Almare,
Snowbridge, Etch, Ematay, Oddius, Eleanor, Christian and Mileena
were now ready, debriefed within nearly fifteen minutes with a well
thought out strategy; each person brought some vital point to the
view of each others angle they would never have seen. And so, the
plan of best quality was formed and ready to begin.
All the
people ran to the back door, of which the Shadows knew little
about; it was about twenty minutes away. Spell-casters were here.
Some had disappeared and hidden in fear; out of them never seeing a
war before, and what it can do to the mind in mere seconds. But
there was some who pulled out of their own selves—and made the
decision to fight once again.
All five
hundred women (the Water Spirits), with long hair that was neither
blue nor white. For it seemed to become the same colour and effect
as the sea would if the sun shone on them; so in this time, it was
white, as the skies were not blue. They stood only about ten feet
away from the door, in waves, formed perfectly. They seemed to hold
themselves so still it looked surreal, and at points they looked
like lifelike statues.
Selphira
was told in mind by the king to pull back. To let their enemy in,
and fight and keep them as busy as they possibly could for the time
being.
There
was one priest left at this time, and the king made sure to keep
him safe, as he was their last resort. They were just biding their
time, most people knew they would not live. Not the Spell-casters
anyway. The king knew he could only change the situation, not the
ultimate destiny that still lingered, no matter what he could and
would do.
“Let them
in,” were the words of captain Mileena at the front. Her skin
looked pale, clear, cold and washed out, like the Anchor Mens, but
these spirits did not drip with water from their bodies or clothes,
unlike the prisoners. They all wore dark blue dresses, with lighter
blue trousers underneath, and a corset at their centre that had two
tones; black and dark blue, the colours swishing in and out of one
another.
Selphira
pulled back, still staying in the original rock form that towered
above all the Water Spirits, that were not tall, but neither really
short in comparison either. The Shadows flooded into the Original,
and she began thwarting them against the walls. Their numbers were
like unstoppable crashing waves pouring inside.
Selphira
continued smashing them against the homes of those who were in
their house not four hours ago.
Oddius was
in the middle, by himself, between the first formation of the two
hundred and fifty pirates, and the second. Eleanor and Christian
were at the very back, the safest place, but also a possibly
dangerous one too. They were not impressed with being put somewhere
they couldn’t be useful; they became too accustomed of being that,
but sometimes you have no choice on the matter, and this was one of
those times.
The numbers
poured in straight away at the sides and underneath the female
Edeolon warrior, who could not react quick enough to stop them all.
There was some Shadows that tried to kill her, but their swords
broke on her dense rocklike skin. Only the broken weapons didn’t
stop the Shadows terror; they pulled more from their bodies
somehow, as if it was generated from inside them, some kind of
magick the Astorians couldn’t understand.
There was
some clarity; as a lot of those who saw this, took it in to the
back of their minds and made sure to make a mental note of it.
The Water
Spirits were ready. They moved in their low numbers, but numbered
enough to block the path to were they wanted to go, seeing the
people flee to the back entrance/exit. Those of the Shade Sea tried
to get there. Captain Mileena was the first to attack, if you could
really call it that.
She merely
pressed her palm upon one of the Shadows, then another, and
another. And two Shadows in, the first seemed to slow very
drastically. The Shadow still fought, slashing at her own kind,
hurting them, but steel, whether magick or not, against Water
Spirits could not kill them; not in this state anyway. The Shadow
then completely halted, and then the other and the other. The other
Water Spirits were doing this, some with their fists and palms,
some with their feet and knees. They struck nowhere near as strong
as an Original Astorian, nor a Battle-caster or Swan Knight, but it
pushed them back enough to give them some time to slow their
movements, and eventually froze them—from the inside. Turning their
shadowlike form to a dark shade of blue, but did not cover the
beings in snow nor ice at the same time.
The
blackness was thickening on the streets and pathways, and it seemed
they took some time to get through the first wave of Water Spirits.
Though still, the space was thinning, as the Shadows still existed,
but were still frozen inside. This was an older kind of magick that
was not superficial or meant to be pretty; it was to make matters
efficient, and to carry out the ways of Oranos, as these were said
to be his guardians at one point in the ‘Book of Legends’. Eleanor
could remember that part very well. She pondered over those pages
numerous times in the past, but only caught on about this link in
this very moment as she watched them fight.
Oddius
reduced the gravity immensely exclusively for the Shadows.
Something that had required a great amount of magickal training in
the past, though is as plain and easy to him as merely walking now.
The frozen Shadows went up into the air really fast, and as they
did, the Water Spirits became a little distracted at first. Yet
they carried on fighting, as best and as quick as they could. It
almost felt as if the cold in their hearts was being lifted as they
helped the people of Swansie and Astora. Though the magick still
ran cold through them and their bodies; the spirits once believed
their cold power was because of their cold hearts, and this was the
cycle of why they allowed it to continue. It was only recently,
that the Water Spirits knew they needed a new way; even if it cost
them the magick of their father: Oranos.
But it
seemed as if the pirates of the Shade Sea still kept their powers
at these times, at least at the time being.
Some
Shadows managed to get past the first wave of spirits quite easily,
but Oddius pushed them back, looking as if a powerful telekinetic
force was flung into them, easily about seventy of the enemy fell
back to the first wave of the Water Spirits. The Edeolon watched as
the Water Spirits touched the Shadows more than once, and it seemed
to make some much stronger difference. There seemed to be some kind
of fatal magick with time in their cold hands and bodies.
The longer
the beings of the deep touched anyone, not just the enemy, the
faster their power worked.
There was
hundreds of statuesque Shadows floating above Swansie from
Oddius.
