Satyrs At Dusk ✔

Chapter Fourteen

Saevel shoved her out of the way, right as the arrow plunged into her bicep and dissipated. It left a dark, navy streak on her arm, burning through her shirt with a misty smoke. She hissed in pain and sat down, her whole arm going completely limp and useless.

"Oh Gods, I'm so sorry Myra.." he whimpered. She waved him off and dragged herself back with her only functional arm. Her back pressed up against the damp cave wall and she winced.

The satyr stood up and turned to the human mage. "Fum anphia-eklameg sudein." he muttered, his voice still agonizingly low. He extended two fingers and drew a rune in mid air, rippling in place.

He scooped up the magic and tossed it to the ground. The ball of energy unraveled into two separate surges of dazzling aqua, climbing up Saevel's form to wrap around his body. Saevel thrashed and quickly undid the arcane binds, using his own spells to set himself free.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was busy killing off the shadowy archer, screwdriver in hand as he swiped clumsily for the figure. Saevel inclined to reach out for him, but he knew what he had to focus on... Getting that lyre back and fast.

So the two mages fought magic with magic, dark with light forces. A flurry of fireballs and conjured creatures occupied the upper platform as Maxwell finally managed to sweep his leg under the shadow archer and kill it. He wanted to interfere with the battle between Ethryn and Saevel, but resulted in looking for the lyre.

He sneaked by the two and dashed for another room carved out into the right wall. It was significantly smaller, containing a small bed with bear pelt as the blanket. There was a desk in the corner, its legs mounted to the floor by thick twisting roots that sprouted from below. The chair and dresser were also wooden, a murky green tinting the edges.

A letter sat on the desk by a lamp and a jar. The jar contained a fluttering moth, desperate to escape the container. Maxwell shuffled for the jar and carefully screwed open the lid, watching as the animal escaped without second thoughts. As it flew throughout the room, it glimmered in the dim light. The chaos just outside of this room faded to the back of his head, like it wasn't there anymore.

The moth shimmered, then warped. Soon enough it enlarged and sunk to the ground, forming a slumped body. The elf looked up to Maxwell despite himself. His bare, battered and worn body didn't seem to bother him. Eyes laden with gratitude, the elf let out a weary sigh.

"Who are you?" Maxwell asked. The noises around him were muffled and distant now. He could barely hear Saevel's cries every time he was struck.

"The last I can remember... My name was Kral." he replied. "I am an imp.. You are human. Why are you here? Don't you know the danger you're in?" the elf stood shakily, looking over the bruises and scrapes that tainted his body.

"I'm here with a satyr and we're looking for a lyre. Do you have any idea where it might be?" Maxwell asked, to which the imp stiffened.

"Yes. I know where it is, but I'm not sure Master would... like my revealing of it's location."

"It can save a whole entire race. This is really important!" he pressed.

Kral averted his gaze to the dresser, withered and beaten by time. He nudged his head over to it. "The... The top drawer contains the key to its case. The room on the opposite side of this one is where he keeps his treasury... Now please, go. Before it's too late."

Maxwell opened the drawer to see a small golden key, shining against the dull wood. He grabbed it and stuffed it in the pockets of his joggers, turning to the imp.

"What about you?" Maxwell's hearing began to clear up. His senses suddenly sharpened as Kral dashed past him and out into the main area. Just as Saevel let out a sharp scream, Maxwell followed closely. Had Kral predicted Saevel's injury? Maxwell shook his head.

He ran out into the main area where Saevel thrashed and gasped under the tight hold of a giant wriggling root of fluorescent teal. It lifted him into the air and squeezed tighter, pushing the air from the satyr's lungs. Kral suddenly leaped forward and shoved Ethryn to the floor, eyes narrowed in utter hatred.

"For too long you've controlled me!" he roared, grabbing a fistful of the man's hair. The root let go of Saevel as he toppled to the ground, coughing up a dark, sticky liquid. Maxwell plummeted own in front of him, raising the satyr's chin with his index finger. Blood pooled up at his teeth, dribbling over his chin. His nose was bloodied as well, the same thick liquid running down to his lips.

"Are you okay?! What the fuck happened-"

"I-" he coughed up the same dark, thick liquid as it spilled onto the marble floor. "I used too much magic... The Gods are punishing me.." He wiped the corner of his mouth and smearing it across his cheek. He looked up wearily, eyes watering. "I knew I shouldn't have brought you two with me. Myra is hurt and it's all my fault.. Now I'll die knowing I failed not only you two, but my mission as well."

"No. You haven't failed. See him?" Maxwell pointed to the bare imp, Kral. He reached for a scroll and unrolled it, producing a powerful electric pulse between his palms. The imp attacked Ethryn with all his power. "He told me where the lyre is. Now c'mon, we have to get there before-"

Ethryn used his palm to conjure up a blizzard, pressed his wrapped his hands around Kral's neck, the ice and snow forming thick crystals to dig into his skin. The ice enclosed his throat, squeezing tightly and frosting over. Instantly, the imp dropped to his knees and fell limp, eyes fluttering closed. His internals were frozen. Saevel let out a terrified whimper.

"You are nothing but ignorant scoundrels refusing to see the good in many, rolling in filth. You cannot see beyond your perfect little fantasies! You fail to see the true potential in dark magic, how you can use the magic of another to fuel yourself. The world of magic is limitless!" Ethryn strolled forward in wide, proud strides.

"I remember this one... You, of all satyrs, coming to retrieve a powerful artifact." Ethryn's eyes hardened. "So unfortunate to dispose of the very satyr I branded."

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