Mark of the Fool-Chapter 892: From Throne to Throne

Atop the forest covered mountain in the distance, loomed Aenflynn’s castle. It towered above all else, a symbol of the Fae lord’s power, protected by his magics and rising high above the devastated terrain.

It stood proudly, a symbol of the sovereignty and grace of Och Fir Nog.

A symbol that, in short order, would be no more.

From the peak of one of the castle’s many towers, a radiance brighter than a second sun and more terrible than a thousand chaos bombs, shone. This was no ordinary light; it was the dying blaze of a god’s final symbol.

And when Uldar’s throne finally followed him into oblivion…

..it did not go quietly.

The radiance grew, and the tower shuddered, crumbling, stone cracking, mortar turning to dust. The light faded for a heartbeat and the shaking quieted.

And for that instant, all returned to peace.

Until the explosion.

A blast of divine light ripped from the high tower, consuming everything around it like a tidal wave. Air burned away. Stone vapourized. The river—flowing up the side of the mountain to feed the clouds—boiled away.

Once standing so tall and proud, the mountain on which the castle was built deformed, turning to a smouldering stump of boiling rock and drifting ash.

Even the clouds were not spared; dispersed by a wind powerful enough to strip bark from trees and flesh from bone. Baelin’s summoned creatures were all blasted back to their home planes.

But Aenflynn’s forces were not so lucky.

Every living thing within the blast radius was reduced to a memory. Lush gardens and mead fountains, sturdy soldiers and cultivated trees were gone, leaving nothing but dark outlines staining the stones they once stood upon.

But even those stones were soon obliterated.

Tremendous heat and light had come first, instantly followed by the sound; a noise so loud, that any fae, Ravener-spawn or beast far enough away to not be incinerated, fell screaming, clutching their ears, deafened.

Blood ran from their ears and trickled from their eyes; the throne’s destruction was the last light they ever saw, and the last sound they ever heard.

The explosion sent ash, dust and boiling rock spewing into the air, trading the vapourised clouds for a dark canopy of soot and a deluge of rock. From many miles away, Alex, Baelin, Carey and Merzhin watched the devastation unfolding in Aenflynn’s realm.

Squinting against the light—and thankful to be far enough away to not be blinded by it—they watched the light and shockwave spread, consuming miles of terrain, forging it into glass. They watched the land buck and protest against the weight of the destruction, a terrible quake consuming it. The earth split apart, yawning open in hungry chasms.

Sinkholes swallowed forests.

Lakes spilled over the land, and rivers changed course forever.

When the full breadth of the detonation was over, a vast and ugly scar had mangled the face of Och Fir Nog, serving as a reminder of what had happened there.

Alex wordlessly took in the destruction, his spirit was quiet.

There was a sense of finality to this.

“What have we done?” Merzhin whispered. “So many dead…so many…”

“Do not fret,” Baelin’s deep voice came from beneath his mask. “It was Aenflynn who made his decisions; it was his hubris that brought war unto his realm, and many of his soldiers gladly joined him. In war, you can weep for the dead—be they friend or foe—but understand one thing, if that explosion had occurred in Ussex instead, and it was Aenflynn and his court watching the destruction while you, I, Alex and Carey burned…they likely would not weep a single tear for any of us.”

“Which makes them lesser beings than you are, Merzhin,” Carey said, patting Merzhin’s back. “I am ever so bothered if any innocent were caught in this conflict, but we did what had to be done.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “And if Aenflynn hadn’t done any of what he did, a lot more people would be alive right now; both mortal and fae.”

“You’re right, I suppose,” Merzhin whispered. “I know that you are. And if Uldar had not done what he did, how many would have lived throughout our history? Well, now his symbol is broken. The priests’ faith will still call down miracles for a time—”

“And perhaps forever,” Baelin interrupted. “A deity is not necessary for faith. The priests still believe in Uldar and in the throne of the god of Thameland; even though both physical symbols are gone, the faith remains and is focused. Not to mention that Uldar’s body still exists. Your priesthood will likely still enjoy their powers…as long as their faith is not broken.”

“The question is what comes next? We know of Uldar’s treachery…so what do we do with that knowledge now that the throne is unmade?” Carey shook her head. “But I suppose that’s a question for later.”

