Chapter 92: The Price of Power
The sudden arrival of the City Watch was a cold tide washing through the hot, bloody chaos of the Coil. The frenzied roar of the mob was being replaced by the shouted orders and rhythmic clashes of the guard. The path to the main gates was clearing. Freedom was a tangible, breathable thing just ahead.
Evander's legionnaires, their armor dented and splattered, began clearing a path. "This way, Patron! The concourse is secure!"
A shudder of pure relief went through our ragged group. Laron sobbed openly. Elara closed her eyes, trembling. Briza, leaning heavily on a wall, gave a sharp, exhausted nod. We had survived the grinder.
Evander's expression was one of cold satisfaction. He looked at the destruction as a necessary cost. "Let us depart. The constables can handle the dregs."
We moved, a battered procession. The air felt lighter. We were steps away.
Then the world turned to thunder.
It came from the corridor behind us. There was no warning, just a deafening KABOOM that slammed into our backs like a physical wall.
The force hurled us forward. I stumbled, my Ki flaring to cushion the impact against the stone. Laron and Elara were thrown to the ground. The legionnaires braced, but the blast was a statement, not an attack.
Dust and debris billowed out. Through the swirling cloud, a figure emerged.
It was Silas Vane.
But he was transformed. He walked with a limp, his clothes torn and burned, blood streaking his face. But his entire body was sheathed in a faint, pulsing, crimson glow. It wasn't an aura of light, but of raw, visible power clinging to his skin like a second layer. As he stepped closer, I could see intricate, glowing red patterns, runes, etched across his exposed forearms and neck, pulsing with a malevolent rhythm.
"You…" his voice was a raw, shredded thing, but it carried an unnatural weight. "You think you can shatter my throne and just walk away?"
The air grew heavy, oppressive. This felt different from Evander's precise, intellectual magic. This was something visceral, something that stank of desperation and rage.
Evander spun around, his staff coming up, his face a mask of genuine, horrified alarm. "By the abyss… you fool! What have you done? You've activated it!"
One of the legionnaires, the one still standing, whispered, his voice tight with fear, "Martial Magic… Patron, is that… Tier 2?"
Evander's gaze was locked on the pulsating runes. "No," he said, the word cold and final. "That glow… the density of the runic manifestation… It's neither Tier 1 nor 2. He's burning his own life force. That is Tier 3 Martial Magic."
Martial Magic. Tiers. Runes. The terms meant little to me, but the dread in their voices was a language I understood perfectly. This wasn't a power-up; it was a suicide pact.
Silas let out a grating laugh. "A small price to pay to wipe your smug face from my city, Evander!"
As he spoke, two more figures emerged from the dust to flank him, each marked by their own terrifying transformation.
On his right was the mountain of a man I'd seen before. His muscles were grotesquely swollen, veins bulging. The same kind of intricate, glowing runes were visible on his skin, but his were a deep, violent purple, not red. He hefted a two-handed axe that looked like it could level a small building, his eyes glowing with the same violet light.
On Silas's left was the sharp-faced woman. She held no weapon, but one hand was outstretched, and hovering above her palm was a complex, rotating circle of geometric shapes and lines, all drawn in a shimmering, ocean-blue light. The same runic symbols I saw on the men were integrated into the circle's design, pulsing with power.
"Martial Magic on the enforcer… and an Elemental Mage for support," Evander muttered, his knuckles white on his staff. "He's assembled a full combat cell. He's not just defending; he's declaring total war."
Silas's burning, rune-lit gaze swept over us, past the dueling mages, past the monstrous enforcer, and landed on me.
"You," he rasped, that corrupted voice full of venom. "This is all because of you and your cursed stories."
He took a step towards me, the stone beneath his feet cracking slightly with the contained pressure of the power he was radiating.
"You offered me a partnership," I said, my voice calm, belying the frantic pace of my heart. I needed to keep him talking, to understand what we were facing.
"This stopped being about business the moment he threatened my home!" Silas screamed, the red glow around him flaring with his anger. "This is about annihilation!"
He took anotherr step, and the pressure intensified. I could feel it pressing down on my Ki, making it harder to draw upon. It was like trying to breathe in syrup.
Evander didn't wait. He knew conversation was over. His staff glowed blue, and a lance of pure force shot towards Silas.
The woman, the Elemental Mage, flicked her wrist. The blue geometric circle in her hand spun faster, and a shimmering, hexagonal barrier of the same color appeared in front of Silas. Evander's attack struck it and shattered harmlessly, the energy dissipating like ice hitting a hot pan. Only then did I realise it was a wall of water somehow that immediately turned into steam.
The mountain of a man, his purple runes blazing, didn't even look at Evander. He took a thunderous step towards the legionnaires. The remaining guard bravely stood his ground, shield raised.
The enforcer didn't swing his axe. He simply lowered his shoulder and charged. He moved with impossible speed for his size, a violet comet of pure force. He hit the legionnaire's shield not with a swing, but with his own body.
The sound was that of a castle gate being hit by a siege ram. The shield, and the arm holding it, broke. The legionnaire was lifted off his feet and smashed into the far wall with a final, sickening crunch.
In seconds, our primary defense was gone.
The Elemental Mage's gaze now turned to me, her expression cold and analytical, her floating circle shifting, its geometry reconfiguring for a new purpose.
Silas began walking towards me again, each step deliberate, the red runes on his body burning brighter. The sheer, hateful energy radiating from him was a physical force, pushing against me.
"You brought this down on us," I said, not to Silas, but to Evander, my voice tight. "Your games. Your 'Aetherium'."
Evander had his staff raised against the Weaver, a stalemate of magical intent, but his eyes were wide. He had no retort. He had underestimated the snake, and now it had grown fangs of fire.
Briza, with a warrior's instinct that defied her broken body, moved to put herself between me and the advancing Silas, a broken piece of a sword in her hand. It was a hopeless, brave, and utterly futile gesture.
Silas didn't even acknowledge her. His rune-glowing eyes were locked on me.
The tension was a drawn wire, ready to snap. The fight hadn't even truly begun, and we were already surrounded, outmatched, and staring at a power that felt less like magic and more like a natural disaster given form. We were trapped in a room with a man who had sold his soul for the power to kill us, and the bill was about to come due.
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