Mark of the Fool
Chapter 528: Terrible Tearing of Metal

The hiddenpower intensified, begging to be used.

Its energy was more potent than ever, flaring in his gut like a lump of burning coal.

Alex called on Call Through Ice, casting Guntile’s stone through the gateway into the elemental plane of cold. Icy wind raked his face from theopen portal, and as his inner power sang, he could feel the exact path of the stone travelling through the planes.

He kept his eyes fixed on its destination: the two titans wrestled before him, shredding stone tiles like paper. As Yantrahpretaye grappled with the golem—taking repeated fire-blasts to his face—a steam-shrouded gap in the demon’s metal plates caught Alex’s attention.

An elbow joint hissed, releasing steam.

His timing had to be precise as he teleported the explosive stone into the gap.

Yantrahpretaye shifted his grip on Claygon.

The spaceslammed shut, crushing Guntile’s stone between metal plates, shattering it.

The explosion rolled through the hallway.

Yantrahpretaye screamed as a hole tore open in his arm, billowing smoke and whistling steam. Shrapnel whined through the air, cracking on the corridor’s walls, punching deep into a nearby statue of Kaz-Mowang.

Fragments struck Claygon—some buried in his polished surface—but he never flinched.

They could wait, after all, he had a demon to kill.

Straddling the enormous fiend’s chest, the golem stabbed Yantrahpretaye’s side with his war-spear, pinning him to the ground.

Two of his hands rose, balling into fists.

The demon whined,eyes flickeringin shock.

Claygon’s fists fell.

He hammered Yantrahpretaye in a storm of thunderous blows, denting metal and caving in armoured plates. If he’d been flesh, his bones would be ground to dust and his bulk would be now smeared across the stone.

But, Yantrahpretaye was made of sterner stuff.

Even as his plates buckled under Claygon’s assault, he fought like a cornered animal. Hissing steam, the metal demon’s jaws cracked open, vomiting a cloud of smoke and sparks into the golem’s face, blocking his vision.

Yantrahpretaye drove a blow into Claygon’s core, throwing him off and—with shocking agility—leapt to his feet, whirling on Alex.

The young wizard was channelling blood magic, working to soothe his wounds.

Burning eyes flashed in the demon’s metal skull as he favoured his damaged arm. “You cracked my arm, little filth. Bathe in the blood of a thousand horrors.” Yantrahpretaye spat a cloud of steam.

Alex clenched his will.

Something slammed into his mind like a bone-charger barrelling into a wall. Hundreds of blood-curdling screams ran rampant in his mind, threatening to drive him to terror and mania, but he pushed back, mental affirmations fighting through the demon’s magic.

The fiendish power died, abruptly freeing his thoughts.

His heart leapt.

The demon loomed before him, claws raised, ready to deliver its deadly stroke. Alex tried diving to the side, but the claws had already swung at his head.

A noise reached his ears. The sound of flame hissing and metal breaking rang out.

The iron demon screamed; a blade—burning in white hellfire—seared his lower leg.

The wound gaped, as did Alex, looking ahead with unbelieving eyes.

Behind the demon Kyembe stood his ground, burns covered his lean body, and his teeth clenched.

Crimson eyes burned as he twisted the haft of his sword-staff, parting hot metal, forcing the wound wider. “I still live, wretch.” His face contorted in an expression that was half-snarl and half-smile. “You will not say the same.”

Another scrape of melting metal as Kyembe wrenched the blade from the demon’s leg, molten iron gushed.

The Spirit Killer struck in a flurry spurred by fury, his weapon shredding the demon, iron shards and boiling metal flew with every stroke. Yantrahpretaye reeled back, his claws flailing as Kyembe chased him, tearing ever deepening wounds into their enemy.

Alex had thought the mercenary dead…how couldn’t he be dead after bearing the impact of that explosion? But, however he’d survived, the young wizard was very, very grateful that he had.

But how long could he last with those devastating burns?

Alex considered what to do.

