Mark of the Fool
Chapter 628: Desperation

The world stood still.

Silence crownedthe village, broken by trembling breaths, the clink of metal, and creaking of leather.

The rain had stopped.

The battle paused.

And the First Apostle stared down on all below him.

The tension in the air was too thick to yield to even the sharpest blade.

Silence built.

Until everything exploded.

Alex raised his staff, reaching out to the heavens, calling forth celestial legions. Brilliant columns of light erupted around him, each summoning a hound engeli gripping a greatsword. Celestials appeared, bowed down on one knee, but rose to stand with battlelust and a yearning for justice burning in their eyes.

Holy light now bathed both sides of the battlefield, sending shock running through the servants of Uldar.

The First Apostle watched Alex as though the young man had suddenly morphed into a devil. “The Fool…using…spellcraft?”

“Impossible!” the old man—the one who had led the column of priests from the escarpment—recoiled as though slapped. “This is blasphemy!”

Around him, his holy legion gawked at the young wizard while their amulets sang, disbelief taking them for the briefest moment.

Just for a moment.

Yet, for one as deadly as the Champion of Uldar, a moment was more than enough.

Hart blurred across the battlefield, his armoured form collided with the nearest formation like a catapult stone crushing a nest of ants. His enchanted sword, forged from a hive-queen’s massive claw, slashed the column of warpriests like stalks of grain, sending entire ranks to their deaths, at the same time, causing a spark that rekindled the battle.

The First Apostle gave his command in a voice that was heard near and wide. “Izas! The statues! I will deal with these so-called Heroes, you eliminate the rest!”

Reaching up to the sky, the elder Chosen of Uldar grasped what seemed to be thin air.

Thunder rumbled.

Lightning split the sky, erupting from storm clouds to strike the First Apostle’s outstretched hand. Blinding flashes of light and smoke followed and—when the smoke cleared—a shining sword glowed in the ancient Hero’s hand, bleeding bolts of holy energy.

His eyes fixed on one Hero after the other, then he swooped down like a falcon, sword pointing downward.

Hart cursed, leaping back.

Thunder boomed as the First Apostle landed on wet earth—rocking the entire battlefield—his sword skewering the ground where the Champion had just stood.

“You’re goo—Argh!” Hart cried mid-compliment.

Lighting whipped from the blade, licking across the giant Hero’s armour, his hair stood on end. Through clenched teeth, Hart forced himself to move, swinging his enormous weapon at the First Apostle’s head.

The smaller man parried the blow, his sword in one hand as he looked up at the Champion with sadness in his eyes.

“Repent child, there is still time for you,” he urged, sounding desperate.

“Repent this!” Hart smashed his helmeted head into the man’s face.

Holy light flared around the ancient Chosen, though he never flinched.

“Oh no…” Hart murmured.

“So be it.”

The First Apostle’s fist struck the Champion’s jaw—sounding like an alchemical explosion—sending blood and teeth flying.

Hart stumbled, his head whipping to the side.

The First Apostle pounced, sword poised to skewer the Hero through the chest.

Metal ground against metal—lightning crackled—Hart spun away, the sword scraping a deep trench along his armour. He was still off-balance when the next blade stroke came, aiming straight for his gut.

A wall sprang up between the two warriors, catching the First Apostle’s blade in a rampart of stone.

“We’ll get him together, Hart! Hold on!” Drestra shouted from above, dropping low under the power of draconic wing beats.

The exchange of blows between Champion and former Chosen had taken mere heartbeats.

Combatants began moving, targeting opponents.

“Effigies to our god, ris—” Izas began crying out, his words cut short when Alex unexpectedly appeared before him, surrounded by hound engeli.

“Oh no you don’t,” Alex said, grabbing the Third Apostle by the shoulder. “You’re coming with me.”

He called on the Traveller’s power, reaching out to teleport away. Alex’s will crashed against Izas’. The Traveller’s power surged against the old man’s divine strength.

And the Fool could not move him.

Isaz’s will towered, unyielding, unbending, forged through the fires of zeal.

A will Alex could not overcome.

“No, child, I am not going anywhere.” Izas raised his hand.

A double helix of flame sparked in his palm.

