Chapter 14 - Aftermath
Max's legs carried him as fast as they could, his small frame darting between the wreckage and chaos of the battlefield. His crimson eyes locked onto the wagon where Lynara's voice had called out. The sounds of battle roared in his ears—clashing steel, crackling magic, and the cries of the dying. Every step felt like an eternity as desperation clawed at his chest.
Then it came.
A brilliant burst of light erupted from the sky, a spell unlike anything Max had seen before. The energy surged toward him, twisting with raw power and intent. He barely had time to register the attack before it slammed into the ground near him, sending him hurtling through the air. The force tore at his body, flinging him deep into the forest. The world spun violently before everything went black.
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Back on the battlefield, the Vanguard Inquisition and Shadowthorn Syndicate continued their deadly clash. Commander Alaric stood amidst his soldiers, deflecting a torrent of dark magic with his shield, though the strain showed in his labored breaths.
"Hold the line!" he bellowed, rallying his troops. "Push them back!"
On the other side, Lady Arlin's face was pale, a deep gash running along her arm as she cast another barrier to shield her retreating forces. Beside her, Velnar fought with grim determination, his shadow constructs battering against the Inquisition's relentless advance. However, even his immense power faltered under the onslaught.
"Arlin, pull back!" Velnar ordered, his voice sharp. "We've lost too many already."
She hesitated, her pride warring with reason, but another spell seared past her shoulder, leaving her no choice. "Fall back!" she commanded, signaling her forces. "Regroup at the secondary point!"
The Syndicate's retreat was chaotic, their once-organized formation unraveling as the Inquisition pressed their advantage. Alaric's greatsword cut through another wave of Syndicate enforcers, but even he felt the strain. Blood dripped from a wound on his temple, the result of a glancing blow he hadn't been quick enough to dodge.
"Commander!" one of his captains called, rushing to his side. "We've sustained heavy casualties. Should we pursue?"
Alaric's gaze swept over the battlefield. His soldiers were bloodied but standing, while the Syndicate's forces were in full retreat. Yet, the cost had been great. Too great.
"No," he said finally, his voice heavy. "Consolidate our position and tend to the wounded. Let them run. This battle is over."
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After an unknown amount of time.
Somewhere deep in the forest, Max's eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed, and his body ached from the impact. The faint sound of birdsong reached his ears, a sharp contrast to the chaos he remembered. Slowly, he sat up, wincing as his muscles protested.
'What happened?' he thought, his mind piecing together fragments of memory. The attack, the spell, being flung through the air. And then… nothing.
Max pushed himself to his feet, leaning against a nearby tree for support. His eyes scanned his surroundings, but all he saw were towering trees and dense undergrowth. The battlefield felt miles away, though he knew it couldn't be far.
Determination replaced the haze of confusion. 'I have to find them. Lynara, Tarren… they need me.'
Stumbling at first, Max began his trek back toward the battlefield. The forest seemed unnaturally quiet, as if holding its breath. Each step brought him closer to the faint smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
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When Max emerged from the treeline, his heart sank. The battlefield was unrecognizable. The once-dense forest had been reduced to a scarred wasteland. Trees lay shattered, their splintered trunks jutting out like broken bones. Craters marred the ground, and the bodies of both Syndicate enforcers and Inquisition soldiers littered the earth.
Max stepped cautiously onto the desolate field, his gaze darting around for any sign of life. "Lynara? Tarren?" he called, his voice hoarse. There was no response, only the distant crackle of dying flames.
The smell of death was overpowering, but Max pressed on. His crimson eyes scanned every body, every piece of wreckage. Each step felt heavier than the last as dread clawed at his heart.
"Tarren! Lynara!" he shouted again, louder this time. The silence that followed was deafening.
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At the edge of the battlefield, Max stumbled upon the remnants of the wagon that had carried his friends. It was shattered beyond recognition, its wooden frame scorched and splintered. Nearby, he saw them.
Lynara lay crumpled on the ground, her glowing veins dim and lifeless. Tarren was beside her, his scaled arm outstretched as if reaching for her in his final moments. Both were still, their bodies broken and bloodied.
Max fell to his knees, the weight of the sight crushing him. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "No, no, no."
Tears blurred his vision as he crawled closer, his hands shaking. He gently touched Lynara's shoulder, her cold skin sending a shiver through him.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice barely audible. "I should've been faster. I should've…" His words trailed off, swallowed by the enormity of his grief.
For a long time, Max knelt there, his head bowed as tears streamed down his face. The battle had ended, but the cost was etched into the scarred earth and the lifeless bodies of his friends. The only ones he had in this world.
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As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and gold, Max stood. His crimson eyes, once filled with sorrow, now burned with something new. Resolve.
"This isn't over," he muttered, his voice low but steady. "Not for them. Not for me."
Turning away from the bodies, Max began to walk. The battlefield stretched out behind him, a grim reminder of the cost of survival. But as he disappeared into the growing darkness, one thing was clear:
The Shadowthorn Syndicate and the Vanguard Inquisition had unleashed something far more dangerous than they realized. And Max would make sure they remembered it.