Chapter 27: The Burning Head

A sudden jolt, like an electric shock, surged through Kallavan's body. He understood, instinctively, that if that sword were fully sheathed, the unseen attacks would cease. But a primal urge, a burning desire to test his strength against the very essence of that blade, overrode all logic. He roared with all his might, "Don't let that sword get sheathed!" He wanted to battle that sword, to push himself against its unseen power.

Ares, reacting instantly to Kallavan's shout, ripped a still-armored finger from one of the fallen knights and hurled it with surprising force. The armored finger lodged itself between the blade and the sheath, momentarily preventing the knight from completing the action.

Before the knight could react or reach for the obstruction, Kallavan was upon him. In a blur of motion, he appeared before the knight, his greatsword already arcing downwards, a grim smile plastered across his face.

The knight, his sheathed sword now partially blocked, instinctively used the scabbard to deflect Kallavan's blow. The impact was tremendous, the force of Kallavan's swing deflecting his own blade and tearing open the knight's mask.

And there, beneath the helmet, was not a man, but a woman. Her hair was a dark, almost forest green, and her eyes were a striking shade of dark purple. She leaped back, startled, a look of intense revulsion crossing her face. A fragmented memory flashed through her mind: a dark, indistinct scene filled with violence and pain. As the memory surfaced, she whispered, her voice filled with loathing, "God… I hate swords."

Yes, this was the one who hated, who despised the blade more than anything else in the world. The very sight and feel of steel against steel was anathema to her.The battle ignited with ferocious intensity. The woman, her face a mask of grim determination, wielded the sheathed sword with desperate strength, swinging it in wide, powerful arcs as if fighting for her very life. Kallavan, equally determined, parried each attack with practiced ease, his greatsword flashing in a whirlwind of motion.

Ares, seeing an opening, moved to flank the woman, attempting to strike from behind. But in that instant, a series of ear-splitting scratching sounds echoed through the chamber, as if giant claws were scraping across stone. Suddenly, twelve enormous, deep gouges appeared on the polished floor, radiating outwards from the knight like massive scratch marks. The force of their creation was so intense that Ares's forehead and everything above it was simply erased, leaving only his jaw, which continued to shout in a distorted, horrifying echo of his intended battle cry. He swung his greatsword down towards the woman's head, but the constant barrage of invisible slashes sapped his strength, turning the blow into a weak, pathetic strike. The invisible forces tore at him, turning him into a gruesome soup of blood and bone.

The woman, panting heavily, looked down at the remains of Ares and said, her voice laced with a mixture of weariness and disdain, "You could have killed me. You truly are prideful. That will be your demise."

She then began to slowly, deliberately sheath the sword. Kallavan, his eyes blazing with fury, roared, "Don't you dare sheath that blade!" He was desperate to continue the fight, to prove his strength against the unseen power.

But as the woman was about to plant the sheathed sword into the ground, a strange occurrence stopped her. The sword, as if rejecting its confinement, slipped from the scabbard, falling to the floor with a metallic clang. Simultaneously, two deep, precise cuts appeared on the woman's hands, as if invisible blades had sliced through her flesh. Blood began to well from the wounds, dripping onto the polished stone.

Though her hands were now ribboned with crimson, the woman's resolve remained unbroken. The very air thrummed with the suppressed power of the sheathed blade, a force she knew she could not unleash upon the world. With a guttural groan of effort, she clamped her bloodied mouth around the cold steel of the sword's hilt, forcing it back into the scabbard with a sickening slide. The instant the blade was fully contained, crimson gashes bloomed across her neck, dark blood gushing forth, staining her gown a deeper shade of red. A violent cough wracked her body, spraying droplets of blood onto the polished floor, each drop a testament to the agonizing strain she endured.

Seeing her struggle, a desperate act seized Martinelli. With a frantic wave of his hand, he conjured a writhing mass of thorny, black vines. They erupted from the polished stone, snaking outwards with alarming speed, transforming the immediate area into a dense thicket of thorny bushes, a grotesque barrier against the encroaching chaos. Kallavan, ever watchful, seized this fleeting distraction. He drew a smaller, wickedly sharp blade and began to hack at the sheathed sword, each strike a desperate attempt to disrupt the volatile energies contained within. His gaze flickered to the deer skull mask hanging at his back, a moment of intense temptation flashing across his face. Should I unleash its power? he thought, his hand hovering near the mask. But he clenched his fist, drawing it back. No. Not yet.

