Alchimia Rex

“Close your eyes, sit down, and don’t move,” Dia commanded, laying her hands on the Malumari’s shoulders. “And don’t try to block me, or this might get ugly.” Though Embla believed her, it was still a conscious struggle to lower her defenses against the ascended maiden. The energy of the healer had changed so drastically she almost felt like an entirely new being. Gone was the gentle, soothing touch of power nudging her body toward the path of recovery; the Nightingale’s healing felt like someone breaking every bone yet doing so exactly in the right way to leave everything in pristine condition.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her back to relax as her spine cracked back into its proper position. Recovering sensation in her legs came with a jolt of pain that lit up every nerve. Then came every other bone in her body being put back into its proper position, muscles knitting back together, organs sewing themselves shut. It was efficient to a fault, uncaring of her pain or discomfort, coercing every piece of her body back into place.

Every little forceful thrust of wriggling veins and creaking bones was then assaulted by the healers the nobles had brought. Mending inflammation, patching minor cuts, gluing sinew back into place. The crash had been a harrowing experience, as the parachute was only useful insofar as it had allowed Embla to use her body to protect the Metalmouse from the harsher consequences of the landing. Either by fortune or something else, the flying knights had thought them dead, yet Dia had come with the tribe to yank them out of the wreckage, screaming.

“There. Now drink.” Drenched in sweat, Embla struggled to her feet, the only pain in her body a phantom memory. She was handed a water skin full of something that smelled like sweetened mead, but she knew was Pollita puke. Suppressing the grimace, she drank it all down. “And the mouse?” “She’s stable,” Dia stated, barely sparing a glance at the unconscious rodent. A rodent that was bruised and broken. The Nightingale noticed Embla’s gaze. “She’s not a fighter. I will finish her treatment after this battle is over.”

Embla nodded slowly, glancing at the maiden who had been seated next to her. A knight who had been dragged screaming out of the burning trenches. Her face was charred beyond recognition, her body was littered with more lacerations than a cutting board, and her arms were shattered. The Vampires had left her alive, just so she’d bleed out and feed their ritual.

The Nightingale pressed her hands against the maiden, and the patient screamed, every bone in her body undergoing the same process Embla had.

“Now, you fight.”

The look the knight gave her was a mix of horror and awe. She struggled to her feet as the maidens brought in another patient, just as mangled as the one before, broken and irrecoverable, someone who was a touch away from death. Dia would bring them back from the brink, have them chug a waterskin full of Pollita juice, and send them back to battle. Meanwhile, those who couldn’t be patched up into a battle-ready state would be stabilized and carted off elsewhere.

Embla hobbled her way forward. Each step she took chased away the lingering memory of the pain and replaced it with a lingering wrongness to her state. She had been at the border of death merely an hour ago, and now she was ready to fight. Granted, she had expended a hefty amount of power during her battle with the flying knights, but she still had enough in her for this assault.

“What’s the situation?” she asked one of the tribe members, a Goblina who was running around carrying supplies from the trenches.

“Pretty ugly. The tribe’s helping the bast—” She eyed the injured knights and other Darkton soldiers nearby. "...the others to retreat.”

“While the knights retreat and start a counter-offensive, we’ll be using the flying knights to assault the ritual sites,” Eva emerged from the group of Dark Elves, wearing a set of armor that was suspiciously Darkton-aligned, it seemed everyone had been preparing for the upcoming assault.“The goal is to not give them the opportunity to escape. So, the instant those rituals are down, our job will be to disrupt their ability to retreat.”

Embla frowned, realizing that her Dark Elves had been gearing up with the weapons and armor from the dead knights. That was surely not going to sit well with the nobles once things settled. “We can’t use the flying knights.”

“What?”

“We crossed blades with them; we killed companions of hers,” the Malumari declared. “I would not trust them not to drop us in retaliation.” She would also not trust them even if this were not the case.

