“It’s collapsing!” shouted the Scout, as everyone fought to keep their balance on the uneven ground.
Every seasoned warrior knows: plans rarely transition evenly from paper to practice. Jereziah himself had considered many different alterations to what could have happened; this was beyond the scope.
The very first tremor caused by the Behemoth had cracked the ground, destabilizing it immediately. Their party had traversed ahead of the Behemoth in order to distract the tower’s occupants; they were caught in the middle of the rapidly growing hole opening under them.
There was no time to reach the edges and safety. Jereziah struggled to find purchase in the sliding gravel with his marchers. Slightly exasperated, he drove his sword into the ground to buy himself some time. Nearby, the others were doing likewise things to slow down their decent. Scout had dug his daggers into the rocks, but they were slowly cutting through. Blacksmith quality daggers. Jereziah saw Scout quickly position the daggers horizontal so they would not slide downwards. But there was no time to watch the others; some things had to be prioritized. He needed to have a way to finish what he started. He quickly issued out his orders.
“Pebbles! Toss the Blacksmith and Ophelia to safety! Nymphora, Pyromancer, both of you can still make it to the edges!”
The Earth Elemental hefted both the Blacksmith and Ophelia in each arm, and quickly hurled them back, as Nymphora and the Pyromancer glided back towards the edges, avoiding the tumbling rockslide.
Nymphora’s wings carried her, but the Pyromancer could not sustain her levitation on open air. He could see her struggling, but she too, fell with them.
As he fell, Jereziah exchanged one last glance at his sister. She looked back, and they both nodded. They knew what they had to do.
And the rest of them fell. The Silencer, Pyromancer, Pebbles, Legionnaire, and Scout, along with him. Into the darkness.
“Brace yourself!” he shouted, as he extended his sword downwards, reaching to feel the impact.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The final vestiges of the rockslide ended, and the tower teetered over, falling directly over the hole and covering it, as the ground quaked. There was no way in or out.
“Lina!” shouted the Blacksmith downwards. He was clearly worried.
“Enough,” said Ophelia. With her brother gone, the role of leader fell to her now. ” They are still alive, but we still have other priorities.”
“Are you sure they’re definitely alive?” asked the Blacksmith hopefully.
“Yes. Now we need to make sure this tower is eliminated completely. Do it,” she nodded at the Behemoth.
It raised the tree trunk in its arms, and brought it down onto the tower, cracking it and splitting it in two.
Nymphora fluttered by. “Now what?” she asked.
“There are still other towers to be dealt with,” replied Ophelia, “The towers must fall. We must make haste; if the Hellbourne completely surround the Shrine with defensive battlements and structures, it may turn into siege warfare, something the Legion is not prepared to fight in.”
“But now we’ve only half of what we started with,” commented the Blacksmith. He then looked around. “Not even half, actually.”
Ophelia looked at Nymphora.
“We are far from any living trees currently. You cannot use your teleport?”
Nymphora shook her head. “I can get us to leave here…but to return would be impossible.”
“I see,” replied Ophelia. “Then we can only simply make do.”
She gazed at the ruined tower, and made her decision.
“We cannot tarry. Every moment wasted only allows the Hellbourne to strengthen themselves. Whether or not they live, will depend on their own constitution and will.”
##############################
The carnage leading up to the gates of the Chapel was a horrifying sight. The clergy had summoned him, but he doubted that this had been the reason. It would have been far more urgent. What had happened here?
It seemed as though a war had been fought here. Men had been slain without thought, and their bodies left to decay in Sol’s light.
He hurried towards the gate, his heart filled with dread as to what had happened here. Not a living soul was in sight to give him answers. He paused at the sight of the ruined gate. The keeper of the gate still stood in front of the gate, but he knew better. The gaping wound in the keeper’s chest told him all he needed, but he bowed in reverence to the old gatekeeper, who stood even in death. Immediately after, he picked up his pace and abandoned all decorum, rushing into the Chapel itself.
More bodies lay strewn about, as the blood ran into the cracks in the ornate tiles. This was very recent, he could tell. The killers could not have gotten far.
But he had to search. The most important thing was the safety of the clergy. Arasunia needed to be kept operational. For the people.
Swearing silently, he rushed towards where he knew the clergy tended to convene. He had never been allowed entry, but as he approached the door, he hesitated. But then he heard an unfamiliar voice. One that did not belong.
“Now, this will be very, very quick.”
As the adrenaline pumped throughout his body, he pushed down the door and ran in, his silver gun blazing, ready to do his duty.
******************************
It was probably a long fall, Jereziah did not know, but as soon as his sword felt resistance, he rolled his body to cushion the impact. The ground, however, was unforgiving, and he still felt the wind rush out of his lungs as he collided.
Around him, sickening crunches signaled the likewise crashes of his party members.
As he tried to catch his breath, a sudden weight crashed onto his midriff, driving out the oxygen yet again.
“Ouch!” unmistakably, the Scout’s voice.
Jereziah would have told him off, but remembered that it was himself who rolled into Scout’s falling zone. He was also extremely out of breath.
But as he struggled to recover his oxygen, the rocks had finished falling. And he heard the clicking sounds.
“How nice of dinner to… drop by. Dinner time, Shudder.”