T Lain - Return of the Damned

Despite Regdar’s heroic stand at the door, the room was filling quickly with more soldiers. Whitman was surrounded by jann, and Tasca couldn’t see Clemf anywhere. He fired two arrows at once. A soldier shrieked as both projectiles penetrated his chest, but he didn’t fall.

“That’ll be all out of you,” came a voice from Tasca’s left.

The elf ducked, an instinctive reaction to being startled in battle. A thick black blade sparked as it hit the stone wall. Chips of broken brick rained down on the crouched elf’s head.

Dropping his bow, Tasca somersaulted away from the wall so that he landed on his feet, his rapier in hand. He looked up into the face of the blackguard.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” she said. Then she charged.

Tasca braced himself, watching the tip of the long, black blade as it zigzagged toward him.

Lindroos feinted left and changed direction. Tasca weaved his blade through the air, following the move with an expert eye. The blackguard grunted and leaned into her strike. Her blade pushed hard against the elf’s rapier, sliding down its length with a long grinding noise.

Tasca pushed back with all of his strength, but the blackguard simply overpowered him. Time seemed to slow down as the black blade slid closer and closer to his face. The sounds of battle fell away, leaving only the shing of metal on metal. Tasca gave ground, dodging away in a complete retreat.

Too late.

Lindroos’s blade slipped past his guard and caught the elf on the cheek, opening a deep wound across his face. Tasca hissed and jerked backward, slamming into the wall.

“Too bad,” taunted the blackguard. “It’s a shame to cut up such a pretty face.”

Clemf fought for his life, surrounded by a dozen cultist soldiers.

“Out of the cook pot into the campfire,” he said, bashing away attacks one after the other. His efforts were focused exclusively on defending himself. He didn’t have time to counterattack or even think about how he was going to get out of this mess.

Another longsword came at his head. Clemf ducked. A second came in at his knees. He slapped it aside with his blade. A third jabbed at his ribs. It glanced off his armor.

A sharp pain shot through the back of his right leg. Clemf howled and pulled himself away, stumbling headlong into two soldiers. The change was unintentional, but the unexpected movement knocked several of Clemf’s attackers backward.

The tattooed warrior got tangled up in the pile of flailing bodies. He put out his hand to catch himself. From out of nowhere, a heavy boot caught him in the chest. He dropped his longsword and fell to his knees.

Panting, resting on all fours, Clemf looked down at the wooden slats that made up the flooring. Though he felt no pain, he could see drips of blood falling from his body. They made a slight tapping sound as they impacted the floor.

He wondered at the noise. So odd that amid all the clanging, smashing, fighting, and dying that he could hear the drops of blood. For a moment, all that existed in the room was the wooden floor and the ever-changing crimson patterns forming and reforming with each splash.

The unmistakable sound of metal straining then failing rang though Clemf’s ears, followed by a hollow noise like a melon being dropped on a hard stone floor. Clemf watched as the drips of blood grew larger, then turned into a steady stream. The deluge hit the ground and splashed, throwing out more drips in a circular pattern.

“How beautiful,” said the tattooed human.

Clemf collapsed to the floor, facedown in a pool of blood.

Regdar’s stalling tactic didn’t work for long. The narrow doorframe made a good bottleneck, but the fight pitted one man against two dozen. Even a veteran fighter like Regdar couldn’t expect to hold them forever.

The front line pushed back against Regdar’s assault, and the soldiers in the rear slipped inside the door, working their way past the big fighter and into battle with the other three. In moments, Regdar was again surrounded, and so were his friends.

Regdar slashed his greatsword across one soldier, slicing through the protective metal around his neck and cleaving into the flesh and bone beneath. The man let out a cry and stumbled back. Regdar followed through, taking the opportunity to step out from between the men surrounding him. Spinning, he put his back against the wall to protect his flank.

As he turned around, he got a view of the entire room. Before him stood three cultists ready for a fight. Behind them, Whitman was surrounded by three jann. In the corner, Tasca was locked in combat with Lindroos, his face bleeding from a long wound.

Then he saw Clemf, outnumbered ten to one, fall to his hands and knees. Before Regdar could move or even speak, a huge soldier raised his sword overhead with the tip pointing straight down, right at where Clemf had fallen. Regdar’s blood ran cold, and a numbing tingle ran down his spine.

The soldier’s arms stabbed down.

The sound of armor complaining as it was punctured followed, and Regdar felt his heart slip into his stomach.

The ring of soldiers surrounding Clemf turned away and broke up, heading for the other three fighters. With his back against the wall, Regdar fought off three attackers of his own. More were on their way. As the center of the room cleared, Regdar’s worst fears were proven. Clemf lay facedown on the floor in a growing pool of blood.

Regdar’s lip curled. He made eye contact with each of the three men standing before him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said through gritted teeth. “If I have to come back from the grave to do it, I’ll kill all of you.” His greatsword caught the first soldier between the ribs. The magical blade bit deep, and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell dead.

Regdar pulled out the blade, savoring the sight of blood running down its length. He lunged at the second soldier, but the blow was parried. The man bashed Regdar’s sword against the wall and pinned it there with the flat of his own blade.

Regdar struggled to free his weapon, but he couldn’t get enough leverage. With his back against the wall and his arm held fast, his chest and belly were completely exposed. The third cultist saw the opening and sliced down. His razor-sharp weapon slipped between the plates in Regdar’s armor.

A burning sensation blossomed on Regdar’s left shoulder, and he could feel his warm blood seep into his armpit and run down his ribs. With his back against the wall, he couldn’t pull back, so instead he jerked sideways, dislodging the blade but not before the weapon tore a much larger gash in his hide.

Regdar drew in a sharp breath between gritted teeth, making a hissing sound as he did. The wound the soldier had opened was deep, and it hurt. To make matters worse, a new group of soldiers had surrounded the big fighter. The cultists lined up in a semicircle, three rows deep, waiting their turn to take their best shot at Captain Regdar.

A pop , as loud as a cannon shot, echoed off the black stone walls, startling everyone. In the far corner, filling the only unpopulated section of the large room, a softly glowing circle of blue-white faded into view. A cylinder of magical light grew from the circle, rising from the floor to the ceiling. The light pulsed once, and the glow began to fade. In its place, several figures took shape.

“Lindroos,” came a woman’s voice from inside the cylinder, “whatever evil scheme you’re plotting comes to an end, here and now.”

The magical glow dissipated altogether, and the figures came completely into view.

“No, dear sister,” replied the blackguard, “it has only just begun.”

Alhandra and Jozan stepped into the melee, accompanied by two holy warriors, each wearing the symbol of the god Heironeous.