Eva’s gaze darkened. “Dia’s coercing them into toeing the line. We have the nobles as captives.”

The statement was punctuated by another knight screaming her lungs out as she was brought back from the brink. A cold shiver ran down Embla’s spine, and suddenly she wasn’t too sure whether facing the Nightingale was the worst prospect.

“Still, we have a plan. Without us, the knights won’t be able to finish the job.”

To say that things were tense would be an understatement. The Mikila had not even bothered to speak as Embla’s unit, Eva, and what remained of the Darkton spellcasters clambered onto her massive avian form. Everyone who wasn’t from Embla’s unit was glaring at them; the spellcasters were too nervous to even look Embla’s way, but the flying knights had no such reservations. It was understandable. Not only had they killed Darkton forces, but they were also wearing armor from those who had fallen.

Also, because Eva was a Vampire and Embla a Malumari. Breeds specifically designated “kill on sight.”

Just a year ago, Embla would have thought this situation would have made her ecstatic. Wearing enchanted armor from the enemies she had grown to loathe all her life, and forcing them to obey her commands? Such a prospect would have only been possible in her dreams.

Now, however, she could only focus on the odd, stern determination some of those present showed. To be more precise, it was an odd atmosphere that surged out of those who were bonded to Rick. Each of the maidens showed a seriousness in the air about them, an almost martial determination as they kept sharing glances with one another. Embla felt less like she was in control of the unit and more like she was just a tag-along.

“Hold on.”

Everyone reached down to grasp the rock-like feathers of the Mikila as she beat her wings, taking to the air with an ease and speed that should have been impossible for a creature of such size. Embla glanced over the edge, getting a flashback of the metal contraption she had been in just a few hours prior, and though she appreciated not being locked in a flying coffin, this situation was not reassuring.

“I hate flying,” she whispered under her breath.

Their trek upwards was a smooth one; the spellcasters prepared their rituals while Embla’s unit moved toward the flanks to get a better view of potential enemies approaching. With the sun reaching the horizon and casting the sky in a dim, bloody red, it was easy to imagine their opponents would become that much harder to deal with soon enough.

The battle below was chaos.

The Vampires had sent a swarm of Fledgelings into the trenches; blood magic flared out between the charred trees. Whips of ruby red lashed at their opponents, gouging flesh and cutting deep, but not in any way that was immediately lethal. Even from this high up, Embla could sense the rituals’ power latching onto anyone injured by the blood-suckers. The victims' bodies would become afflicted by a myriad of curses, blood-energy burning them from the inside while their own life-energy was sapped out of them. Anyone that got overwhelmed by the Vampires would see their limbs shattered and their bodies left to slowly bleed out within the trenches.

It was only thanks to the tribe that the Darktons had been able to retreat at all. The Orcs’ flesh was tough and hard to pierce, with their regeneration sealing scrapes and cuts that would have otherwise opened them to the enchantments of the enemy. The enchanted armor they had “salvaged” from the knights also provided some anti-ritual protection, doubling their capacity to take punishment.

But it was a fight they had been made to endure just so the others could pull back and regroup, a battle of attrition where the Fledgelings sought to overwhelm them with relentless numbers.

“There are no vampires or ghouls down there,” Embla frowned.

The proclamation caused everyone to tense, collectively sharing worried glances. “Can anyone spot the ritual sites?” One of the witches piped up. “I can sense their power, but…”

Embla’s scowl deepened. “Prepare a disruption pulse. On my command,” she called out to the dark elves, moving towards the front of the group as her eyes scanned their surroundings. Reaching out with her powers, she sought to poke at the powers of the ritual, sensing its strands, yet finding it a convoluted mess that spread out in every direction. “I—”

“Use me as a conduit,” Eva called, moving closer and offering her hand. “Some of what they’ve done is meant to resonate with vampires specifically. I can sense something trying to reach out to me.”

