1Phantoms (continued)
The Se'non mystics now commanded power, and questions of ethics, usage, and reasons caused a split, resulting in three groups. The first group became the prophets, seeking to understand the meaning of life, and the role of this newfound energy. They remained in Se'non to investigate, practice, and master the form as magick, reaching into the depths of the continuum. Their obsession led them deeper into the haze of the unknown, where reality was fused with the imposable, and the never-ending reaches of time and space. This concept drove them mad as they hungered for more, eventually a dying people existent only in myth.
The oracles of the second group sought to become part of the mortal world, and were mercenaries of their art, taking payment for service. This practice of augury quickly became taboo and in society, illegal. The art form of sight led to a mysterious reputation as often disaster followed. The basic mortal hunger for insight and knowledge kept them afloat as they drifted to every corner of the mortal world.
The third group became infatuated with enlightenment of their minds, and were scholars. They moved across the seas to the eastern shores, finding their domain among the mountains. They hid from society, learning of the lost religion of DAO, the god of destiny. They used their studies to further their reach into the essence, to the divine. These were the people of the essence: these were the phantoms.
Soon, a black smoke column filled the air, pitch black, reflecting the way I felt, an abysmal pit of emotionless char. There were cultists there, and necromancers, burning the dead in heaps, burning the impurities from the corpses and readying them for the raising ceremony. The enemy would all be there, our targets would be there. Thus we would be there. Simple calculation. No abstract thought.
When the holocaust came into view, the stench of rotting and burning flesh filled the air, along with a multitude of vile incantations. The Necromancers could feel us, and our minds were intruded. We all slouched over, bowed heads and limp, moving slowly foreword.
On the inside, we were in a raging battle of wits, battle of will, who was stronger. Who was better. I felt the intrusion, quick jabs at my emotional shell. It was a rangefinder, to feel the strength of an enemy. I didn't think about emotion. I didn't think about feeling; or my enemy's. I had a target, so I struck, feeding one blast with the seeping emotion I could feel tapping from the inside of my shell, wanting to be free. I channeled it into my attack, creating a chaotic orb of passion and vehemence. I attacked, following the jabs of the attacker, flowing out with my essence until I reached the target, and unleashed the orb. I felt the recoil of his defenses, and the fury of my attack, I felt woozy, the essence blurred, but I could tell I had done well. I had broken his will, now he was open to attack.
I came out of the trance leaving my saddle. Others had already locked into combat, two for sure in melee combat and three others, like me, preparing an onslaught of psionics. I remembered back to first year when we learned the basics of physics and the elements, how to manipulate and control them. The psionics; crude, but effective.
I focused on the space in front of the enemy, he was slumped in exhaustion, propping himself up with his staff. I closed the space instill I felt the smallest particle I could, the catalyst. I concentrated on the particle, compressing it. The space around it also contracted. My mind was focused completely, all I saw was the particles, growing in number, growing in strength. It felt like elastic, it wanted to be set free. The particles were smaller than matter, they were energy, pure waves of light, light that wanted out. I held on a split second longer, and released, letting the energy out. It recoiled into the man's face, a blinding flash of light. He fell over.
I regained my composure and returned to the space, now focusing on the energy, but not containing it. I fed it with positive energy, thinking of the sun, like I had been taught. I found another space, several feet from it, and fed it with negative energy, reversing it. I thought of darkness. The two poles I had established were now snowballing, gaining strength. I concentrated harder, this time on keeping them from attacking eachother. Soon, the energy began to react, clashing between the poles. I concentrated harder. The energy was now creating static.
The necromancer got to his feet, between the poles. He had drawn his sword, the poles reacted, and I let them go. The cultist's belt and blade exploded in a mass of sparks and electricity, dispersing into other metal objects in the area. The light blinded those near him, some fell to the ground with smoking holes in them. The necromancer was burned severely, smoking from the reaction.
Flame suddenly encompassed me, burning everything around me. I instantly delved back into the continuum, focusing on my aura, ignoring the agony. I imagined the air around me, tying it to my aura, then slowing it, slowing the particles of matter, slowing all movement. I was loosing concentration, the pain was unbearable. I had to continue. I concentrated harder. The pain lessened. I could feel the heat leaving, but it was all that was holding me up. My concentration broke, the flame was gone. I collapsed.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I opened my eyes slightly, water was sprinkling from the dark formations above me. Clouds. They had rolled in, the darkness of them issuing small droplets of water which were lading on my face. It felt nice, like the soft touch of nature. There was a slight breeze, I could feel it now. It was cooling the water, now soaking my body. My body, I was in pain. I could feel the flesh on my leg and ribs was very sensitive, the cool water lessened the pain, I could move.
