Airel - Aaron Patterson [122]
The Seer was now holding the long obsidian staff in his hands, and he made it weave a pattern in the air. Kreios guessed that he was conjuring some hellish shield and decided to put a stop to it. “Where are your masses of troops, boy? They no longer stand between us; you cannot hide behind them now. You should surrender, and be sensible.”
The old man behind Kreios was tripping over bodies, but approaching quickly.
The demon hissed defensively at Kreios. The angel closed his eyes and concentrated on his target, focused on the Sword, light in his hand. Without drawing it back before the strike, he lunged, eyes closed, willing the tip of the blade through the belly of the beast and out his back.
The demon groaned loudly but shoved him away, and the Sword pulled free. “I told you, big brother, you cannot kill me—certainly not with my own Sword!”
Kreios heard the old man, the host, coming for him from behind, panting sub-humanly. He did not turn to face him; he merely backhanded him and sent him flying again. He knew if he killed the host, the demon would shelter in the bloodstone, beyond his reach.
He turned back to the demon, his nemesis—and spoke. “Engage me. Show me what I taught you when we were young together—before the precipitation. Bring to me the hollows of your putrid and spurious heart, so that I may fill them up with the dregs of the cup that has been prepared for the traitorous!”
The demon simply laughed. “Talk of traitors! Hail—the king of fools: Kreios. How dare you speak to me of traitorousness, you adulterous Cain! At least a third of us had enough honor to declare war outright. You shall not speak at me of betrayal— ΥΠΟΚΡΙΤΉΣ!” He swung the black staff maniacally.
Kreios dodged the blow, reaching in with the sword and slicing at the neck of the beast, but not deep enough. He spun and parried a second, a third, then took to the air again. He looped around quickly, Sword overhead, and barreled into the demon headlong. As he did, he brought the edge of the Sword down upon the staff with a thunderous crack, shattering it powerfully and knocking the demon, senseless, onto its back.
Kreios again took to the air, this time with a vengeance. Like a comet, blazing with speed, he shot up in an arc, peaking high up, directly above the immobilized body of the demon, the Seer, his brother Tengu.
Sword drawn and at the ready, hands grasping the grips like a dagger, the point of its blade aimed squarely ahead, Kreios saw the target blur as he broke the sound barrier—yet his aim was true, and the target was not moving. He would bury the Blade of the Sword into mountains of rock if it meant that, in doing so, he would sever the head from the body of his nemesis. He was seeking the end relentlessly; he could taste it.
The Seer, recovering, bared jagged and rotten teeth at him from below, and opened his arms as if issuing an invitation to Kreios to give him the worst he could imagine.
Kreios suffered himself to smile. This was in fact the end of the Seer, an end to the dogged pursuit of his people by the horde army, a chance for peace at last.
The Seer below was visibly delighted as Kreios streaked toward him, lifting his chin slightly as if begging for the inevitable, daring to lift his horns and bare his neck to the Sword.
The moment stretched out.
Kreios was within striking distance; the collision stood on the cusp of itself, and he moved closer still. The tip of the Sword touched the folds of skin on the Seer’s foul throat. Then he vanished, smoke exploded in great billows, and in the same instant Kreios smashed into the earth, scattering dead bodies, limbs, congealed blood, earth, rock, and smoke everywhere.
Scrambling to his feet, Kreios searched for his enemy, glancing everywhere, finally seeing the old man, the host of the Seer. He thrust the dagger that he held at his own neck deeper, gurgled and fell to his knees.
Red with rage, Kreios bellowed, “No!”
Blood ran down the old man