Chương 40: Intent Bound By Force #40
Beyond the iron gate, the trio entered yet another cavernous expanse, a realm of shadows and subtle, eerie light. The jagged walls were streaked with patches of moss and glowing mushrooms, their faint blue luminescence casting elongated, ghostly shapes along the stone. Falion's attention drifted momentarily as he noticed Geri darting to the far corner of the room, nose to the ground, sniffing with unusual urgency.
The little dog stopped by a cluster of eggs cloaked in cobwebs, each one pale and translucent, a network of thin fibers wrapping tightly around their surface. Inside, dark, many-limbed silhouettes writhed in restless anticipation, the sacs pulsing as though alive with their own heartbeat. Falion's gaze narrowed, a sense of foreboding twisting his features as he muttered to Erik, "Isn't this…?"
Erik followed his line of sight, then let out a quiet, knowing laugh. "Just keep looking up," he murmured, his tone almost mischievous.
Both Falion and Isran raised their eyes cautiously. Their faces instantly hardened as they spotted the massive frostbite spider clinging to the ceiling above, its vast, bulbous body dangling like a nightmarish chandelier.
The creature was as large as a carriage and its horse combined, its many legs curling inwards like deadly claws as it silently slid down its silken thread, descending toward them with the measured grace of a predator confident in its kill.
"By the gods…" Falion breathed, his hand instinctively crackling with magicka.
Isran's grip tightened on his war hammer, the seasoned hunter's eyes narrowing with intense focus. The two instinctively shifted to surround the creature, stepping back to prepare for its inevitable lunge. Falion's hands blazed with fiery magic, the heat intensifying around him, while Isran adjusted his stance, ready to strike.
Erik, watching with mild amusement, chuckled and shook his head. "Not a fan of large spiders, are we?" he taunted lightly.
Neither Falion nor Isran answered, their eyes glued to the giant arachnid. It hung in the balance, studying them with its countless, unblinking eyes.
Erik gave a casual wave of his hand, stepping forward. "No matter," he said, his tone almost playful. "Leave the spider to me."
Without another word, Erik reached for the sword at his side, his fingers resting on the hilt of Wyrmspire as he drew it for the first time since they had entered the crypt. The blade emerged in a flash of dark metal, runes etched along its length pulsing faintly with a subtle green glow that seemed to ripple with arcane energy.
Reaching into his cloak, Erik produced the mask of Rahgot, slipping it on. As the dark, dragon-faced helm enveloped him, his aura shifted, a palpable menace filling the air around him, thickening like a storm cloud.
Falion's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing. Isran merely grunted in recognition, a glimmer of admiration barely visible in his hard expression.
"About time I try out this blade's enchantments," Erik murmured, voice deepened by the mask, echoing with an otherworldly timbre that sent a chill down Falion's spine.
The spider, sensing its challenge, hissed loudly, its mandibles clicking as it prepared to pounce. Erik stepped forward, lifting Wyrmspire with an ease that belied the weapon's weight, and with a sharp flick, the blade's runes flared brighter, casting sickly green light around the chamber. The frostbite spider shifted, uncertain, a flicker of instinctive fear holding it back.
The frostbite spider wavered, its rows of beady eyes darting between Erik and his companions, some primal instinct warning it of danger. But Erik didn't seem interested in waiting for the creature to gather courage.
"Hahvok Vahltiid Rah," he whispered under his breath, his voice a soft, guttural incantation. In an instant, his form blurred, vanishing from where he stood.
Before Fallion and Isran's astonished eyes, Erik materialized behind the spider. His reappearance was silent, deadly—and sudden. With a fluid strike, he swung Wyrmspire down, and the spider's right limbs shot outward in all directions, spraying green ichor across the cavern walls.
The creature stumbled, its severed limbs shriveling as though drained of all life, brittle husks where once had been powerful, venomous claws.
Staggering, the spider screeched, but Erik wasn't done. He lifted Wyrmspire high, his hand steady as he channeled his magicka through the staff.
The sickly green glow emanating from the blade's edge darkened, shifting into an eerie black that pulsed and grew, elongating like a tangible aura around the blade. It expanded until it stretched nearly to the ceiling, a shadowy blade of pure, destructive energy that thrummed with raw power.
"Hahvok Vahltiid Rah," Erik whispered again, his voice barely audible but filled with deadly intent. With a swift and precise arc, he brought the enchanted blade down, cleaving the massive spider clean in half. The creature's remains hit the ground in a grotesque heap, twitching briefly before falling utterly still.
As the black energy dissipated, Erik flicked Wyrmspire to the side, the last of the spider's blood dripping from the blade. With a practiced motion, he sheathed the weapon, and in an instant, Wyrmspire shifted back into its staff form, the gleaming blade disappearing within the smooth wood. He turned to his companions, who had watched the spectacle in stunned silence.
"Our quarry is close at hand," Erik said, his voice calm but carrying a hint of exhilaration. He gestured to a looming wooden door set into the southern wall of the cavern, nearly hidden by shadows. "Right behind that door."
Falion nodded, though his gaze lingered on Erik a moment longer, a look of curiosity mingling with wariness. "That was... an impressive display," he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Wyrmspire's enchantments are one thing but the way channeled magicka into it leaves me in awe..."
Erik merely shrugged, though a hint of a smile played on his lips. "Let's set up camp here and rest while we can. We'll talk later."
Isran grunted, glancing at the thick wooden door that barred their way forward. He laid his hammer on the ground and knelt beside it, inspecting the area around them with a careful eye. "Agreed. If the guardians so far have been any indication, we'll face worse the deeper we go."
