The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 692: Battle of Attrition

Fyren and the undead giant exchanged another dozen blows, releasing shockwaves that shook the city. The fight was far from the battle between Elaine and the dragons, yet I couldn’t let my guard slip.

The giant was unlike any enemy I’d faced before. It had almost no mana and used neither spell nor magical technique. Its body was pushed to the early stages of eighth-level through muscle density and physique. Without mana enhancement, Fyren himself could only reach the upper regions of sixth, maybe seventh. Whatever monster the undead had been before Connor raised it must have been terrifying.

Fyren landed a blow on the monster’s chest, sending it staggering back a step. He followed it up with a cut at its neck, but it got its forearm up in time, receiving a cut to the bone. Fyren’s mana detonated, but the explosion hardly reached a dozen feet before collapsing in on itself, suppressed by the weight of the black mist. The giant was scorched, but the burns were little more than cosmetic damage on its skin.

"Can you do something about the damned mist?" Fyren asked, weaving around a series of punches.

"I’ll try."

I activated the Oracle of Eternity, analyzing the weave of Connor’s ability. Every burst of fire disappeared into the mist, reaching only half the distance and strength it should have. It was like shooting an arrow into water compared of air.

Fyren dashed between the giant’s legs, slashing at its left shin. I pointed at my staff and whispered, "Dispel Magic."

A burst of chaotic mana erupted from the star, slamming into the mass of rotting muscle. The black mist exploded, dissipating in a small area, clearing the way for his sword.

Fyren’s sword cut deep into the creature’s leg, stopping only as it ran hard into bone. A violent shudder ran up its body, and the giant groaned, its fist stopping inches from striking the demon. White ash flaked from the wound as fires devoured its flesh.

The bubble of discordant mana popped, and the black mist came crashing back in. Fyren retreated a few steps, keeping his sword trained on the undead. It staggered, and its wound began to mend. Unlike before, there wasn’t enough material for it to stitch together, but the mist compensated, reconstructing its leg with pure mana in an illusory, translucent prosthetic.

"Try its arm," Fyren said, lunging into the air.

I complied, dispelling the mist around its right wrist. Fyren’s blade found it a heartbeat later, severing it in half. The creature managed to retaliate this time, knocking him from the air. Fyren flew several hundred feet before crashing into a sizable manor, bringing it down around him.

"Fyren!" I shouted, running toward him.

Before I made it two steps, the giant was on me. It slammed my wards with its fist. A sickening crack made my stomach lurch as its forearm splintered, bone bursting through translucent flesh. Black blood showered my wards, choking my nostrils with a fetid stench.

A storm of fire enveloped me, evaporating the blood and driving the giant away. Fyren appeared by my side, catching me as I fell, exhausted.

"Are you alright?" he asked, hurriedly checking me for injuries.

"F-fine," I choked, "Just... tired."

He looked up at the giant, eyes narrow. "What happened to its arm?"

"The mist is only about as strong as a fifth-level spell," I answered.

"So it can’t recover to full strength? Good, we’ll wear it down bit by bit."

"Can we? You look tired," I said.

He shot me a strange look. "I’m the one that’s tired?"

I flushed slightly, tail twisting. "Um...you shouldn’t have been hit by that last one or the one before."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the giant charged us. Fyren threw himself at it, sword aimed at its chest. I cast another dispel magic, wincing at the sharp pain in my soul. After that came an attack on its waist, then left leg again. My breathing grew ragged, and before long, my vision started to waver. The dull ache behind my eyes intensified, throbbing with every spell.

"Almost there," Fyren panted, landing beside me after a powerful blow to its neck. "A few more minutes and we’ll–"

The ground shuddered, sending me tumbling into his side. He caught me in his arms and jumped away, landing at the top of a clock tower some distance away. The giant, off-balance from our earlier attack, fell to the ground.

A shockwave swept over us, setting the tower swaying back and forth. I gasped for breath, eyes closed tightly. Fyren touched my forehead and winced, his glove coming away damp with sweat.

"You’re burning," he said.

A powerful aura rose behind us. I forced my eyes open, a tremor running down my tail. Fyren turned, stiffening as we beheld a pillar of darkness rising into the sky above the crater like a beacon. The fires raging within shifted from orange and red to jet black, casting a haunting glow over the city. A roar split the skies. A dragon’s roar.

