Four Horsemen: Chapter 2 Part 2 of 3 (Patreon)

Valter chuckled, a dark and low thing, surging up to stand beside him, his blade work a bloody masterpiece as he deflected blades, turning attacks into openings, he used his armor as a shield, blows striking and sparking as he was among them, a wolf among sheep.

Petor redoubled his attacks, the new energy that filled him already spreading across his body, to his spear, to his armor and cloak. He turned two attacks, sensing a third attack from his blindside.

He didn’t have time to turn all the way, darts of wind cut around him, piercing through the openings in the third attackers armor. His spear lanced out, killing them, draining them of their vitality.

He turned so fast it raised the dust around him.

His would-be attackers trying to dislodge their old comrades who’d jumped on them. Lowering his spear he swept the feet of two, dropping them to the ground, the undead using teeth and hands to get to their flesh below the undead’s waiting hands.

A bolt hit Petor in the chest, throwing him back. He stabbed the base of his spear into the ground, staying upright, the bolt stuck in his armor.

A shriek rose from his mind, as pale cracks spread from the bolt hit, he ran forward, grabbing the bolt and tearing it free.

He stabbed one of the attackers on the ground, pulling their energy into his muscles he accelerated towards the crossbow woman reloading behind two allies.

The roof shuddered, they looked up, the roof dropped ontop of them, a perfect square of stone. Petor glanced at the Desari, her hands and eyes glowing.

More fighters rushed in from the corridor their armor and gear had come from. He smacked an arrow away with his spear.

Thunder cracked and holes appeared in the heads and chests of a half dozen, Mya snapped a smoking cannister out of her revolver as Desari smacker her hands together, a lance of air tore through three fighters, she wiped her hands across their front, the air turning to a scythe the took down the remainder.

The wind and flames in the room were drawn to her as faint vapors collected in a ring of Mya’s, causing the black stone to glow a brighter blue.

Valter tore through two others, standing and panting.

Petor reached out, power flowed from his hand and into the armor, it was like a bottomless pit as Valter stood taller. With each wound and kill he drew more power into himself, fueling his attacks, staining the crystal in his chest a deeper red.

Fire weaved across the battlefield, swarming archers, sinking into their helmets, screams filling the air with smoke and cooked meat, tearing their helmets off, Petor rejoined Valter. He slapped away a fighter’s sword and shield with two smacks, driving his spear through their neck.

The runes on his spear went almost black as power filled him once again. They advanced into the corridor, it was littered with broken stone, opening into a room with an altar of carved silver in the middle.

Petor and Valter jogged and ran, crashing into those trying to enter the corridor with spear and blade.

Petor smacked an enemy spear away from Valter. Valter’s glowing blade cutting through a carved breastplate. He turned under Petor’s spear and stabbed the would be attacker Petor fended off.

Petor moved around Valter like a dance partner, slicing through a woman’s arm and taking off her head on the back stroke before she had time to scream.

Even with the influx of power he was flagging. Mya relied on her pistols while Desari used throwing blades, her face drawn. Mya’s might be as well, but looking half undead it was hard to tell.

Petor stabbed through the opening Valter made, twisting his spear.

The armored man only saw it at the last moment, his attack so focused on Valter.

The spear drove through his side into his chest. He reversed the spin and drew it back, leeched power like live lightning coursed through Petor’s hands, tearing through his essence channels, slamming into his core. The white had disappeared, turning a deep crimson.

It was a war between reinforcing his own body and maintaining his spear and armor. Even with the power from those he defeated he was dropping quickly.

Desari’s spells and blades found the slightest gaps between Valter and he as they danced. Mya’s undead wounded their attackers and brought them to the ground. Four were on their feet fighting the armored fighters.

“Dreakoun I call upon thy blessing!” A woman in armored robes called out.

“Unspoken Ithram, power my strike!” A man brought his hammer down on Petor, his hit turned aside by Valter’s shoulder, ringing like a bell. A look of alarm filled the man’s eyes as Valter’s sword relieved him of his head.

They’d pushed into the other room, less than ten remaining.

Petor yelled wordlessly, trying to pull power from some unknown place, those he fought yelled out as he drew power into his hand, empowering him. He drank deep, a heady experience as he shot forward, the gain and loss burned his veins something fierce, like water falls at war inside his body, tearing him apart.  He jabbed forward, his prey’s shield turning his spear as they stepped forward with pre-natural speed, swinging a mace for his head.

Petor dropped, kicking the ground and headbutting the armored soldier, stunning and kicking him away with the force to dent his armor and send him into three of his fellows. Dead rose around them, blades stabbing between the armor plate.

His armor fell from around his face and his arms. His spear becoming more shadow than real. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Catch!” Valter kicked a spear over to him. He grabbed it, his spear turning to mist sucked inside his hands. He grabbed the spear, parrying another attacker and driving him back, his spear finding an opening in the man’s gut and tearing free with a pained grunt.

Shadows, like veins shot through the spear, dragging the man’s life force away and adding it to Petor’s own.

Valter stabbed another brought low by an undead’s attack to the leg. Hurling his blade into a caster, the blade sunk into her chest. She screamed as power rippled through her body, her eyes turning between colors before that power ripped free of her body, killing her and four others around her.

An arrow cut a white streak, slamming through the helm of another attacker.

The dead groaned, as the last screams of the living succumbed to their ministrations.

Petor coughed spitting blood on the floor, wiping it away with his hand. Green veins ran up his arms, throbbing like acid, burning him from the inside.

He used his spear to push himself upright.

Valter’s armor showed fresh scars upon it. His shoulders heaving with exhaustion as he grabbed the sword he’d thrown he sheathed it, disappearing in mid-air, until there were no more blades left.

Desari’s glow faded and Mya returned to her other form.

Desari kneeled, turning over a body at her feet.

“Shit.” The woman she’d taken the bow and arrow from was identical to her, staring, unseeing into the ceiling.

“Well fuck me sideways with a rusty dirk,” Mya coughed, studying the body on the temple’s throne.

Another shake shuddered through the mountain.

“You hear something crack?” Petor asked.

“I think I did, well, no time to wait, grab all the shit you can!” Mya pulled gear from the corpse and Desari did the same. A few corpses shifted and moved about the room with daggers, pulling free coin purses and cutting off weapons and armor.

“Petor,” Valter called out, pointing at another body. His chest twisted as he moved across the floor slick and sticky with blood.

A man lay on his back, his body broken by feet running over him, a dozen wounds across his body, brown hair matted with blood and pale green eyes. He was smiling as if out on a summer’s days walk, instead of laying dead inside a temple.

Petor left the other him’s eyes open, it felt fitting as his fingers found a gold medallion around his neck, a thing of beauty, carved in the crest of some house or kingdom, save the jagged cut that marred its surface. Petor pulled it off and placed it around his neck, he took the rings and the items on his belt. Frowning he grabbed the boots and pulled them off, pressing the heel of the left foot opened a secret compartment with a ring embedded inside. He closed the heel discarding his sandals and pulled on the boots.

He stood, the others adjusting the gear that they had looted from the dead.