Ignoring the wary looks from the others, Embla grabbed hold of the vampire and pushed her own power into the maiden. She almost failed, meeting a wall of blood-energy so thick and plentiful it nearly disrupted her focus entirely, yet Eva pulled away enough, relaxing and allowing her through, granting her clarity.

“Release pulse, upward!” Embla commanded, pooling her own power to add it into the disruptive wall of energy sent towards the darkening sky above.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then the air started to shimmer a few dozen meters further above, rippling as dark figures began to take shape.

First two.

Then four.

Then twenty.

Embla’s blood ran cold as she looked upon four separate rituals, each one a sphere of glowing red runes congregated into spherical formations. Each of the rituals was tended by three vampires. The other eight had remained aloft, suspended in the air by wings of ash and smoke between the rituals and the flying knights, ruby eyes staring down at them.

Twenty vampires, and there was not a shred of doubt in Embla’s mind that each one of them was powerful in their own right. But it was the vampires at the center of each of the rituals that concerned her; their power ebbed and flowed over the very air like the shifting tides in a sea of blood.

For a fraction of a second, neither made a move, but it was obvious all of the vampires had turned their attention from the battlefield directly to Eva.

“You stand before four Elder Fangs!” one of the vampires spoke out, floating fractionally closer to them than the others. “Our last encounter ended in bad blood, Evans Bavtha, but know that I do not hold it against you. Surrender yourself and the city of Sinco, for the Red Queen commands it!”

The knights visibly twitched in response to the name, and Embla needed a moment to remember who that was. It was a name she’d heard before, but it wasn’t until she noticed Eva tense up that she realized this went deeper.

“I am Evangeline Darkbloom, so named by Richard Cross, Lord of Sinco,” Eva spoke up. “The city is not yours, or anyone’s, to take. Begone!” As she spoke her command, she sent out a wave of her power. It was crude and shoddy, yet it carried overwhelming force. The witches around them screamed out in shrill panic, clutching at one another and ducking for cover, while the vampires overhead tensed.

The vampires shared glances with one another before focusing on Eva intently. It was one of the stronger individuals that spoke up from within her ritual. “You ascended. How?”

“It was thanks to nunya!”

Embla held back the groan, knowing she must’ve learned that particular joke from Barry at some point. Understanding the signal for what it meant, she sent a discreet pulse to everyone around them. She prepared herself, pooling her power and sensing as Mikila began to shift her flight as well.

The vampires shared glances, confused as to Eva’s claim. “What is this ‘Nunya’?”

“Nunya business!” As soon as she let out the proclamation, Embla and her dark elves unleashed their power, followed closely behind by the witches throwing out their spells.

The blood-suckers reacted, raising barriers that were shattered by the wall of disruptive energy, their own magically-empowered flight wavering under the assault, right before a dozen fireballs struck.

“Attack!” The Mikila commanded, with every flying maiden turning into a sharp ascent, directly towards the Vampires.

“You ready?” Eva asked, grabbing hold of Embla’s arm tightly. The darkness around them swirled, thickening into sticky molasses that clung to their bodies.

“Not really,” the Malumari grimaced.

Overhead, a battle of spells and counterspells began. Several of the blood-suckers switched to melee and charged straight at the flying knights, summoning weapons of blood to rend through the unarmored wings.

“Too bad.”

Blackness swallowed them up, and for a moment Embla felt herself stretched, rent, and torn. Her body became one with a blackened mist that shot out and away from the flyers, up and up, and up, and up. They reformed overhead, above one of the spells, Eva clinging to her body tightly while they plummeted directly towards the ritual.

The rituals had proven tough against disruption from a distance, but as they impacted the hyper-charged blood ritual, Embla proved that there was no spell that could withstand her might from up-close. With the sound of shattering glass, the runes shattered into a million pieces, the energy contained within lashing out like a bomb.

