Victor of Tucson-Chapter 42Book 12: : Fiery Gambit
42 – Fiery Gambit
Victor regarded the ancient Death Caster—his pale undead flesh; his black eyes, swimming with horrors and lies; the feathered robes he wore, stained with the life’s blood of countless victims. He was a vile thing, from surface to core, no matter how Victor tried to view him through the lens of the mortal condition. He could imagine his heartbreak, his angst, his troubled youth, but he could not imagine turning against his people, his own family to the point where he’d kill and sacrifice in an endless pursuit of stolen power.
He shook his head, shifting his grip on Lifedrinker’s haft. “I’ll not bargain with you.”
“You’ll doom yourself, then,” Xelhuan growled, hefting his massive, two-handed macahuitl. The black teeth danced with red-electric arcs as shadows drifted off it like smoke. “Die by my hand, or kill me; either way, your existence ends here.”
Victor shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Fool!” Xelhuan’s voice echoed over the courtyard—nearly a square mile of stone atop the pyramid—and Victor felt threads of death-attuned Energy tugging at his flesh, pulling him toward the gold-lined well at the center. He resisted, building a bulwark of his will.
“Come on, then.” Victor built the pattern for Velocity Mantle, poised to activate it as he watched Xelhuan’s hips and shoulders. When the Death Caster took a small step to the left and his right shoulder dipped back, Victor cast the spell, speeding his awareness so that he could track his foe’s unnatural movement.
Xelhuan bled shadows as he streaked across the stone, moving toward Victor’s flank, his jagged blade whooshing through a low arc, aiming to tear Victor’s guts loose from his body. Victor rotated, putting Lifedrinker in the blade’s path, and when they clashed, a terrible sound emerged, like bones grinding under a glass millstone, echoed through the courtyard. Lifedrinker screamed her fury and exploded with fire, her glossy black blade flaring through the stages of heat—from glowering red to white hot—in an instant.
Xelhuan’s macahuitl buzzed with red electricity, and he whipped it down and around, looping in a wide arc meant to remove Victor’s head. Again, he put Lifedrinker in its path, and again, the resultant clash grated on Victor’s every sense. Lifedrinker wasn’t injured, though; she was furious. Something about the ancient Quinametzin weapon’s touch drove her into a speechless rage. Victor gave in to her, giving her rein to guide his movements.
The fight, brief as it had been, changed tone immediately. Victor no longer worked to parry Xelhuan’s weapon; he worked to destroy it. In a series of hacks—a dozen crammed into a single second—he drove the Death Caster back, Lifedrinker’s wicked, blazing edge smashing into his macahuitl again and again. The clangor of their impacts changed in pitch until the courtyard echoed with their screams.
The macahuitl made a sound that raised the hairs on the nape of Victor’s neck; it brought to mind tortured people—the horrified screams of the condemned facing torturous execution. Lifedrinker, on the other hand, filled his heart to bursting with pride; she howled her fury, her disgust, her desire to crush and destroy her foes. She was an avenging angel; the macahuitl was the mocking echo of abomination.
On perhaps their thirtieth clash, the macahuitl’s vile screams hitched, and something clattered to the stones at the titans’ feet—a jagged black tooth. Victor grinned; he wasn’t even berserk. Their battle had only paused an instant as they both registered the damage to Xelhuan’s weapon, but then the Death Caster surged with Energy. Victor saw it flowing from the stones into him.
Xelhuan flared with blue-tinged flames, his muscles swelled, his fangs grew more monstrous, and he renewed his attacks with more vigor—faster, stronger, more precise in his movements. He whipped his screaming macahuitl at Victor, driving him back. Victor, despite his Velocity Mantle, struggled to match the speed of the blows; Lifedrinker was massive, and she was an axe; her forte didn’t lie in quick parries.
