The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 368: The Dead Wing Legion

Chapter 368: The Dead Wing Legion

The storm thundered up above as the two heroes stared at each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. I cringed, my tail flicking nervously, as I waited for Grace to unleash a seventh-level magical technique and obliterate us, but her aura abruptly dropped until it rivaled Korra’s. Before Grace could adjust to her new power level, Korra lunged forward, a water dragon coiling around her wrist.

"Dirty," Grace spat, spinning her spear in front of her.

She caught the blow on the haft of her spear, grunting as the force pushed her back several feet. Korra wasted no time following up with a sharp kick, and then a flurry of punches. Grace’s eyes widened in surprise as she was forced back, unable to do more than defend. Korra let out a low cry and used one of her Magic Arts, summoning a water dragon that curled around Grace’s leg. It dragged at the Storm Hero’s movements, allowing Korra to land a solid blow to her chest.

Grace flew off the ruined battlement, flipping in mid-air to land on her feet. Her armor had absorbed the worst of the blow, but she was panting lightly and looked incredulous.

"Weren’t you supposed to be a mage?" she complained, "I didn’t even know they had monks in Enusia!"

"They didn’t," Korra replied shortly, before launching another offensive. She punctuated each word with hard strikes. "But I decided to try something new. Also, are your troops going to stand by and watch?"

Grace grunted, and, with some effort, managed to stab toward Korra, who was forced back. "Not in this fight, but I’d like to see how they match up against your forces. What would happen if they took the shard back from you?"

Korra’s expression darkened. "Don’t you dare."

A small, mischievous smile flitted across the Storm Hero’s face. "Oh? Now I’m curious. Commander! Confront these traitors!"

At her command, dark shapes swept out of the clouds, dancing between the lightning on scaled wings. The creatures were massive, easily thirty feet long, and bearing terrible claws and spines. It was a vaguely draconic appearance with souls that ranged between fourth and fifth levels. Each one wore enchanted steel armor fitted for their monstrous form and carried a small team of soldiers on their backs. The soldiers wore an unfamiliar tabard and fought with long spears, bows, and magic.

A friendly group of soldiers scattered as one of the beasts landed directly atop them. One unlucky enough to be caught directly beneath its weight was driven to the earth as the Blade Ward flared around him. The spell kept him alive, but the monster wasted no time raking him with its claws, rapidly wearing down the defense’s strength. A vicious thrust from the spear-wielding rider finally penetrated the shell, and the soldier went limp, blood spilling from his lips.

"Dammit," Luxxa said grimly, glaring at the monster. "It looks like the Gornrod Alliance sent reinforcements."

"What are those monsters?" I asked, wincing as another stab of pain emanated from the sunpurge on my hip.

"Wyverns. They’re like dragons, but a lot smaller and weaker. Gornrod breeds them for use as elite aerial troops. By their tabard, we’re facing the Dead Wings, one of the strongest military groups in the Enusia."

Her grip tightened on her sword as one of the creatures in question turned toward us, its riders aiming for our position. I summoned my staff and pushed up off Fable, standing on my own two feet. The pavement cracked as several more wyverns landed around us, cutting us off from the rest of the Last Light Company. The remainder of the wyverns circled overhead, bows drawn and focused on allied soldiers. The low chant of mages undercut the thunder as they prepared to bombard us with magic.

A tall, powerfully built man sat atop the first wyvern. He wore gilded armor and had a long blue cape streaming from his shoulders that the others lacked, probably signifying some sort of rank. His helmet was open on the face and revealed a fairly handsome man stricken with several scars.

"Following the Storm Hero certainly makes things interesting" he muttered to himself. If it weren’t for my sharp hearing, his voice would have been lost in the tumult of the battle. "A demonkin in the heart of the city? And with Bethiv’s troops, no less."

I stepped forward, immediately drawing his attention. His eyes narrowed at me, a hostile aura rising from his body. The Wyvern responded in kind, hissing at me, but at a sharp growl from Fable, it lowered its head. The man frowned at his creature, obviously confused at the previously snapping wyvern’s timidity, but before he could make a move, I spoke.