There was fighting ahead of me, heavy fighting, at the smoldering heap of corpses. I curled my neck up, ignoring the pain. I saw a fight, it was the Terr'an'viell soldiers, they were alive! In smaller numbers though, only a small portion remained. The necromancers were out of sight. The battle was being fought on rough terrain, there was a deep gash in the ground in front of me, maybe five spans across, and the ends were lost in the foggy air. The rain was coming down hard now, thunder was dwarfing the sounds of battle. Lightning filled the clouds, the deafening roar and flashing light was clouding my senses.
I tried to sit, the pain was pushing against me. I put down my arm and pushed up, forcing myself to sit.
"CASSIE!"
I don't know why that came to me but it did. All of the things that had occurred tore through my mind, they worked backwards, into the battle, the death, the blood, the cult; so many cultists, like a blanket of darkness. Darkness! I had blacked out. The walls fell, it all rushed back, all of it. Excitement, joy, surprise, dread, anger, panic, distress, loss, dismay, depression, regret, hatred, revenge, satisfaction, ecstasy, frenzy, wall. It all stopped, suddenly.
I panicked, stood, feeling the pain, it was releasing the hunter. I grabbed the handle of my saber, it was so familiar now. I wrenched it out, and saw the bloodstained blade reflect a flash of lightning. it was my weapon. I was the master. I used it to kill. The hunter ran into the battle, the wall had returned. The hunter was released. Death would ensue.
It was chaos, the battle was fought half slipping, half trampling. The horses had all gone, unable to carry riders. The fight was a cloud of grappling, blood dripping from everyone. Water dripping from everything. the confusion was everywhere. It was intoxicating, invigorating. I could feel the combat flood through my veins, the fervor of the kill. My blade sinking into flesh, the responsive scream of death. We were losing.
They pushed us back, moving forward, pushing us into the trench, where we had started with the onslaught. The order was called to a line defense, it was Keltan's voice. The soldiers drew out their shields if they hadn't previously done so and polearms were passed to the front by any who still carried them. The front row knelt and were supported by the second row. The shields were used to block the pushing force and spears were anchored into the ground to stop them from getting too close.
"Use the trench! Wall the trench, we can use it in front!" Keltan was shouting orders from the middle of the fray, swinging his broad sword with expert precision, batting away the attempts to bring him down.
The army began to move back, the trench was filled with soldiers, preparing the defense. The entire cultist army seemed to move as one then, all at once, anticipating the movement. They all, as one, moved in from two unseen holes in the army, cutting in two places, splitting the field into three segments of men.
The retreat became a jumble as Keltan stopped giving orders. I looked over to him and he was locked into combat with a larger man, in full plate armor, adorned by multiple red bands and sashes. The sword he wielded was as black as his armor, a great sword with many notches and a spiked hilt. His hilt depicted a minotaur head, elongated with two curved horns.
The center group was backed by the remaining phantoms, all sheathing their weapons.
Wall fire…
The groups to the side were both small and almost completely engulfed. There was no hope for them. I sheathed my saber and began to concentrate on the collapsing defense. I felt the air there, already in motion from the flailing blades and heavy breathing. It wasn't difficult to form the wall, spinning the air and exciting the particles. The particles were now moving too fast to concentrate on them specifically. The men fighting began to notice the heat, realizing the tactic and responded with a furious attack, pushing the cult mass back.
It was out of my control now, I recoiled before it collapsed on me. The paladins on the line suddenly dove back, letting the enemy fall right into a series of exploding air, the flame issuing in all directions, igniting three rows of cult attackers. They fell into a heap, which gave time to the retreating army. When I got to the other side of the trench with the other phantoms, the trench was filled with upraised spears and shields. Several men with bows sent arrows into the chaotic mass of burning, bleeding, and trampled cultists.
Now only a score of paladins were fighting on the other side of the trench. Keltan had the enemy general on the defensive, easily beating the heavy great sword farther away from his enemy's armor's weak spots. But he suddenly fell back, tripping over a corpse. I immediately reached to him with my mind to find four entities, three fighting to maintain Keltan's conscious which was under immense pressure. I joined the three phantoms against a very powerful necromancer. He retreated, but I was instantly pounded by a direct assault from another necromancer. Keltan got up just in time to block the finishing blow. I fell to my knees, I couldn't stand it. I felt my walls snap and shadow flooded in. I couldn't resist it anymore, I was too exhausted.
Keltan!
I opened my eyes, I could feel a wall before the shadow, pushing it away. I closed my mind and stood, the downpour clearing my head. Keltan had the cultist on his knees, his sword raised, the droplets splattering off of the blade adding to the moment. An arrow shaft suddenly seemed to grow out of Keltan's shoulder as his blade slammed into the target, releasing a spray of blood into the air, the split helmet issuing a spurt of gore, mixing into a puddle of mud.
