literature

Legacy of Ruin, Chapter 13, Out of the Void (P1)

Deviation Actions

TEANO's avatar
By
Published:
375 Views

Literature Text

He was fighting something, but he didn't know what. He was defending a city that was bright, filled with light. Untainted. Its walls stood high and proud and the houses that lined its cobblestone streets all had multiple stories and glass windows. Patriotic flags hung down from many a window, but the sigils on them were vague. If he tried to look at them closely it was as if they simply weren't there. Nevertheless the city had a soothing effect on him. This was where he belonged, where he always should be. Within these walls, he was at home. The smell of the sea breeze was in the air. As he breathed in the smell filled him with anxiety. The sea had given a lot to this city, but lately it had also taken much away.

His anxiety grew as he looked beyond the walls. There reigned nothing but fire and shadow. The fires had a hellish green colour to them, and rose higher than any natural flame should've been able to. It pained his eyes just to look at them. He could see them through the shattered gate he was guarding, drawing closer, consuming everything in their path. He and his men, a line of footmen backed up by a row of musketeers, were all that stood between the fires and the inner city.

As he looked at his soldiers he noticed something strange. They all bore his face. Every single one of them looked the same as he did, with only slight differences. He saw a soldier who was smiling: his eyes nearly sparkled at the prospect of battle. The man next to him wore an eyepatch and though his face was identical, he seemed much older, and his expression couldn't have been more different. He looked away and reached up, touching the scar on his eye, and dared not look at any of the other soldiers, instead staring out through the city gate.

The flames had stopped their approach right outside the walls, and out of that ominous sea of fire the enemy emerged. A tightly packed horde of twisting, faceless shadows of men whose weapons seemed to be one with their bodies came rushing towards them. He instinctively raised his sword, a cutlass with the same indecipherable sigil the flags had on them engraved on the pommel, up high, and shouted to his men:

“Hold!”

His voice seemed more powerful than he remembered it, booming across the battlefield. The soldiers in the front stepped forward as one, knelt down and locked their shields together, thus sealing the broken gate off with a wall of steel. Those in the back raised their muskets, aiming them over the heads of their comrades. The enemy had closed to less than twenty feet, approaching fast. He waited. Fifteen feet. He could discern no mouths on the shades' empty faces, but their chins lowered as if they were screaming, and guttural howls washed over the defenders. The ruffling of their feet on the ground as they stormed closer was like the sound of rolling thunder. He looked at his soldiers. They didn’t twitch or shiver. Ten feet. His arm felt numb, paralyzed, like something was preventing him from giving the order to fire. Five feet. The enemy was almost on top of them.

I have to... move!

“Fire!”

The cutlass came whooshing down, accompanied by the satisfying sound of dozens of muskets being fired. Due to the proximity of the riflemen his ears could barely register the blast, but he knew it was there. The reassuring, familiar pressure of the loud noise against his ear drums felt like a lover's caress. The shades' front ranks fell over like wheat to a scythe, blood splashing out of their otherwise colourless bodies as they fell. The thicker the hay, the easier it's cut, he thought, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as he watched the enemy's blood fill the air. The feeling was short-lived, as more came crawling over the bodies of the fallen, clashing against the wall of steel before the musketeers had a chance to reload. The infantry rose up, pushing back against the black horde. The shades screeched horribly as they went down, and their weapons made equally ear-piercing sounds as they scraped along shields and armour. He joined the struggle, supporting the lines where it looked like they were going to break, and directing men to fill positions that had been left empty by the fallen.

Inch by inch, the shades gained ground. The defenders fought tooth and nail to keep them out, but the enemy was relentless, and the shield wall finally cracked, breaking like a bridge that'd been stepped on one too many times. The shades rushed through the gaps the defenders left and descended upon the musketeers, which forced them to draw their rapiers and defend themselves.