The jagged macahuitl got past his guard twice during that furious drive. Once, it dragged a deep groove across Victor’s aegis, marring the impossibly hard carapace. The second time, it bit through his greaves, slicing deeply with a black tooth that transferred the decay of death into Victor’s flesh. It was a terrible sensation. His torn muscle stopped responding, and a metaphysical pit opened there, drawing his Energy into the decayed flesh like sand into a sinkhole.
Victor used Tactical Reposition to teleport a hundred feet behind Xelhuan, giving his flesh a moment to battle the corruption. To his relief, his titanic constitution was up to the challenge. After stumbling back two steps, lifting Lifedrinker into a guard position, he felt his regeneration gain a foothold in the battle against the decay. His thigh muscle repaired itself, the black, diseased flesh sloughing off as new cells replaced the dead.
Xelhuan was on him in an instant, but Victor teleported again. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have cast one of his berserking abilities and stood against the Death Caster, but he wanted to play out the battle more cleverly than that. He was exploring the limits of Xelhuan’s power, learning his habits, and understanding what he could do. By the time his undead foe caught up to him again, his leg was back to normal, and he stood against the renewed onslaught.
“Do you think—” Xelhuan spat his fury, grunting as he increased the pace of his hacks. “—that you can win? My power is limitless here! I’ll wear you down!”
Victor parried, using the momentum to spin, hacking Lifedrinker in a flat arc that would have split the Death Caster in two if he hadn’t backed off at the last second. “Do you think so?”
“That smugness again. Do you think you know something I do not, little cousin?”
Victor ignored him, letting Lifedrinker pull his arms again as he gave in to the dance. He let himself go, giving over to the instincts of his axe and the movements he’d ingrained into every fiber of his muscles. Once again, he began to drive Xelhuan back, and once again, death-attuned Energy surged out of the pyramid into the undead titan, increasing his strength and speed. It didn’t matter, though; Victor and Lifedrinker had him outmatched. Several more broken black teeth fell away from the macahuitl, and Xelhuan’s dark, death-filled eyes widened with desperation.
The Death Caster’s body, lifeless as it was, didn’t require breath, but still, his mouth hung open, his crimson tongue lolling between his long fangs, as he strained to keep ahead of Victor. Unfortunately for him, that was when the rhythmic weave of expert cuts, cleaves, parries, hacks, loops, and myriad other movements that Victor and Lifedrinker performed summoned the Paragon of the Axe.
If Victor’s swings were lightning fast before, then one might think they’d begun to skip time. Xelhuan’s parries, barely quick enough before the Paragon appeared, fell behind, and Lifedrinker’s edge found his flesh. The first cut was on Xelhuan’s shoulder—a slice that took away much of the meat and exposed old gristle and bone. Black blood bubbled forth, misting into the air, and if Victor had slowed to watch, he would have seen that undead flesh knitting back together. He didn’t, though, and Lifedrinker scored another hit…and another…and another.
Xelhuan’s screams echoed the unnatural cries of his macahuitl. His black blood splashed, dissolving a layer from the stones at their feet before sizzling into dark smoke. Lifedrinker pulsed with excitement; the acidic blood couldn’t touch her dense, living metal. She split his ribs, then on the upswing, took Xelhuan’s right hand at the wrist. He almost dropped his sword, but recovered his grip—only to have Lifedrinker come down and split him from shoulder to groin.
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Xelhuan staggered back, his torso flopping open, half to the left, half to the right. Oozing, long-dead guts and gelatinous slop poured from the wound, and he dropped his weapon, frantically grasping at the mess as though he could heal if he could just manage to push enough of his guts back into place. Maybe he could, but Victor wasn’t going to let him find out. He gathered his breath and blasted the pendejo with a gout of abyssal magma.
The liquid fire imbued with the curse of the void poured over the undead titan’s gigantic body, and his black blood ignited with white-hot flames. The Death Caster became a torch, the fury of his destructive flames so hot that even Victor took a step back. He blinked against the flare—akin to looking into the sun—and the exhibition of destruction made him grin; if he’d been berserk, he would have laughed with cruel delight.
