Legacy of the Defender (The Defender Series Book 1) (45 page)

Like a water fall of information filling my mind, it flowed into every corner all at once.  Remembrance hit me with clarity and resolution as if I had been looking at a movie that suddenly jumped off of the silver screen and came to life. 

I remembered everything
. 

I remember training with Malnuras on another plane of existence…where the city of Heaven was not a myth.  My father was alive.  He was an Archangel.  He was also the General of Heaven’s Army.  Hundreds of battles great and small, all exploded into my memory at the same time.  The memories flooded over the places of my mind, creating wrinkles in the brain to lock in a moment like a memory board in a computer.  Millions of compartments for storing information filled up in an instant. 

My balance almost failed.  Thankfully, the space that I gave myself had been smart.  Gasping for air, I looked from the ground up to the monstrous daemon in front of me and locked my gaze on his huge eyes.  He looked back with a burning hatred.

This creature in front of me had been responsible for killing my teacher…and that teacher was actually a shard of God himself.  How that was possible did not matter now.  I simply knew it happened and that allowed the horde to access Heaven, killing hundreds of thousands of angelic guardians.  Recognition must have washed over my face for it pointed to its chest with a huge arm that I could see had permanent scars on it from when it last met my blades. 

“Amduscias,” the daemon prince’s voice gurgled.  “You escaped us once. 
Not twice
.” 

I laughed strangely enough for one of my memories of this monstrosity was how much I angered it by denying it something.  What it was I could now remember.

Something that it had obviously replaced.

A gigantic blade!  It was not the exact sword from before.  I had tossed that one down the well.  My success there angered it beyond measure.  That seemed like ages ago when in all reality it, had only been months.  Hell had plenty of time to craft another one in one of its hellish foundries.  This daemon blade was actually bigger and I did not remember the green flowing ooze or energy this one held.  It was a nasty addition to an already horrible weapon.

He made a fancy gesture as if he was a gentleman swordsman beckoning me to a friendly duel.

I did not hesitate.

XXXV

Sacrifices

Holy hell he is big!

A moment of clarity hit me harder than ever.  All the possibilities ever imagined came to a sudden epiphany in that very moment when I launched myself at this daemon lord.  As a child, I believed daemons only existed in myth.  On Sunday when you dressed up and put on your false piety to enter what you thought was God's house, one might hear these stories.  This monster was neither myth nor legend; nor was it fake or a dream.  It was big, horrific and, most importantly, determined to kill me.

With its flesh and blood, sinew and muscle, evil, and fear...all rolled into one very real nightmare, this dream became a reality in that moment.  The true definition of childhood nightmares became a sick irony.  Only there was no real fear in my heart.

I could see the very leathery skin ripple as time slowed for me.  The bulging of muscles, as it flexed for a strike like a wound up spring, showed me that the tension building was tremendous.  Its strikes, if landed, could decimate me.  I had to be elusive.  The pain from blocking such a blow would be unbearable.  I would likely not survive a direct hit.  For that fraction of a second I did not want to engage him, but only for a fraction.  I was no fool.  A strategy had already formed in my mind.  This was what they trained me to deal with.  I had to redirect the hits.

Energy flowed from everywhere around me and into me.  A reservoir existed inside of me where my energy lived.  It was my core, my chi, my life force.  I could draw it from around me and build it up when needed, but it was finite.  Every action took a small piece.  Some took way too much.  My defenses flared to life forming a protective barrier around me. 

A vibration came from my blades as if in approval.

My eyes panned from the ground up one more time, studying his poise, muscle mass, movement, and weight distribution.  Those wings and tail gave him an edge to keep me at bay and lend him balance.  They also gave him additional strikes and other opportunities to throw a wrench into my plans.  I needed to strike enough blows to create enough damage to weaken him.  For I knew it would indeed anger such an ego to be touched by an opponent.  Perhaps that was my ultimate tactic: to let him make mistakes and stay alive long enough to capitalize.

Heat flashed from him, which was interesting since there were no flames.  This caused more of the decaying debris to fall from his wings, and his motion towards me started again.  The particles fell to the ground behind him smoldering where they landed.  It blackened the soil...before erupting into small flames.  These brackish flames had patterns unto themselves.
 
I could not smell the feted stench of it yet, but knew once engaged, those mighty winged would mixed it well into the air.  That would become an issue.  The myth involving daemons finally had some hidden truth.  They did not actually have flames around them or live in them from my observation, but some sort of chemical reaction with something did create the illusion that they emanated flames.

