Chapter 203: The Battle

Words : 1677 Updated : Oct 14th, 2025

The valley stank of ash.The JLTV growled down broken road where the fields had been, its suspension taking the abuse of half-melted stone and still-smoldering timbers. Ahead, Stonebridge was no longer a bridge but a scar in the earth, the Rell thrashing white where its span had been torn away. Beyond it, the black steam of Marrowport boiled into the sky, carrying with it the stink of brine, tar, and charred flesh. Inigo slowed the machine at the crest of a shattered ridge. "Here," he said simply. Lyra scanned through the haze, bow half-drawn though no target yet moved. "Empty." "Too empty." Inigo killed the engine, the silence falling heavy. He slid out, M4 carbine slung ready, and scanned the horizon. The heat lay wrong. Fires burned, but no wind carried their smoke. The air pressed inward, holding everything in place. They crossed the ruin cautiously, boots crunching on glass that had once been stone. Lyra’s eyes tracked the patterns left in collapse: walls folded too neatly, cracks that ran like written language instead of accident. She felt the bowstring hum in her palm. Then the ground shuddered. From the center of Marrowport’s broken docks, obsidian etched itself upward again. Angles pulled themselves out of curves. The same circle they had seen in the guild’s scryings burned itself into being, crawling across the wet stone like it had a right. Heat bled out of the air, then slammed back in, and the sea hissed in protest. He rose from it, broad shoulders shouldering fire itself aside. Scorched armor, molten eyes, warhammer slung across his back until it slid into his hand like it had never belonged anywhere else. The Lord of Destruction had not left. He had been waiting. Lyra’s throat worked, but she steadied the bowstring. Inigo lifted the M4, iron sights steady, breath measured. He spoke first, flat as fact: "No more agents. About time you came yourself." The Lord’s head tilted, golden fire burning in the hollow sockets. His voice was not thunder; it was worse. It was steady, precise, each word like a hammer strike. "Unbound Soul! You are not worth my stride." Inigo squeezed. The M4 barked, muzzle flash stabbing the ash-dark. Rounds hammered into scorched plate, sparking, spitting lead fragments like rain. Lyra’s arrow followed an instant later, glowing with the faint shimmer of her skill—speed, penetration, force doubled. It struck the Lord at the collar seam, driving deep enough to crack. He did not stagger. He simply turned. The warhammer came down with no warning. The cobbles screamed and split, shockwave rolling out like surf. Inigo and Lyra dove opposite ways, stone spitting where they had stood. The JLTV behind them rocked, its windshield spiderwebbing. "Keep him moving!" Inigo shouted, rolling to his feet. Lyra loosed again, then again, arrows hissing faster than speech. Each struck sparks, one burying half its shaft in a joint. The Lord barely shifted. His golden eyes fixed on her now. "Archer," he said, the word heavy with disdain. "A leaf against a furnace." He swung. Air itself compressed, a visible ring ripping through space toward her. Lyra vaulted sideways, feet barely touching rubble as she dashed with supernatural speed. She landed atop a broken wall, bowstring already drawn. Inigo shouldered the RPG-7. "Let’s see how you like this." The rocket whooshed, smoke trailing as it screamed into the Lord’s chest. The explosion tore fire and stone skyward, the concussion rattling teeth. For a heartbeat, the world disappeared in flame and dust. Then the Lord walked out of it. His armor blackened further, molten cracks glowing brighter. His warhammer burned now, flame licking its head as if hungry. Inigo swore under his breath, swapping back to the M4 and dumping another burst. "Figures." The Lord lifted his weapon and slammed it into the ground. The docks cracked, and molten light spilled up as if the bones of the world itself were fire. Steam shrieked where it touched the sea, sending a boiling cloud across the battlefield. Lyra vanished into it. Her bow sang in the mist, arrows hissing like serpents. Two struck his helm, staggering him a fraction. Another bit into the gap at his side, drawing something that hissed like molten blood. Inigo took that opening. He dashed forward, the M4 chattering, then dropped to one knee, bracing. "Come on, you bastard..." The Lord turned toward the sound. Inigo swung the JLTV’s mounted M2 Browning into line, thumbed the spade grips, and squeezed. The .50 caliber roared, thunder continuous, each round smashing into scorched plate with the force of a hammer blow. Sparks flew in sheets, fragments chipping away. The Lord staggered half a step, cloak of fire shuddering. Lyra’s voice cut sharp through the din: "Now!" She loosed a heavy shot, arrow glowing brighter than before. It drove straight into the crack the machine gun had chewed open, vanishing to the fletching. For the first time, the Lord paused. He turned his head, golden eyes narrowing. Inigo lifted the smoking barrel. "Not invincible." The Lord’s voice rumbled like a collapsing wall. "No. But