His eyes darted to Celsus, Ripp, Thundar and Guntile fighting the tide of demons, hitting them hard. Yet, their numbers still seemed endless; despite Ezerak bringing his army as well his sword against the horde of fiends.

‘It’ll be me and Claygon, then,’ Alex reached out to his golem. ‘Claygon! Focus on the demon’s joints with your spear. I’ll try and drain more of his mana. But if things get bad, take a chaos bomb from your satchel, prime it and toss it down the hall. Then get Thundar and the others and get out of here as fast as you can.’

A wave of anxiety emanated from the golem. ‘Are you…sure?’

‘That’s only if we have to,’ Alex thought, flying toward Kyembe. ‘Only if we have to.’

Yantrahpretaye swiped at the Spirit Killer who danced through the demon’s attacks like a bird on the wing, his burning blade slashing its metal shell. Steam spurted from its wounds, burning Kyembe, but he didn’t waver. The demon was slowing; the jarring noise of his gears grinding as steam sputtered from his body when he moved, was a welcome sound.

His mana was draining.

“Wretches!” he howled. “I—”

Claygon hit him again, his war-spear digging a trench deep in the metal. Yantrahpretaye wheezed a great cloud of smoke as Alex flew behind Kyembe, casting Mana to Blood. He pressed his hand to the lean man’s back. “You’ve got him!” Alex shouted. “And I’ve got you! Keep it up!”

“I was not planning to stop and let him gut me, my friend!” Kyembe barked a sound between a cough and a laugh.

The Spirit Killer swung the sword-staff in a deep draw cut, chopping Yantrahpretaye’s leg, as his strength returned.

Flame hissed.

Yantrahpretaye bellowed.

Kyembe’s blade sheared the iron demon’s leg, severing most of his calf and foot. The body parts hit the floor, spewing molten metal as gears inside ground to an abrupt halt.

“Good…work!” Claygon shouted, focusing his war-spear on the demon’s damaged elbow.

Then he twisted.

Metal on metal sheared another limb, spinning it away, it clattered to the floor, whirring then falling still.

“You mortals are a plague!” Yantrahpretaye hissed in rage. The air shimmered with heat. “I will not tolerate you further!”

The demon reached its hand toward Alex’s allies fighting the horde in the hallway.

An unseen wave of power struck the air.

“He’s going for our metal!” Alex cried, shooting into the air. “Watch him!”

“No, not ‘our’ metal,” the demon taunted as Claygon ground his spear into his hide. “Just one of you.”

Something heavy hurtled through the air.

Celsus' fully-armoured form struck Kyembe with bone-shattering force, knocking the Spirit Killer from his feet. The two men tumbled, rolling to a stop in a pile of limbs.

Kyembe groaned, spitting blood, struggling to get to his feet; his breath came ragged, and his eyes were dazed.

Celsus kipped up to his feet in one move, no worse for the wear.

With a sweep of his mace, the warrior charged the greater demon.

But, its attention was now on Claygon.

The golem pushed the demon to the ground with full force, but Yantrahpretaye’s eyes were focused on his war-spear. His power clenched, and suddenly, the golem was in a struggle to keep hold of the weapon. The war-spear fought him, trying to fly free.

He grappled with it as Yantrahpretaye levelled his stump at him; with a hiss, molten iron belched out, drenching the golem.

Cooling steam blasted Claygon, solidifying melted iron to his stone form.

“Get away from him!” Alex roared, conjuring a pack of ice elementals with the aeld staff. They materialised beside the iron demon, drenching him in frigid energies, but he twitched his neck to one side.

Magnetic power washed over the metal partly covering Claygon, shooting him high into the air, then driving him downward like a falling star.

“Oh shit!” Alex leapt aside.

His golem landed atop the ice elementals, sending them back to their home plane. Claygon tried to rise into the air, but the demon’s power kept him pinned to the ground.

In the struggle, Celsus reached the fight.

The armoured mercenary jumped, landing on Claygon and charging up his side like he was ascending a ramp, then he sprang directly onto the demon.

His mace swung; there came a series of cracks from the demon’s body. Celsus smashed the enormous weapon into Yantrahpretaye’s face, splintering it.

