Chapter 12 - The Deacon

  Scorching chunks of metal rocketed from what used to be the guild tower’s front door, smashing into the unprepared group like streaks of lightning. In that moment, Taenith barely managed to push Tex - who was closest to the attack - out of the way. He took the brunt of the smoldering pellets, but failed to prevent several more from slamming into Grizzel. A sizable chunk also hurled towards Sham, smashing against his forehead with a loud ‘crack.’ Pain exploded through his skull, and - dazed and disoriented - he fell backward. Fortunately for Grizzel, his heavy armor softened the blow of the attack. Raising his hands to cover his exposed head, all he suffered were a few burnt holes in his apostle’s gear and the agitation that followed that realization. Ignoring this brief frustration, he jumped to Ohen’s aid, covering his body as the last few pieces of debris pounded against them.

  Taenith grit his teeth. His draconic scales were resistant to heat, but whatever the attack was, it was almost unbearable. Streams of blood flowed down his exposed arms, neck, and face. He peaked just barely to catch a glimpse of the dust cloud at the doorway. A large shadow began to emerge. He brandished his scimitar when a large, armored figure came into view. Their boots pounded against the rubble, crunching brick and metal like twigs. Then, they drew a massive sword, banishing the dust with one fell swoop to reveal their full crimson form.

  “There you are,” the deacon smirked, her voice echoing with a metallic rasp.

  Tex’s nose curled as she drew her own sword and pushed past Taenith. The draconian felt a sense of relief for a moment. He most certainly did not want to be the one in the middle of that. Then again, he couldn’t help but worry. Even Tex herself said earlier that deacons were not to be trifled with.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” Tex huffed, looking up at the massive figure. She was far taller than herself, even overcoming the draconian’s height by an inch or two. But she was no stranger to apostles and their habit to mutate themselves with magic. All show, no grit.

  The deacon grinned, though her expression was hidden behind her faceless helm, save the red glows of her eyes that burnt like radiant stars. “I doubt that, Miss Vanador.”

  Tex’s heart pounded.

  “The Algadrian Order’s reputation precedes itself as a host for sinners,” she said, turning her molten gaze to Taenith, who instinctively stepped back. For the first time in years, he felt himself, despite his size, become a small, defenseless child in a closet. The taunting voices of the apostles who kidnapped him and slew his mother practically filled his mind to the brim.

  “Lizard skin carpet? How’s that sound, Howzer?”

  “No, I want to mount its head on my wall.”

  “You should know that housing a criminal, let alone an attempted murder, is a heinous offense punishable by death,” she said before nodding at her underlings. “Surround them.”

  On cue, four apostle grunts flooded the ruined room and engulfed the group, their swords drawn and at the ready.

  “Before you all die, I am interested in hearing what you have to say. Traitor,” the deacon said, facing Grizzel.

  Grizzel was unsure how to respond. Though, his gut told him to draw his mace and step forward, ignoring the soldiers and the blades pointed against him. Sham had started grumbling in his confused daze, so he’d probably be fine for the moment. And he wasn’t about to let any other apostles, let alone a deacon, further wound the Sham.

  “You do realize traveling with this…filth,” she gestured to the draconian, “is heresy. Or are you daft?”

  Grizzel took a deep breath and glanced to Taenith. His only visible movement was the slight shake in his sword hand. Even his tail was limp against the ground. He couldn’t blame him. He could practically smell the blood of demihumans on the deacon’s armor, painted red to hide the blood stains that surely rusted its sharp edges.

  “Leave him alone,” Grizzel ordered, matching the deacon’s crimson eyes. His palms began to sweat as he tried to figure out what to do. But staring into the behemoth’s eyes, his thoughts became puddy. Sham and Tex were powerful, sure, but this was something else. Something that paralyzed the soul without magic.

  Pure evil.

  The deacon gave a smug chuckle, and raised her sword - a long steel blade with draconic engravings etched into it.

  Grizzel’s throat felt like it had been filled with rocks. But in spite of this, he stamped his foot against the ground.

  It was now or never.

  “I… am Grizzel Valone,” his voice crescendoed, “son of the Grand Paladin. If you harm anyone here, you are directly violating his will. Now leave!” His stomach twisted and churned as he forced out the threat. He had no idea how widespread the news of his banishment was, but it was worth a try.

  The apostle grunts exchanged glances, confused. Then, they looked to the deacon for guidance. Even she was voiceless, if only for a moment.

  But this was enough time for Tex to act. As soon as they lowered their guard, the Algadrian knight plunged her blade into the nearest apostle, ripping through their armor and flesh like paper. A short yelp and a cloud of blood escaped Tex’s victim before Taenith realized what was happening. Seconds later, another apostle swung their sword at Taenith. He knew he had to dodge, but his body protested. His eyes were trained on the deacon, who stood silently, watching him through her helm with what he knew was a wicked grin.

  “Have faith.” Taenith’s mother’s words permeated his thoughts, followed by the sound of her blood splashing against steel. Before the apostle grunt’s blade could reach him, however, a sudden chill washed over his body. Taenith blinked and glanced back, following the trail of foggy residue to Ohen’s frosted fingertips - all the while Tex dispatched the remaining grunts.

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  Grizzel was briefly weary of how easily the two killed the deacon’s grunts, who - judging by their armor - were not much different than him. At the very least, it caused him to further reflect on and regret the attitude he had given her. Then it occurred to him that maybe they did stand a chance.

  But when the last apostle fell to Tex’s blade, the deacon began a slow clap. Each powerful strike released a metallic melody that rang like church bells throughout the mutilated living room. “Impressive. I must say, I was beginning to think the legends of the Order were just that. Legends. I suppose I was wrong,” she said, cracking her neck.