The woman, her voice now a ragged whisper, barely audible above the din of battle and the cracking of the collapsing tower, choked out, "I'm… sorry, Morgana…" With agonizing slowness, she began to draw the sword again, using only the strength of her jaw and neck muscles. Sinews strained, blood dripped, and the air crackled with anticipation. The third time she attempted to fully unsheathe the blade, the contained power burst forth in a cataclysmic release. Invisible blades of pure energy tore through the air, ripping through the very fabric of the tower. Great chunks of stone and masonry were cleaved away, a vast section of the structure groaning and tilting precariously outwards, poised to plummet into the city below.

In a brutal act born of pure desperation, Kallavan snatched up the severed head of one of his fallen warriors. Blood still dripped from the ragged neck, and the eyes stared blankly upwards. Gripping the head by its blood-soaked hair, Kallavan unleashed a guttural chant, a word of raw power that echoed through the collapsing chamber like a death knell: "Sundele! Sundele! Sundele!"

As the word reverberated through the air, blue flames erupted from the severed head—from its vacant eyes, gaping mouth, shattered ears, and torn nostrils—transforming it into a grotesque, fiery torch. With practiced speed, Kallavan fastened the burning head onto a hook attached to a heavy chain, which in turn was secured to one of the metal crossbows. He triggered the release mechanism, launching the flaming head with explosive force. It shot through the air like a blazing comet, maneuvering with unnatural speed and precision, finally embedding itself in a large, jagged rock protruding from the crumbling exterior of the tower. Kallavan, still gripping the chain, used the anchored head as a makeshift grappling hook, swinging himself out through the gaping hole in the collapsing wall just as the rest of the structure began to give way.

He landed heavily on the precarious ledge outside, narrowly avoiding a shower of falling debris. But even as he caught his breath, a new threat materialized. A blur of motion slammed into him—a chaotic swarm of the sky-fish and other ethereal creatures, panicked and driven by the collapsing tower's chaotic energies. They moved with terrifying speed, their flight paths erratic and unpredictable. The fish, with their eyes positioned on the sides of their heads, had little to no forward vision, making their movements even more dangerous. Realizing the impossibility of standing against this chaotic onslaught, Kallavan dropped to his hands and knees, crawling desperately along the narrow ledge, trying to avoid the flailing wings and snapping jaws of the panicked creatures.

As Kallavan crawled precariously along the narrow ledge, dodging the erratic flight of the panicked creatures, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He glanced down, through the gaping hole in the collapsing tower's wall, and saw a figure huddled near the doorway below. He squinted, trying to make out the details in the dim light, and a cold dread washed over him. It was a woman, her form shaking uncontrollably. He looked closer, and his heart sank. It was his wife.

"Damnit," he muttered under his breath, a mixture of anger and despair twisting his features. He slammed his fist against the crumbling stone of the ledge, a surge of self-reproach washing over him. You should have stayed home, he thought bitterly.

He knew he couldn't stay where he was. The ledge was crumbling, and the swarm of creatures showed no sign of abating. He had to make a move, a desperate gamble. With a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet.

The moment he stood upright, the smaller sky-fish, no larger than sardines but moving with the force of torpedoes, launched themselves at him. Some burst against his armor, splattering him with their iridescent blood, the impact jarring him. Others, driven by the chaotic energies of the collapsing tower, struck with enough force to actually pierce his armor, drawing small beads of his own blood. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain and focusing on finding a way out of this deadly chaos.

Through the swarm of smaller creatures, he finally spotted a larger sky-fish, its form more substantial than the others. It was larger than a man, its wings spanning several feet, and it was heading directly towards him. This was his chance. With a surge of adrenaline, Kallavan stretched out his left hand, the dagger he had used to hack at the sheathed sword clutched tightly in his grip. He braced himself, preparing for the impact. This was his last gamble, a desperate attempt to turn the chaos to his advantage.

