Chapter 5

A chill winter wind woke the unconscious Hamsarian. Seren opened her eyes to thick black fabric. Her cheeks were pressed into jagged gravel. Abruptly, she was pulled onto her feet solely by her hair. The woman tried to stop the assailant, but restraints kept her hands at bay.

“Walk.” The captor commanded. She struggled to find her balance against the uneven ground. After she found her footing, the stranger shoved her head in an attempt to guide her forward.

“Where am I?”

She felt a hand push her forward again in reply. She complied. Her legs, however, did not want to, they dragged a little - still drained from healing the adventurer. A metal kurnyit rubbed against the rope. A sigh of relief left her lips. The trinket allowed her to manifest akibon into tangibility. Without it, she wouldn’t have been able to easily heal the adventurer, until she lost control…

Despite her past failure, she tried focusing on the ebb and flow of the surrounding akibon. It was like cupping air with her thoughts. While deliberately exhaling, she focused the akibon towards the rope. Her trinket warmed to the sensation.

“Fat chance!” The captor shoved her again, breaking her focus. “Do it again, and I’ll slit your throat.”

After a few paces, the captor stopped her and searched around her neck. His callused hands made her shiver. Afterwards, she felt his hand in her pockets, and stopped at her wrists.

“A kurnyit.” He called out to someone else. He untied the metal bracelet.

“It’ll help me with the ritual.”

Seren’s heart dropped when she heard the trinket ring as it was tossed through the air.

“Please.” She begged. “It’s the only thing I have left from my parents.”

“Trust me. You won’t miss it for much longer.”

In desperation, she whipped her head towards the voice. She missed. Instead, for a moment, she was left awkwardly suspended.

In that moment, the captor chuckled, then grabbed her hair again. She yelped in response. She was struck on the head. The force was enough to send her to the ground. Sharp pebbles cut against her cheek. Her blindfold loosened and stayed limp near her chin. Her vision was blurred from the blunt force, but she could make out a group of soldiers. Each one was tasked with holding a denizen of Dunmouth.

The cave was only illuminated by a sparse set of torches. The cave itself was massive, it rivaled half of Dunmouth’s size. Around her were two soldiers, the one behind her reached for her hair again. She jerked her head in avoidance, but the pebbles dug deeper in her flesh.

“You” the soldier said, while lifting her up, “will have the privilege of witnessing your own death. Congratulations.”

Across the cave, three men dressed in dark brown robes surrounded some of Seren’s neighbors. Amon’s emblem was sketched on the back of the robes. Akibon gravitated around the robed men. The sensation was like a stormy breeze, yet nothing stirred.

Tortured screams echoed throughout the cave. It was merely a few seconds, but the sounds of agony lasted minutes within Seren’s mind.

“Ready for your turn?” Seren’s arm was pulled higher against her back. She fought back in the form of brief squirms, but the pain overwhelmed her struggles. She was being led into a group of more denizens.

She couldn’t help but cry in her helpless situation. Her shoulder felt nearly dislocated - and even if she squirmed more, she would quickly perish. Even though she was surrounded by people she knew- she felt alone. She wanted to close her eyes in acceptance, but she found herself drowning in a sea of despair. She tried to breathe through it, but it was futile, she was already sinking.

Her eyes stayed clenched, as she awaited the same fate she witnessed earlier.

But it never came.

When her eyes opened, what she witnessed wasn’t fate. It was her father. Not the same father that shared her blood. But the father who raised her, and treated her every whim. Every dark night, her father stood by her side. Every night she wept over her real parents, he was by her side.

Here he was now, by her side.

The men that hurt her laid on the gravel that she once laid on. Lifeless.

The other men across the cave noticed the ruckus and responded by readying their weapons. Her father stood dauntless, somehow he exuded more virile in the face of danger. She wondered how he was gonna face the sheer volume of soldiers that stood beyond him. Twenty soldiers maybe?

An arrow flew in the darkness. Striking one of the soldiers on the rear-most flank. When Seren turned to find the owner, only more darkness was presented.

Another arrow soared, shooting one of the front most soldiers.

Her dad’s voice, a calming melody, “Seren, stand behind me.”

Half of the soldiers split off to find the unknown archer. The other half moved cautiously towards her dad.

He moved forward with unrelenting grace. He had just a measly wooden shield that covered only half his forearm, and a rusted sword. Nearly just a memento of his past.