"Regroup! Regroup!" he shouted, raising his sword as he retreated. Those who could fought their way to him, locking their shields together once more and only opening the formation briefly to let comrades who managed to reach them in. Small pockets of defenders remained at the gate, cut off from the rest of them by the relentless enemy. Though he regretted it, they had no choice but to leave them behind: if they didn't set up a new line of defense in an appropriate choke point they risked being surrounded. Though he didn't carry a shield he remained in the front ranks as he led the shield wall back in between two houses, where he ordered the men to stop and stand their ground. It was difficult to remain brave before such overwhelming force. By now the part of the city they'd abandoned was so tightly packed with shades that they seemed to move as one. The flames themselves seemed to be creeping up the walls. Even at this distance he could feel their heat. The first shade to reach him lunged at him recklessly, cutting down at him, but he caught the creature's wrist and rammed his cutlass straight through it. As the creature slid off his sword some of its form seemed to stick to the blade, coating it black instead of red.

The enemy came at them in droves, and he soon realized defending the main street wasn't enough: practically unopposed, the shades were spreading out among the side streets as well, invading the entire city. They had to keep falling back along the main street just to avoid being surrounded by enemies coming up around them. Soon they had to abandon the main street, and they became locked down in a bitter struggle, fighting for every alleyway. Inevitably, the defenders became more and more separated. After what felt like hours he found himself defending an alleyway in between a weapon's workshop and a bakery with only a couple of men at his back to defend the other side. His arm became numb from the number of shades he had to cut down, but that wasn't his worst concern. Every time one of the shades fell its life energy seemed to disappear into his sword, the blackness coating his sword crawled a little bit further up his arm, and his skin and uniform was painted the sickly black colour of the shades.

He barely got a moment to breathe before two more shades stormed into the alley. He shot one with his pistol and caught the other one on the edge of his cutlass as it jumped him. Even as the blade pierced it the creature's arm still kept swinging. He tried to jerk his body out of the way, but the tip still ripped through his vest and shirt. The creature then collapsed, and once again the shade's black essence went into the sword and he could feel his skin tingling as the eerie energy tainted him. In disgust he tried to drop the sword, but his fingers wouldn't let go of the blade, stubbornly holding on to it. Alarmed by a sudden pain in his chest he tucked away the pistol and pulled at the tear in his clothing to check for injuries. What he discovered was far worse than an injury. He froze still, unable to move. The taint had reached his heart. Thick veins throbbed on his skin, which was as black as that of the enemies he'd just been fighting.

Silence reigned as he stared at the horrific taint. Everything had gone so quiet he barely realized the battle was still going on. He looked up at the sky and to both sides of the alleyway. The two footmen that had followed him inside were tangled up on the ground with a group of shades, both sides bleeding out slowly on the ground below. The hellish green flames had entered the city, engulfing it almost completely, save for the little alleyway he'd retreated to. Carefully, he walked to one side of the alleyway to peer into the streets. They were littered with countless bodies, and rivers of blood ran in between the cobblestones. None were left standing. It felt strange to be the only one who remained, yet see so many that'd been forged in his own image among the dead. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to come to terms with this horrible situation he couldn't even make sense of. He'd only just dropped his guard when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Before he could react he was roughly jerked around. A sword shaped not unlike his own, and just as tainted, came up and drove into his ribs, splitting them in two and rending the soft flesh underneath with equal brutality. He gasped and his cutlass finally slipped from his fingers, making no sound as it hit the ground. Yet another shade materialized in front of him, bearing his face as the soldiers had.

The thing that was not him bore a scar over his eye, and its stomach had several bright red streaks on it, like liquid fire. Over his eyes and part of his forehead red marks in a shape reminiscent of leaves were painted. When the thing spoke, he barely moved his lips.

“Cease your resistance. You need only… accept.”

The creature drove his sword deeper. He felt his ribs crack and his flesh tear as the metal moved underneath the bone, every subtle movement of the blade accompanied by the feeling of countless burning needles moving outward, digging their way further into his flesh. Then the flames consumed him and all of the city with it, but he did not feel the burning sensation of the flames on his skin. He didn't even scream. He was... breathing.

He’d fallen to one knee and was rubbing his eyes with his hand. They were throbbing painfully, like he'd been staring into a fire for too long. When he opened his eyes he saw the deck of a ship below him. The flames, the shades, the corpses... All of it was gone, everything but the pain. One by one his senses returned to him, and they told him more than they ever had before. The sound of battle around him, the stench of blood and sweat, every sensation told him something. By the very tremors that went going through the deck every time someone made a step or every time the body of a defeated combatant hit the deck he could gauge their position and the direction they were heading. Despite all this, his body still felt useless, unable to endure the hardships of battle. His henchmen were being pressed hard, but he couldn't help them now. His eyes were pulled towards the door leading into the forecastle, where his minions had gone to try and get the ship to move. Incompetent as they were, it came as no surprise that they had failed. A quick glance up confirmed they were still in the cave. He’d have to take matters into his own hands.

