bookpower Chapter 120: Chapter LXI: Impotent Rage
Chapter 120: Chapter LXI: Impotent Rage
Chapter 120: Chapter LXI: Impotent Rage
(General POV, Forsworn camp)
The tall Reachman Warchief withered under his mother's... no, his priestess' glare "WHY IS THE DAMNED WITCH NOT DEAD YET!?" She screeched as only one so blessed can.
"Mo-" He tried but a growl interrupted him "Great one" he corrected pleadingly "the metal machine is too powerful, and counting the witch we stand no chance of breaching their defenses." He knelt on the ground and prostrated himself "Please send some of your students with us, my brothers are not yet strong enough to fight against such might!"
He could taste the derision in the Hagraven's wheezing growl "Too weak are you? Is this what the men of our kingdom have become? WEAKLINGS?!"
He dug his head deeper into the ground "Please, you know of the strength that they can wield." he pleaded.
"No." The blessed one denied him "I will not risk the priesthood because you are too afraid! They must be ready for when the false King arrives."
He held back a growl of frustration, but couldn't stop the question on his lips as he looked up "Is the reward of the golden elves so tempting that our brothers must die?"
As expected a heavy slap followed as he was launched onto the ground by the much smaller Hagraven "Fool! You dare doubt US? Your guides to the gods?!"
"Never!" He stammered as he picked himself up "I just wish a glimpse of your enlightenment."
"We-" His mother suddenly stilled and with widened eyes looked at the enemy fort.
Not even a moment later she summoned three great earthen walls and a green shield of magic in front of her, at that same time the accursed sound of the metal killer resounded once again.
It was as if time itself slowed as the Warchief watched a great bolt, made of the same metal as the machine that fired it, pierce through the walls one by one, his heart hammered in outrage as the tip reached the wall of magic... and cracked it like a thin sheet of ice.
The next instant his mother lay impaled into the ground, wheezing in pain and clawing at the weapon. He knew she would live, the blessed were far tougher than mere mortals after all... that was until the bolt started glowing with cursed red writings.
Following his honed instincts he threw himself as far away as possible and looked up just in time to see an explosion of crimson lightning consume his mother, leaving not a single feather.
A deathly silence spread through the camp as everyone looked aghast at what happened, and then the devastated wails of the young Warchief pierced everyone's ears as the tall Reachman attempted to find anything left of his mother.
His sorrow turned to fury as he failed to find even ashes, taking a deep breath he stood up and marched deeper into the camp, his sisters would not deny him his vengeance even if he had to blaspheme against the Great Mother to get it.
(Reyvin's POV)
"Aaaaand Gaterasher test two is complete!" I whooped like a child on a sugar high.
"Bloody hells lad" The Thane gaping at the sight of the explosion barked "That was incredible!"
I raise my nose "I knew the moment I finished crafting that particular bolt it would go on to do great things."
A guffaw is his response "You speak as if it were your child!"
"And what a glorious child it was!" I smile wistfully, a beat of pleasant silence later I see a commotion begin to rise at the enemy camp "It seems they are responding as expected, have your men prepare for a tougher battle, they will pull no punches in what follows."
For almost ten minutes the exchange continues, a ward here, a spell there, a sudden spear
thrown, but the sisters seem to share a mind and the witch sees all so not one manages to hurt the other, and yet the witch had battled throughout the day and his Magicka was waning, forcing him to once again conserve his strength.
Just as Reyvin is about to choose drastic measures from what was turning from an entertaining exchange to pure tedium, the Warchief returns, covered in blood, and attempts to help his sisters by casting frostbite with both hands to at least slow their enemy down.
And then, as if orchestrated on purpose, the witch stills at a specific spot and allows the frostbite to hit him head on... only for his robes to shimmer and seemingly absorb the magic. The masked face turned to the Warlord and the witch bobbed his head "Why thank you for that" and with twist and a loud hiss of "Tiid" he launched a firebolt straight at one of the
sister's faces.
The spell moved fast, far faster than ever before, and there was no time for her to react. Her head burst in flames as she screamed in her final moments of agony.
As the Forsworn were stunned by the development the witch quickly summoned a blue potion
and downed it in a gulp, they could hear his derisive sneer as he mock-bowed "Shall we continue this dance?"
"RAAAAAGH!" the Briarheart threw himself at the filthy witch with all his might, but once again he merely shifted out of the way while spearing his other sister who was stunned from
the sudden loss of connection.
She too died in fiery agony.
No longer paying any attention to the massive yet useless warrior, the witch approached his
last sister with slow and deliberate steps, she pushed herself against the wall of a tower in fear, trying desperately to summon up her magic yet failing miserably.
The Warlord was desperate, his grief only rivaled by his desire to save the last of his family, once again he charged, and once again the witch stilled.
He hoped his enemy finally made a mistake, a misstep as his axe sang to the bastards neck...
Only to hear a faint whisper "Feim"
And find his axe buried in his sister's chest.
Alternate title: Fuck this guy in particular.
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