The building was made of thick stone, with a single reinforced wooden door hanging slightly ajar—perfect for bottlenecking these damned things. Hendrickson's wind blades carved a brutal path ahead, slicing through the stragglers like parchment, but Daryl noticed the mage's breaths were sharper now, his movements fractionally slower. Even rank-one mages had limits.
As they were cutting their way through a man walked between the monster horde, Making them
Give way. As the civilians saw him one lady recognized him by his mustache.
He was second in command only to Ms Shiva herself. Captain Avery, second in command of the barktown guard. As he walked between the monsters troops, daryl had already began making theories.
'Has he managed to tame the monsters?'
Just then a guardsman walked forward.
"Sir Avery, just in time when we needed you.
What business did you have to attend?"
The man didn't respond, just walked forward, his boots crunching against broken cobblestones slick with gore. His mustache—thick, meticulously waxed—twitched as he surveyed the battlefield with cold detachment. The monsters didn't lunge at him. They *parted*, like reeds before a blade, their hollow-eyed gazes fixed on something beyond him. Daryl's grip tightened on his sword. Something was wrong. The air tasted heavier here, thick with ozone and the coppery tang of blood, but beneath it—something else. Like wet earth after a storm.
Avery smiled wide. "Don't worry boys, Ive found a way to win this war" The monsters had stopped attacking at this point, and everyone was wondering what he was about to say.
"What is it sir?" The "man" was actually a boy who had barely turned 18 and just signed up to join the guard. People like Avery were his heroes.
Avery took big strides, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Oh nothing. Just hold still"
Suddenly the mans left eye went completely black with a glowing blue iris, the veins around his eye also blackened.
The young man was confused, And unable to pull away. "W—Whats" He was cut off, As Avery began changing him, turning him into something.
Everyone watching was horrified. Daryl snapped out of his daze. "Thats not avery anymore, kill him!!"
Just then, Avery finished. The last of the young mans body was absorbed into something, transformed. Avery was now holding a pitch black sword, smiling with joy.
A wind blade flew in his direction, and that was soon sliced away.
"The skin grafter made me his apostle. This alliance is bearing fruit already. He began chucking"
He pointed in the direction of Daryl and everyone else The monsters resumed their chase, itching to tear everyone apart.
Avery's laughter was wet, bubbling up from lungs that shouldn't have been able to produce sound while his ribcage visibly expanded beneath his uniform. The black sword pulsed in his grip like a living thing, tendrils of shadow licking up his arm. Hendrickson didn't hesitate—he whipped his staff in a sharp arc, launching a concentrated gust straight for Avery's throat. The air screamed as it split.
The blade moved faster. A blur of darkness intercepted the spell, shearing it apart with a sound like glass shattering. Avery sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Really, Hendrickson? After all those years drinking together at the barracks?" His voice had changed—deeper, layered with something guttural. "Though I suppose you always did have terrible taste in wine."
Hendrickson didn't bother saying much. His face was scrunched "Avery is long gone. Come tell the soil beneath of a dead man's memory."
Avery sighed, shaking his head before suddenly disappearing. Before Daryl could blink, the man reappeared directly in front of Hendrickson, his black sword already mid-swing. The wind mage barely managed to raise his staff in time—the impact sent him skidding back, his boots carving furrows in the blood-slick stone. The gem in his staff flickered, its blue light dimming.
All mages available went to hendricksons location,
No way could he win alone, Daryl thought to himself as he saw Hendrickson struggling to keep up with Avery's inhuman speed. The wind mage's robes were already torn, a shallow cut bleeding sluggishly across his collarbone. His staff trembled in his grip, its once-bright gem now flickering like a dying candle.
"How much confidence do you have in defeating me, or defending them for that matter?"
Avery pointed behind him, to both the guardsmen and the civilians. Both were cattle that he would cleave through once the real threat was gone.
"Enough to try." Hendrickson spat on the ground, his staff trembling slightly as he channeled mana into it. The gem flickered—still bright, but Daryl noticed the way Hendrickson's fingers twitched, the slight tremble in his stance. The man was exhausted.
Avery grinned, his teeth too sharp now, too many. "Oh? Then—" He lunged, black sword arcing faster than Daryl could track. Hendrickson barely dodged, twisting aside as the blade sliced through the air where his throat had been. The wind mage countered with a gust—not at Avery, but *beneath* himself, propelling himself backward just as Avery's follow-up strike cleaved through empty space.
Daryl didn't think—he hurled his sword like a javelin. The blade spun end over end, striking Avery square between the shoulder blades. It didn't pierce. The steel *shattered* on impact, shards clattering to the ground like broken teeth. Avery didn't even flinch. He turned slowly, his smile widening. "Adorable."
Hendrickson seized the moment. He slammed his staff into the ground, and the cobblestones *rippled*. A cyclone of razor-edged wind erupted beneath Avery's feet, lifting him into the air. For a heartbeat, Daryl thought it might work—then the black sword *moved*. Avery carved through the whirlwind like it was parchment, landing with a grace that shouldn't have belonged to something wearing a human skin. His ribs pulsed visibly beneath his uniform, as if something inside was laughing.
Around them, fighting resumed, the only reason Daryl wasn't swarmed by monsters was because of the 7 mages around them, clearing the battlefield. All were melee oriented except for one.
Hendrickson was panting slightly, his mana reserves slowly depleting as Avery circled them like a predator. "You're wasting your time," Avery said, licking his lips with a tongue that split at the tip. "The Skin Grafter's gift is absolute. You can't win."
Daryl was thinking about what to do. No sword, nobody strong enough to handle Avery, and no hope to survive.
Hendrickson was equally stunned, he looked for all paths forward and they led to an early grave.
Then suddenly, Hendrickson's eyes widened. His gaze locked onto something behind Avery—something Daryl couldn't see. The wind mage's lips curled into a bloody smirk. "You're right," he spat, dragging a sleeve across his split lip. "We can't win." His fingers tightened around his staff. "But *she* can."
A feminine voice pierced the ears of everyone watching. "So this is why you weren't at the base?"
Avery's grin faltered for the first time. His head snapped toward the voice—a woman stood atop the granary's sloped roof, Her armor a little tattered. her usual ponytail came loose, so her hair was fluttering in the wind. She was the regal type of beauty. The type you see that makes you mad at yourself for not being that attractive.
However, that was the least of one's worries, her sword was stained with black blood, and if looks could kill Avery would be a smear on the pavement right now.
And the biggest thing of all.
Daryl: 'why are three demons behind her?'