Defiler by Isaac Hooke

Author:Isaac Hooke [Hooke, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Published: 2019-02-20T16:00:00+00:00

20

Another strike to Xaxia’s thigh brought her focus back to the fore, and she bit down on the pain, and concentrated on redirecting the anger. She was going to wipe that smirk off this asshole’s face.

She struck harder, gritting her teeth. She risked leaving herself open twice to take the offensive, and only narrowly parried the follow-up blow that came after. It skimmed her neck, and she felt the sting, and the subtle trickle of blood.

And then her opponent made a mistake. He swung too far, trying to end this too early, obviously attempting to cut her head clean off her shoulders.

She ducked underneath the blade, stepped to the side, and struck upward in an arc as she stood. The blade passed below the night elf’s right arm, passing clean through his rib cage.

The night elf looked at her with absolute shock in his eyes, and blood gurgled from his lips.

He collapsed.

Panting, she turned around, looking for other foes to face, but the others were just finishing up. Goldenthall felled his own foe as she watched, while Timlir looked like he had just taken out his opponent. The oraks, meanwhile, had been reduced to a trio; they simply stood there, above the bodies of three night elves, calmly watching her.

“Thanks for the help,” she scolded the oraks.

One of them shrugged.

No other enemies stood, so she sheathed the blade and strode to where Biter had fallen on the floor. She scooped it up, calmly walked back to her former opponent; the night elf was crawling along the floor, trying to get away.

She stabbed him in the back, killing him. The blade flared a bright purple. She straightened as a small amount of stamina flowed into her body.

“Asshole.” She withdrew the blade, and turned toward the door. “Goldenthall, or Banvil, whatever the fuck you are, have those oraks guard the entrance.”

Goldenthall raised an amused eyebrow, as if he found her commanding tone funny or something. But then he nodded, and the three oraks rushed to the entrance, passing him to stand guard.

As she stood there, panting, she spotted a black sphere sitting at the center of the room. She hadn’t noticed it until that moment. Without having to ask, she knew it was the Dark Eye, the huge, head-sized jewel that had once festooned the hilt of Banvil’s massive sword. Festoon. That wasn’t the proper word. Festoon implied bright, gaudy ornamentation. This was far from bright. The blackness at its center appeared to eat all the light produced by Biter, and almost seemed to call out to her as she stared at it.

Entranced, she slowly strode toward it. She reached out, still lost in its hypnotic pull, but before she could touch it, another hand scooped the item up.

She stood, stunned.

Goldenthall had beat her to it. He held the weapon in both hands, smiling maliciously. When he looked up, his eyes had become an even starker black. The mist ebbed and flowed from them in vibrant waves.

“I thank you for leading me back to what is mine,” Banvil’s deep voice came from his lips.

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