Keltan let go of the embedded blade as he watched another bolt penetrate his armor. He stumbled backward, three more bolts bounced off of his armor, but a well-shot arrow found its way under his breastplate. He doubled over and fell, leaving the tuft of earth empty. The cultist army was retreating quickly. The necromancers had given up, unable to take us down.
The last arrow was fired, men surveyed the battlefield. Some injured were tended to, but most had been killed. Four phantoms lay dead, overcome by the necromancers. Three were third years I knew by name. The other was a sixth year. He had a bolt protruding from his neck. The rain turned into hail and covered the blood with dirty white. It soon melted into dark reddish trickles of water.
Our defenses were up, we were ready for the next onslaught. I could feel the necromancers regaining organization. They would come again. They wouldn't stop now. We wouldn't give up. We had nothing.
For days we fought, endlessly throwing our magic at them, fighting with bottomless fury, daring the downpour of rain and sleet and lightning to lead us otherwise. They fell in heaps, but still they came. The overcast and storm was never ending, forcing a perpetual stream of electricity and ice onto us, the thunder deafening and the wind tattering both cloth and resolve.
We started with almost sixty phantoms, and by the last night, we were down to twelve. All of the paladins had fallen. From our sleep-deprived and dismal state of mind, we didn't even respond to our blood splattered bodies.
On the fourth night, we rose from our trench to see the muddy field in front of us covered in masses of the last of the opposing army slowly approaching. We all stood there in a line, steadfast in our final resolve. Tel'ener stood one step ahead without taking his eyes off of the slowly advancing army.
"This is the end," he said, "This is where we make them pay, there is only one way to finish this."
Several looked over to him, realizing his intent, then turning back, blinking the water out of their eyes.
"This will ruin us, our purity, out connection to him, but it must be done." He ended in a foreword lunge.
He flew high into the air, then smashed into the ground, those nearest to him exploding in a mass of gore, his expanded aura displacing their bodies, tearing and rending bone and flesh, hurling it into horrified companions. He then released the aura, but in steps, in intervals of only several inches at a time, slicing anything touching the field cleanly; in rapid succession, bringing it into himself. In the range of those thirty feet of his aura, the enemies fell apart, organs and tissue alike, separating and seeping into the muddy puddle that was the battlefield, turning the dark mud into crimson slush.
Within this second of slaughter, we followed suit, charging into their ranks using teleportation. Anywhere we came out, the displaced victims erupted in masses of bloody spray and steaming streams of displaced entrails.
I threw my aura outward, summoning every image I could muster of Cassie and Alendir, using the sudden emotional twang to empower me. I was suddenly in the man, but at the same time, he was in me. It only lasted for a second, my sudden appearing, annulling his aura. Then I became him, and he was undone. Where I was, he was not. His body where I was, moved to where I was not, but with such force that it was separated into any surrounding cultists. Any armor he was wearing turned to shrapnel and was also expelled with high force, shredding other objects in the area.
We bounced through them blinking in and out of existence, dispersing their corpses and bodies across the bloodstained meadow.
At the end, we stood, not even needing to look back to see the layer of viscera strewn about the field. Any survivors were either vomiting at the display, blankly staring in utter denial, or attempting to run away on legs shaking so violently that they couldn't stand. Several were horribly injured, missing body parts, but the majority was dead, or soon would be.
We stood there in silent reflection, several of us without much to cover blood soaked bodies, unable to hold our aura to encompass our clothing. Many collapsed at the exertion, or just at the fact that it was over. Some of us had barely seen sixteen winters, some closer to seventy, but we all knew it was over for us as well as them.
We would never return to society, but instead live out our lives in a new way. The line of us, standing in silence, tattered on the outside as well as inside, numbered a dozen. It didn't matter, everyone was dead. Our way of life was obliterated. Terr'an'viell was in smoldering ruin, no longer hidden from the world. It didn't matter anymore.
This night of depredation was permanently embedded into our mind, along with the fact that we all had witnessed loved ones massacred at the brutal hands of the cultists. The magic unleashed by our pure hatred and desperation for vengeance also unleashed a part of our emotional virtue and broke the fetters on that restriction of our power. We had lived through only several days of devastating revenge, but it had ruined our lives emotionally and we no longer had any attachment to this world. We would now live with the eternal desire to utterly annihilate the very being of the necromancers and the cult.
No one could stand in our way, no one would deter us lest it be our death, and even so, we would hunt them in the eternal of afterlife.
We would now and forevermore be, the Phantoms.