Bound and Broken (Melas Book 1) Page 8

  So I quickly scanned the direction the arrows came from, searching for the archer. There. I found her standing just over a hundred feet away from the fighting, inside of Villamcreek. She had arrows nocked and ready to fire, just waiting for the right moment to shoot.

  I started heading in her direction, keeping out of her sight as I did; I doubted she would have noticed me even if I did not sneak up on her since she was distracted, but I had to be cautious. The fighting continued behind me, with the occasional spells being loosed by my mom as I made my way towards the archer.

  As I walked, I searched for anything that could help me distract the archer. Just like how the archer only needed to act when the time was right, I did too. If I stopped her from firing an arrow just once at the right moment, I know that my mom would escape her predicament.

  My adrenaline slowly died down as I got closer to the woman, and the pain in my body returned in full force. It was only tolerable previously, but now I let out a soft grunt with every step that I took. Thankfully, the noise was masked by the clash of metal in the background, so the archer never turned to face me once.

  I brought my focus away from the pain, focusing on finding something I could use to distract the archer. I suddenly felt something brush against my sides. It wasn’t something that I could see, neither was it something that was moving. It was something inside my clothes— in my pockets.

  I reached in and felt something cool and hard. I pulled my hand back out, and looked at the prism-like object resting on my palm. It was the lighter.

  I knew it was dangerous. I knew that the last time I did it, I almost died. But there was nothing else I could do. There was nothing else I could use. So I had to do it.

  I edged closer towards the archer, crouching a couple feet behind her, and felt myself poking at the lighter’s crystal. Nothing happened just yet. I was only feeling the mana, preparing it for when it was needed.

  I looked at the fighting, and focused entirely on my mom. Even while injured, she was fast. I could barely keep up. It was almost completely a blur. My mom could swing her scythe and cast her spells in the same motion. But she was still in trouble. Still injured. And I wanted to help her. But I could not— not just yet. So, I waited.

  I saw my mom spin, the scythe’s shaft on her lower back as she completed a turn. I saw my mom strike the man who shone at the impact, stumbling back uninjured but exhausted. I saw my mom stab at the man with the spear, who stepped back to dodge it. Then I saw my mom raise her weapon— Now!

  I threw the lighter as hard as I could. I pushed the mana in the crystal to explode as gently as I could. I hoped that maybe that would delay the explosion by a second, and it would not just blow up on me. And somehow, it worked.

  The lighter left my hand, as my mom threw a spell at the spearman, and charged the shielder. The archer was prepared for it. She simply adjusted her aim slightly to intercept my mom, and was about to loose an arrow, when the lighter exploded right behind her head.

  The explosion was not big. It did not carry as much force or power as the one that killed the Chimera, but it was enough to knock me to the ground a couple feet back. It was nowhere near as effective against the archer, but it served its purpose: the archer stumbled forward, accidentally fired her arrow, causing her to miss her target. It bought only a momentary reprieve for my mom, but it was enough.

  My mom rushed the shielder unhindered, and swung at him. His shield glowed blue as the purple edge of the scythe came into contact with it, forcing him a step back. Using the scythe’s center as a fulcrum, my mom brought her entire body with it, going straight for his shield. The pole of the scythe struck the side of it, creating magical flames at the impact. The magic of the flames and the magic of the shield repelled each other, causing both the flames and the blue light to dissipate. The barrier would have returned a moment later, but it was too late.

  I watched as my mom’s scythe sliced through the shielder’s neck, killing him instantly. It only took a second. After the first hit, it only took a single spin from my mom to both disable his defenses, and end his life. I could not help by gawk at how amazing my mom was, which was probably why I didn’t notice the archer turning to face me.

  If I was paying attention, I would’ve seen her turn to me in anger. If I was paying attention, I would’ve seen her anger contort into terror. I only noticed her when she gasped.

  "You— the Fiend?!"

  I looked up and saw her drawing her bow at me. I immediately tensed. This is where I die, I thought. The archer already had an arrow on her bow and was about to pull it back, when her head flew off her body.

  I blinked as the body crumpled to the ground. Blood splattered on me, but I did not pay attention to it. Because I saw my mom standing there. Over where the archer once was, my mother locked eyes with me and smiled.

  "Melas," spoke my mom, voice gentle and full of love.

  My lips slowly curled to a smile, and I opened my mouth to speak. But all that came out was a shout. A shout of pure agony. Pain filled my entire being, one unlike anything I had felt before. I screamed and felt it in my heart, in my bones, and in my soul. I screamed, but it was not a physical pain. It was an emotional one.

  A golden beam of light blasted straight through my mom’s chest. The beam lasted mere seconds, but it left behind nothing. Nothing but a gaping hole where my mom’s chest once was. And then she fell.

  My mother fell.

  I screamed.

  Chapter 9: Destiny's Child

  I screamed.

  My voice came out reactively. It held not words with any meaning, yet it conveyed more than words ever could. It was a scream of pure and simple agony. My mother lay on the ground, unmoving. Dead.

