Price of Blood, part nine

Mis Shatis dances wildly across the battlefield, her sword claiming a dozen enemies within moments. She was not known as the Wyld Storm for nothing. The urge to laugh out loud at the freeing effects of combat threaten to take over her emotions, but a coldness seeps in as she catches sight of more allied corpses. She has murdered six more allies who witnessed the macabre methods that Mentor was employing to dispatch his foes and realizing who the Black Diamond murderer really was.

So she has further isolated herself and Mentor from the rest of the defenders in the hopes that she only has to kill enemies. It has placed them in greater danger, but Shatis steals a glance at Mentor and shudders. Each strike Mentor lands is like a missile, bodies are utterly destroyed. They are transformed into pulpy masses of shattered bones and shredded meat, unrecognizable as the enemies they once were.

Shatis looks again at the bodies of the Black Diamond monks that she has slain. She wonders not for the first time if she has reached the number that will put her over the edge. That will cost her enough of her soul that it will take Ishan away from her regardless of her efforts to keep him.

“Crimson Mist.”

Shatis looks to the source of the voice to find a black robed tsali. One of His champions. Her eyes narrow as she edges his way. He raises a hand and summons into being a silver sword wreathed in blue flames.

“What do you know of such thing?” She demands, killing two naroths in the way.

“Crimson Mist is created in a ritual from the Ebon Mist from Twilight.” The tsali answers with a wide, hungry smile. “The lair of the Seven Shadows is far older than they know.”

The tsali champion looks around Shatis at the lack of allies supporting her and the slain monks. His grin goes even wider. “Your friends have no idea that he uses such dire powers.”

Shatis goes on the attack, slashing and thrusting at the tsali with a furious intensity that forces the tsali into silence while he defends himself. She roars angrily, the sound calling forth the mental image of an angry celestial dragon and batters the tsali champion's sword away. It fades from existence as it flies away from his grasp. He shouts a single word as Shatis slashes and the sword passes harmlessly through his head. Shatis doesn't have the time for shock as he barks another word and a wave of force knocks her back nearly ten feet. She rolls to her knees, sword still in hand. She raises the sword in time to block an overhead strike by the tsali with a new blazing silver sword. He bears down on her, leering in recognition.

“I know who you are! You are Mist Shatis! The one that they call the Wyld Storm! One f the few remaining Celestial Dragon Kung Fu masters as I recall.”

Shatis grits her teeth, trying to hold the tsali at bay. She says nothing as his leering expression takes a turn for the perverse.

“You were the Master's most favorite servant! Help me slay your friend and leave this battle with me. I will not tell your friends of your betrayals in exchange for certain favors...”

The tsali champion licks his lips lustily and laughs.

“Even now you are deliciously tempting. It would be an honor to have something that the master once had.”

Shatis nearly gives in on instinct. It was her fate for years after all, to be the servant of Sikarin. To satisfy his every carnal requirement. Then she steels herself. She is here to gain vengeance or die trying as to not repeat the cycle of abuse.

“Never!” She shouts, shoving the tsali champion back. She rolls back and flips to her feet.

“Mentor!” She calls out. “Help me!”

Mentor turns and strikes the air, though he is thirty feet from the tsali champion. The air ripples as it carries the force of his strike. The ground is torn in a groove and everything in it's path shatters into atoms. The tsali shouts the spell to make himself immaterial, but the force of Mentor's power hits him and scatters him like smoke before a strong wind. This force continues until it strikes a section of the outer wall, shattering a ten foot section like brittle glass. Mis Shatis looks on in awe at Mentor, nearly dropping her sword. Then her expression hardens and she points to His winged general.

“We waste time here.” She commands. “You are ready to take down Nikantu.”

Mentor nods to Shatis, the air around him shimmering with destructive power.

“I am.”

The very action of his speaking shatters the corpses around him.

Shatis looks towards Sikarin Tsooth, a feral grin widening across her expression. Amazed that now she even thought his name after so long. “God. Let's move.”

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Ishan shouts orders to the warrior-monks around him as a section of wall explodes inwards from an unseen force. Creatures from Sikarin's army begin spilling in as Ishan stretches his defenses thin to cover the new gap. As he is about the call the retreat to the inner keep's gate, the enemies pull back. Ishan frowns at the sudden pause in violence when he spots another tsali champion. This one in a flaming red robe.

He leers at Ishan, laughing cruelly. “It ends here, Goldenfire. You and your people will all die.”

Ishan shakes his head and starts towards the champion with his sword. He stops when he hears the distant baying of wolves and snarls at the champion.

“More? Is there no end to your filth?”

The tsali champion's face goes blank for a second before it is replaced by a malicious grin.

“A sledgehammer to kill a housefly. Good fun.”

The tsali speaks a word and flies up into the air a few feet. Red energy pours from his hands and forms into a humanoid form around him. As the glow fades, it is revealed as a giant iron form of the tsali. He speaks another word and a giant red blazing brass sword appears in his hand.

