The Ravager's Onslaught
The three of them walked in silence, the laughter of Milo and his friends echoing like a taunt in Pyrrhus's ears. Owen trailed behind, shoulders hunched, casting furtive glances at Pyrrhus as if seeking reassurance.
"Can't you just say no to them?" Cora asked, her voice a mix of frustration and concern. "Why do you even hang out with them? Just ignore them next time."
"They're my friends," Owen mumbled, his voice barely audible. "We were just having fun."
"They're not your friends," Pyrrhus hissed, his tone sharper than he intended. Owen flinched, his eyes widening in surprise. Despite being four years older, Owen seemed to shrink under Pyrrhus's intensity.
"You—" Pyrrhus began, but the words died in his throat. A prickle of unease danced across his skin, and his gaze snapped towards the forest, its dark maw hungrily swallowing the last vestiges of sunlight. Though the depths were shrouded in shadow, Pyrrhus could feel it – the immense weight of a soul, a presence that had been stalking their camp for months.
One thing Pyrrhus had learned about soul magic was this: the heavier the soul, the more potent its magic.
He had yet to witness the true power that magic could unleash, but he knew instinctively that no one in the camp came close to the raw energy emanating from the forest.
"Why don't you go ahead?" Pyrrhus said, forcing his voice into a calmer tone. "I'll join you soon."
"Where are you going?" Cora asked, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "You're not going to pick a fight with Milo's gang, are you?"
"No, you can't," Owen pleaded.
"I'm not," Pyrrhus reassured them, but his voice held a note of urgency he couldn't quite mask. "I need to meet Bram," he mumbled, already turning and rushing away, leaving Cora and Owen staring after him in confusion.
He burst from the small circle of tents that represented their home and raced towards a small crest overlooking the camp. A lone figure stood there, silhouetted against the fading sky, a silent sentinel against the encroaching night. Bram's life seemed to revolve around that duty, day in and day out, always vigilant, always watching.
The scarred soldier waited for him to arrive, his somber grey eyes studying Pyrrhus as he caught his breath.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone even, yet the question hung in the air like a premonition.
Pyrrhus, barely reaching Bram's knee, looked up and gasped, "It's here again!"
Bram needed no further explanation. He raised a weathered hand to his lips and let out a piercing whistle, the sharp sound slicing through the peace of the twilight. The camp fell into a stunned silence, every soul freezing in place.
Then, chaos erupted. Camp members scrambled from their tents, converging on the central clearing. Four soldiers, weapons drawn, formed a protective circle around them.
Pyrrhus caught a glimpse of his mother's panicked face as she searched for him. Her eyes locked onto him beside Bram, and she tried to rush forward, but a soldier held her back, speaking urgently.
Anya's head whipped towards Pyrrhus, beckoning him frantically.
"You should join them," Bram said in his calm, measured voice as the remaining three soldiers rushed towards them, blades gleaming in the fading light. They cast wary glances at Pyrrhus before addressing Bram. "Is there an attack, Captain?"
"Get ready. I will take the front," Bram declared, marching towards the forest as dusk gave way to darkness. The trees seemed to lean in, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. "Spread out and provide support."
"Who's attacking?" the soldier persisted, falling in step with Bram as the others followed. Pyrrhus, his heart pounding, joined them. Frowns creased the soldiers' faces, but they did not protest.
He focused his senses, the world around him blurring as he reached out with his soul magic. The oppressive presence in the forest remained stationary, like it always had.
Soon enough, another soul joined it, smaller, yet filled with a predatory intent.
"How many?" Bram asked, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
"Only one," Pyrrhus replied, his voice hesitant. Unlike the last encounter, the creature in the forest seemed content to send a single emissary, a harbinger of the terror to come.
Bram, following Pyrrhus's gaze, peered into the darkness. The soldiers held their breath, their grips tightening on their weapons.
Then, a shadow detached itself from the darkness. A monstrous figure emerged, its body a grotesque tapestry of razor-sharp spines and gleaming scales. Massive claws, each the size of a man's arm, clicked against the forest floor, leaving deep gouges in the earth. Its head, adorned with twisted horns and glowing red eyes, swiveled back and forth, scanning the group with a predatory gaze.
The soldiers tensed, their grips tightening on their weapons. A collective gasp escaped their lips as they recognized the creature. "A Spineback Ravager," one of them whispered, his voice thick with dread.
With a spine-chilling roar that rattled the very trees, the Ravager charged, its monstrous form a blur in the twilight. Bram, his azure blade singing with the power of a thousand storms, met the onslaught head-on. The clash of steel on scales echoed through the clearing, each impact sparking like crazed fireflies against the encroaching darkness.
"Fall back!" one of the soldiers yelled, his voice hoarse with fear, as he scooped Pyrrhus up and retreated. The others followed suit, nocking arrows to their bows, their movements sharp and precise despite the trembling in their hands.
Pyrrhus, nestled against the soldier's chest, felt his heart pounding in unison with the frantic drumming of the Ravager's claws on the forest floor. He fumbled in his pouch, his small hands trembling as he pulled out a steel cone, its intricate grooves catching the dying light.
"Loose!" a soldier commanded, and a volley of arrows whistled through the air. But the Ravager was a whirlwind of teeth and claws, dodging and weaving with impossible speed. The arrows glanced off its armored hide, barely slowing its relentless advance.
Pyrrhus's eyes darted between Bram and the Ravager, the two figures a blur of motion in the dwindling light. The air crackled with the energy of their clash, the sounds of steel on scale punctuated by Bram's guttural grunts and the Ravager's enraged snarls.
A cold dread settled in Pyrrhus's stomach as he realized that even Bram, with his skill and enchanted blade, was being pushed back. Blood seeped from wounds on the warrior's arms and legs, staining his armor a dark crimson.
"We have to help him!" Pyrrhus cried out, his voice a desperate plea.
"Stay back, child!" the soldier holding him commanded, his eyes fixed on the battle. "This is beyond your abilities."
But Pyrrhus was already drawing upon his magic, the wind swirling around him in a miniature tornado. The steel cone in his hand spun, its grooves humming with the force of the gathering storm.
The soldiers continued their futile assault, arrows pinging harmlessly off the Ravager's thick hide like pebbles against a mountain. Bram stumbled, a strangled cry escaping his lips as the creature's razor-sharp claws raked across his chest, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.
Pyrrhus's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew wind alone wasn't string enough to injure the creature. But as he reached for the fire mana, a wave of nausea washed over him.
It brought with it memories of pain and loss. The searing heat, the acrid smell of burning flesh, the screams of his past life echoed through the corridors of his nightmares.
He recoiled, his hands shaking. Could he truly wield the very element that had brought him so much pain?
But then, a different image flashed before his eyes: Bram, his mentor and protector, falling beneath the Ravager's relentless assault. The sight galvanized him, erasing his doubts. If he didn't act, Bram would die.
***
A/N:
Thanks for reading Chapter 10! I hope you're enjoying John's journey as Pyrrhus. Your comments and votes really motivate me to keep writing.
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