still remaining, a bizarre duality that made my head spin.
Finally, Magnar's spell neared completion. The second vision disappeared as I released Master's arm, and a few seconds later, the enchantment solidified. I shook my head, trying to clear the residual dizziness. I must be traumatized from the fight, I thought, to hallucinate so.
The sky darkened further, an unnatural blackness seeping into the horizon. From this void, a bipedal silhouette emerged, its form stark against the glowing full moon. A chill ran down my spine as the figure approached, its presence radiating a malevolent power.
Without glancing back, Magnar tossed an amulet from his neck to me. I caught it, examining the crystal suspended in the center of a delicate ring.
"Micah. Crush it. Tell them in the darkness of night the blood of the dragon still burns," he said, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic fear.
I stood there, bewildered. "Now!" Master ordered, the sheer authority in his voice propelling me into action.
I clenched the amulet tightly, feeling the crystal's sharp edges dig into my palm. With a determined squeeze, I crushed it, the shards biting into my skin. A surge of energy coursed through me, and the world around me seemed to twist and fold in on itself.
The battlefield, the chaos, and the looming silhouette all vanished in an instant. I found myself standing in a grand hall, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to the devastation I had just left behind. The air was filled with the scent of incense, and the walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and glowing runes.
I blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift. Before I could fully process my new surroundings, a voice echoed through the hall.
"How do you have this teleportation circle?"
I turned to see a group of robed figures approaching, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The lead figure, an elderly man with a long white beard and eyes that seemed to pierce through my soul, stepped forward.
"I... I bring a message from Magnar," I stammered, holding up the remnants of the amulet. "The blood of the dragon burns in the night?"
The elder's eyes widened slightly. The magicians shuffled frantically towards the far end of the room. They aligned before a giant mirror of pure silver, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The reflection distorted, rippling like a recently disturbed pond. The image of a dungeon visible, where a contingent of menacing soldiers waited their summons. The elder turned back to me, his expression sharpening.
As the portal stabilized, a group of heavily armed and armored men stepped through, their faces set with grim determination. They nodded to the magicians. One with a black arm band over the leathers the rest wore approached the oldest mage.
"Target?"
"Evil Incarnate."
The eldest mage, a figure of authority and wisdom, moved among them, weaving additional enchantments into their gear. His hands moved with practiced precision, tracing ancient runes and symbols that glowed with a soft, ethereal light. The magic infused into the armor and weapons of the group. I recognized the sigils as life magic to strengthen and enhance their physique and agility respectively.
The elder spoke, his voice steady and firm. "Munthe issued an emergency of the most eldritch. Prove his majesty did not waste his resources."
The leader of the Expulsors, a towering figure wearing a black band on his arm, nodded solemnly. "If it breathes," he declared, his voice resolute. "It dies."
The elder mage gave a curt nod and turned to a large, ornate scrying orb positioned at the far end of the hall. The orb shimmered with a swirling mist, its surface reflecting the worried faces of those gathered around it. With a deep breath, the elder extended his hands over the orb, his fingers dancing over its surface as he began the intricate process of scrying.
"Magnar Munthe," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of his mana. The mist within the orb parted, revealing a scene of chaos and destruction.
The image within the orb sharpened, revealing Magnar and Master standing amidst the ruins of Aetherhaven. They were surrounded by a roiling sea of enemies, their figures barely visible through the thick, dark magic that swirled around them. Magnar's barrier, a shimmering dome of chromatic magic, crackled and pulsed as it strained against the relentless onslaught.
"Time is of the essence," the elder mage said, his eyes never leaving the orb. He turned to the magicians who had gathered, their faces set with determination. "Prepare to send the Expulsors through."
The magicians moved swiftly, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. The wall opposite the scrying orb began to shimmer and ripple, the surface transforming into a large, reflective portal. The elder mage continued to focus on the scrying orb, adjusting the image until it aligned perfectly with the view from above Aetherhaven.
"Ready," one of the magicians announced, their voice filled with urgency.
The elder mage gave a final nod to the Expulsors. "Go forth. Magic be with you."
With a unified cry, the Expulsors charged through the portal, their forms disappearing into the shimmering surface. The air crackled with energy as the portal connected the Spire to the battlefield, a bridge between safety and chaos.
Magnar stood at the center of the chaos, his chromatic barrier pulsing with energy as it strained against the relentless assault. Beswick, his sword a blur of motion, fought with a ferocity that belied his exhaustion. The ground around them was littered with the bodies of fallen enemies, their twisted forms a testament to the brutal struggle.
The barrier around them began to crack, thin lines of light spiderwebbing across its surface. Magnar's face was set with grim determination, his eyes focused on maintaining the spell that kept them alive.
"Hold fast, Sebastian," Magnar called out, his voice strained. "I can feel a scry."
Master nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Master's gaze hardened, and he raised his sword high.
"For Gwydion!" he cried, his voice carrying over the battlefield.
In response to their determination, the air above them shimmered and ripped. A glowing tunnel materialized, its surface reflecting the scene below. Through the portal emerged the Expulsors, their forms silhouetted against the light.
The Expulsors echoed his cry, their voices filled with a fierce determination. "For Gwydion!"
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