93

Michael was running toward the group, his eyes fixed on Jakub’s severed head that was locked in an expression of fear.

Lance roared and launched himself at the monster, but his attack was slow, far slower than any attack Michael had ever seen him make, and the creature caught his blade with its hand and slammed a fist into his helmet, sending him skidding across the ground.

The others started to attack it too, with Davi throwing the geologist toward the statue before turning to face the creature with his bastard sword.

In spite of their ferocity, they were only managing to deal superficial wounds that leaked small trails of yellow ichor. As it absorbed these blows it would bat away the more potentially damaging ones with ease and follow up with slashes of its own. Michael saw Pyotr lose a hand as he attempted to dodge backward from one of its slashes. Davi’s chestplate was split and a deep wound carved into his chest. Crick was attempting to keep the beast from closing in on Marcus and Ollie but was also batted aside, his spear split in two as he attempted to block the blow.

Michael ran as fast as his legs could move him, he still heard the voice of Seras speaking.

~Champion~devote~consecrate~sanctify~strike~

This was different from when he’d tried before exiting the bubble. As he reached the fight and began healing those that the monster had damaged, he started to speak, his words seeming to thrum with strength and power that reverberated from his soul outwardly throughout the cavern.

“I devote this fight to Seras, The Lady of Iron!”

He felt the heat in his hand spread through his entire body and the blade of his sword began to flicker with flame, the same kind he’d seen when he’d been fighting in the Rift. As he closed in on the monster, those flickers became a bright golden flame.

The monster turned to him and shrieked as the golden light emanating from Michael began to touch him. It ignored the others to focus all of its attention on him, lunging forward and aiming a full force strike of its bladed arm at his heart.

Michael raised his shield and found that this time the blow felt lighter. His shield was also shining with golden flames.

He swung his sword, using the same exact strike he’d first been taught at the academy, the one he’d practiced a thousand times.

The creature pivoted so that the blow would hit its obsidian hide, but the sword cut through it as if it were made of paper.

The monster shrieked as yellow ichor poured from the wound, some of it causing smoke to rise from Michael’s blade as the flames burned away the blood and cleansed the blade of the creature’s filth.

“You do not belong here,” he said, striking again and cutting the monster’s hand in half as it attempted to block him, his voice echoing like thunder in the cavern. “You will not harm another.” He slammed his shield into an oncoming blade arm, and it cracked and began to bleed after its impact.

The creature began to turn, as if to retreat, its eyes wide with fear. But it was a feint, and it instead swung all of its dagger-like legs at him.

Michael roared as he met the blow with his blade and removed half of the monster’s lower half.

It screeched and this time, did try to run, dragging itself forward on its uninjured arms and remaining legs.

This time when he spoke, he wasn’t sure of where the words were coming from. It felt as if they were bubbling up from somewhere deep within him and yet outside of him. “When you die you will not be sent back to your home. To your own gods. You will rot here, your soul bound to oblivion for all time.” He raised his burning sword and stabbed it deep into the monsters back. “Taste your eternity.” He twisted the blade and the monster’s body ignited in golden flame.

It let out one final scream before its throat burned away. All that it was cleansed by the holy flame that had burst from Michael’s sword.

The golden light that surrounded him faded and very suddenly he felt an enormous weight descend onto his shoulders, forcing him to fall onto his knees, only his sword keeping him from falling over completely. He could tell that his left arm was broken and several muscles and tendons on his right side were torn. His exhaustion was deep in the core of him. Not just physically, but mentally he felt the incredible strain of what he’d just done. His body must’ve been working far beyond its limits.

“Thank you Seras, for granting me your favor,” he said, not whispering it, but saying it with his full chest, unwilling to do anything less. He used what little energy he had to heal and drag himself back to his feet.

He walked over to Pyotr and took a moment to heal his hand back onto the stump of his arm and seal the wounds of the others before moving on.

Lance was standing over Jakub’s body, his eyes locked on it, but not really seeing it.

Michael moved over to his head, and carefully picked it up, cradling it in his arms gently as he moved over to his body. He placed it where it belonged, on his shoulders and sealed the wound with his healing. He somehow knew that it would work. Jakub didn’t wake up, it was far too late, but he was whole.

Once he was done, he tried to lift the body but stumbled until Ollie and Marcus moved in to help him. They supported him as he moved the body directly under the statue of Seras and placed it down gently. Michael crossed Jakub’s arms over his chest and rested his hand on his forehead for a moment.

“Seras, please watch over and protect him. He didn’t deserve this.”

“I know it’s hard, but we need to get moving lads,” said Crick, retrieving the other half of his spear as he looked toward the cave entrance.

Lance shook himself, he hadn’t moved from where he’d been staring at Jakub’s body even though they’d already moved it. He swallowed.

“He’s right,” he said, his voice cracking a bit. He looked around. “Where is Francesca?”

They all looked around.

“Fuck! Let’s move!” said Lance, starting to run toward the cave exit, mania unhidden in his voice. “I marked her bag earlier, stay close!”

They all fell in line, with Michael bringing up the rear, still feeling hollow and weak after what had just happened. The voice was still with him, but more jumbled, harder to discern. He wanted to divine himself, see what may or may not have changed, but who knew when he’d get the opportunity.

He cast Night Eye on himself once they got far enough away from the statue. He was lagging behind just a bit but started to hear some struggling when the natural light at the exit to the tunnel started to be visible.

“Help! Stent soldiers! Help!” yelled Francesca as she struggled in Lance’s grip.

“Please, I don’t want to have to gag you, but I will. We’ve come too far now, and I won’t have you jeopardize my—” He shook his head. “Our mission.”

She punched him, very suddenly, and he flinched and actually lost his grip. Luckily, Crick was quick to leap forward and grab her.

Michael moved over to Lance with his hand already glowing gold.

“Are you okay? Did you take an injury back there that I didn’t heal?” he asked. Lance should be far stronger and faster than Francesca, him taking a blow like that and losing his grip was a big surprise.

“This is all bullshit!” she yelled in English, showing surprising strength despite the state they’d found her in. “You, otherworlders, you should know that Stent’s been lying to you. I’m not a slave. A second class citizen, maybe, but I have a life. I don’t have to fight or work myself to death. Stent wants you to think that Tusynians are your enemy, but they’re not. Stent just wants to use y⁠—”

Crick shoved a rag into her mouth and quickly tied it off to keep it in her mouth before tying her arms behind her back.

“Can’t have her alerting anyone else that may be close,” he said, bringing himself to his feet and hauling her along with him.

The rest of the Penitents exchanged glances, Marcus in particular met Michael’s eyes for a long moment.

Lance put his hands on his knees, he was breathing heavily. “We need to get moving. We have no idea when more Tusynians might show up.” He pushed himself back up straight and started walking, and the rest of them fell in line behind him.

They walked south for a short time, until the sky began to darken. Everyone was in rough shape. Davi, Michael, and Pyotr took turns carrying Francesca. Lance stood out the most, though. He was practically stumbling as they moved but refused to call for a break longer than ten minutes until they were further away. In those short rests, he’d slam water and pant, seeming barely able to stay on his feet, but his eyes… his eyes were full of desperation.

During one of those breaks, Michael looked at Lance closely, watching as the golden lettering around him formed into his Titles and Deeds. His mind had been unable to focus, and Seras’s voice seemed louder as she strung along words that he couldn’t fully understand, his body and mind too ravaged to. Now that they’d taken another break, though, he was able to do it.

Michael’s eyes widened.

“Your Heir Titles are gone,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

All of their eyes turned to Lance, and his back straightened as if hit by an electric shock.

He turned toward Michael.

“Why did you have to look?”