"R’lissea...?" I whispered.

"We’re out of time," Fyren said.

He jumped off the tower. My stomach flipped at the drop, but I hardly felt the wind in my hair. What happened? Why did I feel the dragon’s aura again? It was dead!

"I know you’re tired," Fyren said, "but can you speed things up? We’ve got to kill it."

I blinked, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes. "I...have to, don’t I?"

But as I looked up at the towering giant, my heart sank. Dispel magic was too weak. It wasn’t a spell optimized for fighting undead in the slightest, especially in the shadow of Connor’s ability. Thanks to the black mist, it required almost twice as much mana as usual to cover the same area, and with less potency.

"Fyren, we’re not going to make it," I said, glancing at the power overflowing from the crater. A silhouette rose within, thick and serpentine, releasing a bone-chilling aura.

"Then R’lissea will die," he growled.

I bit my lip, tail lashing. R’lissea’s presence was faint in the Nexus and growing weaker by the second.

"Can you buy me a minute?" I asked, gripping my staff.

"Haven’t I been doing that this whole time? You can rely on me, Xiviyah."

I nodded and took a deep breath. Fyren attacked the giant, no longer concerned about dealing damage. Our efforts had left it pockmarked with scars and pits filled with undead mana, weakening the giant’s abilities considerably. If it was Fyren, he should be able to hold on.

My soul shivered as I drew on my mana, drinking deeply from its depths. The Oracle of Eternity faded into the background, and even Adaptive Resistance stuttered, letting traces of the undead mana into my body. My muscles weakened, and my skin grew sallow and oily. I felt like giving up and sleeping, or at the very least crying.

Seven magic circles appeared above the city. I hated how familiar the sight was. How many cities and lives had I destroyed with this spell?

"Xiviyah, stop this! You can’t handle it!" Fyren shouted.

I drew more mana, ignoring the burn, embracing the pain. I could feel the dragon’s aura rising on the edge of my senses, reaching the threshold of the seventh level. Pushing into eighth. I closed my eyes, forming the final runes.

"Mana Storm."

Something cracked, filling my soul with searing pain. I lost consciousness for a second, regaining my vision just in time to see the first wave of mana descend. The darkness evaporated, torn apart whenever it tried to reform. Fyren gave me a long, sad look, mustering his mana for an eighth-level technique. The mana storm tore at his flames, but in their strength, they endured it.

The giant stumbled back, burning from a thousand cuts. Fyren’s sword flashed one more time, and its head thumped to the ground. The ground shook as its colossal bodied toppled after it, slowly crumbling into ash.

My vision flickers in and out. My mind struggled to comprehend anything I saw. Everything was moving too quickly. I heard Fyren’s voice and saw his face, but they were muddled and blurred. I grasped for my staff but couldn’t find it.

"R’lissea..." I groaned.

I was weightless, floating in arms made of steel. I struggled to open my eyes, but they wouldn’t respond. My body felt heavy and stuffy, like I was wrapped in layers of cotton.

A powerful surge of aura sent a worm of fear into my mind, shocking me awake. The clarity was fleeting, but I grasped it with every fiber of my being, forcing my eyes open. I was in Fyren’s arms again, huddled against his chest for warmth. The city around us was devoid of everything except fire and shredded corpses.

"You’re awake?" Fyren asked.

I nodded, biting my cheek to keep from groaning. "Please, we have to help R’lissea."

"There’s no point anymore. He’s already gone."

Fyren shifted me into a different position, giving me a look at the sky. A dark ribbon snaked across the sky, disappearing over the caldera’s edge. That I could see it from this distance meant it was huge, easily a thousand feet long, about as big as the lava dragon had been.

"I’m sorry."

R’lissea’s whimper drew my gaze down to where she sat hugging her knees to her chest. Her dress was torn all over, revealing dozens of bites, scratches, and cuts across her flesh. The wounds were tainted black, her veins pulsing dark beneath her skin. She looked up at me with hollow eyes. I realized we stood atop a mass of withered plants and the mana residue of an Elemental.

"I’m sorry," she sobbed, breaking into tears. "I couldn’t stop him."