Path of Dragons 12 - Chapter 91 - Indomitable

Miguel was surrounded by bodies.

Corpses in various states of dismemberment littered the bloody ground.  A few had managed to survive, but that wouldn’t last for long.  Even with their outsized durability and regeneration, they were already too far gone for recovery.

Most of them were Healers.  Men and women who’d dedicated themselves to mending others’ injuries.  Killing them was the key to winning any battle, though Miguel regretted the necessity.

He regretted that he was the one tasked with removing them even more.

Nearby, Trevor rammed into a ranger, his crystalline antlers bursting through the elf’s back and sending an arc of blood to join the already soaked turf.  He flexed, bucking his head and sending the woman soaring through the air.  Miguel’s mother met the body with her hammer, hitting the elf with an overhand strike that buried her now-broken body in the ground.

Miguel raised his sword, intercepting another attacker’s blade.  He knocked it aside, then kicked out.  The blow took the man – one of the few humans among the company – in the chest, and hard enough to shatter his sternum. 

Normally, it would not have been a fatal wound.  But without any Healers left, it set the man to gasping for breath as he staggered backward.  Miguel followed it up with a blistering combination that cut deep into the man’s thigh, then gutted him on the backswing. 

Intestines spilled from his gaping wound, filling the air with the smell of bile and bowels. 

Miguel stepped forward, thrusting his sword through the stunned man’s throat, then ripped the blade free.  It was a killing blow, and the enemy died quickly thereafter. 

For the next few minutes, Miguel continued to fight.  The brawl was not an organized battle.  There were no lines.  No formations.  Just clumps of violence played out through magic and melee.  Most of the mages were either dead or had long since exhausted the contents of their cores.  Every now and again, one would regenerate enough energy to let loose with a spell, but for the most part, they fought just like the Warriors or Rangers.

They were just worse at it.

Still, it was a reminder that, despite the inclination to specialize, there was value in learning how to defend oneself in close-quarters combat.  It was a lesson that the Green Mountain Mining Guild’s hired mercenaries had obviously learned, and even the Sorcerers and Healers could hold their own in a fight.

But after the initial burst of magic that had come with first contact, the Warriors and Rangers were far more dangerous.  And many of them far outstripped Miguel’s skill with their weapons.  His only advantage lay in pure attributes, which were far higher than they had any right to be.

He had the grove to thank for that.

He could keep going for hours more, but as silence reigned over the churned battlefield, he realized that he didn’t need to.

Miguel looked around at the carnage.  Two hundred dead.  More, after the Iron Legion had arrived to add their weight to the scale.  It was just two squads, but they were the best Ironshore had to offer.  They’d charged in after the leader dashed away, intent on catching the sniper. 

“Is he –”

A roar of frustration echoed through the mountains, cutting Miguel off.  It was not unexpected.  They’d all known Greffyn Cornelius would survive.  But the scream was an encouraging sign.  It was not the battle cry of the victor, but of a predator who’d been denied the fruits of his hunt.

It was also a sign that the fight still wasn’t finished.

Miguel glanced to the side, where Oscar stood amidst his own pile of corpses.  The man was surrounded by his pack, all of whom were covered in blood.  Escobar prowled back and forth through the air, his paws leaving fiery prints with each footfall.  His coat emitted a mixture of steam and smoke, evidence of the purity of his attunement. 

“He’s coming,” said Miguel’s mother.  Carmen had discarded her dented helmet.  The words came out slurred, her jaw only half mended by Ron’s healing spell.  The man had focused on doing just enough to keep people going.  And for all that it was probably painful, a fractured jaw wasn’t enough to put Carmen out of the fight.

The rest of her armor had seen better days.  Bloody and scratched, it was a perfect encapsulation of the battle they’d just endured.  The invaders were not weak.  Far from it.  And they’d battered Ironshore’s defenders to within an inch of their lives.  The only reason any of them had survived was because of Ron’s unseen presence.

He remained nearby, concealed by a portable array built by one of Ironshore’s crafters.  So long as he didn’t move, he would remain undetectable.  By most people, at least. 

A drone that looked like nothing so much as a floating metal softball, flitted into view.  A man’s voice reached Miguel’s ears.  “Space Protocol is complete.  The target is still alive but injured.”