He clutched his painful ribs with one hand and rapidly scuffled towards the door, ignoring everything around him. He was on his hands and knees, but it nevertheless didn't take him very long to reach the door. The door was an easy obstacle, the steps beyond that slightly less so, even though there were only two. His knees throbbed from hitting them on the stairs, and there were two more series of steps directly across from him, at the end of the hall he found himself in. There were doors on his left and right and at the end of the room, beyond the stairs down, as well as another stairway leading up to the far right. He chose to go down into the hold. It was there his presence was required. The stairway provided a great challenge to his frail, punctured shell, but he forced himself up. He stumbled over the intertwined corpses of a murloc and a dwarf, their blood staining his knees and hands as he pushed himself up. Down and down he went, into the pitch black hold. The darkness did not impede him.

At the bottom of the stairs, he slowed down to a crawl once again. Soon, he had reached the hold. His subordinates had cleared a path through the defending murlocs, thankfully, but the fools had no idea how to proceed from here. They were all gathered here in the core of the ship around the very object that demanded his presence: the mana stone. One, the half-elf, was touching it with his hand carefully, sliding it across slowly, like he was expecting to find an activation button or something equally dumb. The dwarf was prodding the stone with a stick and shouting and cursing at it. The shifty-eyed human merely looked on, as if his wit alone would be enough to move the stone. He was holding a torch, which was about the most useful thing the miscreant could possibly do. Useless, all of them. The stone would not react.

The mana stone was a swirling, floating blue mass of rock about the size of a small boulder which glowed and hummed softly with magical energy. Thin magic threads which he doubted his underlings could see linked it up to the sides of the ship, but the threads were void, empty, devoid of magic. Only when he came so close to the stone that he had to squint against its light did the blind fools finally notice him. His henchmen gasped in surprise at his presence, or perhaps the state his fragile shell was in. As he pushed himself up they began to blabber exclamations of surprise, fear or worry, or whatever it was they felt. It did not matter: the only thing of true importance was that they moved aside. He did not hear their voices: there was only one thing in this room that required his attention. He placed his hand carefully in the middle of the stone, basking in its light as the humming became louder and the glow became brighter. An energy awoke inside of him, seeping into the stone, powering it. The threads lighted up with energy. His lackeys backed away from the stone. He grinned. The ship was moving.

To read on: teano.deviantart.com/art/Legac…

Lore / sources: 

Mana stone: www.wowwiki.com/Mana_Stone

Gallery: teano.deviantart.com/gallery/3…

Summary: What the hell is going on here?
© 2014 - 2024 TEANO
Comments22
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Pedigri's avatar
The new additions are very good. Well written. Prolonging losing men near him up until the very end solved the earlier problem. It still felt like there's something at stake being lost bit by bit with every fallen soldier.

the shades' black essence - this was a single shade, so it should be "shade's".

Since you make the taint and the shirt ripping coincide, it might feel that way. You kept the part about the taint crawling up his arm, which is good. Make him feel the early stages of the taint then. It could be just a sort of itch, too low in intensity to pay attention to it. By the time he got cut the sensation could become stronger.

Normally the words "once again" would be a dead give away that it happened before, but here it could be interpreted so that the essence went into the blade and up his arm before, BUT without the sensation and the moment after the cut was the first moment he felt it. BUT you could move the "once again" to emphasize that it once again resulted in that sensation. If the sentence feels bare without mentioning that the essence went up this time too, you could keep once again where it is, but rewrite the latter part using "the same (tingling sensation) he felt before.

"and once again the shade's black essence went into the sword and he could feel HIS skin tingling IN THE SAME WAY IT DID WHEN the eerie energy tainted him

The new scene with the discovery of his black heart is so much better, so much more dramatic.
The part about countless bodies and blood running between cobblestones is great too.

In general, the changes feel great and there's little that can be improved at this stange.

So the city represented his soul being besieged by demons and then finally taking it over like they did the city. Funny it took me three or four read throughs to get that (if that's what you were going for, of course).