The barbarian surged upward with her entire body.
The accompanying sound was sickening; like the violent tearing of wet canvas.
The solid gold encasing her legs fractured with a deafening crunch.
But the molten cage held stubbornly tight; Zedora tore herself free not just through raw physical strength, but through sheer, indomitable willpower.
She left strips of her own flesh and the shredded remains of her leather boots anchored within the golden trap.
A torrent of fresh blood splashed across the white marble, yet the warrior didn’t even sway.
She had fully surrendered to the Rage.
“Spicy girl!
Sugoi!
(Incredible!) I like it!” Duria whistled in genuine admiration, hanging perfectly safe from a high cornice as she watched the bloodbath unfold.
Zedora, finally free and dripping with her own gore, did not seek an avenue of retreat.
She launched herself directly at the Custodian, completely ignoring its colossal size and the blistering heat radiating from its frame.
She vaulted onto its torso, driving both of her axes straight into the exact spot where Bregg’s greatsword had previously lodged.
She began to hack and cleave with a speed the human eye could barely track, violently tearing away the golden plates and exposing the pulsing entrails beneath.
The Gilded Custodian staggered backward, genuinely overwhelmed by this sheer explosion of brutality.
It desperately tried to shake the frenzied woman off, but she clung to it like a rabid beast sinking its teeth into a fresh kill.
Neira slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified by the sight of the barbarian’s butchered legs.
“She’s going to bleed out!” she cried out, fresh tears welling in her abyssal eyes.”The Rage will kill her if we don’t heal her immediately!”
Lengos raised his mangled shield, feeling a sudden, burning surge of determination.
“Perval!
Figlin!
Shield Neira!” he roared over the deafening din of battle.”We have to reach Zedora before that Custodian crushes her!
Duria, go for the eyes!
NOW!”
Zedora hacked at the Custodian’s torso with the unrelenting ferocity of a lumberjack felling an ancient oak, yet the monstrosity remained standing.
In response to her frenzy, a golden hand shot downward, grabbing the barbarian by her furs and peeling her off its body like a bothersome insect.
The Custodian wound up to hurl her against the marble floor; a brutal impact that, in her current battered state, meant certain death.
“ZEDORA!” Lengos roared, lunging desperately forward, though he knew the distance was completely unforgiving.
In that exact moment, Neira finally stopped hesitating.
She realized a brutal truth: healing was simply not enough.
Sometimes, to preserve life, you had to grant others the unbridled power to kill.
Her serpentine tail lashed the air, and her eyes flared with an intense, violet brilliance.
She extended a hand toward the vampire, who was still clinging to the high cornice like an apex predator awaiting the perfect opening.
“Duria!
Take my power!”
The Blessing of Lust slammed into the vampire like a tidal wave of blistering heat.
This was no ordinary ward or incantation; it was pure, condensed adrenaline mixed with a feral, all-consuming thirst for slaughter.
The assassin’s senses sharpened to the threshold of agony.
Time slowed to a crawl.
She could perfectly map every single hairline fracture on the Custodian’s armor, track every throbbing pulse of its golden magic.
“Oh, yes!” she laughed, the sound vibrating with unnatural, demonic resonance.”Now this is a vintage I can appreciate!”
The vampire propelled herself off the wall.
She didn’t merely fall; she swam through the air, completely enveloped in a pulsating, crimson-pink aura.
Streaking past the monster’s fist just as it prepared to hurl Zedora, Duria executed a single, impossibly fast slash.
Her blade flashed, cleanly severing the Custodian’s golden fingers and liberating the barbarian.
Zedora plummeted to the marble, rolling violently to absorb the impact, yet still managed to snarl through tightly clenched teeth:
“My…
prize…”
Duria didn’t pause her momentum for a single heartbeat.
She touched down effortlessly on the Custodian’s shoulder.
The monster immediately tried to swat her away with its remaining hand, but it was centuries too slow to catch a creature supercharged by succubus magic.
“Ara, ara…
(Oh my…) big boy…” she purred directly into its “ear” with a murderous, mocking tenderness.
“You’re bursting at the seams.”
She drove her katana deep into a narrow gap in the armor plating at the beast’s neck; the exact weak point Zedora had compromised just moments before.
But she didn’t settle for a simple thrust.
Channeling her momentum and the terrifying, superhuman strength gifted by Neira, she executed a flawless pirouette atop the hilt of her blade.
The steel acted as a lethal drill.
The Custodian’s golden head, still glowing with fading magic, was cleanly severed from its torso.
It launched into the air, tumbling end over end, while the colossal, headless body swayed, took two staggering steps backward, and collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the very foundations of the courtyard.
A geyser of golden gore erupted from the stump, but Duria gracefully vaulted away, landing softly before Lengos without a single drop sullying her sandals.
She casually brushed an invisible speck of dust from her shoulder and offered Neira a theatrical bow.
“Thanks for the drink, sweetheart.
It was simply exquisite.
Oishii.