Three leapt on him consecutively. The one on his left tried thrusting his sword, but it was met with her dad’s shield. The poor soldier in the middle didn’t have a chance to take action, as her dad’s foot now permanently deconstructed his face. The soldier on the right flank thought it was a bright idea to synchronously attack with his flank counterpart. The idea was darkened by the whiff of his blade.

Bryndall turned to his right flank and retaliated with his rust ridden blade. Despite the blades degradation, it cut cleanly through the soldier’s neck. Bryndall rotated around the lifeless body, keeping his shield towards his opponents. Then he stepped back in front of Seren, keeping his shield aimed at the attackers.

The six other troops moved forward in preparation of their attack. The soldier that was originally apart of the three stood, slightly dazed at his companions downfall.

Screaming filled the dark cave. No. It was… laughter? It was a wicked cackle, as if the voice itself was at the end of its breath, and each beat of its cadence was a thorn pricking the ear.

Everyone turned to try and see where the sound came from. The other half of the soldiers were piled on top of each other. Each body was brutally disconfigured. Many had arrows protruding from various body parts. The poor few that survived, had missing limbs, bloodied appearances, and their formerly belligerent expressions were replaced with horror.

Amon’s followers took notice of the assailant and started to prepare a strike. If the ritual earlier was like a stormy breeze, then the force that was being prepared was the swell before a ravaging tsunami. Only a mere second later, a stream of fire spiraled towards the laughter. Seren had to squint from the brightness of the flame, she even tried to cover her eyes, but she forgot about her shackled limbs. One or two of Bryndall’s opponents were unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire. Their entire body disintegrated upon contact with the flame.

The laughter perpetuated, unfaltering with the fiery blast. No. The laughter grew. The flame turned into a dark purple hue, as if it turned into the night’s sky, devoid of any stars. The sheer radiation was still felt from its observers. After a few seconds of the flame, it turned into a cyclone around the mysterious assailant. The laughter faded away. An eerie silence displaced the unforgiving heat.

Once the cyclone dissipated from it’s destination, the archer stood in the middle of it. The whites of a fiendish grin could be seen, as if it were a dimly lit torch. The man was holding a skull of one his former opponents. Skin slopped off the skull, like an overcooked animal over a spitfire. The man himself looked like a star ridden dusk. The stars shifted around his skin, slowly forming into different constellations.

Another swell could be felt, originating from Amon’s followers at the other end of the cave. Before they could initiate the blast, the archer darted like the shadow of an arrow, towards the other end of the cave. He traveled faster than the sound of an arrow’s thwip. Immediately, he was upon Amon’s followers. The first one suffered a quick fate, without any action being seen, blood flowed from the owner’s neck similar to an unencumbered river. The second one, barely had any time to react. He brought his hands up to his face.

But it didn’t stop the oncoming onslaught. The mage’s hands fell from their originating limbs - fingers were still extended - as it plopped to the ground.

The last follower tried to sniffle a whimper, and gathered all of his courage to attempt a blow against the man. The archer caught his arm without moving his head to track it. His eyes were unblinking, widened by pleasure. His smile grew in size, it was stretched from both sides of his face as it approached its victim.

It was like a twig that was accidentally stepped on, when the archer twitched his wrist. The follower screeched in pure anguish. The melody of misery made Seren’s skin crawl with each visceral moment of the shrill sound. The predator’s head leisurely approached its victim, while folding the broken limb until the whites of the bone could be seen further protruding from its flesh. Their nose now touched, as the predator peered deep into his victim’s soul. The screaming changed its pitch into a higher set of notes. The sound of affliction was then quelled by attempts to breathe.

Everyone in the cave, that wasn’t blindfolded, watched as the man gradually faded into lifelessness. Each attempt at a life saving breath was like a guttural drum, each beat growing softer.

Bryndall’s opponents seized the moment to flee. They dropped all of their weapons at the first few paces.

The man that was choking nearly faded from consciousness, but at the last moment, the archer released his grip. Seren saw him slowly turn, looking at the palm of his hand confused. She noticed tears streaming down his face. His smile was absent, instead, it was replaced with a look of melancholy astonishment. While discombobulated, he noticed his prior killings and stooped down. Vomit spilled out of his mouth. It created a small pool beneath the adventurer. His dark skin started to fade to its normal color. His eyes fluttered close, and his head faltered. There was a muted splash when it hit the small pool.