Alex vanished as it blasted toward him, mana coiling around divinity, sizzling grass hissing beneath the burning spiral, cutting through a hound engeli then striking trees that erupted in flame.

“Forward, Uldar’s children!” the Third Apostle commanded.

And as one, the statues of Uldar awakened.

The battle escalated.

Hart clashed with the First Apostle, while Drestra belched dragon fire at the former Chosen. Cursing up a blue streak, Cedric joined them while Theresa, Grimloch, Brutus and Claygon faced the statues of Uldar. The Watchers of Roal, blood-draks, and mercenaries, took on priests and holy servants of Uldar.

Alex teleported across the battlefield, summoning hound engeli to support his allies, while his mind tried to unravel the deadly trap they’d found themselves in. He kept throwing his will against the escarpment, trying to break through the divine protection placed on it by the First Apostle.

So far, he’d found no spot that he could breach.

The shimmering barrier felt as impenetrable as a castle wall standing against a dagger wielding child.

Alex examined it closely, looking for flaws in its energies.

He moulded the Traveller’s energies within himself, trying to find a way to overcome the barrier.

‘Hannah could go anywhere in the universe,’ he thought. ‘There has to be a way to breach that barrier, there’s got to be!”

He continued searching with no success.

Meanwhile, the battle grew bloodier.

As the Heroes piled on the First Apostle—trying to bury him with magic, arms, and divinity—he fought against the trio swarming him. He moved like liquid, countering Hart’s heavy blows with a blur of parries from his cracklingsword, shocking the Champion at each turn. Shielded in light, he blocked magic, miracles, and Cedric’s morphic weapon equally.

With prayers to Uldar constantly pouring from his mouth, he defended himself and the other priests, from Drestra and Thundar’s spells, and her dragon fire.

He wasn’t tiring, seeming to only grow more dangerous.

He fought on, laying blessings on himself, enhancing his speed, power, endurance, and divine armour. Cuts increased on Cedric and Hart’s bodies.

Nearby, Theresa, Brutus, Claygon, Vesuvius and Grimloch faced the oncoming horde of Uldarite statues. Stone fists came at them like thunderbolts, striking armour, and parrying weapons.

Brutus’ sonic howls cracked stone, but never obliterated it, the sculptures kept coming, surrounding the warriors from every side. Grimloch’s maul, Claygon’s war-spear, and Vesuvius’ massive tail did damage, but more pressed forward.

Theresa’s swords split stone, leaving deep gashes.

Vesuvius sprayed magma, drenching Uldar’s likenesses; Tyris followed with ice spells, freezing the lava, encasing them in solid stone.

But still more came, testing their defences.

Vesuvius suddenly shrieked in pain as stone fingers clawed at his side.

“Leave him be!” Tyris cried.

Grimloch grunted as a massive fist hit him from the side, sending teeth flying like spears.

Theresa and Brutus dodged and ducked, but the attacks never let up.

The statues came together, forming a clot, striking at Claygon repeatedly, jarring the stone golem.

“Get away from him!” Alex shouted, conjuring more monsters to help.

Hound engeli swarmed across the battlefield; some positioning themselves between the statues’ feet, sending them lurching to the ground. More attacked the priests and holy warriors, slowing them, while others surged at the First Apostle, bent on disrupting his attacks.

Watchers also came together, conjuring powerful magics, slowing Uldar’s statues and priests with bursts of lightning, fire, and force.

“We can win this,” Alex whispered, throwing booby-trapped flight potions in the midst of the priests. “We can win this!”

Abruptly, the cavernous voice of the First Apostle reached across the battlefield.

“Enough,” he said. “This sorcery ends now. With the power invested in me by Uldar, I speak…”

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Strain gripped the First Apostle’s voice.

“...this interdiction: no mortal, who is not a priest of Uldar shall channel mana within this barrier. Let mana no longer heed their commands.”

A jolt passed through Alex’s body, like he’d been plunged in a sea of ice water.

Flight magic failed him. All connections with his aeld staff fell away.

Below, Vesuvius’ lava sputtered.

Tyris’ ice faded.

Watchers’ incantations fell silent.

Alex’s cabal’s magic failed.

Drestra’s fire breath flickered.

Cedric’s magical protections faded, slowing him.

Then, the First Apostle struck.

