The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 690: Two Kinds of Wills

R’lissea waved her staff, and the forest groaned. Trees and vines moved, slithering back into the ground, revealing the darkening sky overhead. Smoke and dust spread across in a blanket of clouds, hiding the stars, and the sun had vanished over the caldera horizon.

"Do you think you can sense him?" I asked, looking up at Fyren.

He shrugged. "His soul is far less...unique than yours ever was, but I wouldn’t be a demon if I couldn’t."

"Hold on a sec," R’lissea said, raising her staff. The emerald glowed brilliantly, and six magic circles appeared.

"Life Dragon," she whispered.

The forest converged on the spell, twisting into a thirty-foot-tall behemoth of bark, stone, and leaves. It roared silently at the sky, stretching wings woven of leaves before lowering its head at the slender elf. She reached up and stroked its nose, smiling.

"It’ll be easier to move this way," she said, jumping up its leg and settling in the crook between its wings.

Fyren nodded and jumped after her, using its leg like a ramp. I shifted my grip to R’lissea, holding her about the waist, as he gently lowered me.

"Sorry for the trouble," I mumbled, hugging her tightly.

"It’s nothing. Just awkward to carry you and fight at the same time," he said.

Fyren remained standing on the elemental’s shoulder as it spread its wings and took flight. Trails of smoke and dust drifted on the wind as we rose, but I took a deep breath, doing my best to keep my tail from quivering as the ground fell behind.

"Take us down into the lower city," Fyren said, reaching out to hold on to a large spine-like branch protruding from the dragon’s neck. "I doubt he’ll stick around now that the ninth-levels have descended."

R’lissea nodded, and the dragon abruptly wheeled about, tucking its wings into a lazy dive. The cliffs and city terraces of the spire blurred past us.

"Is that the dragon?" R’lissea asked.

"It is," Fyren answered.

My face was pressed against R’lissea’s back, the sweet, flowery aroma of her hair filling my nose, but their words piqued my curiosity. Slowly, I turned my head, biting my lip as I gazed over the city. All it would take was one mana cannon to turn in our direction, and we could be sent hurtling from the sky.

I forgot my fears as my gaze fell on a titanic crater several thousand feet across. Fires roared from its depths like a volcano, outlining the broken body of the lava dragon. Heat radiated from the corpse, baking the surrounding city, dulling the shining obsidian with soot, and combusting everything from clothes drying on lines to furniture behind closed doors. Hundreds of corpses littered the streets, smoldering like the last embers in a fireplace. I tasted ash, the air heavy with the scent of charred flesh.

I tore my eyes from the awful scene, shrinking back against R’lissea. A heavy hand rested on my shoulder.

"This is the best-case scenario," Fyren said softly, barely above the wind.

"I know, it’s just...I wish there were another way."

"The gods unleashed this horror on the empire," R’lissea said. "They bear the full brunt of the responsibility, not you, who tried to help."

My hands curled into fists, gripping the back of her dress. "I don’t like it. Why do the gods get to give and take everything away? Why do we have to be so helpless?

"It’s hard to blame us demons, now, isn’t it?" Fyren said with a grim shake of his head. "We do the same thing as the gods. Take what we want regardless of the price mortals have to pay."

"How can you?" I whispered.

He shrugged. "Life, death, what does it matter? A mortal will be reborn regardless of when they die. Their memories are lost to time regardless. In the scope of eternity, what does it matter if it’s a few years sooner or later."

"That’s why it matters," R’lissea said. "Flowers only bloom for a short season, yet who would burn a garden for that? Life only has meaning because it doesn’t last forever. I can’t stand the thought of disregarding that."

"Spoken like the Life Hero," Fyren said.

"Don’t dismiss it just because of who I am. Every day is precious. Right, Xiviyah?"

I stared over the dragon’s side again, watching as the black mist rolled toward the flaming crater. Corpses started to squirm, rising jerkily. Many collapsed as their limbs disintegrated into ash, but what remained trudged forward, walking through the flames ignorant of the damage it caused.

"Some don’t seem to think so," I said.

