The Broken Pieces(82)

Suddenly Jerico’s shield seemed rather puny compared to that.

“Jerico…” Darius said, his sword before him as if he might ward off the demon with it.

“Do you still doubt?” asked Cyric, his voice rumbling like deep stones knocking together. “Look upon me and know that I am God.”

Jerico knew Darius was looking to him, needing him. Against such a thing, easily twice their height, they were but mere mortals. But the army beyond the forest knelt against its will. If Cyric was not stopped now, he would never be. What arrow would pierce his side? What sword would break through that rock? Who else would not bow before such power? Darius, Jerico, they were both about to break, to succumb to the fear that rolled over Cyric’s body in waves. But Jerico couldn’t give in. Darius looked to him for strength, and somehow he’d give it to him.

“We are the light shining in the deepest pit,” Jerico said, reciting a mantra of his order. “We are the hope that lets the fearful sleep. We are the strong that kneel before the weak.”

Cyric reared up, his fist billowing smoke and fire. Jerico lifted his shield.

“We are the stone that will not shatter. We are the mountain all may climb. We are everything good, everything joyful, that must never die.”

A sword formed in Cyric’s fist, its blade as long as Jerico was tall. The edge shimmered with lava, the hilt cracked with black obsidian.

“We will not break,” Jerico cried as the sword descended. “We will not break!”

Sword hit shield. The shockwave rolled as the ground shattered beneath Jerico in all directions from the force of his stand. Branches blew outward, the fire on them nearly dying. Sparks flew, metal groaned, but the sword could not break the shield.

“Now!” Jerico screamed.

Darius lunged, the light of his blade gleaming. It cut into Cyric’s side, and from it flowed blood that burned from contact with the air. The demon swung its sword toward him, but Jerico was there, putting himself in the way of the attack. Again it hit his shield, and he screamed at the pain in his arm. When Cyric pulled back for a third strike, Darius slipped in, cutting another gash along the inside of his arm before bouncing away. The molten blade struck the earth but not flesh.

Jerico gave him no time to recover. He flung himself forward, his shield leading. It was his weapon, his defense, and with its light he would burn away everything Cyric represented. The shield slammed into Cyric’s chest, and it hit with a heavy crack. Cyric bellowed in pain, and he twisted his sword to stab Jerico’s neck. Before he could, Valessa leapt from the very earth, her arms twin blades of light. They slashed up Cyric’s back, spilling burning blood. When the demon cried again, she looped her legs around his neck, spun, and then slashed at the arm holding the blade.

Cyric struggled, his body assaulted from both high and low. It was amid that struggle Darius stepped forward, let out a cry to Ashhur, and then sliced through Cyric’s knee. The beast crumpled, Jerico fled back, and Valessa leapt off. Together the three faced Cyric as the demon pounded the earth attempting to stand.

“Follow my lead,” Jerico said. He raced forward, and when Cyric lashed out, the sword struck his shield, knocking him flying. His back hit a tree, and he gasped for air, but the way was clear. Valessa danced, her speed incredible, her hands slashing across Cyric’s stomach before plunging deep into his wounded leg. Cyric roared out his pain in a bellow of breaking rock and madness personified.

Darius cut off his head, ending Cyric’s cry forever.

Before a single horn on the demon’s skull touched ground, the body had broken into fire and smoke.

“I think…” Jerico winced, stumbling off the tree with bits of bark sticking to his armor. “I think we won.”

Darius jammed his sword into the dirt and smiled at Valessa.

“I think we did.”

“Praise Ashhur,” Valessa said, returning his smile as the demon’s body consumed itself, leaving only a black scar upon the land where the mad priest had once been.





24



Darius and Jerico stood there, both exhausted, both gasping in air, as they watched Luther approach. Valessa, however, hid behind one of the burning trees just outside Darius’s line of sight. It seemed she didn’t want to be seen. After everything, Darius did not blame her. So far Luther likely didn’t know she existed.

“He is dead?” Luther asked as he stepped through the flames.

“He is,” Darius said, and the relief was palpable on Luther’s face.

“You have done something all of Dezrel should thank you for,” he said to them. “Though I fear they might never know your names, nor understand the peril you saved them from.”