  So I screamed as loud as I could, but I didn’t hear it. I couldn’t hear it. The world went quiet all around me as I screamed; my body went numb, and my legs gave out. I crumpled to the floor where I stood, my voice slowly giving out. Tears streamed down from my face, and my mouth hung open in a silent shout.

  I never even realized that I lost my voice.

  I stared at the blurry picture of my mom’s body, and felt my head spin as I tried to process what had happened. Was this real? Was this actually happening? I did not know.

  No. I knew what was happening— I understood clearly what had happened. Even though my vision was muddled and my hearing was gone, I knew that my mother was dead. My mom, the only reason I had to live in this world— the only person I truly love in this world— was dead.

  More tears began to fall, and I could no longer see. Everything was dark, the world around me lost its light as water blocked my vision. With no sound and no sight, the world was empty.

  At some point, my head must have fallen to the ground. I did not know if I brought it down myself, or if my body moved by itself. But it was a good thing. I could not see the vague outline of my mom’s body any more, so I could just pretend that she was alive. That none of this happened, and it was just a nightmare.

  I choked up at that thought.

  I couldn’t deny it. There was nothing I could do about it. The very thing I had been trying to prevent— my worst nightmare that I could never dream of— has happened.

  My mom is dead.

  She was dead. And it was all because of... me? Was it because I wasn’t good enough? Was I the reason—

  "What…her—?"

  "...kill...leave…? Daughter… Fie—."

  My thoughts were interrupted by vague sounds. At first I tried to ignore it, but slowly I realized. It was them.

  Yes, it was because of them— because of the Inquisitors, that my mom died. Not because of anything I did, it was because they killed her. I did not do this, they did. They killed her!

  I felt something boiling inside me— hatred pouring out from my heart, coming from the very depths of my soul. The world began to clear up, as I focused every ounce of my energy on my anger. My vision focused, the words started to make sense, and the world was moving again.

  I tried to pick myself up, but my body was sluggish. I was not sure why it was so difficult to stand, not feeling the stinging pain coming from my legs; forgetting that I was even injured, I stood up.

  It took me a moment, but I was standing. I looked up, towards where the voices were coming from, but my vision was still foggy. I clenched my fists, trying to clearly take in what the Inquisitors were doing as I thought out my plan of action. I was going to do something. I had to do something.

  Countless thoughts flowed through my head. Each new one that came was worse off than the rest. But they all came to a stop as my vision focused, and I saw what the spearman was doing.

  He was pulling out a bottle. I did not know where it came from, but it must’ve come from somewhere. It was a metal bottle, decorated with red crystals around it. It had a diamond shaped glass cork, and had an image engraved on its front. No, it wasn’t a picture, but a letter. The letter H.

  It was a healing potion.

  Memories began to flash in my head. All the times my mom told me about how powerful healing potions could be. How regular healing potions could heal near fatal injuries, and how high quality ones could even regrow lost limbs.

  I also remembered blacking out. I remembered how my chest was cleaved through, and how my arm was blown off. It felt like so long ago, but I knew that it just happened; I almost died, and a healing potion fixed me. It brought me back from the brink of death.

  I looked at the potion the spearman held, and then there was hope. If a healing potion could save me, it could save my mom. I can save my mom. I just had to get it from him.

  With determination, I took a step forward. As I did so, the spearman raised one hand, and I froze. I thought he was going to attack me, but all he did was uncork the bottle. I felt a mom
ent of relief, then it hit me. He was going to use the potion on himself.

  Panic set in, as he raised the bottle to his mouth. He was going to take away my only method of saving my mom, and I could not do anything about it. I felt the world grow around me, and he was suddenly far away.

  The distance between us did not change, but it felt like he was so far away, and I was so small. I wanted to do something, but it felt like there was something between us. Something was between me and my goal, but I had to get it. I needed to get the potion, but I could do nothing but reach out—

  I raised one hand towards the spearman, and then the obstacle was gone. No, it wasn’t gone. It became something else. The world that became larger than life was still big, but it no longer oppressed me. What once felt like a solid wall blocking me from the man, was now a pool of water I could reach into. So I reached into it.

  It was just like a swimming pool. It felt almost as if I was a kid, and I dropped something into the pool. The water was clear, but the object looked to be so far away. My arm looked so small, it was impossible to reach the item at the bottom of the pool. But when I dipped my hand into the pool, suddenly my arm was bigger.

  But my arm did not actually grow. The light refracted off the surface of the water, only giving the illusion of growth. But the kid does not know that, so the kid excitedly grabs for the object. The kid reaches for it— and holds it in her hand. Because the object was never at the bottom of the pool. It was always floating near the surface, only appearing to be at the bottom.

  The moment my hand wrapped around the bottle, I pulled it towards me. I pulled as hard as I could, and the healing potion came flying towards me. It slipped out of the spearman’s hands, and flew straight at me, almost like a retracting arm. It came at me, and stopped within arms reach away from me. That was when I noticed the blue light coming from my hand.

  A small magic circle, about the size of my open palm, was on my outstretched hand. The magic circle only had a dozen lines intersecting into one another, creating a shape that vaguely resembled a hand. It looked like I was touching the circle, but it only looked that way. My hand felt empty despite the magic circle being on it, but I still felt like I was holding the potion.

