Chapter 17: Fire and Light

Ziradith watched as Ragar’s minions labored, carefully assembling Zyrga’s skeleton. The bones had arrived ahead of schedule, and soon the ritual would begin. It was happening in a fortress near Duravound, built into a cliff overlooking the lake. The original plan had been to perform the ritual in the city, but thanks to Noah’s meddling, anything entering or leaving Duravound was subject to rigorous inspection. The inspectors would not know what to look for, but anyone who saw the bones would instinctively realize that they were not simple remains. They exerted a heavy presence simply by looking at them, each one feeling like a person glaring right back at them.

Even now, Ziradith couldn’t help but shiver as she watched the skeleton come together, feeling like she could hear Zyrga’s excited breathing as he awaited his resurrection. Part of her screamed in her mind that she should be running, that she should have nothing to do with this, and that a horrible fate awaited everyone involved. She couldn’t shake the feeling that even her unborn child was recoiling in her womb, wanting to get away from the evil remains. There was so much power still in those bones, evil and pungent, that made all mortals instinctively cower at the presence of this monster. Yet her soul, burning with endless hate and malice, welcomed the sickening sensation, for it proved her expectations.

Her savior was before her, her messiah, soon to smite her enemies and give her the power to achieve her dreams. That was what she craved: the dark, agonizing death of all life, as punishment for refusing to bow to her. If she could not rule Uther, then it would be annihilated, along with the entire worthless planet. Since arriving at the fortress, she had spent a lot of time in this great hall, fantasizing about the destruction soon to come.

This world that had spurred her control, that had cursed her with defective spawn and incompetent minions, that had given her nothing but anger and frustration, would rightfully burn. She didn’t even care if she lived or died, so long as she had a front row seat to watch Zyrga serve as her magnificent angel of vengeance.

Helena approached and stood beside her, gazing at Zyrga’s skeleton. He had a body like a gargoyle; bipedal, and vaguely humanoid, but with large taloned feet and matching claws at the end of his long fingers. A spike-lined tail and dragon-like wings made him seem bigger than he was, and the horns atop his head looked ready to gouge his enemies. But the most striking feature was the demonic face. The mouth, filled with sharp fangs, looked like it was fixed into a permanent grin. Instead of a roar, he looked like he’d announce himself with mocking laughter, taking pleasure in suffering and death.

“They say that when Zyrga first arrived, the moon turned black as coal, and the sky looked like an ocean of blood,” said Helena. “Every living thing around him either died or became a subject of the Profane, with hundreds, even thousands of miles of land left cursed and sterilized. The entire Enochian race shared a simultaneous shiver of terror, with the young and the old alike falling deathly ill as his dark power flooded the world.

After he was defeated and sealed, they did everything they could to purge the land of his influence, but nothing they did could restore life to where he appeared. The rich, healthy soil became lifeless sand, and the region was called Az Zyr, meaning ‘cursed by Zyrga.’ Over time, that meaning was forgotten, and Az Zyr became Ezeria.”

“Imagine it; a being so grand that it terrified the entire Enochian race. A true god descended upon their world, but they chose to keep worshipping the elements and spirits instead.”

“Ragar believes that Zygra is even strong enough to revive the dead. He had hoped that he could bring his daughters back to life.”

“And you? Do you think he could do the same for your girls?”

“Leanne and Duska have both been reduced to ashes. There is nothing to bring back. I have no choice but to settle for vengeance. But I trust Zyrga to make the Wandering Spirit scream in agony like no one else. I will have my satisfaction.”

“Ooh, say that again about him suffering,” Ziradith purred.

Helena chuckled. “Zira, you are a woman after my own heart.”

One of Ragar’s minions approached. “The assembly is going without a single issue. However, we are having problems with the power channel from Duravound.”

“You were supposed to have that finished before we arrived,” Ziradith scolded.

The ghoul scowled at her. “This plan was years in the making. Suddenly changing the site on such short notice is going to cause problems. If you want it done faster, feel free to actually get to work instead of standing around.”

“I AM working, by keeping you little cretins on schedule. Ragar put me in charge, but do not expect me to be as patient and forgiving of your ineptitude as he is. Once he gets here, expect him to want to perform the ritual immediately.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’m happy to serve,” he said sarcastically before walking off.

“Men,” Ziradith scoffed in disgust. “Human, dwarf, or Profane, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth.”

Helena bit her lip and brushed her hand against Ziradith’s. “When you say things like that...”

“Save it. You know I’m not of that persuasion. But who knows? Once I’m turned and the world is ashes, maybe we’ll have a celebratory romp atop Noah’s corpse.”

While Noah was on their minds, they were far from his. Lying amongst the rubble, he gave a pained laugh as he heard Roc’s demand and remembered the feather, taken from the Uther royal vault. He had offered it to Roc before his fight with Saimallah, but Roc turned him down, choosing instead to face victory or death with his own power, rather than rely on anyone or anything else. However, this fight was about more than just his pride, and Roc had to do whatever he could to win. If Umbra had enhanced himself with the power of a dragon, then he’d have to do the same with a phoenix. His hatred for Umbra and the other Profane was matched only by his hatred for himself, for not thinking of the feather sooner.

