The Lion's Mane

Aric stood at the edge of the rise, the citadel glowing in the distance beneath the blood-red light of the colossal mushroom. He stared in disbelief, the words echoing in his mind like blasphemy.

"So... you do serve a god?"

His voice was low but sharp. His hand moved on instinct, drawing the fanglike dagger from his belt and leveling it at Gondwyck.

The knight didn't flinch. In a swirl of smoke and flickering incense, his morningstar materialized in his grip, chain tense, eyes locked.

"Aye, good sir," Gondwyck said steadily. "I do."

"You said you hate the Tribunal," Aric growled, blade still raised. "So tell me, how in all the Thirteen Hells are you working for one of them?"

"Careful now..." Gondwyck's expression darkened. "I don't serve them."

Aric's eyes narrowed. "There are no other gods. The Tribunal saw to that."

"No," Gondwyck said, steadfast, eyes cutting a sharp glare. "The only thing the Tribunal saw to was making sure there were no living mortals left who worshipped any other gods. But the gods themselves? They still exist. And mine is no member of the Tribunal."

Aric paused, thrown off by the weight of those words. The silence between them crackled. His words were blasphemy, or at least, they would've been if Aric was still a faithful servant of the Tribunal. "That... can't be..." Aric murmured, voice trailing off as the realization settled over him like a curse. Another truth unraveling. Another lie exposed.

Gondwyck exhaled slowly and lowered his weapon.

"I don't want to fight you again," he said. "Our earlier clash was enough to know: you're not one of them. And that's why he'll want to speak with you. The prophecy in the Sacred Codex-"

"Spare me prophecy," Aric interrupted, weary. "I've been deceived by enough divine words for either of our lifetimes."

Before Gondwyck could reply, a thunderous crack, followed by a woman's shriek, split the air.

Both men turned sharply. Down the cliff face, on a well trod road below, a wooden wagon had overturned. The air filled with shrieks, human and otherwise.

A caravan, drawn by hulking, horse-sized marsh rabbits with goat-like eyes, was under attack. Encircling the wagon, eerie predators with black, mucous-coated skin glistened under the bright mushroom light. Their slick, half-liquid forms moved with unnatural grace, skin rippling, their limbs stretching as though their very shape was merely a suggestion.

They moved like a kind of predatory jungle cat Aric had seen during a crusade many years ago, sleek and low, their bodies long and lean. But where a lion might have a mane, these beasts bore writhing collars of razor-toothed tentacles.

Atop the wagon, an elderly man clung tightly to the reins of the marsh rabbits, though panic was clear in his wide eyes. His daughter, no older than seventeen, crouched beside him, clutching a short knife in both trembling hands.

Around the wagon, four caravan hands in rough traveling clothes brandished short swords. The men were brave, but visibly terrified. They stood their ground in a loose half-circle as seven, and then eight hungry beasts emerged from the swampy terrain surrounding the road.

"Marsh lions!" Gondwyck cursed. Without hesitation, he leapt off the edge.

Aric watched as the knight skated down the slope, boots carving clean lines in the stone. Gondwyck hit the ground running, smashing shoulder-first into a Marsh lion and swinging his flail in wide, brutal arcs. Two beasts went down under the morningstar's crushing weight, the second being hit so hard it physically splattered into fluid, form loosing cohesion as it spread itself upon the floor like blackberry tartine on bread.

But the others were unphased.

These Marsh lions, moved like submerged shadows, their liquid forms flowing around the armored knight's strikes. Where Gondwyck landed a hit on one, three more silently leapt. Though he caught two of them with a cresent moon sweep, one managed to latch itself onto his leg. As soon as it did, its tentacle-mane began to rip at his armor, toothed tendrils shearing at the plate, slicing off strands of metal as if it were the skin of an apple.

"Bah! Unhand me swampfilth!" Gondwyck shouted, staggering back as he kicked his leg back and forth futilely.

Aric watched from above, squinting as two beasts lunged at Gondwyck, forcing the knight to redirect his focus.

He's too slow, Aric thought. Strong, but heavy. His smoke spell is a great natural counter to his weaknesses so... Aric raised an eyebrow, thought trailing off as yet another Marsh lion latched itself to Gondwyck, this time on his thigh.

Why isn't he using it?

Suddenly, one of the caravan hands tossed his sword like a spear. It spun through the air and struck a Marsh lion square in the paw. The creature shrieked as it ripped itself free, letting the blade bisect the limb only for the two halves of the paw to reconnect! Sliding together the maimed limb healed as stitched by liquid thread. Whole once more, the Marsh lion turned toward the man with a low hiss, its stark white eyes flaring a sickly yellow in fury.

"HEY!" Gondwyck bellowed, swinging his mace with wild momentum, hurling one Marshlion off his back and dislodging the other with a violent twist. The roar of steel and chain echoed through the mire as the injured beast turned its attention back to him.

Suddenly Aric understood, the realization slapping him like a jilted lover's palm. "He's letting himself lose..."

"Huh?" Trenn said, his head nervously swinging back and forth between Aric and the battle below. "What do you mean?"

"If Gondwyck uses his smoke, then the Marsh lions will lose track of him completely..." Aric explained.

"Wouldn't that... be a good thing?" Trenn said, his thick brow furrowed in confusion.

"Sure, for him it would. But if they're not focused on him-" Aric said, his gaze shifting behind Gondwyck where, crouched behind the broken wagon, the civilians hid. The driver and his daughter, terrified and frozen, meagerly guarded by the caravan hands, who watched carefully over the side of the makeshift wooden barrier.

"Then who do you think they'll focus on..."

One of the lions pounced. Its teeth catching on Gondwyck's helmet pulling him around for a moment before suddenly tearing it free.

As the winged helmet soared through the air, Aric saw the tall knight's face for the first time. His long, crimson hair bursting free from the helm, damp with sweat and clinging to his cheeks. A sharp jaw set tight with defiance, and piercing golden-yellow eyes burned beneath a furrowed brow. But what stood out most was the unnatural hue of his skin, bright blue and striking against the wash of red in his hair, a contrast so stark it made him look almost spectral.

The beast roared in his face.

And Gondwyck bit it.

The Marshlion screeched, raking his face with a flurry of slashes from it's writhing mane.

"Slither." Aric hissed.

He burst down the slope, feet barely touching stone, red serpentine aura shooting down with supernatural speed. He shot past the chaos and, in one clean motion, tackled the creature, driving his stiletto into it's head, and hitting the beast with so much momentum that it splattered on the spot.

The aqueous black slime composing the creature coated them both.

Gondwyck blinked, dazed, blood streaking down his face, a gauntleted hand wiping slime and blood away from squinting eyes.

Aric offered a hand, his expression terse but gesture supportive.

"Why the surprise?" he asked. "Did you think the noble fight would be fought alone?"

Gondwyck stared in disbelief, expression breaking into a smirk, as he took the extended hand. "Hah! Aye good sir, I did!" Gondwyck started, pulling himself back up to his feet.

"However... " he continued, trailing off as both men turned to face the predators that remained.

Ahead of them, the remaining Marsh lions hissed, backing away slowly as around the pride, the splattered remains of their fallen pack oozed back towards them like massive headless slugs. They pushed into each other, bodies rippling like the surface of water disturbed by a pebble, as the barrier between them popped. A dozen marsh lions became eight, then five, then three as the mass of umbral tar fused, becoming one.

A single cohesive form began to rise before the two warriors as Gondwyck turned to Aric and finished his thought with a firm nod.

"No noble fight was ever won alone."