Red-Stained Night (Solo)

[Christoph]

Chapter III: Midnight

"Light is a fickle thing. While it defies darkness and holds at bay the night, even the faintest flicker can cast the blackest shadows."

--Yuri Talinov, "The Scarlet Tragedy."

“The End of Things shall come with hellfire, flames struck not from wood nor steel. Trust not any unnatural fire, for it is demonic and an abomination of witchcraft.”

--The Ethereal Texts, First Book of Condemnations.

*

Battle raged beneath the Matron's wings. Death, smoke, and ancient magic infected the air, thick like mist between the trees. Blood stained the forest as men and beasts tore each other apart with steel and claw. Chaos ruled as lord of the night and fire rained from the sky. By the Old Gods, it was beautiful! A lifetime of arcane study in the mountains had not diminished her aesthetic appreciation -- and this growing maelstrom of butchery was art at its finest.

With the Salvic army's vanguard in disarray further into the forest, Elijah's beasts attacked the main body. Soldiers scattered as fierce monsters charged down the hill, their unprepared battle lines shattered. Only after literal hundreds had died, torn limb from limb or trampled, did their commanders rally routing front lines into a wall of shields and spears to fight back. With their eyes focused downward, the fools no longer looked to the sky.

Dozens of her sisters appeared nearby, black shadows against the night. At her signal, they swooped down between burning trees, spearing hapless soldiers with forked spears of wood and bone. Their shrill war cries echoed above screaming men. She too felt the call of battle below, but an even stronger pull from above. The storm roiled and writhed like a living thing, fused with the magic of an entire sorcerer coven: a spell greater than the sum of its parts.

She let its power flow through her, felt the living enchantment's intimate touch. Energy coursed through her body like lightning in her veins. The world below her seemed so small, so insignificant compared to her, as though she had become a god. Was this how Elijah felt, when he unleashed his arcane might?

She drew from the power, guiding the might of the storm onto the army below in a blast of lightning and wind, scattering dozens of soldiers and reducing many to smoldering husks. She cried out in mad triumph, losing herself in her magic. She swooped down, leaving trails of flame that cut a swaths through the enemy ranks. Men screamed and burned. Oh, how they burned! She was like a demon of old, terrorizing mortals from the sky.

She caught a speck of red and white moving in the corner of her eyes; she turned sharp to see a long figure with a spear rushing alone into the forest. She made ready to swoop upon him, but before she could act further, something whizzed narrowly by the matron's head. And then another, the second leaving a shallow cut in her arm. She looked down. Dozens of archers lined up below, firing crossbows at their airborne attackers. Three of her sisters fell. More bolts passed narrowly by her as she ascended, wrapping the raging wind around her like a cloak for protection. The chaos in the Salvic army subsided as officers organized their forces. Over a thousand soldiers now formed into tight pockets, holding off the marauding beasts as their armored knights charged in for the kills. Finally, they moved forward again, marching over hundreds of their own dead.

The Matron gave a shrill screech, signaling her sisters to withdraw. They had fulfilled their duties for now.