With what little strength he had, Noah conjured the sealed feather from his ring and tossed it to him. Roc caught the crystal, and with his hand glowing with mana, he crushed it in his grip, releasing the power inside. Flames surged from the feather and consumed him, burning with such heat and intensity that everyone was forced to back away and shield their eyes. Roc howled in pain and struggled to remain standing as he was burned alive. His life and the power of the phoenix were at odds with each other, struggling to coexist in one form. His body was unsure of whether to attack and reject the foreign power, or to accept it and let itself be overwritten with the infusion of the phoenix’s energy.

“Roc, no!” Lastet screamed, thinking her brother would be reduced to ashes.

However, the fire wasn’t eating away at his body, but the opposite. The flames were actually creating new tissue, healing all of his wounds. The problem was that having flesh grown with fire felt no less excruciating than having it destroyed by fire, but Roc was too furious to let something like pain keep him down. He accepted all of it, allowing the flames deeper into his very essence. The fire coursed through every vein and capillary like an explosive backdraft, burning his weak, mortal cells, only for new, stronger cells to be born from those ashes. His skin, muscles, and bones were all improved by several magnitudes, with his entire body being remade into a suitable vessel for the power of the phoenix.

The feathers on his wings, dark brown like those of a true eagle, glowed red with a shimmering appearance, resembling a bed of coals. His red hair became a maw of fire, and a bird skull appeared atop his head like a helmet, made of compressed ash. The flames finally calmed, revealing his metamorphosis. It seemed like the transformation was complete, but Roc then stepped forward, leaning forward with his left side. He released another howl of pain and rage, and a focused jet of fire surged from the remnants of his lost arm like a rocket engine. He had lost his entire shoulder against Saimallah, but new bone, muscle, and flesh began to grow from the base of the flames. Centimeter by centimeter, his arm restored itself despite his cells burning like thermite as they were born. Within moments, he was once again whole.

With his new hand, Roc pointed at Umbra and growled. Then, in the blink of an eye, he shot over, launching himself with such speed that he created a shockwave. He tackled Umbra, grabbing him by the throat, and shot into the air. Flames were shooting from his feathers, propelling him like thousands of rocket thrusters. He pushed Umbra across the sky, soaring over the undead legions, with the fiend trying to overpower Roc and free himself.

As Roc flew, his wings shed their feathers, immediately growing new ones, just to be shed once more, sending them fluttering down upon Ragar’s armies. Upon hitting a solid surface, each feather exploded in a cascade of majestic flames, enveloping the legions. These flames burned everything they touched, even turning stone to ash, and leaving Ragar’s undead troops burning like a field of matches. He and Umbra soared over Valia and Ragar, still fighting without reprieve, and Ragar couldn’t help but curse as all of his undead amalgamations went up in flames like they were made of birch bark.

Noah and everyone else watched Roc battle with Umbra, but their attention was then drawn by a new burst of energy, this one coming from Seraph. Roc wasn’t the only one mourning Foley, nor was he the only one overwhelmed with rage. But it wasn’t just anger that caused this sudden rush of power; it was inspiration. After seeing what Roc had become, how could Seraph not want to push himself further to catch up with him? They had buried the hatchet, but that wasn’t to say their warrior competitiveness was gone.

He didn’t know exactly how Roc had gained this new power, but it was clear it had been an agonizing, life-threatening gamble. If Seraph wasn’t prepared to take the same risk, how could he ever look Roc in the eye? Though he had just lost one friend, that didn’t mean he was going to sit back and lose to another. Tarnas had warned him about what he was about to do, warned him of the toll it would take, but he was more than ready to make some terrible life choices.

“Light’s Emissary,” he cast.

The light erupting from his body was then pulled back in, where it gathered and solidified like his wings. It took the form of a suit of golden armor, completely encompassing his body. Most of his power had been solidified to create this new form, but a great deal was radiating from him, washing over everyone and burning away Miasmarda’s clouds. The foul ghoul, observing from a safe distance, had to double his output to keep up and maintain the shroud.

Everyone could feel Seraph’s power like the intensity of the summer sun, skyrocketing past what humans were supposed to be able to accomplish. Noah, Valia, and Shannon had felt this divine power before, at Lumestada, when they bore witness to the power of the angel, with Noah even taking a direct hit, and again when Tarnas fought Scyler. How well Seraph would be able to wield and maintain that power compared to Tarnas had yet to be determined, but Noah had faith.

Seraph took off after Roc and Umbra, looking like a shooting star soaring across the sky. He caught up with the two warriors in the blink of an eye and jumped into the fight. Umbra still had the advantage over Roc, possessing beastman powers, dragon powers, and Profane powers, while Roc had only his beastman might and the power of the phoenix, but Seraph helped balance the scales. Umbra had to strengthen his Night Mantle in Seraph’s presence. It was bad enough that Roc was putting out enough heat to ignite the air, but if Umbra’s defenses fell, then Seraph’s divine aura would incinerate him in moments.

He and Roc attacked Umbra simultaneously, hurling punches and kicks so fast that their movements were impossible to follow by onlookers. Umbra was blocking and countering as best as he could, but he had to operate purely on his spiritual senses to keep up. His nose and ears simply couldn’t give him the information fast enough. He was on the defense, with the three of them zipping back and forth across the valley as a trio of gold, red, and black streaks.