They were gone before the detonation could occur, yanked away by Eva’s powers and reforming outside the blast radius. Blood magic burst out with violent force, with several vampires caught within the ritual’s implosion. The very connection that had been used to empower them had now become a channel to redirect most of the backlash through. Screams rose from below as the Fledglings and the battlefield, the fight shifting as the tribe took the chance to push back and slow them down.

Back upon the safety of the Mikila, Eva let go, clutching her head to regain her balance. Either she had gotten hit by the backlash as well, or the quick-succession teleportation had been harsher than anticipated. Probably both.

“Did we get her?” she asked.

“Almost.” A swirl of darkness materialized between them. “Now it’s my—GAH!”

Embla had not hesitated; she lunged towards the Vampire, a pulse of disruption forcefully materializing the maiden in full as they both toppled over the edge. With one hand on the maiden’s throat, the Malumari began to hammer away at her. She roared, squeezing tighter, unleashing another wave of disruptive force right as the Vampire tried to summon her own powers.

Down and down they plummeted, tumbling through the air.

“You’ll die!” the blood-sucker tried to wail out, trying to form magical wings again, but failing as Embla ripped apart any semblance of structure from the elemental energy.

“Not my first time falling to my death today!” she proclaimed, her bloodied knuckles punching into a continuously regenerating skull. The ancient maiden was so bloated with power she pieced herself back up too quickly for any of Embla’s punches to do more than stun her for another fraction of a second.

Embla had heard of the Vampires from her mother, of how insanely hard it was to kill one of the truly old ones because of how easily they could put themselves back together. Centuries of practice with blood energy and their own regenerating flesh had made them incredibly tough to kill, even decapitation proving fruitless if they could pull the stumps back together within the following hours. It was what made fighting any one of them nothing short of suicidal.

Probably only slightly more suicidal than jumping to her death. But Embla had hope, for she saw two sets of bony wings break out from the camp underneath and rush in her direction. It was part of the plan, after all. Not fast enough to catch them, though. Which was exactly why Embla pulled on the string leading to the backpack Raphaella had made her wear upon getting into the flying contraption. The parachute deployed with the softness of a kick to the head, and even then, it was not enough to completely slow them down. There was too much weight, perhaps too much speed as well. They impacted the ground, and Embla thanked her stars that the Vampire had graciously cushioned some of it with her body. Not letting go of the throat, she kept punching, immediately focusing her powers again to disrupt any and all attempts to escape.

“You’ll grow tired before you kill me,” the Vampire choked the words, spitting teeth and blood out between regenerations.

“Oh, I know that, I’m just buying time.”

Dia landed with all the grace of a rock, scrambling to reach them. “Immortal?”

“Close.”

“I’ll deal with it,” she declared, reaching out towards the Vampire. “Just squeeze on that throat a bit, will you?” Doing as told, Embla watched the pale maiden grow paler, choking on air. “And disrupt her powers for a bit, please.”

There was a flash of gray fire, Dia’s touch descending upon the Vampire’s throat. Her hands moved in a rush of bisecting precision, tearing flesh with a scalpel and then sewing it back shut again. Every attempt from the Vampire to unleash her powers was met by Embla’s own disruption, turning the blood-energy into a (mostly) harmless scattering of red light.

And then… Dia pulled away. “Done, you can let go now.”

Panting, groaning, Embla pulled away.

They both watched as the Vampire clutched at her throat, kicking, choking as if on an invisible opponent. She clawed at her own throat, tearing it open in an attempt to breathe through the hole.

“It’s sickening,” Dia spat. “Months studying regeneration, just so I can use it for this.” She plunged her needle-tip sword into the chest of the Vampire. A flare of gray flames followed.

Pulling away, she glared.

“What did you do?” Embla asked.

“I gave her several deformities that will kill her,” she declared, cleaning the blade and sheathing it. “To her body, it is as if those deformities are the new normal. Any attempt to regenerate will just push her back into that state. She will die, over and over, until she eventually runs out of power.” Her gaze turned upwards, watching as Eva had hastily descended to join them. “Now come on, we have three more to kill.”