The sky-fish, a grotesque mockery of avian grace, descended upon Kallavan like a feathered avalanche. Its eyes, dull and reptilian, flickered with a predatory gleam as its massive jaws unhinged, revealing rows of teeth like jagged obsidian shards. The stench of rotting fish and stale seawater washed over him. Kallavan threw himself to the right, a desperate, instinctive dodge. The creature's jaws snapped shut inches from his face, the force of the bite sending a shockwave of fetid breath across his skin. But the fish's teeth still found purchase, clamping down on his left gauntlet with a sickening crunch of metal on bone. The force reverberated through his arm, a searing lance of pain that made his vision blur. He felt the bones in his fingers grind against each other, a sickening premonition of broken bones.

He didn't scream. He couldn't. Instead, he lunged forward, using the fish's own momentum against it. The creature, surprised by the sudden resistance, beat its leathery wings frantically, the air filling with the sound of tearing membrane and the stench of burnt flesh from the burning head still stubbornly lodged in its fin. Kallavan's trapped hand was now a grotesque pivot point, the fish's struggles only tightening its grip. He yanked hard on the chain with his right hand, the burning head dislodging from the rock with a shower of sparks and a screech of metal on stone. It swung around in a wide, bloody arc, slamming into the fish's already damaged fin with a wet, sickening crunch. A spray of thick, oily blood erupted from the wound, mingling with the flickering flames, the smell of burnt flesh intensifying.

The fish's grip on Kallavan's hand tightened in a final spasm of agony, then its jaws snapped open for a fleeting instant, a wet, tearing sound accompanying the release. Kallavan seized the sliver of opportunity, wrenching his trapped hand free, the dagger still clutched within the mangled gauntlet. The blade, still embedded in the fish's gum, ripped through the creature's flesh as he pulled, tearing a ragged gash down its side, exposing glistening, pulsating entrails. The fish crashed onto the crumbling ledge with a heavy thud, the impact sending tremors through the already unstable structure. Its wings flapped weakly, spraying more blood and debris, the burning head a constant source of searing pain and acrid smoke. Its breath came in ragged, wet gasps, each exhale a hot, putrid gust.

Ignoring the throbbing agony in his hand, Kallavan ripped a length of rope from his belt and hurled it down through the jagged hole in the wall. Below, his wife, her face ashen and streaked with dirt and grime, her whole body trembling violently, saw the rope descend. Her eyes widened with a mixture of hope and terror. With desperate haste, she seized the rope, her calloused hands gripping the rough fibers tightly as she began to climb, her knuckles white with strain. The rope, taut as a bowstring, held firm, anchored by the crossbow and the burning head far above.

As she reached the top, Kallavan hauled her roughly into the relative safety of the sky-fish's cavernous belly. The interior was a charnel house of blood, guts, and burnt flesh, a nauseating testament to the brutal struggle. He barely registered the stench. He turned his attention to his mangled hand. He gathered the torn flesh, the broken bones shifting beneath his touch, and pressed them together, the raw edges squelching. Using his nail, now slick with his own blood and the fish's, he scratched a quick, brutal line along the length of the gash. As his nail moved, a thin line of blue fire erupted, cauterizing the wound with a searing hiss, the smell of burnt flesh now added to the already overwhelming stench.

He then tried to shift the massive carcass, to heave it off the crumbling ledge. But the creature's weight was immense, amplified by its useless, blood-soaked wings. The ledge itself groaned under the combined weight, chunks of stone breaking away and falling into the abyss below. Kallavan's legs and arms trembled with the strain, the pain in his crushed fingers a constant, throbbing torment. His wife, inside the carcass, added her own weight to the effort, pushing with her back against the thick, leathery hide. The combined force barely budged the enormous creature.