(Delicious).
Kicks a hell of a lot harder than paladin blood.”
And then, an event occurred that made Figlin shriek in pure agony, as if he himself had just been run through with a blade.
The brilliant golden radiance that had continually emanated from the monster’s armor began to rapidly dim.
The magnificent ore that comprised the beast’s shell dulled right before their eyes.
The resplendent golden plates turned a sickly gray, swiftly degrading into the dismal hue of burnt coal and brittle slag.
The exact same process afflicted the pools of molten gold bleeding from the shattered cobblestones; they rapidly solidified into ugly, black, tar-like puddles.
Yerga casually approached the smoking, blackened carcass, taking great care to step around the dull, hardened puddles.
“Well, silence at last,” she sighed, nudging the monster’s charred, severed hand with the tip of her elegant boot.
It instantly crumbled into ash.
She offered Duria a look of incredibly rare appreciation.”Though I must admit, darlings…
This sudden entropy?
This brutal transition from sheer opulence to absolute nothingness?
Highly aesthetic.”
“Aesthetic?!
It’s a bloody tragedy!” Figlin wailed, falling to his knees beside the blackened torso.
He frantically tried to scratch away the charred exterior, praying to the gods that solid gold lay beneath, but he was left with nothing but dirty ash in his palms.
“It’s all black!
It’s all gone to rot!
So much treasure!
So much glorious wealth turned into…
into blasted coal?!
It’s a crime against the entire economy!
Fraud!
Daylight robbery!”
The deafening din of battle finally died away.
The smoking remains of the Gilded Custodian filled the stifling courtyard air with the acrid stench of soot and rapidly cooling metal.
The adrenaline that had thus far fueled the outcasts began to violently recede, swiftly replaced by a dull, throbbing, bone-deep ache.
Lengos didn’t waste a single breath on congratulations.
He instantly rushed to Zedora’s side, where she lay sprawled in a horrific pool of both her own and her enemies’ blood.
The barbarian was panting in shallow, ragged gasps; the Rage was slowly ebbing from her system, rapidly yielding to a paralyzing, agonizing pain.
“Neira!
With me!
Quickly!” the commander barked, dropping to his knees beside his wounded warrior.
Meanwhile, Perval, tightly clutching his badly mangled hand to his chest, limped over to the Custodian’s severed head lying a few paces away.
He nudged it casually with the toe of his boot.
The metal let out a hollow, dull clank.
“Figi, look here,” he called out to the dwarf, desperately trying to distract himself from his own pain with a joke.
“I think I just found your brand-new tankard.
Just needs a bit of hollowing out.”
Figlin, still wiping genuine tears from his eyes over the loss of a literal ton of gold, snapped his head up.
At the sight of the surprisingly still-gleaming cranium, his eyes reignited with a familiar, ravenous greed.
He scrambled over and scooped the head into an eager embrace.
“She survived!
My beauty!” he cheered, stroking his braided beard in thought.”Hmmm…
Maybe this cursed trip will pay off after all.”
He hoisted what had, until very recently, been the Gilded Custodian’s head, weighed it carefully in his stout hands, and peered inside.
His joyous expression plummeted instantly.
“A damn shame it’s got a hole in it,” he sighed, poking a stubby finger directly into the bullet hole he had personally put through the eye socket.”It’s gonna leak.
What a botch job.”
A few paces away, Zedora’s grim aftermath unfolded.
She sat in the dirt, her back propped against the jagged remnants of a shattered column.
Her legs were reduced to a bloody pulp; a macabre slurry of raw meat, scorched fur, and solidified gold seared deep into her skin.
Despite the horrific trauma, she was stubbornly trying to push herself up, hissing through clenched teeth with every agonizing movement.
“I’m fine…” she growled, though her face was ashy and pale as a shroud.”It’s just a scratch…
I need to make sure my axes aren’t chipped…”
Lengos placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly holding her in place.
The gesture was surprisingly gentle, but his voice brooked no argument.
“Stay down, Zedora.
With a ‘scratch’ like that, you won’t even make it to the gate.” He looked into her eyes, a genuine concern carefully concealed beneath the rigid mask of a soldier’s sternness.”Your pride might be thicker than your armor, but your muscles are still strictly human.”
Neira approached them soundlessly.
Her tail still lashed restlessly against the marble, and the violet embers of her battle fury still smoldered in her eyes.
With each passing heartbeat, however, the violent hue faded, giving way to the warm, soothing pink glow of deep empathy.
The priestess knelt beside the wounded warrior, entirely ignoring the vile stench of scorched flesh.
“Lengos is right.
Let me.”
She extended her hands over the barbarian’s mangled limbs, careful not to touch them directly.
She began to hum a low, soothing melody, and a light as thick as syrup dripped from her fingertips.
The magic seeped into the open wounds, swathing them in a soft, pulsating glow.
Zedora white-knuckled her own knees, fully bracing for an onslaught of pain, but instead, she felt an intense, radiating warmth; followed by a fierce itching as the tissues began to violently regenerate.
