Chương 87: Archon's Blood

Lloyd stared at the scene, unable to believe his own eyes, his entire body wracked with a faint, treacherous trembling. Brand's face, frozen within the ice, held the same look of astonishment, and the Creature itself seemed to be smirking somewhere from within its icy prison, the thought sending fresh waves of cold gooseflesh crawling across Lloyd's skin.

Before Lloyd could utter a single word, small blue flowers began sprouting from the surface of the ice spike, blooming one after another with a faint, crystalline chime, their thin petals glinting as though carved from ice itself, while frost patterns wove between them, spreading further and further across the surface.

A dense cloud of cold vapor followed, and then an even thicker mound of ice, so massive that neither the bodies, the Creature, nor Brand remained visible behind it — everything vanished into an impenetrable white mass, glinting faintly in the sparse light filtering through the smoky haze hanging over the clearing.

Another small blue snowflake-flower bloomed at the very peak of the mound, from whose center rose a thin, curling column of cold vapor, dissolving into the still air of the clearing, like the breath of some slumbering, colossal creature. Lloyd's lips trembled, and he immediately turned toward Casper.

The man stood there as though nothing had happened, his face holding the same blank expression as always, as though the whole thing had been nothing more than a routine, tedious chore, as though he'd just solved some tiresome math problem rather than freezing his own ally alive. Lloyd screamed, his voice breaking into a hoarse rasp, pouring every ounce of built-up fury and despair into the sound, every last bit of pain accumulated in his battered body. — What the hell, Casper!

Attacking your own for your own damn benefit! Casper looked away and answered in a calm, almost indifferent voice, as though speaking not to a person but to some annoying insect buzzing at him. — Don't shout like that, my head already hurts enough. He's not dead. Someone like you, and him too, never stood a chance from the start. You just got extremely lucky to make it this far. And yes, I never considered you allies to begin with, so I'm afraid our temporary alliance is over.

He raised his palm toward Lloyd, and cold, twisting vapor began rising slowly from it, coiling around his fingers in thin, pale ribbons, while the ground beneath his feet rapidly whitened again, frost spreading in threatening waves toward Lloyd. But then a familiar voice rang out — or rather, thousands of voices, both male and female, speaking as one, merged into a single chorus that spread across the clearing from every direction at once, as though it had no single source at all. — Not a bad attempt.

Lloyd and Casper both spun around at once, their breath catching simultaneously. There, atop the mound of ice, sat the Creature — whole and unharmed, without a single wound, only a thin layer of white frost visible along the edges of its red cloak, slowly melting from the warmth radiating off its body. It sat there, swinging one leg, watching them both with obvious, almost childlike amusement, smiling its unnaturally wide smile, stretching all the way to ears it didn't have.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. — I don't have much time left, so let's wrap this up. In that same instant it vanished without a sound, dissolving into the air as though it had never been there at all, leaving behind no hint of movement, not even a disturbance in the air.

Casper's head snapped around warily, eyes darting frantically from shadow to shadow, his eyebrows drawing together ever so slightly — for the first time this whole ordeal, something resembling worry flickered across his face, a faint but unmistakable fear gripping his usually unshakable features. But then a whisper came right at his ear, the voice so close that warm, damp breath brushed against his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. — Behind you.

Then he heard a wet, squelching sound, as though something had splashed against the ground, and blood began dripping from his mouth, dark, heavy drops staining the grass beneath him, trickling down his chin in a thin red thread. Slowly, as though forcing himself, he lowered his gaze, and his face reflected a delayed, paralyzing realization, his eyes widening in silent horror.

His stomach had been pierced clean through — a black hand, ending in long red claws, protruded from it, stained with blood, ornate gold jewelry glinting on its fingers, studded with tiny rubies that gleamed faintly in the smoky light of the clearing. Blood ran down the Creature's arm in thick, dark drops, falling to the ground with a quiet, steady sound, as though counting down the seconds.

The Creature lifted Casper off the ground, as though he weighed no more than a rag doll, turning him this way and that, studying him with lazy curiosity, tilting its head first one way, then the other, examining his limp body with almost scientific interest, then carelessly tossed him aside, like so much unwanted trash — his body flew a good ten meters before slamming into a tree trunk with a dull thud and sliding down to the roots, leaving a wide bloody smear on the bark that trickled down in dark streaks.

A few drops of blood remained on the Creature's hand — it stuck out a long, unnaturally thin tongue, writhing as though alive, and slowly licked them off one by one, savoring each motion with almost indecent pleasure.

Suddenly it went still, as though surprised by some new, unexpected taste, all three of its eyes widening at once, and then a wide, almost rapturous smile spread across its face, and it turned its gaze toward the barely-alive Casper lying at the tree roots, his breathing reduced to a faint, gurgling wheeze. — Oh, you've got Archon blood running through your veins.

It bowed in a mocking, theatrical gesture, its red cloak billowing out behind its shoulders in a wave, its voice turning sickly sweet once more as it carried across the entire clearing, echoing off the charred tree trunks. — Forgive me, where are my manners...

Lloyd clenched his teeth so hard his jaw creaked, tasting the salty tang of his own blood in his mouth, and gathering every last scrap of strength he could scrape together from his exhausted, battered body, he began slowly rising from the ground, bracing a trembling hand against the damp, smoke-scented earth, feeling every muscle protest the movement, his vision darkening for a moment from the strain, but he kept rising anyway, inch by inch, refusing to simply lie there and watch any longer.