  Ohen, breathing heavily, charged another ice blast.

  The deacon eyed the motion, and continued. “But you should know, Ohen Algadrian. A few tricks and a fake royal will not save you. For I,” she dropped her sword. “Have been blessed by the Grand Paladin himself.” She raised her hands above her head. “And not even you, so-called Algadrians.” Lightning jumped from her gauntlets. “can overcome his majesty.”

  Ohen’s eyes shot open, and he shouted, “No!” when he realized what magic was being used. But before he or anyone else could act, however, the room filled with a blinding white light, followed by a thick golden smog that blanketed the group and froze them where they stood.

  The deacon took a deep breath and smiled at her work. Tearing her sword from the ground, she prepared to take them out one-by-one. But when the magical dust settled, she was surprised to see a singular figure standing, unaffected by her lux magic.

  “What-?” she blurted, shocked, and amused by the sight of Grizzel swatting the magical dust off his shoulder like it was mere snow.

  “What… just happened?” Grizzel asked. Taenith, Tex, and Sham seemed to all have been frozen by the substance. Not even a breath escaped their lungs as they stood around him completely immobilized. But he was left completely unharmed.

  “Heaven’s Hail,” the deacon began. “It binds the faithless. And yet, you seem to be… unaffected.”

  “...Unaffected?” Grizzel murmured, looking down at his mace.

  “Then I didn’t just make it up? It's true. You, whoever you are, really gave me this gift?” he thought to himself. Whatever deity had provided him the weapon, they had not yet given up on him. This realization, despite all his internal struggles within the past couple days, rewarded him with a smile that plastered itself firmly across his face.

  “I suppose that means you have a choice. Surrender and live, or die with them. I’m sure the Grand Paladin…your father would reward you if you returned with its head,” she gestured to Taenith.

  “Father?” Grizzel muttered. His throat swelled and his flesh boiled, as he once more felt the smoldering grip of his iron hand on his shoulder. What was he doing? How could he just abandon his guide? His master?

  “Don’t fail me again, child. Your oath may still be honored.”

  Grizzel groaned and shook his head. A pounding headache overtook him while the deacon stepped forward, her sword dragging against the ground. The sound of steel tearing against wood attacked Grizzel’s ear drums as he struggled for an answer.

  “Who loved you? Who gave you a home? A bed to sleep in? Remember that, child. Without me, you are nothing. No one else will ever love you.”

  Grizzel squeezed his eyes shut and raised his mace despite the taunting in his mind.

  “I-I’m sorry. I can’t lose them. I won’t,” he thought. Tears ate at the corners of his eyes. Then, suddenly, a white light lashed out from the swirling Lux magics within the mace’s orb.

  “Death then. Very well,” the deacon said, and lunged forward, raising her longsword to strike the apostate down. Despite her massive size, the blade moved with unnatural speed. Grizzel could barely keep track of her swing, and he barely managed to dodge to the side - but instinct saw him respond by striking her in her right arm, leaving a stain of melting metal in her plate mail.

  “You’ll have to do a lot better than that!” she laughed, bawling her free fist and slamming it against Grizzel’s chin, knocking him into a stray chair that shattered into pieces upon impact.

  Grizzel felt blood crawl up his throat when he struggled to pull himself up. “I won’t let you kill them,” he spat, glancing towards Sham. The wizard forgave him when so many others wouldn’t. There was no way he was about to abandon that kind of generosity again.

  “It is futile to resist,” she replied, raising her blade once more - this time with an intent to kill. Metal screamed against metal as the Grizzel barely blocked the onslaught with the handle of his mace. His hands shook from the deacon’s hulking weight, and he prayed the enchanted steel would hold up long enough for him to think of some sort of plan.

  “Bleed for me, Grizzel Valone! Become a stain on my armor!” the deacon laughed as she tightened her grip and pressed down harder. Grizzel’s legs screamed under the pressure, causing him to fall to one of his knees. He barely held his grip on his mace as the tip of the deacon’s blade slowly found itself kissing his forehead, leaving a river of blood to flow down his face and soak his vision in a haze of red.

  “I w-won’t let you,” Grizzel growled. More and more blood oozed down his face as his muscles strained and broke. Even his bones threatened to snap in protest.

  “I’m sorry, guys. For being an ass,” he said through clenched teeth. His heart screamed at him to fight, but after a few moments of further struggle, the young apostle knew his body would soon break against the enormous strain.

  And then, two breaths later, he did.

  His mace, which had just been shining a brilliant white and blue light, dimmed to a deep gray as it fell out of his hands and slammed against the floor. With a devilish smile, the deacon brought the tip of his sword into the air for one final strike.

  “May the gods have mercy on your soul,” the deacon sneered, bringing the blade downwards.

  Grizzel closed his blood-filled eyes. And strangely, in that moment, a sense of calm overcame him. He couldn’t really feel the pain coming from his aching body. At least, it was inconsequential to the peace that approached him. Even more, he could no longer feel the rashes on his flesh or the voices in his head. They were all gone.

  But the eternal darkness never came for Grizzel Valone.

  Instead, a short gasp escaped the deacon’s lungs as the tip of an arrow sprouted from her throat, right where the armor pieces met. Blood guzzled from her mouth, and before she could summon a spell to heal herself, the deacon was no more. Her massive form collapsed with a heavy thud to reveal another figure.

  Grizzel wiped the blood from his eyes and looked to see what happened, only to witness the outline of a slender human adorned in badly torn and blood-stained hunting gear. A look of shock was plastered on his face, as if he didn’t expect his attempt to work.

  “Han?” Grizzel coughed with a puffy smile.

  “Hey, Griz,” Han smiled, extending a shaky hand to his fallen friend.