"Our fight isn’t with your kingdom," I said, struggling to make my voice heard over the constant roar of thunder. I used the moment they all focused on me to look for Korra and Grace, but the two’s fight had taken them somewhere away in the city.

The man snorted with derision, eyes cold with arrogance. "I am Commander Barron, leader of the Dead Wing Legion, primary accompaniment of the Storm Hero. You’re nothing but a worthless filthblood. How dare you tell us where and with whom our fight is!"

The commander’s words reverberated harshly in the air, emphasized by another explosive peel of thunder. His arrogance cooled, however, when a hundred frosty auras erupted from the soldiers surrounding their wyverns, the Last Light Company eyeing him with complete and utter disdain.

"You should watch how you speak to our lady, Barron" Bethiv said, stepping out of the midst of his soldiers. He’d remained silent as Korra and Grace had spoken, and even now he kept his tone tight and restrained, letting only a little of his anger leak into his voice. "Even if it’s you, we won’t hesitate to destroy any who tarnish her name or reputation."

"Commander Bethiv," Barron said, settling back in his saddle with a smirk. "I thought I recognized your sorry excuse for a company. Last I heard, you were busy licking your brother’s boots. Now it seems you’ve gone rogue, and for a filthblood no less. She must be awfully good at warming your bed to seduce you into open rebellion against the kingdom you call home."

A low chuckle rolled through the wyvern riders as my cheeks reddened in humiliation. Sensing my discomfort, Fable growled softly, rising to stand beside me. My grip on my staff tightened as their jeers rose.

Barron scoffed, his lips arcing into a jeering smile. "Look at that. A filthy wolf for a dirty girl. And how did you buy his loyalty? I don’t suppose he’s got a bed, but you must have warmed something for him. How fitting of an animal."

"Retreat or die," Bethiv said flatly.

"Calm down, old friend," Barron answered, waving at the commander dismissively. "Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, is there? This situation is a little more than we expected, and you can’t blame us for acting a bit rough. Now, I can’t tell if there’s a demon invasion going on or a coup, but whatever it is, I’m giving you a chance to back down. Surrender the shard and the filthblood, and I’ll let you off the hook."

Bethiv remained impassive. "I won’t ask again."

The wyverns shifted as Barron’s face sobered up, taking on the beginnings of a scowl. "Now Bethiv, you know you can’t beat me, especially with the troops you have here. It’s clear you’ve been slaughtering those church cronies for a while, and I imagine you’re tired. Do you really think you can take on the Death Wings right now?"

"Very well," Bethiv said with a sigh. "I did try to warn you. With your permission, my lady?"

I hesitated for a brief moment, before letting my resolve speak for me. "We can’t lose the shard, not before they’re safe. We will do what needs to be done."

Bethiv nodded, but I hadn’t been speaking to him. Before he could give the order to attack, Barron stiffened. He must have sensed something, because he threw himself off his wyvern. Not a heartbeat later, one of my ice spirits dropped on top of it, skewering the monster on its sword. The three had been circling the courtyard for some time now, just waiting for my command.

The Wyvern screeched in pain as the elemental’s sword slammed into its spine, stabbing through armor, scale, and bone like it were water. It started to thrash, hot blood spurting in the air by the gallon, but frost erupted from the dreadful wound, rapidly encasing the entire wyvern’s length in ice. It let out a final roar before its head froze solid, a titanic, thirty-foot-long ice sculpture.

A stunned silence overtook the battlefield, with even the rolling thunder sounding subdued. The ice spirit looked around at the encirclement of wyvern riders with an icy gaze, then deliberately tore its sword free. As the blade left its scales, the wyvern shattered like a vase hitting the ground, revealing even its insides to have been turned to ice.

Bethiv grinned at the disbelief plastered across Commander Barron’s face. Before the Dead Wing Legion could recover, he lifted and sword and ordered in a voice loud and clear.

"Cut a path to the Oracle! Let’s show these bastards what the Last Light Company stands for!"

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