Ishan raises his sword overhead in time to block the giant tsali's attack. Ishan grunts as he's driven to one knee by the strike. The champion laughs overhead.

“You are nothing! I am the most powerful of the Master's servants. None alive can defeat me.”

Ishan taps into inner reserves of strength and shoves the tsali back as he stands up straight. He takes advantage of the tsali's off-balance and cuts at his left leg. He is greeted by a shower of sparks and a trickle of red energy as a small gash is opened up in the tsali's iron leg.

Ishan presses his advantage as the tsali howls in pain. He forces the giant tsali back with mythic strength, landing a few more minor cuts. As the baying of wolves grow louder, the tsali recovers at Ishan's uncertainty. The tsali shouts out a single word the causes a flaming sphere expand out from his blade in a concussive burst, knocking Ishan back at least ten feet. The tsali s on him, sword held high. Ishan glances about, his own sword is nowhere in sight.

Ishan raises a restraining hand and points to the battlefield. “Waait! Look!”

The tsali seems to hesitate, but he looks to where Ishan points and sputters in shock. Spirits in the form of wolves have run into the battle and they shape-change into hybrid wolf-man forms and attack Sikarin's forces. As they attack, the horsemen turn on their allies. The tsali turns back to Ishan and raises his sword to finish Ishan off.

A large wolf-man leaps at the tsali, raking his chest with a single claw swipe that staggers him. Deep gouges are left in the tsali's chest, leaking red energies and blood. The wolf-man tosses Ishan his sword. Before the tsali can recover, Ishan removes his sword hand at the wrist.

The tali looks to his two enemies in a panic. Red energies pour from his wounds and blood from his chest. Ishan sheathes his sword with a grin.

“There is no honor in using weapons on an unarmed foe.”

The tsali champion begins speaking a spell, but Ishan leaps into the air with such a terrible battle cry that the tsali shrieks instead. Ishan palm strikes the damaged chest with enough force that he thrusts his hand out of the tsali's back to reveal a gore-covered hand. Ishan rips his arm back from the tsali and back flips to the ground as the tsali collapses. The metal form around the tsali fades to red energies that dissipate, leaving the tsali on the ground. A great hole of pulped flesh exists where his chest would have been.

Ishan looks at his new ally, extending his hand in thanks. The wolf-man takes it warmly, unusual in his not being a spirit like the others. Recognition sparks as Ishan looks the wolf-man in the eyes.

“Jingkai?” He asks cautiously, not believing his own eyes.

A low growl answers him. “Yes.”

Relief floods Ishan. His friend lives! Except that he has been transformed into his nickname. Into the very representation of the style he left his father's House to learn. The Wolf.

Jingkai shakes his head at the questions he sees forming at Ishan's lips, the light reflecting off of the silver paw print on his cheek. “Later. We will talk later.”

Jingkai rushes headlong into the ranks of the enemies without another word, slashing left and right with his claws. Ishan nods to himself and strides past his allies and into the thick of the enemy ranks. He taps into his reserve of strength and slashes at the air. A wave of deadly force ripples through the air, cutting through scores of enemies on it's way to Ishan and Nikantu. When the wave reaches the dark sorcerer, it breaks apart like a wave against the rocks.

Ishan advances on the sorcerer with his sword in hand and a battle cry on his lips. Sikarin Tsooth does nothing as Ishan swings his sword, impassive in the face of certain danger.

The impassiveness turns into a wide grin as the giant vurlken parries Ishan's strike. He reaches down with one hand and grabs Ishan by the gi, flinging him twenty feet away with ease. Sikarin laughs.

“Meet Nikantu. He is the King of the Vurlken and my general for this army.”

Ishan doesn't hear much of what Sikarin has to say while rolling to his feet and raising his sword in time to parry an overhead strike from Nikantu. The ground beneath Ishan cracks and buckles, but Ishan holds on as Nikantu pounds on him with a sword as big as Ishan himself. Nikantu turns, clubbing Ishan down with his wing.

His voice is a deep bestial growl as he leans down and backhands Ishan.

“No Goldenfire has ever defeated Sikarin Tsooth.”

Nikantu knocks Ishan's sword from his hand and picks him up by the front of his gi. Ishan feels his gorge rising at being so close to the grisly armor of the general. Human bones coated in rotting meat and gristle armor the Nikantu's frame. Ishan manages to pick out a few choice gaps and stalls for time as Nikantu brings him closer.

“What are you talking about?” He asks.

Nikantu shakes his head. “You bear his sword, but do not know of it's origin. You will die in ignorance.”

Nikantu holds Ishan in one hand and swings his sword with the other to behead his victim, but Ishan strikes an opening in the armor. Nikantu drops Ishan, allowing him to grab his sword and slash the general along the ribcage. Sparks fly as Ishan's sword glances off of the bone armor, leaving only a small scratch.

Nikantu parries the next slash and presses Ishan back. While Ishan holds his ground, his entire body is pressed backwards with his feet dragging the ground.