Erik said nothing, merely smiling as he began to work, and the two didn't waste any time either in helping him.
The trio sat around the crackling fire, the warmth of the flames a small comfort in the chill of the crypt. The shadows danced on the cavern walls, making the surrounding stalagmites appear like sentries keeping watch. Geri lay sprawled on his back beside them, gnawing playfully on one of the giant spider's severed limbs, his tail wagging as he batted it with his paws.
Fallion bit into a piece of jerky and, after a moment of chewing, glanced at Erik. "So, what was that you said before you killed the spider? Hahvok Vah… something?"
Erik chuckled and shrugged. "Hahvok Vahltiid Rah," he corrected with a wry smile. "It's a phrase in the dragon tongue. Translated directly into the common tongue, it means 'Kill, Bond, Will.'"
Isran's eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward, his usually hard expression softened by surprise. "That sounds suspiciously like a Shout," he remarked, his voice low. "Do you know the Thu'um?"
Erik shook his head, but a flicker of nostalgia crossed his face. "Not as a powerful tool to bend the world, no. It's more… a language I learned a long time ago, back when I had little to occupy myself with. Let's just say I took up some unusual studies out of sheer boredom."
Fallion let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "If only my boredom was that productive. I'd probably end up with half-baked alchemy experiments if I tried filling my free time like that."
Erik laughed, his tone light. "To be fair, I had a very long time to practice. And little else to do."
Isran, however, remained thoughtful, eyes fixed on the fire. "You said 'Kill, Bond, Will' was the direct translation. Does that mean there's another meaning behind it?"
Erik nodded, the firelight reflecting off his face as he looked down, almost as if recalling some old memory. "The dragon language is built on intent, not just words. When spoken, it's not just about literal meaning. To put it simply, Hahvok Vahltiid Rah means striking with a resolve that leaves no room for hesitation. A force that binds the intention to the act."
He reached down to his side, unsheathing Wyrmspire, the blade catching the orange glow of the flames as he held it out for them to see. Inscribed along the blade were runes, etched deep and ancient, their design intricate and powerful. He traced a finger along the carvings, his voice reverent. "It's the same phrase I inscribed here, on Wyrmspire."
Fallion leaned closer, peering at the runes. "A blade marked by purpose," he murmured, eyes glinting with curiosity. "That's… no simple enchantment."
Isran, however, wasn't quite as interested in the magical intricacies. "You repeated that chant twice," he observed, his brows drawn together. "Why is that?"
Erik sheathed the blade slowly, the metal sliding home with a soft rasp. "As I said, the dragon language is one of intent. The same words spoken twice might carry entirely different meanings depending on how they're wielded. The first time, it was a summons—a promise to fight. The second time… it was to kill without hesitation."
He chuckled, a glint of dark humor in his eyes. "Three words to start a fight, and three words to end it. Rather poetic, don't you think?"
Isran let out a grunt, shaking his head. "Sounds like a lot of unnecessary ritual, if you ask me. Why bother with a chant when you could just cut down your enemy and be done with it?"
Erik shrugged, a faint smirk crossing his face. "I use it as a reminder," he replied, leaning back. "Not so long ago, I faced an opponent who outmatched me in every way. At a critical moment, I hesitated. That hesitation would've been fatal if I hadn't managed to push through it."
Fallion leaned forward, intrigued. "What happened?"
Erik exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the flickering fire. "I'm a mage, through and through. But, due to… circumstances, I had to pick up a blade." He paused, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Though I say 'forced,' it's something I've come to appreciate—maybe even enjoy."
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if feeling the weight of a blade all over again. "Still, wielding magic and wielding a sword are worlds apart. As a mage, I'm always calculating—assessing every angle, weighing my magicka reserves, factoring in the cast times, predicting my opponent's next move. But in a sword fight? There's no time to overthink. It's instinct and action, trusting your body more than your mind."
Isran folded his arms, frowning. "So, this 'hesitation'… it's because you're too used to being in your head?"
Erik nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Precisely. As a mage, I have the luxury of time, even if it's only fractions of a second. But with a blade, that luxury turns into a liability. One moment of doubt can leave you open, vulnerable."
Fallion took a bite of his jerky, nodding slowly as he chewed. "So, those words—'Kill, Bond, Will'—they keep you grounded, remind you to stay sharp."
Erik met his gaze, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "Exactly. It's like a trigger, a way of resetting my mind when the instincts start to waver." He shrugged, glancing between them. "A reminder that I've trained for this, that hesitation has no place here."
Isran grunted, looking into the flames as if contemplating Erik's words. "I suppose there's sense in that, in having something to fall back on when things get… uncertain." He glanced at Erik, a grudging respect in his gaze. "I don't know about all this 'intent' talk, but they say only fools thrive on the battlefield... a fool with a purpose is already one step ahead."
Erik gave him a small, appreciative nod. "And knowing that purpose," he added, his tone thoughtful, "it can be as much a weapon as the blade itself."
Geri, sensing the shift in conversation, rolled onto his back, gnawing on the spider limb with a contented rumble. Fallion let out a chuckle, reaching over to scratch the wolf behind the ear. "Looks like your mut has found his purpose, at least," he remarked with a grin.
Erik laughed, the sound warm against the crypt's cold air. "If only life were as simple as knowing to chew on the right limb." He sighed, glancing at the fire before them. "But, in some ways, maybe that's all we're doing too. Just… choosing the battles that suit us best."
They fell into a companionable silence, the fire crackling as they each chewed on their thoughts along with their food, knowing full well that when they faced whatever lay ahead, Erik's words would echo in their minds: intent was everything
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