  The sensation of holding came from neither of my hands. It felt almost as if I grew a third arm that could stretch and go wherever it pleased. Of course, I was not sure what the limitations of this magic hand was, but that did not matter right now. What matters is that I got this potion to my mom.

  Stupidly, I grabbed the potion with my real hands and stumbled towards my mom’s body, instead of using the magic hand to bring it to her. The fact that I was doing magic completely eluded me, even when the spell ended. But as the magic circle dissipated, so did the stupor that the Inquisitors were in.

  Apparently, the Inquisitors did not think that I could do magic, and were momentarily stunned when I did. But that effect ended, and one of them— the spearman— shouted out.

  "Give that back! I’ll kill you, you heretic!"

  He picked up his spear, and lifted it over his head like a javelin, but was stopped by his companion. He did not seem enthused by the spearman’s actions

  "What are you doing?! She’s a child!"

  "She’s a child of the Fiend, and a heretic herself! Did you not see what she did?"

  "But... " The fancily dressed man hesitated, but the spearman continued.

  "Worry not, Saint. I know you have your virtues to uphold. But she is a heretic, and it is my duty to kill her. Even if she’s a little girl, she could become a threat to the Church like her mother once was."

  This time, the Saint didn’t speak. He still looked uneasy about the idea of killing a kid, but the spearman had convinced him enough not to act. The spearman raised his weapon, and the Saint simply looked away.

  See no evil? What a coward. He would not even dare watch as his companion struck me down, yet he was supposed to be a Saint. It was ridiculous. But at least he managed to buy me enough time.

  I was already kneeling by my mom’s body, when their conversation ended. I would save my mom even if the spearman skewered me. I would have been fine with that, as long as my mom lived. Raising the potion over the wound, I tipped it over—

  The spearman threw his spear, it turned and a glowing red lance arced towards me, leaving behind a trail of red light. It moved fast. Faster than I could even turn over the potion. By the time a drop of healing potion exited the bottle, the spear shattered the bottle and went straight for my face. I was going to die before I could get more than a drop in.

  I failed.

  Time froze to a stop as despair settled into my very being. I was going to die, and I couldn’t even save my mom. Everything I did was pointless. Every attempt I made to protect my mom— every attempt I made to save her— all of it was pointless.

  As the spear came at me, I tried to blink. I knew I would die before I could even close my eyes, but I tried to do it anyways. It was not a conscious decision, it was something out of instinct. So I blinked.

  Darkness filled my vision for a moment, and when I opened my eyes, everything was dark. At first, I thought I had died, that the spear killed me so quick I never even felt it. But when my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw flames.

  Fire. Pure black flames swirled all around me. It absorbed the light from its surroundings, and disintegrated everything it touched. When it came into contact with the ground, it did not burn it, the ground was simply just gone.

  The fire consumed everything, and I heard what sounded like a scream for a brief moment, as the fire engulfed the spearman. In an instant, he was dead.

  The Saint did not instantly die like his companion did. Instead, a golden aura protected him as the flames came into contact with him. The light shimmered, and cracks immediately formed all around the mana crystal on his chest.

  The Saint noticed this, and hundreds of golden lines formed throughout his body. Golden flames erupted around him, fighting back against the black fire that attacked him. The golden flames barely put up a fight, being destroyed the moment they appeared. But it still gave him enough of a barrier to survive for now.

  At first, I thought that somehow I did this. That somehow, I casted this spell. But looking around, it was clear that I did not. The black flames ate everything between me and the Saint. It was too powerful to be anything I could possibly do, and neither did I remember doing anything. I looked around, searching for the person who could possibly cast such powerful magic, when the thought quickly vanished.

  I looked down, and my mom was gone. I panicked, thinking that the flames must have destroyed my mom’s body. I immediately felt emotions welling up inside of me, when a calmness suddenly enveloped me. I looked to see what the source of this feeling was, and saw two arms, wrapped around me.

  My mom stood behind me, hugging me.

  "It’s ok, Melas. It’s ok."

  I closed my eyes, and I smiled.

  It was a miracle.

  ***

  Aria stood with her daughter, embracing her as the storm of black flames raged behind her back.

  The Flames of Hell. It was one of the most powerful spells that Aria knew. It brought forth a tempest of jet black fire that was so dark it sucked out all the light from the surrounding area and left nothing in its wake. Staring into its darkness and the desolation it brought was like staring into Hell itself. It was truly a spell that befitted its name.

  It was so powerful, Aria once used it to route an army from the Holy Xan Empire. The only problem with the spell was that it took time to cast— time which her daughter bought for her.

  Aria looked down at her daughter and felt her heart ache.

  She felt guilty for putting her daughter in danger, for using her daughter to buy time as she prepared this spell, but she had no other choice.

  If it was only Inquisitors that discovered her, Aria would have had no problem killing them without any preparations. But the Saint was powerful enough to counter most of the spells she knew. Even the Flames of Hell.

  Aria did not turn to look at the Saint, but she knew he was still alive. He was fighting to survive the onslaught of black flames, and it did not look like he was going to lose anytime soon. He was why Aria had to put her daughter in danger, but still Aria felt guilty.