The embedded chunks of hardened gold cracked and sloughed off her body, clattering loudly against the cobblestones, as brand new, pink skin rapidly knitted itself together beneath the ruins.
Neira took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, offering her companion a thoroughly exhausted smile.
“Well, Zedi…
It seems I can finally, quite literally, get you back on your feet.”
The barbarian stared down at her calves in blatant disbelief.
She stood up abruptly, stomping her boots hard against the marble to test the new skin.
It was raw and tender, but fully functional.
A rare flicker of genuine gratitude shone in the wild woman’s eyes.
“It works.
You’re…
useful, horns.
Thank you.” She quickly averted her gaze, deeply unaccustomed to such sentiments, and snatched up her axes, checking their balance to hide her discomfort.”Though scars would have made for a much better souvenir.”
“Oh, scars are terribly overrated, Zedora!” Perval called out, ambling over to the group.
His torso was smeared with soot and fresh gore, which only served to highlight the vast tapestry of his old battle wounds.
He was tightly cradling his mangled hand to his chest, blood steadily dripping onto the marble, yet he was still grinning from ear to ear.
“Personally, I prefer having something to hold my pint with.”
He extended the bloody lump of meat that had once been his hand toward Neira.
“Neira, little sister…
as you can see, I could really use a helping hand.
Or at least a few working fingers, because with the current set, I couldn’t even scratch my own nose.”
The priestess let out a short, amused laugh, the sound finally breaking the lingering tension of the bloodbath.
“Your sense of humor is truly indestructible.
Give it here.”
She grasped him gently by the wrist.
This time, the magic acted faster and far more violently.
There was a loud, sharp crack of shattered bones forcibly realigning, accompanied by the wet, squelching hum of tendons weaving themselves back together.
Perval watched the gruesome process with the wide-eyed fascination of a child marveling at a carnival trick.
A moment later, he wiggled his fingers; brand new, completely functional, though noticeably paler than the rest of his sun-baked arm.
“Hah!
Good as new!” He clenched his fist and smacked it hard into his open palm.”Even got my fingerprints back!
My thanks, horned angel!”
Duria, leaning nonchalantly against the rapidly cooling carcass of the Custodian, was meticulously cleaning her dagger with a scrap of fine silk.
“Adorable.
Truly.
A touching family portrait in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
Kawaii (Cute),” she remarked with biting sarcasm, sliding the blade into its sheath.”And what about the rest of us?
I’m fairly certain I pulled a hamstring during that pirouette.”
Neira stood up and moved to the center of the battered group.
She threw her arms wide, and her spectral wings materialized for a fleeting moment, scattering a fine, luminescent dust across the courtyard.
“For everyone…”
A wave of gentle, restorative energy washed over the crew like a warm summer breeze.
Lengos felt his fractured ribs knit back together with a series of soft pops, finally allowing him to take a deep, entirely painless breath.
Duria let out a soft, satisfied sigh as the lingering ache drained from her muscles.
Figlin, who was currently locked in a desperate struggle to stuff the Custodian’s severed golden head into his rucksack, suddenly stood up straight, his spine cracking loudly.
“Ooh, now that I like!” he sighed, patting his own lower back in relief.”Feels like waking from a spectacular nap, completely hangover-free!
Neira, you should open one of those…
whatchamacallits…
hot springs!
You’d make an absolute fortune.”
Yerga stood slightly apart from the others, ostentatiously brushing invisible lint from her sleeve.
Neira’s magic seemed to actively bypass her; as if the necromancer’s inherently corrupted nature violently repelled the ‘holy’ energy; yet the dark enchantress still managed to look noticeably more invigorated.
“Hot springs?
Figlin, honestly.
Neira is an artist, not a bathhouse masseuse,” she remarked coldly, before her gaze drifted to settle on the succubus.
A glint of something terrifyingly akin to predatory lust flashed in Yerga’s eyes.”Though I must admit…
that rosy glow suits you perfectly, darling.
It makes you look so…
appetizingly innocent.”
Neira flushed a furious shade of crimson, her tail wrapping defensively tight around her own calf.
She quickly hid her hands behind her back, actively avoiding the necromancer’s piercing gaze.
“It’s…
it’s just healing magic.
Let’s move on.
The sooner we leave this place, the better.”
Lengos tested his shoulder, rolling his arm in a tight circle while gripping his bastard sword.
He was fully functional and combat-ready.
“Agreed.
The Custodian was merely a gatekeeper.
The true threat is lurking deeper inside,” he commanded, instantly sliding back into the role of the battle-hardened leader.”Formation!
Bregg…
ah, right.
Bregg is gone.
Zedora, you take the vanguard.
Perval, watch our rear.”
The crew pressed deeper into the courtyard, their broken bodies healed, but carrying the newfound realization that Neira; their quiet, timid priestess; harbored a latent power capable of being their salvation…
or their utter annihilation.
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