“Give up, Goldenfire.” Nikantu growls. “Death will be quick.”

Ishan grits his teeth, digging his feet in to stop his movement. He digs deep into his reserve of strength and presses Nikantu back a step. He snarls at Nikantu through clenched teeth, pressing the vurlken king back another step.

“Never!”

A series of metallic pings is heard over the din of combat. The sound proves to be a harbinger as Nikantu's sword shatters. He staggers backwards as Ishan's sword carries through the cloud of shrapnel to cleave through as bone in his chest through the armor. Nikantu howls in pain, blood pouring from the wound.

Ishan squats down and leas into the air. Nikantu roars as flames pour from his mouth. The flames part around Ishan's sword, leaving him unharmed. He thrusts his sword home under Nikantu's chin, sending the sword tip through the top of his skull. Ishan holds onto his sword hilt and Nikantu's jaw as he falls backwards to the ground.

Ishan rips his sword from Nikantu and begins advancing on Sikarin Tsooth, who stands impassive in the face of his strongest servant on the field being slain.

“You'll go no further than here, sorcerer.” Ishan threatens with a grim smile.

Sikarin points the head of his staff at Ishan with a short chuckle. Ishan raises his sword and blocks a bolt of blue fire. The flames stick to the sword, changing to red. Ishan strides towards Sikarin, the red blazing sword casting a maniacal bloody light across his face.

“Now, Sikarin. Now you die.”

Sikarin shakes his head, pointing the palm of his free hand towards the ground. The sound of distant thunder fills the air as chaotic streams of black lightning travel from his palm and into the ground. Ishan stops in his tracks, his expression cautious.

“No.” Sikarin states. “Now you all die.”

Ishan is nearly thrown to the ground as everything begins to shake. Sikarin begins laughing maniacally as the ground between them starts to swell.

Ishan steadies himself and launches himself at the moving mound, intending on climbing past it to get at Sikarin. He stops when the mound explodes, sending dirt everywhere. He looks up in awe as a vast oriental dragon with obsidian scales and steel gray belly launches up from the ground and hangs in the air.

“An Infernal Dragon...” Ishan whispers to himself as the dragon rises to nearly two hundred feet above the battlefield. How much more of the dragon that is still in the ground is uncertain. Everywhere, people and monsters scatter as the infernal dragon exhales a great gout of flame that incinerates everything in it's path.

Ishan slashes at the infernal dragon with his blazing sword, but beyond putting out the flames the attacks do nothing but cause sparks to fly. The dragon glances at Ishan and ignores him, sending another blast of fire at the battlefield below.

Ishan looks on, amazed at the single man still standing after the last flame attack. He stands before the infernal dragon, still wreathed in flames. Ishan shouts a name as he recognizes the lone warrior.

“Mentor!”

The infernal dragon lunges quickly, snapping up Mentor in his jaws along with a section of earth. As the dragon straightens, Ishan reaches down into his reserves of strength. He thrusts his sword, burying it to the hilt into the dragon's side.

Ishan rips the sword out and prepares to strike again as corrupted black blood runs from the fresh wound. He falls onto his back, his strength nearly all spent. The infernal dragon rears back to regard Ishan with an angry growl.

Ishan holds his breathe at the infernal dragon slowly inhales, but lets t out in a startled gasp as the dragon buckles from heavy machine gun fire exploding against it's head and neck. He gives a whoop of joy, seeing the Atlas-class transports that dropped him and his brethren return, opening fire on the infernal dragon. Ishan gets to his feet and backs away as it starts raining broken scales, blood, and small chunks of smoking dragon flesh.

The infernal dragon roars in pain, but points it's claws in the direction of the helicopters. Black and purple lightning cackles from the dragon's talons to rip through the transports. The lightning jumps from helicopter to helicopter in a destructive chain that transforms the helicopters into glowing clouds of shrapnel or sends them spiraling down to the ground.

Once the sky is cleared of attackers, the infernal dragon looks down at Ishan again. As the dragon inhales, Ishan can see the flames building in the back of it's throat.

Then as suddenly as it starts, the build up of flame stops. Ishan hears a muffled roar coming from within the dragon's throat, but not from the dragon itself. The dragon's throat quickly expands and explodes outwards in a burst of flame that beheads the beast. At the center of this explosion shouting loudly as he burns is Mentor. He seems to hover in mid-air fr seconds and then begins to fall. Ishan loses sight of him as he rolls to avoid the impact of the infernal dragon's head.

Ishan stands up and grabs the head for support as the rest of the infernal dragon's body slams into the ground. He picks up his sword, gathering the last of his strength. The army of monsters is defeated, but there is one last foe to slay.

Ishan scans where Sikarin Tsooth had stood, but all he finds is Mis Shatis. She looks around, sword in hand, and shouts for Sikarin to make himself shown. He marvels at her new strength, calling for her former master and tormentor by name. He speaks to the open space.

“Where have you fled to, Sikarin Tsooth?”

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