Salvation

by voroshilov

Oathbreaker

She turned and beheld him.

His skin was chitinous and dark purple, glowing partially as if there was light below it. The carapace that armoured him was ashen white, emitting a thin silver vapour. His eyes burned and hummed with energy, arranged in a triangle, white and green were left and right respectively, with the red burning atop.

He stood a hundred metres in height, with his immense wings behind him - ghostly and purple, speckled with white stars and nebulae like a view of space - shrouding the view of the fortress’ keep behind him. He had no mouth, nor did he hold the Obsidian Crown atop his head. Rather than it, there was the three-pointed crown-helmet of a Tomb Guard, fitted for him.

In his hands he held his weapon: Oathbreaker.

The worm struck.

With a single swing of a mighty fist, the worm was batted aside.

THE SCOURGE OF THE UNIVERSE grunted, a sickly green ichor spilling from its open jaws. The worm reeled, head darting about, confused as to the new sensation it had detected.

The worm’s sudden weakness was exploited by its opponent, who launched himself forwards with a single beat of his wings, striking the worm in its jaw with Oathbreaker. With a wail, it made contact, and like fire touching paper - it spread.

THE SCOURGE OF THE UNIVERSE screamed. A chunk of its flesh, at least the size of Penumbra, dropped to the ground, a smattering of ichor all around it. The worm attempted to retreat, though its turning only heralded another attack, another chunk of its flesh cut out and the same ghostly burning of its hide.

The worm’s opponent came to a rest on the ground, awaiting another attack. The worm was hesitant to meet his challenge, confused as to the damage it had done to it.

“Unnatural,” it bellowed, “incorrect.”

The moment the worm spent in speech was a moment for its opponent to plan. Sure enough, when its speech finished, it was again attacked. Its opponent launched for its jaws, with the worm opening wide in an attempt to trap it within.

A tooth scraped by its opponent’s wing, its point suddenly melting. The opponent landed on its lower jaw, with the worm seizing on its chance to bite down.

The momentum gifted by the movement of its jaw was used against it. Its opponent propelled forwards, sword outstretched, wings wrapped around itself like a needle. It punched straight through the worm’s head, knocking it backwards.

“Anathema,” it bellowed, “hater of existence.”

The worm - so used to its invincibility - could not properly comprehend its injury. It twisted and writhed, like it was seizing. Blobs of green ichor and chunks of loose skin and flesh were thrown wildly around, creating a hazard for the few small creatures still on the floor below.

“Murderous thing,” the worm seemed to groan, though there was still fight in it.

It flung itself sideways, a huge projectile of ichor striking its opponent. His wings were stopped in their motion in an instant. The momentary snare gave the worm a chance, it snapped round again in an instant, moving in to strike. The darkness in its mouth seemed to flare, an ever-hungry abyss moving with an almost demonic relish.

The worm’s opponent was caught. The creature’s immense mouth closed inside of a second, creating a thunderclap with a visible shockwave. Silence followed.

Surely not?

The worm suddenly screamed out in horror and surprise. From its mouth came a bright orange and red glow. Smoke, grey smoke, filled with still burning embers, erupted from the worm’s wounds. The worm’s body shook with gradually rising frequency, before it roared out, mouth opening as wide as it could go, a massive plume of smoke billowing out.

As the worm reeled and the smoke cleared, its opponent was again revealed. His body burned. From the tips of his wings, across his head and armoured chest, down his legs and clawed talons, he was a flaming ember.

His sword, the most aflame of all, created a several metres long trail of flame where it went. And where it went was rapidly towards the still reeling worm.

He created a shockwave behind him as he travelled, sword outstretched. The worm had only enough time to comprehend the rapidly moving light.

A flash of lightning, followed by a thunderclap and an expansive shockwave, which flattened what little remained of Legion’s Hold, heralded the top half of the worm crashing to the ground. It burned quickly, mostly ash on the wind by the time its lower half finished thrashing and fell to the floor.

THE SCOURGE OF THE UNIVERSE was dead.

Its opponent, the worm-killer, landed before Penumbra. It dropped to a knee and bowed its head, sword before it, planted firmly onto the earth.

“Nicholas?” Penumbra’s voice was weak, but just strong enough to ask.

“Sadly, our child, not so.” A concert of voices answered, all distinct but none stand-out enough to be recognised. “Nicholas is dead.”

“Oh.”

“Do not despair, our child, Nicholas has passed, but we remain.” The voices continued, Penumbra now realised she wasn’t hearing things. “Do not be concerned with questions, our child, we shall answer all that you could need. We are Oathbreaker, granted voice and life by the slain. You are tired, our child, we understand. You fought well against the worms, far better than could have been expected of anyone. Our child, yours was a strength unmatched by any mortal - any one being. We are Oathbreaker and you have summoned us, our child, to defeat this scourge which plagued you.”

“My friends,” Penumbra mumbled, she had not even the strength to keep her eyes open, “are they okay?”

“Yes. Fear not, our child, we shall not allow any harm to befall them. Your battles, you, our child, and your friends, your battles have been a true display of strength and will. Our child, we could not be more proud of you. Your success gives us great hope. Your victory gives us the future.”

Penumbra mumbled something incoherent, yet Oathbreaker seemed to understand her intention regardless.

“The spell you used, our child, was born of the Darkness, as were the Worms. Whilst it did not harm them directly, it served as a great beacon. To you, our child, we were summoned, as is a duty we have been sworn to.”

The ghostly apparition of Nicholas rose slowly from its kneel. Its wings stretched out almost theatrically, Oathbreaker presented for one final speech.

“You are tired, our child, we understand. Rest now, we shall tend to you friends.”

With that, and a single beat of Nicholas’ mighty wings, the apparition and Oathbreaker took off. Penumbra neither saw nor heard anything after, the sweet embrace of sleep already upon her.

Joyous-Seeker and his two compatriots, all three awe-struck, tended to Penumbra as best they could. The alicorn slept soundly, a smile on her face.