When the glare faded and he could comfortably look again, he saw that Xelhuan’s body had been reduced to slag. Just a pile of black, sticky ash marred the blackened, cracked stones. Victor frowned. He could feel a nagging tickle in his gut, the instinctive reaction to something he knew to be true: Xelhuan couldn’t be destroyed so easily. He hadn’t even had to capture his spirit, which meant that—
A rumbling laugh echoed from the center of the courtyard, and Victor turned toward the gold-lined well, watching as the Death Caster rose from its dark depths. His body was the same, but the man’s clothes were changed—a simple rough-spun black robe covered his bony, pale figure. He raised his undead hand, and the macahuitl skittered across the stones, flying into his grip.
“Did you truly think you could slay a god, little cousin? In this realm, I am everlasting. I am a constant. You cannot—” Xelhuan cut his words off when Victor began to laugh. At first, the amusement had come unbidden—something he’d understood instinctively, but that had taken his conscious mind a moment to comprehend. Xelhuan drifted toward him, floating on a cloud of blue, miasmic gas. “You laugh, cousin? Do you doubt my words?”
Victor continued to chuckle as he built the pattern for Volcanic Fury in his pathways. “No, cousin, I intend to take your words to heart. If you can’t be slain here, then I’ll simply have to destroy this world!”
###
Arona smoothly glided down toward the courtyard and the massive figure lying prostrate there—Tes. She’d seen the dragon approach, crawling from the surf and then battling her way through a thousand ranks of undead fiends. Of course the defenders had rushed to her aid, battling back the hordes, but the greatest heroes were engaged in pitched battles of their own; Ronkerz and his Big Ones were still fighting the two remaining undead kings, and the many steel seekers in the legions were fighting fiercely to drive the horde toward the walls.
Where once they’d thought they’d be able to forge a path through the dead at their leisure, they now had a deadline: less than three hours before the wave hit the shore. Arona had confirmed as much with her own eyes. She was perhaps the fastest flyer in all the legions, and she’d made the trip in minutes. What she’d seen had filled her with as much dread as awe—a wall of water several times higher than the tallest of the citadel’s towers. As the Water Elementalists had feared, it scraped the heavens.
Arona had seen the destruction wrought by tidal waves, but this one… This one would reshape the world of Dark Ember. She’d had her aides write warnings in their Farscribe books; the cities and towns Victor and his people had conquered would have a chance to flee the world or, at the very least, use their magic to dig in.
As she settled down onto the basalt cobbles behind Cora, she watched as Victor’s ward channeled her blood Energy. Tes noticed her, but the dragon didn’t speak; she, too, was focused on the young lady’s efforts. Cora’s hands were outstretched, hovering over Tes’s bloody foreleg. Arona narrowed her eyes. Had she already helped the dragon regenerate the limb? Even as she watched, the blood rippled and stretched, forming new veins that spread through the new flesh, out to the dragon’s digits.
Thick, leathery skin filled in, covering the newly formed muscles, tendons, and veins. It was a novel enough sight to steal Arona’s attention. She’d seen Victor regrow limbs several times, and she believed dragons could do something similar, but she wasn’t certain. It was clear that Tes appreciated Cora’s aid, whatever the case.
The courtyard had grown quiet; one of the Wind Mages had put up a barrier to allow Cora and the other healers a reprieve, giving them every opportunity to concentrate on their efforts to heal the dragon’s wounds. Even so, indistinct murmurs came from the other healers—life and nature affinities, certain fire affinities, and even another Blood Mage. They were all watching Cora’s efforts by then, and when the girl finished, drawing out gleaming, opalescent new claws from the tips of Tes’s “fingers,” more than one applauded.
