Bloodsworn

Chapter 2.47 Demons Rising

47.

The museum was spattered in blood, dried and blackened even in the cooling mists of the dead city. Corpses lay sprawled about, bloated and rotting, there was no sign of the infestation of corpse eaters that generally accompanied the dead. No maggots, crows, or other unsavory beasts who enjoyed carrion.

Erak led the charge up the marble steps, eyes sweeping back and forth to find nothing but the fallen. None of the reawakened dead had taken residence in the halls of history, but rather had run rampant in rage before departing to wherever it was that the demonic necromancer was hiding.

“We need to lay the wounded down,” Nevia said as she walked up the steps to stand beside him. They looked back up to the wide halls of the museum, white marble walls glistening wetly from mist as they stood upon the front stoop. Erak nodded in acknowledgment, looking over at the broken down doors, splintered into shredded wood.

Without thought he moved forward, sliding into the shadowed halls, hammer in hand as he stalked across dark tile. Ancient weapons were scattered about, sitting at rest across the great gallery. Erak looked at the first of the wide cannons, an alert popping up over the top of it.

Essence Cannon

Common

A powerful weapon repurposed to fire Essence

There were well over fifty of the cannons stretched out across the wide gallery, in an imitation position as if they had been in one of the old cruisers that had once fought in the Conquering. There was a plaque there, but it had been knocked down and broken apart, the words lost to destruction.

Behind him came a stream of militia, wounded men and women half carried as the ragged company came trooping in. Camps quickly sprouted about, some squads breaking apart to head deeper into the museum while others turned to hold the stairs. The engineers broke free of the center of the formation, spreading out as they started to go through the cannons, excited voices rising as they walked amongst the weapons.

“Lord Bloodsworn, these are most excellent of quality,” one of the engineers said, running up to him with a manic smile plastered across his face. Erak nodded to the man and turned to Nevia.

“We can send the flares up in a minute to signal the shuttle, but we’ll need a place for landing. The front area is too crowded to land them in,” Nevia said, taking only a second to discern his intent. Pomp rumbled on his shoulder, discontent at having his job stolen from him.

“Go and scout out a place for the shuttles to land. I’m going to explore further,” Erak thought to Pomp. The dragon huffed and slithered off his shoulder, dancing on unseen currents as he flew through the doors and vanished into the mist.

“I’ll stay and watch the doors, I guess,” Nevia said with a frown, looking over the mess of mutilated militia. They had been hard hit, more wounded than non, with well over a score simply missing. The undead had taken their toll on his troops and it further stoked Erak’s rage at the necromancer behind this. Every death had been a severing in the aura he’d woven around them, a blow against him as he walked forward, a stab in his chest as loss carved its way through his mind.

Stolen story; please report.

He’d severed the aura as they walked up the steps, the pain of his warriors growing too much for him. Free of the burden he crossed across the halls of the museum, eyes sweeping back and forth. Across the halls there were scores of displays, each of them dedicated to the naval history of the world. Paintings of famous battles, mosaics of famed ships, busts of great admirals, all of it filled the halls with a weight of history.

Erak kept walking, feet striking the ground loudly as he moved to the far end of the museum. Here there were more signs of the recent violence, blood spattered wildly about, but still there were no bodies. A well of unease began to form in his gut as he kept looking, searching for the enemy he knew must be here.

Pomp came back before he found any sign of his foes, swimming though the air to land on his shoulder with hardly a sound. Cool air washed across him, sinking through his armor and chilling heated flesh.

“Out back there is an open courtyard that was used for banquets or something similar. Long wooden benches and tables are there, but with a bit of work we can move them and that will open enough space for the shuttle to land,” Pomp informed him.

Erak turned and started to walk toward the back, he’d seen the doors that lead back outside. They had been little more than shattered wood splinters with smears of blood passing through the portal to herald someone's demise. Wet mist drifted in from the outside, blanketing the marble as he got closer, growing thicker and thicker with every step.

Eddies formed in the passage of his steps, rushing to backfill the space as his steps grew muted, hollow and distant the closer he got to the outside.

“Was there anything else out there?”

“Not that I saw, but the Essence here is reacting strangely. It is different than when I passed through,” Pomp murmured. Erak stopped in his tracks, looking down at the floors hidden from his sight.

“Move the mist out of the way,” Erak ordered, backing up as he became aware of how muddled his mind had grown. Pomp flew off his shoulder, opened his maw and icy breath howled forth, driving the dense fog away from the marble ground.

Black, spiky, asymmetrical, runes were etched across the ground. Erak bit back a curse as he continued to back up, shaking his head wildly to try to dislodge the last of the cobwebs around his mind. When his boots came clear of the mist, a screech of rage rose up from the hidden courtyard. Erak gripped his hammer tighter, squared his feet as he looked toward the door and waited.

Mist pulled back like a sea tide, whisked away to reveal the trap that Erak had nearly blundered in. The runes grew dry and faded, breaking and sliding away with the mist as silhouettes darkened the doorway.

A demon wielding a spear rushed free of the mist, face tightened with courage and determination as ugly hellfame gathered around its hands and started to race down the shaft of the weapon. Erak stepped forward to meet it, smashing away the spearpoint with his hammer and punching the demon in the face with an armored gauntlet.

Its head snapped back as its momentum was stopped, feet skidded on the still wet floor and it landed hard on its rear. Erak rolled his wrist and brought the hammer down with finality, pulping bone and brain in an inky spray of gore. The body slumped over, spear clattered to the ground and began to roll away as Erak looked up in time to see a wave of Infernal Soldiers charging through the mist.