Miguel knew the voice belonged to Isaiah Roberts, the man in charge of Seattle.  Despite the often-antagonistic relationship between that city and Ironshore, he had recognized the danger represented by the off-worlders.  They weren’t there to settle.  They didn’t have a vested interest in Earth’s survival.  They were just there to convey a lesson, and they’d intended to leave the moment they’d completed their task.

If ever there was an enemy to all of Earth’s inhabitants, they were it. 

So, he had responded to the call for help, investing a vast number of resources to enable the plan.  Thousands of soldiers armed with the best equipment their munitions experts could create.  All to give them a chance of victory. 

Just a chance.

There were no certainties when it came to such a powerful opponent as a true demi-god. 

“Spread out,” Carmen ordered.

Everyone obeyed.  She was in charge.  Not because she was the highest level, but because she was a natural leader.  She’d proven that much in the Red Marsh.  Miguel did as he was told because she was his mother.

He leaped onto Trevor’s back.  The stag trembled beneath him, a sign of both fatigue and adrenaline.  Miguel patted his companion’s neck, saying, “We’ve got this.”

Oscar and his dogs moved a few dozen yards away.  Carmen took the lead, intending to meet the dwarf before he could massacre the remaining Legionnaires, led by Colt.  Kurik was somewhere nearby, though Miguel couldn’t sense him.   His traps surrounded the battlefield.

And behind them was the Conclave Compound.  The guards had already joined in on the battle, but the Space Mage and support personnel had stayed within. 

“Potions,” Carmen ordered.

Everyone took the vials from their belts, then downed the foul-tasting liquid.  Miguel drank his, and he immediately felt a surge of energy.  Biggle had warned them that the potions weren’t cure-alls.  They didn’t really contain much vitality.  Instead, they were meant to relieve fatigue and restore ethera. 

Overindulgence would have detrimental effects, so they could only use those potions once.  Miguel hoped it would be enough.

For the next couple of minutes, silence enveloped the glade.  Few dared to move, and their attention remained wholly on the tree line.  From everything they’d seen, Greffyn Cornelius was a very straightforward dwarf.  He wouldn’t try to outflank them.  Instead, he would come at them straight-on, relying on his overwhelming power to see him through.

And sure enough, he burst free of the forest exactly where they’d expected.

Miguel had some vague idea of just how much firepower they’d aimed at the dwarf, and that impression was supported by the deafening sound of the barrage.  It had echoed through the mountains for long minutes, sounding like the world’s worst thunderstorm had rolled in. 

But even so, he was shocked at how terrible the dwarf looked.

Blood, burns, and missing hair were the easiest to spot, but it wasn’t long before Miguel noted twisted joints, broken bones jutting through skin, and an absent eye.  The remaining eye burned with rage, frustration, and singular purpose.

He was there to kill.

And then, his eye fell upon his massacred people, and that rage turned into a roiling inferno of absolute fury that Miguel could feel even from hundreds of yards away. 

He was wounded.  By all rights, he shouldn’t have been able to walk.  But despite all of that, when he took a step, it fell with a finality that would surely spell their doom.

Miguel braced, his grip tightening on his sword.

Carmen stepped forward, Runefall held at the ready.

Oscar and the pack flanked him, prepared to strike.

And the Legionnaires, led by Colt, crouched behind their shields. 

For a second, there was no sound.  No more movement.  And then, everything erupted into motion.

Cornelius became a blur, but somehow, Carmen managed to meet him head-on.  Ethera surged from her armor, pushing back against his overwhelming charge.  She rocketed backward after only an instant, the sound of crunching metal echoing through the glade.

The Legionnaires aimed their spears, loosing a volley of blistering light that carved through Cornelius’ already burned chest.  Oscar and the pack lanced in, with Jackson and Sophie leading the way.  Their shields held for a moment longer than Carmen’s armor, but they shattered under a rapid barrage of punches and kicks. 

The dwarf moved like a boxer, though one blessed with the power of a demi-god.  His copper-clad hands hammered into shields, shattering them with every blow. 

Freddy managed to get a bite in, ripping through his hamstrings before taking a donkey-kick to the ribs that sent her rolling across the turf. 