I started with my swords high and to the right as to meet his blade in the over handed strike that came.  Very predictable it was, but not anticipated.  The very air would split as his strike fell towards me, emitting a faint sizzling sound as if the atoms themselves paid with their existence from the contact.  The smell of ozone pushed ahead of his blade.  At the last second, I dropped the angle of my swords over my left shoulder where his blade was to meet mine and dove into a roll under his left arm.  Feeling the moment the swords connected, I let my wrist break just enough to create resistance and dove tucking my knees, and allowed my blades to drag along his.  At the last moment, my head turned to the left.  My body twisted and followed.

The swords snapped free of his blade, causing the maneuver to accelerate me forward into a roll over my right should while in the air.  The extra force added to mine and brought my swords faster into his exposed ribs below his left pectoral muscle.  I felt them bite flesh and an elongated, demonic roar told me how badly. 

My feet followed my body around bringing me flat to the ground.  Almost as instinct I imagine, his left wing pulled in tightly, like a rubber band snapping back, it came in fast to guard the damaged area.  Ducking low I had to roll under it, unfortunately right through the trail of death it fanned out behind it.  The burning ground ignited my shirt in places as I found my feet again behind the daemon.

A familiar voice in my head made me smile.  A duet...long missed, spoke in harmony.  "Watch the wing,” they sang.  A growl was my answer.  Better late than never, to confirm what I already guessed.

"So glad you could join me, my friends.  It has been too long,"
I said with the speed of thought.
“Why did you wait until now to speak?"

“It was your journey alone to walk.  We are not your guide this time.  Nathanael told us to remain quiet and respond in kind when you were ready," they replied.

I am ready! 
I said mentally while ducking another swing of the huge blade.

He was fast.  I could not believe how quickly he spun to face me while I was doing the same to posture for another strike.  His wing muscles did not tense this time; it was his legs.  I did not miss this fact.  I saw the turn start from my peripheral to my right while moving the same direction.  A small cloud of the powdery death came off the trailing edge of the great leathering wing just like the wind spilling off the wing of a plane.  The cloud fell in spiral circles behind it for a moment...then my view of the particles became blocked as the wing itself closed in.
 

A sound, much like a sword coming out of a sheath, rang in my ears as I vaulted sideways in a barrel roll...my knees in tight and swords close to gain a faster rotation.  It was not fast enough.  Something cut me mid-air.  The impact was just enough to throw my rotation off so I did not stick my landing.  Unsure footing became a factor.  My eyes moved from the ground to the wing as he spun, displaying a wicked, and many fanged grin.  His tongue fell out of his mouth with black ooze flowing from the puncture wounds he had inflicted with his own fangs. 

A cackle ensued. 

My eyes caught a sparkle coming off the blackened claw protruding from the tips of his wings.  I could see a trace of red blood on the tip of one claw, running down a now fully extended razor of blackened bone.  Another substance gathered near the tip, like a large droplet of fluid, and ran down as well.  I could only guess what that was.  The burning in my shoulder confirmed for me.  He had poison glands on the tips of his wings that flowed from razor sharp protrusions. 

We postured facing each other.  My hands felt an exchange of energy flowing to and from my blades now.  It was searing hot, so pure, rolling from me up the swords.  Light traced its way off the edge towards the tip.  Flowing back in to me was an awareness not noticed before.  It was as though the swords themselves had nerves that fed information back to me on positioning from the ground and the proximity to the danger.  I could sense
him
through my blades.  The air he drew in cried out for help without the will power to resist.

Inside of my head, I could feel my eyes closed as I gently circled to the right.  He sized me up.  My mind could feel his muscles tense and relax with each step.  They were very powerful, and the energy felt each time one muscle group flexed and relaxed was immense and caught me off guard from the expenditure.  Then it hit me he was not breathing; his very existence was destroying life here as if he was consuming the ground where he stood. 

A flurry of motion commenced.  There was no competing with him.  My parrying was redirecting.  When possible...I dodged.  My actions were but a fraction of a second ahead of him every time.  That edge was fading fast.  Steel rang off steel as I fought to position or reposition his blades away from me while avoiding his wings.  Each blow he attempted to land took a little more out of me.  He paused and began to pace to try to lull me into thinking I had a break.

He was getting stronger
.

My inner eye snapped open as he exploded into action again.  Spinning with great force, his motion built in his legs, generating momentum.  His wings snapped out as if to slingshot the energy of his motion faster.  I attempted to duck this time, for my shirt was still smoldering on my back.  The fabric began to disintegrate after the initial burst of it caught fire.  Dark flames still danced on my arm as the last of the doomed fabric disappeared, leaving me standing there in my breaches and shoes. 