“You’re truly a rare talent,” Tes rumbled, her lips curling up away from her sword-like fangs. “I believe I’m nearly healed.” She turned toward the other healers and continued to speak, her voice, feminine though it was, vibrating Arona’s chest as it moved so much air. “Truly, you’ve all earned my thanks. Go now and see to others in need. I am fine.” As she spoke, her enormous bulk contracted. Before Arona’s mind could register what was happening, the dragon was gone, and the form Tes seemed to prefer amid mixed company was standing there—a delicate-seeming young woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, and an absurdly pretty smile.
“Lady Arona, I’d appreciate an update. Cora wasn’t forthcoming.”
“I-I told you I didn’t know!” the young woman cried.
Arona chuckled, moving to stand beside her. “Excellent work with your healing magic, Cora. Are we certain it’s not a waste of your talents to have you studying under Victor’s tutelage?”
“It’s not a waste!”
Tes clicked her tongue and stepped closer. “Arona, don’t shrink from the truth. What has happened to Victor?”
“S-something happened?” Cora stammered, turning to face Arona fully. Her face was drained of color, but Arona had the feeling that was due to her efforts healing Tes. It couldn’t have been easy for her to do. Arona gathered her thoughts and then nodded.
“The titan, Citlalmina, thinks that Xelhuan has fled this world. I can only assume Victor went after him.”
Tes nodded. “I felt…something. There was dread, but perhaps that had more to do with the cataclysm this world now faces. At least your mages told me that much.”
Cora said what they all were hoping. “If the… If Xelhuan fled, then that means Victor can beat him, right?”
Tes nodded. “There’s always room for hope where Victor is concerned.” She refocused on Arona. “Now, tell me. How can I help with this”—she waved her hand toward the courtyard walls—“situation?”
“You can help carve a path for our armies. We’ve got just about two hours to evacuate.”
###
Victor stared at Xelhuan as he cast Volcanic Fury. His vision tinted red, his body began to steam and smoke, his muscles expanded, his attunement to rage and magma grew more acute, and he felt the heat in the stones beneath his feet. He felt the muted rage of a mountain usurped by carved stone and undead designs for millennia. Victor absorbed that fury, basked in it, drew it in. All the while, Xelhuan watched, confusion evident in the dark pools beneath his brows.
“You think you can destroymyworld? Do you realize how foolish you sound, cousin? All your rage, all your screaming and gnashing of teeth—none of it will accomplish anything close to—”
Victor, ignoring the undead thing, screamed his fury and stomped his foot, casting Voice of the Angry Earth and Wake the Earth simultaneously. They were both potent spells and, together, flooded with most of Victor’s Energy, they stretched his pathways to bursting. His voice scaled to inconceivable levels—the concussive roar of a landslide; the rumbling thunder of an earthquake; the deafening primal explosion of a world-ending super-volcano.
Xelhuan was thrown from him, caught up in the destructive sound waves. Despite being flung back, the damage continued to mount. Victor’s overcharged Voice of the Angry Earth ripped Xelhuan’s robes to tatters; it peeled the dead flesh from his bones; it spattered the black blood from his veins like acidic rain, utterly annihilating the undead king’s vessel.
At the same time, Victor’s stomp woke something deep in the slice of Dark Ember that Xelhuan had stolen into his universe. It ignited the slumbering hatred beneath the mountain—a mountain that Xelhuan’s disciples had bound down with dark magic and heavy stone. The fury in those roots was deep—a quiet rage that had stewed, growing deeper and more vengeful with each tunnel dug, each chamber filled with undead flesh, each dark ritual performed atop its summit.
In answer to his call, the ground split beneath Victor’s foot with a cataclysmic crack that echoed for a hundred miles. The mountain tore its stone veneer and shrugged it from its shoulders—landslides of granite that buried the sprawling city at its feet. Then it coughed forth a million tons of fiery magma, hot gases, and black smoke. Victor rode the explosion with a wild, mad laugh, gripping Lifedrinker for all he was worth as he was thrown thousands of feet into the thin atmosphere of Xelhuan’s nascent world.
As he summoned his fiery wings, he held Lifedrinker aloft, staring into the face of his volcanic brother and screamed, “Ancestors!”