Then, Escobar unleashed a thin beam of fire that speared through the dwarf’s stomach.  It lasted for only a second, but the flame was so hot that it carved a hundred-foot-deep hole in the ground.  And that was after it had passed through Cornelius’ torso. 

The chihuahua slumped in exhaustion, the combined burden of the battle and that last burst of a spell taking the entire contents of his core.

Cornelius ignored the wound entirely as he hammered his fists into the two defender dogs.  Maymay and Ray remained in the background, throwing out debuffs for all they were worth, while Digby suddenly appeared as his jaws clamped down on Cornelius’ neck.

At the same time, Miguel and Trevor charged in, leading the way with a beam of moonlight from between the stag’s antlers.  It added to the barrage of attacks before Miguel’s sword swing reached the dwarf.  The blade sliced in, born along by his massive attributes as well as Trevor’s momentum. 

It cut through flesh, and for the briefest of seconds, he thought he would sever the dwarf’s arm.

But then he hit bone.  A sound not unlike metal on metal echoed above the fracas, but the blade stopped cold, sliding along until Miguel made it through. 

Cornelius ignored the attack as he bore down on the dogs. 

His fists fell like bombs, shattering hastily summoned shields with every blow.  Oscar threw himself into the fray, leading the way with his hatchets, but his strength lay in the power of his pack, not in the might of his own attacks.  Cornelius swatted him aside like he was no more than a child.

He picked himself up and returned to the fight, though the message was clear. 

A recovered Carmen charged in, swinging her hammer like a baseball bat.  She hit with the full weight of her strength, but Cornelius barely shifted his stance before sending her back the way she’d come with a precise backhand.

Miguel attacked again, but the results were the same. 

Over and over, they threw themselves at the demi-god, and along the way, they were taught a very important lesson. 

There was a distinct difference between the power of an ascended and the might of a demi-god.  Even elites among the former category couldn’t hold their own against someone like Cornelius.  Not even when they attacked together.

The only reason they weren’t soundly defeated within seconds was because of Ron’s continued healing.  Normally, if a Healer was left alone, his side would inevitably win.  There just wasn’t a substitute for the ability to overcome damage and keep coming. 

Cornelius just bulled his way through, overwhelming the Healer’s efforts with sheer power.

The first one to fall and not get up was Digby, who didn’t have the constitution to endure the demi-god’s blows.  Then came the crow, who attacked Cornelius’ remaining eye.  The strategy was sound.  The execution was perfect.  The results were nonexistent, and the black-feathered bird ended up in the dwarf’s grip, his hollow bones crushing under the immense pressure.

He tossed the beast aside.

After that, everyone else fell.  Not quickly.  And not all at once.  But they fell, all the same. 

Finally, only Miguel was left to face off against the demi-god.

There was no conversation.  No taunts or jeers.  No accusations.  Instead, they clashed.  Ethera swirled as Miguel used various abilities, but Cornelius relied on the power of his own fists.  Energy roiled within him – evidence that he was using multiple skills to augment the power of his body – but here were no spells.  No outward abilities. 

Just pure power and technique.

And Miguel was overwhelmed.

It was everything he could do to hold the determined dwarf off.  His blade moved like a blur, his footwork perfect and his stance never wavering.  And yet, he knew he couldn’t last much longer, much less defeat the monster in front of him.

Finally, he channeled ethera into Avatar of the Grove.

His body expanded rapidly, taking on the consistency of bark.  Power surged as his arms became limbs, and his torso transforming into the trunk of a massive tree.  His sword became a part of him, just as his armor was absorbed into the ability.  His rapid growth elicited the first real reaction from the dwarf, who took a step back.

Miguel, in the form of a tree-man, seized upon that opportunity, battering his foe with every ounce of fury he could muster.  Finally, he made some headway.  His limbs, under the influence of the grove, descended upon the dwarf with the force of nature, and he was rewarded by the sound of breaking bones. 

But the form was not meant to last.

And when it faded, Miguel was alarmed to see that Cornelius had survived. 

He was even more injured.  His body was twisted and broken.  But he still moved with the same indomitable power. 

He spat a tooth out as Miguel backed away.  Then, he twisted his neck, and a popping sound echoed across the glade.

“Not bad,” he growled, his voice raw and ragged.

Then, broken body and all, the demi-god launched himself at Miguel with undiminished fury.