She looked at the others. “There is still the Ravener to deal with. We should go to its lair immediately and help our friends, shouldn’t we? …Alex?”

But the young General of Thameland was frowning, deep in thought, his mind elsewhere.

In the Ravener’s lair, he fought alongside his companions.

Within the Ravener’s structure, he was busy poisoning node after node.

And in both of those battlefields, a similar pattern was emerging.

“I don’t think we should all go to the Ravener’s lair,” Alex finally said. “Carey, I think you, Baelin, and the me that’s here—by the Traveller, that’s hard to get my mind around—should go to Thameland and help protect it.”

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The young archwizard spoke to Baelin, “You can cast Army of Heroes, right?”

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“I am a Proper Wizard, Alex.”

“There was never a doubt,” Alex smiled. “Meanwhile Merzhin, I'll take you to the Ravener’s lair. You think your soul’s well enough to do the interdiction with Hannah’s help, that’ll stop it from channelling divinity? I’ll tell her about our plan in Thameland.”

“I believe so,” Merzhin said. “But why would Carey and Baelin…and the ‘you that’s here?’” There was a question in Merzhin’s voice. “Why would the three of you go to Thameland? It would make sense to put every resource we have into making sure we annihilate the Ravener for good.”

Alex shook his head. “It’s weakening. The plan’s working; it got a boost of power from Aenflynn, but…things are going wrong for it. Honestly, I don't think it's going to take much more to bring it down. That’s why I think Thameland needs the help more than we do in its lair. We want to keep as many people alive as we can, while Claygon, me and the others are finishing things in the cavern.”

“A sound suggestion.” Baelin nodded.

“Yes, I would ever so much prefer to go and protect Thameland if the Ravener is truly beginning to fail,” Carey agreed.

“Alright,” Merzhin said. “Let’s do it that way then.”

“Good,” Alex said. “Okay here’s what we’ll do: I’ll teleport you to the Ravener’s cavern, then once you’re there, Carey, Baelin and I will teleport to Thameland. So when you get to its lair, just focus on the interdiction, the others will protect you; Cedric and I’ve been healing everyone.”

“Alright then,” Merzhin said. “And you are sure we are doing well?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I don’t think this’ll last much longer. The only thing we have to worry about is if the Ravener does something desperate.”

“Indeed,” Baelin said. “The wounded stag—cornered by its predators—is not when it is at its strongest. …but it is when it’s most dangerous.”

Theresa Lu thanked her great-grandfather’s swords for the thousandth time that battle.

In the chaos of the Ravener’s lair raging around her; death-beams flew, poison air drifted, and waves of destructive energy swept through the cavern. Ravener-spawn churned around the mortals like a stormy sea.

All through that storm of violence, what had kept her alive—and still fighting—were her companions, Brutus, her own life-enforced body and the Twinblade.

The six swords—two in her hands, and four blades of energy floating around her—were cutting down monsters bent on ending their lives. The blades in her hands struck out, raining razor-edged steel on any monster they found. The ethereal blades surrounding her protected her and Brutus’ flanks, carving up creatures like a bird at a Sigmus feast. Her massive, bone-armoured blood-familiar spread his jaws, releasing cones of sonic destruction, pulping flesh, cracking stone and grinding bone to dust. His spiked armour was another weapon, ramming anything that came too close. With jaws spread, he clamped down on any monsters that had escaped his mace-like form.

Earlier, Theresa’s, Brutus’ and the others’ power had been straining against the Ravener’s assault.

…but now, things were turning around.

It was plain that Uldar’s construct was weakening.

Its death-beams fired less, and missed their targets more often than they hit. Its spawn were being birthed less, slowing in number, and its powerful magics were weaker.

The companions were handily pushing its waning forces back, turning things in their favour. "We almos’ got it beat!” Cedric shouted, sweat pouring down the Chosen of Thameland’s tiring form. He had been healing the group continuously, drawing divinity through his soul, taxing himself.

But now, his companions were being hurt less often.

He had room to breathe.

And he used that breath to encourage the others.