Kallavan, his breath coming in ragged gasps, changed his tactic. Instead of trying to push the fish sideways, he moved to its tail, gripping the thick, leathery appendage with both hands. He pulled downwards, using the angle to his advantage. The blood-slicked stone of the ledge offered marginally less resistance this way. With a final, desperate heave, fueled by adrenaline and a primal, animalistic need to survive, Kallavan threw his full weight into the pull. The fish shuddered, then finally gave way, sliding over the edge with a low, grinding groan, plummeting into the city below, taking with it a shower of crumbling stone and dust. The sudden absence of its weight caused the ledge to shift again, a warning tremor running through the collapsing tower.

As Kallavan prepared to leap onto another sky-fish, a sudden shift in the air behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He glanced back to see Martinelli and the blood-soaked knight standing at the edge of the collapsing structure. He abandoned his jump, knowing a direct confrontation was unavoidable. As he turned to face them, thorny branches erupted from the stone beneath Martinelli's feet, snaking out and hooking onto Kallavan's cape. He swiftly cut the cape free with his dagger, but Martinelli, his blue eyes burning with a cold fury, snatched the sheathed sword from the knight's bloodied mouth. With a swift, practiced motion, he swung it, unleashing a devastating wave of invisible air slashes.

Kallavan, sensing the danger, used the powerful muscles in his legs to kick off the crumbling ledge, propelling himself towards another sky-fish. He managed to grab hold of its fin, narrowly avoiding the worst of the invisible attacks. Martinelli, however, was relentless. The sword, now seemingly obedient to his will, no longer randomly unleashing its power, was a deadly extension of his intent. The knight, her face a mask of pain and confusion, tried to speak, but only a gurgling stream of blood escaped her lips. The sword, however, seemed to ignore her struggles, responding only to Martinelli. He then noticed that the hand wielding the sword was severed and many wounds started to open on her body that began to bleed, the sword at full speed from her hand went flying towards Kallavan.

Kallavan, still clinging to the sky-fish, swung his own greatsword in a desperate attempt to intercept the projectile. In a cruel twist of fate, the flying sword sliced clean through Kallavan's greatsword as if it were butter, even if it wasn't fast enough to stop the full attack. Only a red-hot, jagged edge of his own blade remained. The tip of the flying sword pierced Kallavan's abdomen. He tried to pull it out, but the wound erupted in a spray of blood, a gaping hole opening in his stomach. He stumbled back, his vision blurring, his movements becoming sluggish and drunken. He fell to his knees, clutching the massive, crater-like wound in his abdomen, as if a monstrous bite had been taken out of him.

He tried to rise, but blood streamed into his eyes, turning his vision a crimson haze. He murmured weakly, repeatedly, "Where is it? Where is it?" He frantically searched for his deer skull mask, his fingers scrabbling against the crumbling stone. Then, he realized it was still on his head, the empty eye sockets staring blankly ahead. Before he could even lift a hand to remove it, the knight, driven by some unseen force, lunged forward and kicked him in the head. In a horrifying instant, Kallavan's vision was filled with the image of his own head being crushed beneath her armored leg, his face twisting into a mangled mess of blood and bone.

Instinctively, Kallavan raised his right arm, the crossbow still attached, in a desperate attempt to block the blow. As the armored leg connected with the crossbow, the tightly wound spider silk thread snapped, releasing the tension with explosive force. The sudden release, combined with the impact of the kick, sent the metal rods of the crossbow scattering outwards like deadly projectiles. Eight of the thick rods pierced the knight's leg, the force of the impact nearly severing the limb. Others flew across the chamber, some embedding themselves in the floor, while others found their mark in Kallavan's face and chest. He didn't die from the bleeding or the wounds themselves, but from the sheer shock of the combined impacts. His eyes rolled back, turning white, yet he remained standing, his posture hunched and broken, as if he was about to collapse at any moment. His mangled arm and blood-soaked body were a gruesome testament to the brutal fight.

The knight, barely able to stand on her mangled leg, cried out weakly, "Come on, my lord!" Martinelli, ignoring the carnage around him, grabbed her arm, and together they leaped onto a waiting sky-fish, which immediately took flight, soaring away from the crumbling tower. Moments later, the structure gave way completely, collapsing into a heap of rubble and dust. A deafening rumble echoed through the city, and a massive cloud of dust and debris billowed outwards, spreading through the streets of Karvas like a choking fog.