He slashed his powered sword across the Chosen’s chest; splitting flesh, cutting Cedric’s Mark in two. The redheaded man screamed, the sound of anguish filling the valley.

“I cannot remove your power,” the First Apostle said, parrying one of Hart’s strikes. “But I will leave you with a Mark of my own that crosses yours. Let this scar remind you of who you must be grateful to.”

With Cedric reeling, the priest spun, uttering an incantation that battered Hart in a wave of blazing white force.

The Champion’s armour tore apart.

Massive contusions replaced healthy skin.

His body catapulted across the battlefield, spinning end over end, finally coming to rest against Drestra’s rampart with full force.

Hart slid down the wall, spitting blood, trying to gain his footing.

“Hm. You have obviously been enhanced further,” the First Apostle’s disapproval was clear. “No doubt due to something not of Uldar. Does this treachery know no bounds?”

He shot into the air, soaring toward Drestra. The dragon’s illusionary images had long faded, but she roared at him in challenge.

“I’ll protect you as best I can!” Thundar shouted. “Try to stay alive!”

The First Apostle never slowed. He crashed into the dragon with the force of a missile, flinging her like a leaf.

Blood spurted.

Drestra screamed, hurtling through the sky. Thundar held on for dear life.

Meanwhile, Alex was dropping toward the ground, desperately reaching into himself, clutching at the Traveller’s power, and teleporting before his body could strike the earth. He landed upright, avoiding the bone-crushing impact.

“I can…I can still use Hannah’s power,” he muttered, shaking.

In one hand, he held the screaming aeld staff, but couldn’t touch its power.

“This is bad…” he muttered, watching priests decimate the remaining blood-draks and banishing his summoned engeli. “Must adapt. Think! Think like a leader!”

He looked for his friends, finding them overwhelmed by statues. Without Tyris’ and Vesuvius’ magic, they would be overrun—

Wait.

Flame. Beams of flame lanced from Claygon’s fire-gems as he fought the statues with everything he had. Theresa, Brutus and Grimloch battled by his side, giving him support.

Realisation hit Alex like a boulder.

“Holy hells! Claygon’s not mortal! He’s not mortal!” he shouted.

There was a chance.

A slim chance they could turn things around.

Alex teleported beside a statue of Uldar.

Touching it, he let the Traveller’s power flare and felt a tugging sensation.

Instantly, he and the statue vanished, reappearing a thousand feet away with the enormous construct head down in the dirt.

“Yes!” he cried, teleporting back to the battle.

He wanted nothing more than to just drop them and let them smash to the ground, but he couldn’t—not without triggering the Mark—but, he could still teleport them away!

Alex reappeared among his friends. “I’ll handle these statues!” he shouted. “Claygon! Blast the First Apostle, you’re the only one who can! Grimloch, Theresa, Brutus, Tyris, Vesuvius! You support our friends on the wall! I’ll get you there!”

“Alex, you—” Theresa started.

“There’s no time!”

He looked back at the rampart.

The Watchers had drawn their swords, as did Khalik, Svenia, Hogarth—Isolde had her dagger out—all were fighting to defend the ramparts against priests and holy warriors. Most of the mercenaries had already fallen, and of the mass of blood-draks, few remained.

“Just leave this to me!” Alex cried.

Above, Drestra screamed again.

The dragon slashed at the First Apostle with curved claws and fangs, while Thundar shot crossbow bolts from atop her back, but the ancient Chosen wasn’t stopping, slashing deeper into her body with each blade stroke.

He dodged and deflected their attacks with divine might, praying as he fought.

His white clothing was splattered red with dragon blood.

“Claygon, Drestra needs you!” Alex shouted. “Get up there before he kills her!”

“Yes…father!” the golem said, lowering his shoulder. He charged through the statues of Uldar, enduring their blows.

It was then that Alex saw the condition he was in; his marble was cracked and his metal plates had buckled. This was taking a toll.

Cold sweat stood on the young wizard’s skin as he teleported statues farther and farther away from the battle, as far as he could take them before the barrier stopped him.

His scar burned.

“Hannah,” he whispered. “Give us strength.”

He teleported back to the struggle they were facing.

Within him, a growing fear mounted; they might not make it through this.

If they did…

The price would be high.