Many Water
Spirits were hurt. Limbs were cut off, but they just grew back
within some liquid. Then, their injuries or loss of limbs, shaped
themselves back to what it once looked like, and what was on the
floor was just puddles of water, or some droplets.
Oddius
pushed several large groups of Shadows back numerous times, and on
the second time, he made a gravity field he put up on the frozen
statues above him. And from then, all those Shadows that were
hovering above, came down like hard hail, shattering into thousands
of pieces all around on the battlefield. In turn, it made both the
Shadows and Edeolon Warriors slip. It seemed as if the water didn’t
effect the Water Spirits, which made sense to Oddius’s eyes, as
they created the cold water and ice before them.
Selphira
was still smacking Shadows against one another. They continued to
try and strike her down in many different ways, but their weapons
just shattered, time after time. As if they never learned or could
adapt as humanoids could do.
The
king was nearing the back entrance. There was always a front and
back entrance somewhere on the Starao worlds’ cities, it was like a
traditional fail safe. Sometimes there were more ways in and out of
a city. But few knew of them if they did exist.
“I hope
there are no Shadows on the other side,” yet as he said this the
door banged and thudded in a monstrous way; the way life raged
against wanting to get what it wanted. At any cost. It seemed as if
the sound sounded their defeat, but the king would not give up just
yet. Too much depended on him for his people.
He didn’t
know what to do. There was that darkness coming for him again, but
not just him this time—all of his people. He thought hard, very
hard, as the crowd he lead gasped and threw themselves back in
shock.
The door
seemed to thud harder and more frequent than it had done at the
front. The Spell-casters and king tried to stop it, but another big
forceful bang opened a small gap in the door, then it all fell down
from there.
In less than two minutes the black Shadows rushed
in and began killing, like a torrent of lava or water would do, not
hesitating, consistently moving.
The king
unsheathed his sword and began to slash into the dark that plagued
their world. They were moving fast before soaring through the air
in particles of black dust and soot. Grains scattering as if they
were a heavy rain, trying to wash away something not wanted.
The numbers
of the Spell-casters by the kings side were dwindling, they managed
to take out a few battalions on there own, but the Shadows numbers
were far too great.
Prince Etch
saw the problem arising, as he was a little farther behind. He saw
his mother just as busy fighting; although she seemed to be
managing the fight better than anyone else around. The prince ran
through the remaining Spell-casters standing in front of the crowds
of what remained of Swansie.
“Father,”
he whispered to himself. The king of Astora now stood alone, no
other help around. Although he was so involved in fighting and
staying alive, keeping the Shadows at bay, he didn’t notice. The
prince managed to run through the fields of black and what few
Spell-casters were left; most were rangers now, shooting from afar,
or shielding the crowd from getting hurt.
The black
sword that was a part of the Shadows body was about to strike
Almare; it was held in the air, as if frozen for a mere second, and
was about to come down upon the man. Prince Etch tried to make his
legs go faster as he saw this happen, to make sure he got there in
time. The sword fell, and he was so close, as fast as he was. But
it was not close enough. The weapon struck his father upon his
chest, where his heart beat beneath. Almare‘s son knew immediately
it was impossible to heal him, even for a place where many healers
lived. There are just some things that will always remain
unfixable, even with the might of herbal remedies and magick on
their side. Etch, as far removed as he was from reality, knew the
boundaries of what people could do for one another in life and
death situations. He only chose to remove it with his addiction for
one person.
Etch then
became so enraged at what happened, that his mind was only filled
with brutal revenge. He didn’t think, only felt, and struck down
many Shadows even quicker than he could have imagined himself to do
so. He turned around again, and was about to meet the same fate as
his father, only his mother appeared very suddenly, not with the
power of magick, just faster than any humanoid would have been able
to physically do. The stars shone bright above, and these stars
were clearly Snowbridg
e
’
s
massive advantage in
battle; for the descendant of Starao more than any other there.
She then
used her star-flare beam she used to take down the living siege
beast. This time she used it on the Shadows to clear a temporary
path in front, and then behind. The hundreds of Shadows
disintegrated from her two handed blue and white hot star magick.
Prince Etch could feel the heat radiate from the beam because of
him being so close. He continued to fight whilst she cleared this
path.
“Shield. We
need a shield for a few moments,” shouted Snowbridge. Then, a wall
of fire shot up across where more Shadows were coming. Groups and
groups fled through and turned to soot.
Almare’s
eyes were still wide open on the safe side of the fire, in
shock.
“Some faint
words came from the kings mouth. “What are you, wife,” said the
king.
“I am the
descendant. The one the legends and songs sing about. The
descendant of Starao. I have been trying to protect this world by
your side in my own way in secret for such a long time now.”
“I always
knew you were extraordinary. That would explain the inhumane skill
you have with a sword. I had never seen such skill in any living
being on Astora. And I knew I struck lucky with you, your beauty is
not of this world, there was signs, signs I may have been ignorant
too, but I still recognised them.” The queen stroked his face and
smiled. She closed her eyes briefly as she kissed him on the
forehead.
Prince Etch
bent down to see his father in his mothers arms. There was two
tears running down her cheek now.
“I tried to
save you father. I ran as fast as I could, but I didn’t
succeed.”
“It doesn’t
matter whether you succeeded son. You tried. Life is not always
about succeeding, it is about always continuing to try—again and
again.”
“It doesn’t
feel as if that will make much, if any, difference now,” said
Prince Etch. “If I lose you, I lose my best mentor to learn from;
to be the best possible king.”
“You miss
what I am saying. You have already just proven you are worthy of
the crown.”
“My mother
is three fold more worthy of it. She has gods blood running through
her. Can I not allow her to rule. I feel I could learn so much from
her in your stead.”