inexorable." He swung. The warhammer came sideways, faster than a creature that size should move. The JLTV took the brunt. Its armored flank caved inward, wheels shattering, the machine thrown on its side. The Browning ripped free and clattered across the ground. Inigo hit hard, the impact stealing his breath. He rolled, ears ringing. Lyra was already moving, vaulting from stone to stone, loosing arrows like punctuation. She drew him away, forcing him to turn, forcing him to waste steps. Inigo dragged himself upright, blood running from his temple. He pulled a flash-cylinder, thumbed the pin, and hurled. Light seared the fog white. Even the Lord flinched, golden eyes narrowing against the glare. Lyra’s arrows followed, three in a breath, one sinking deep into his thigh joint. The giant knelt half a step, the ground cracking under his weight. But his laugh came, low and terrible. "Delay me, little knives. That is all you are." The warhammer slammed again. The ground heaved, rubble spraying. Inigo and Lyra were thrown apart, both skidding across stone. Inigo dragged himself up, M4 nearly empty. "He’s not wrong," he muttered. Lyra spat blood, already nocking another arrow. "Then let’s make ’delay’ mean something." They moved again, partners without words, rhythm older than the fight. Gunfire and arrows, smoke and sparks, each step buying moments. The Lord pressed forward inexorable, but slower now, his armor pitted, cracked, molten blood hissing where it seeped. The city’s ruin became battlefield, broken towers cover, burning timbers obstacles. They ducked, fired, dashed—devils in a dance against something more terrible than gods. And still he came. At last, Inigo’s last magazine clicked empty. Lyra’s quiver rattled with only two arrows left. The Lord raised his hammer, molten fire dripping from its head like liquid sunlight. He loomed over them, voice a final toll: "Fall." The hammer hung in the air, its molten weight humming like an anvil seconds before the strike. Heat rippled out in sheets, drying Inigo’s lips, stinging Lyra’s eyes. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to wait. Then Inigo moved. He lunged sideways, scooping up the fallen Browning’s belt-fed body in both arms. The weapon was half-broken, but the barrel and receiver still intact. He slammed the tripod into cracked stone and thumbed the feed with a snap born of desperation. "Come on, come on—" The hammer fell. The impact shattered the cobbles where he’d been, a blossom of stone teeth erupting outward. Inigo braced and squeezed. The heavy weapon barked once, twice—slower than before, the recoil brutal without proper mounting. Still, the .50 caliber slugs slammed into the Lord’s midsection, tearing glowing streaks from already-cracked armor. The Lord turned toward him, fire leaking like breath through his visor. His molten eyes narrowed, and he lifted one gauntlet in disdain. Lyra loosed. Her arrow screamed through the heat, guided by the shimmer of her skill, and pinned that gauntlet hand to the stone. For a moment, the Lord’s gesture faltered. His head snapped toward her, cloak of flame curling. She stood tall on a broken arch, only one arrow left, her silhouette black against the boiling steam. "You’ll notice us," she spat. "Leaf or not." The Lord wrenched free, the arrow shaft burning away in his grip, but his step slowed. It was enough. Inigo abandoned the Browning, ripped the RPG tube from where it lay twisted under rubble, and snapped another rocket into place with fingers that bled. He hefted it to his shoulder, sighting down the crooked iron. "Physics doesn’t care if you’re a god," he said. Then he fired. The rocket streaked, impacting low against the Lord’s hip. The explosion ripped armor plates free, molten shards flying like shrapnel. For the first time, the brute staggered backward, one knee dipping into fractured stone. The laugh that followed was deeper, uglier than before. The ground shook with it. "Delay," he repeated, voice like a bell tolling over corpses. "Nothing more." He slammed the hammer down again, this time not on them, but into the very earth. Cracks spidered outward, glowing bright as magma. Stonebridge’s ruins groaned, Marrowport’s wreckage sagging toward the sea. Entire blocks collapsed into the water, sending plumes of steam skyward. The shockwave picked them both up and hurled them apart, tumbling across broken stone. Inigo landed hard, ribs screaming. His ears rang with more than battle now—something deeper, the sound of the world splitting. Lyra crawled to her feet, bow in one hand, her last arrow clenched between her teeth. She met Inigo’s eyes across the chaos. Both knew: they were running out of ammunition, running out of ground, running out of time. The Lord loomed through steam and fire, hammer raised again. His voice rolled across the ruin like prophecy. "When I finish here, Eldrath will be ash." Inigo spat blood and raised the empty carbine as if weight alone could answer. Lyra nocked her last arrow, string humming like fury. The fight wasn’t over. It was only beginning.

Chapter 203: The Battle

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