I was on my toes, knees collapsed to where my rear was on my heels spinning.  The blade came in faster than anticipated.  Had my stance not been low enough the blade would have taken my head off clean since my crossed blades were near my hips.  There would have been no preventing it.  Several swings gauged his distance from me just like pulling out a measuring tape.  He was just outside my reach, but I was well inside of his.

As we circled, behind the daemon, the rift still grew
. 
A few smaller fliers continued to slaughter each other to give that extra energy needed to fortify the portal.  It must have been slowing down, but I could still feel its progress.  A sense came over me that I had felt the minute it opened.  Not sure what it was, my senses reached out yet again.  My senses registered pain everywhere as if something siphoned the air around me of its life.  I already knew the daemon lord was draining life from around him, but this was different.  His power grew.  My skin, even though still burning from the initial exchange, felt a sickening disturbance forming in the coven’s dimensional pocket.  It felt smaller than it was, almost claustrophobic.

My swords felt like if they were compensating for something, beyond my own energy and theirs.  It flowed in a synchronous harmony.  Like there would be harmony in ending a daemon’s life.  This was my first language in the physical sense. 

The pain in my shoulder grew.  It would be best to turn my healing on now, a mistake made early on in so many fights.  I had waited too long to engage it.  The sickness flowed through me, expunged out my pores like sweat forming on my brow and various other places.  I felt better instantly knowing it would be several more moments before enough of the poison neutralized for the effect to weaken.  

As the daemon spun his weapon back in an amusing display of swordsmanship, I caught a view of the portal for a few seconds around him. 

The light around us bent towards the rift like a giant vacuum drew it in.  Around its edges, tiny flashes of lights appeared when the air and streaks of light made contact with it.  Just like a spark with gas or even pure oxygen it hit.  The very positive energy of this place was fueling the growth now. 

The smaller daemons had done their job.  I caught a glimpse through the light display and could barely make out shadows getting closer as something prepared to come through.  The opening was about sixty percent the size of the daemon prince now.  How he had folded himself enough to fit through was certainly a feat, but now he could probably just duck and step through.  Reality hit me.  I was out of time. 

It was a fully functioning portal.

He was still smiling and breathing heavily as he fed off the energy his presence consumed.  Again it hit me that the longer he was here, the stronger he would become; unless it could only maintain what he had because he was not from this plain of existence.  This was a curious thought cut short by sudden movement.

His wings snapped out again at me.  Ducking, I dragged my blades along them, scoring deep cuts.  Pressure gave way as they cut clean through to my target, the gland, and razor talon itself.  As they hit, I snapped my wrists hard as it cut free.  He howled.  The ground shook.  Tiny little pebbles jumped.  Dust began to rise and drift.   

Ichor showered the ground in a fan-like pattern, blackening the ground as it mixed with the already descending particles falling from the wings’ folds.  I watched in horror where it hit.  Dirt decayed, creating large holes that continued to fall in on them, getting a foot in diameter.  The smell hit my nostrils with a buffet of the wings, and I could feel and sense the muscles in his body tense in a spasm and he roared again like a child throwing a fit in a candy store.

I did not even see it coming.  There was just a flash, a glint and movement before I realized his sword was clean through my chest in such a fashion that it just missed my spine but was sticking out my back.  My left lung was punctured top to bottom.  White spots filled my vision as the oxygen escaped.  My diaphragm froze as my knees found the ground suddenly. 

He had thrown his blade, scoring a direct hit.

How did his weapon get through my defenses so easily?

My first real thought of death lingered.  Failure whispered its name in my ears.  It seemed impossible.  I stood skewered by the might sword.  My breath heaved in and out, my eyes danced around sporadically.  Slowly, the truth settled over my rigid body, standing arched and at attention, blood pouring from my torso and pooling around me.

Nothing daemonic should be able to get through unhindered.  Disbelief, failure, and irony overwhelmed my mind.  A soldier never throws his weapon unless he expects to die or does not care about the outcome.  You cannot control the outcome without all your tools, Father used to tell me.  He had done the unexpected and succeeded.  If you are going to fail, it is better to die with your weapons in hand.  Did’ this creature not know that?  Malnuras beat that into me every day until the day he gave me weapons that I could summon.  Then he beat it into me again when I used it, for it was a last result only.  I did not even feel any pain, which told me that my body and mind knew it was over, so the pain receptors simply disengaged.  I had learned and seen first-hand that many warriors died a glorious death and felt no pain.