“Get away…!” The demon breathed a cloud of scalding steam into the warrior’s face…but Celsus did not flinch.

Again and again that mace came down, caving in Yantrahpretaye’s face.

“Get off me fiend!” the demon screamed.

Magnetic energy pulsed.

Flesh tore.

“Oh no…” Alex cried, climbing to his feet.

Spikes—both outside and in—grew, covering and lining Celsus’ armour plates. Terrible metal barbs, extended, driving into the warrior’s flesh.

Yet, Celsus did not cry out.

He simply kept crashing his mace into the demon, blow after blow.

“Die!” Yantrahpretaye roared. “Just die, curse you!”

Another wave of magnetic energy swept the air. The spikes grew longer. Blood spurted from the warrior’s visor. Still, he did not falter. His will was impossible: any mortal should have been dead. Yet, Celsus continued to pound his mace into Yantrahpretaye.

There came a crunch and spray of flame. The demon screamed as the towering warrior crushed one of its burning eyes. With his remaining hand, the demon swiped at Celsus in desperation, driving his metal claws through the mercenary’s armour and into the flesh below.

Blood flowed, yet he fought on, punishing the demon even as he weakened; red leaked from his armour and his weapon shook in his hand. He swung again, dealing a crushing blow.

Yantrahpretaye shrieked.

Magnetic power poured through the air, claiming much of his waning mana.

Celsus’ armour imploded, crushing the man within. The mercenary’s body stiffened, then went still, his mace dropped from his fingers, hitting the demon’s face one last time.

Slowly, the warrior’s still form slid off the demon as Alex sprang forward to catch him.

His mind reeled as he laid Celsus on the stone.

First he was struck with shock.

Then sadness.

Then rage.

Deep abiding rage.

Growling from deep within himself like a caged beast, he flew toward Claygon’s satchel. ‘I’m teleporting a chaos bomb right into this piece of filth’s damn guts, Mark or no Mark!’ he thought.

He neared the golem, then his world stopped, drowning him in a river of scalding steam, it washed over him in waves. Alex screamed, dropping to the ground, pain covering him, nerve endings in agony, his skin burning even through his force armour.

Creaking with effort, Yantrahpretaye rose, hovering over Claygon as the golem struggled against his magnetic power.

‘Father…move!’ the golem screamed.

“No. No escaping. You…die…next…” Yantrahpretaye whistled steam. Raising his claws, he charged the Fool.

Alex tried to move, but the burns were anguish; he felt like his skin was on fire every time he moved.

He met the iron demon’s burning eye with a hatred of his own, fear and desperation rising in his chest.

A scheme played in his mind.

One that—if it failed—could kill him.

But he was in a corner, and he had to do everything he could to get out of it. He began muttering words of power, words that were seared into his memory.

As he called upon his mana, the power within him rose, eager to join his efforts. The Mark screamed, flooding him with every failure it could, but the power pushed against it even as his concentration wavered, helping to complete the magic circuit.

Power raged.

Yantrahpretaye’s claws swept downward. Their points raced for his face, looking to shred him like ribbons.

He could feel the wind cooling his skin as he spoke the final words of the spell.

Planar Doorway.

Then, he was gone.

He rushed through a thousand places across the planes.

Then reappeared somewhere dark and steaming; the sound of grinding gears surrounding him. The heat from screeching metal and demonic mana scraped his skin. His eyes watered.

And he knew where he was.

His plan was to cast the chaos bomb into the demon’s gut, and that was where he’d appeared, staff and all: inside the jumble of parts inside Yantrahpretaye’s iron core.

Rage still filled him, stoking a hunger for vengeance as he filled the demon’s core. He was wounded, but not dead.

And right now? Mark or no Mark, he couldn’t miss.

Gripping his staff, he poured a body enhancement spell into his physical form, muscles throbbed with power. Then—by the light of the aeld’s crystal blooms—he reached up, grabbing one of the tangle of wires within the greater metal demon.

His teeth bared. “Time to die, you rusty piece of shit.”

And he pulled hard.

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