“Don’ none o’ ya even think about holdin’ back!” Cedric lifted his morphic weapon, shaped like a bow, and launched divine arrows into the Ravener’s form, watching them explode as they struck home. “We’re gonna make it!”

“No!You will not!” the Ravener rebutted him.

Its form shuddered, struck by Cedric’s arrows, and a bombardment of blows from Hart, Asmaldestre and Alex.

But it wasn’t giving up.

A point of blinding light grew on its surface, firing another death beam, aiming straight for Cedric. Theresa snarled, flying toward the Chosen.

“I’ve got you!” she shouted, throwing her blade.

With full force, it spun through the air, flying in front of Cedric.

Theresa made a grasping motion, vanishing and materialising, holding the sword she’d just thrown.

The huntress spotted the oncoming beam and raised the Twinblade in her hands, the four ethereal swords floated in front of her, crisscrossing in mid-air. Theresa followed the beam closely.

Watching as it struck her swords.

She was driven back by inches, teeth clenching, the deadly energy pushing and burning against her great-grandfather’s blades. The energy roared, her muscles flexed…but the Twinblade held firm against the Ravener’s beam, as she knew it would.

She switched the angle of her blades, and the energy was deflected by the magical steel, rebounding toward the Ravener, crackling through the air and striking the construct dead on.

The explosion blew part of its surface away.

It shrieked in frustration.

Cedric laughed, looking at Theresa.

“I wanted to do that at least once,” she said.

The Chosen blew out a breath. “Y’shoulda been Marked. If y’had the Champion or Chosen Mark, we’da busted that thing up at least a’year ago!”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter. This is where we finish it off. Look.”

She pointed her sword at the section damaged by the Ravener’s own beam. It was repairing itself, but the crater of an injury was regenerating far slower than before.

“It’s bleeding out, so to speak,” she said. “The hunt’s almost over.”

She looked at Alex, teleporting around, slinging spells at Thameland’s ancient enemy.

He truly looked like a hero.

They all did.

And she knew that he and Claygon were also—somehow—inside the Ravener, executing their plan.

“Finish it,” she whispered, then raised her sword, going back to the battle.

As she did, a new figure materialised in the cavern.

The Saint of Thameland floated in mid-air.

Without a word, he clasped his hands together before him.

And began calling upon his divinity.

The Ravener was struggling, and there was no place where that was more obvious than inside its massive structure.

Alexander Roth, General of Thameland stabbed another syphoning device into a crystal in another of the Ravener’s mana nodes.

Fluid, designed to poison its essence, flowed through the bane-needle, withering the construct’s being as it ran through the crystals, stealing their inner light, dulling their lustre.

With a wave of his hand, Alex sealed the device in Walls of Roiling Magic, then teleported out of the node before it collapsed on him. Very few Ravener-spawn were near him, fighting to stop him from poisoning the node, and the small number that were there were lethargic, moving slowly and clumsily.

The spawns’ condition looked no better outside the node.

When Alex reappeared in the dark realm outside another black tower, signs that the plan was working were plain.

In the distance, Claygon and his army of monsters—Alex still could not believe the power of his buddy’s new evolution—were ripping through the Ravener’s hordes while Uldar’s construct desperately fought back, using its insidious magics.

But, these were feeble now, compared to what they had been.

It was no longer able to channel its own mana with the precision and force it could before. It was failing in every way and its mana production was falling.

Alex took in the towers.

“Just one thing left to do,” he whispered, picturing the Ravener’s schematics.

There was a specific place he needed to go to; a central point for channelling the construct’s energies, much like inside a golem core. If he rewired it to cause what would effectively be a mana reversal, the Ravener would lose even more control.

Its inner energies would unravel, and—when Merzhin placed his interdiction on it with Hannah’s help—there would be no chance of it reforming.

He took a deep breath.

“Finally,” he whispered.

The General of Thameland teleported to the last, intact tower and placed his hand against its surface. It was different from the others, with no tunnels on the sides, but that wouldn’t stop him.

He followed the mana flow through the last node and teleported to its centre.

He materialised, ready to call another device to his hand and apply it to the central crystal…but instead he stopped dead.

There was no crystalline cavern in this node.

What stretched out before him, in this central control centre for the Ravener…

…was an exact replica of Uldar’s throne room.