Her muscles tightened. "If our life is so worthless, why do they care so much about taking it? All of them. Gods, demons, it doesn’t matter. I’ll preserve life however I can."

"I can see why you hate the Undead Hero so much," Fyren said.

R’lissea flinched. "I don’t hate Connor, I just...well..."

Her hands curled into her skirt. I leaned forward, resting my head against her back and hugging her.

"It’s okay, R’lissea. Just because you don’t hate them doesn’t mean you can’t stop them. I...hate the church, but that’s not why I’m fighting. I want to bring freedom to the chained and justice for the innocent. You can fight for your own reasons, too."

She took a deep breath. "Thank you, Xiviyah."

The life elemental touched the ground at the crater’s rim, crushing several walking corpses under its claws. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

"Are you sure it’s here?" R’lissea asked, surveying the scene.

"Positive. The black mist is approaching, hiding a rather peculiar soul," Fyren said.

The demon reached over, took my hand, and helped me to my feet. I stepped cautiously on the uneven bark of the dragon’s back, almost slipping on a branch stripped of its bark.

"What are you doing?" R’lissea asked.

"I’m afraid Xiviyah is in no condition to be anywhere near a battle, and I don’t fight well from the back of a creature made of kindling," he replied.

"It’ll be fine. I’ll support from afar, through the Nexus," I said.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Should I get off, too?"

Fyren shrugged, lifting me gently and hopping off the dragon’s back. His feet released a blast of fire beneath us, incinerating the undead in our vicinity.

"Just fight as you normally do."

She bit her lip. "I...don’t really know how. When I was with the other heroes, I just stood in the back and healed them when they needed it. Every fight since then has been so chaotic, and I’m just glad we survived. "

Fyren started to answer, then paused, turning to stare into the approaching mists. He set me down gingerly and drew his sword. A sheathe of flames flickered along the blade, casting shadows in the gloom.

The tide of darkness swept over us, thick and greasy on my skin. Dark, filthy mana rubbed against my body and soul but was repelled by Adaptive Resistance. My stomach curdled, and I covered my mouth, suppressing a wretch.

Several figures staggered toward us, meaning wretchedly. Fyren waved his hand and released a ball of fire that exploded with the first one, consuming a thirty-foot radius. The air was purified for a moment, but the darkness rolled back in as thick as ever. The undead were reduced to ash.

"Interesting. I’m surprised you both survived."

A cold, masculine voice echoed through the darkness, sending a chill down my spine. I shrank closer to Fyren, almost brushing his side. His aura was warm and safe.

"Connor, stop this!" R’lissea said, looking around at the mists. "You don’t have to hurt all these people."

"Ah, you’re so gentle and naive, R’lissea, like the little sister I never wanted. There are only two kinds of people in this world. Those who are forced to do others will, and those who choose to do their own."

"Are the church threatening you?" I asked, summoning my staff.

A silhouette in the darkness moved closer, revealing Connor. He wore a cloak made of strips of black fabric that writhed around him like tentacles and carried a long-handled scythe made of stark white bone. His face was pale and gaunt, with eyes darker than midnight. His lip curved in a slight, amused grin.

Dozens of undead moved out of the darkness and surrounded us. They shied away from Fyren’s aura but gazed hungrily at us. I shuddered. I was used to hungry, lustful gazes, but these monsters were different from anything I’d seen before. They didn’t want my soul or my body but my flesh.

A sickening, scraping sound rasped in my ears. The darkness behind the Undead Hero grew deep, and another silhouette loomed above us. A misshapen head-on appeared, attached to a hulking, hunched-over body. Thick, white maggots wriggled across its flesh and burrowed through its orifices, filled with unholy, undead mana. The monster was vaguely humanoid, save it stood thirty feet tall, and half its body had rotted away. It had no soul, but the pressure exerted from its aura was at the beginning stages of the eighth level.

Conner reached up, fondly patting the monster’s dangling hand. "You should know, Xiviyah, that only the weak bend to the wills of others. The gods have relinquished this land. It is only natural I claim it."