Satyrs At Dusk ✔

Chapter Fifteen

"Huh?" Saevel gasped. Ethryn cast a dismal spell, a mixture of deep violets and blues. He shoved his hand forward and let the magic roll from his palms. The vibrant tendrils wrapped around the satyr's throat, illuminating a white symbol on the back of his neck. Saevel's eyes lost their shine and the color dulled out, resembling a grave grey in the magic's wake.

His head dropped, body slackening against Maxwell. The human brushed back his hair to look at his nape. Indeed there was an ivory symbol imprinted onto the skin. To think he went all these years oblivious... Maxwell's heart clenched painfully.

"When he was young, I branded his neck so I could control him from his homeland and destroy from the inside out. But our bond wasn't strong enough; he was not close enough. I had no way to access him. I'm so close to obtaining that power... Just imagine all the magic and knowledge I could have." Ethryn explained, conjuring up a bright violet spell in his right palm. The strings of energy swirled around his fingers mysteriously.

"You too, could finally use magic. How amazing would that be? All you need to do is destroy this satyr. Kill him, and my abilities will be forever yours." He pointed at Saevel, who lay limp in Maxwell's lap. The human snarled up at the man. Ethryn wasn't anything akin to human.

"You're even dumber than I thought." he let out a humorless chuckle, pulling the satyr closer to his chest. Blood ran from the corner of Saevel's lips and onto Maxwell's pants. He didn't mind though.

"If you think I'd trade this innocent soul for witchcraft, you're no smarter than dirt." he spat.

Ethryn flinched at the backlash. He grew dangerously silent.

The brand on the back of Saevel's neck glowed brightly and Maxwell hated it with a burning passion. He couldn't stomach the thought that this mage had so much control over him, and the poor thing was unbeknownst to all of it.

Maxwell looked up to the man who lingered still powerful as ever, just waiting for the right time to kill him off too. His face just resembled pure annoyance after Maxwell snapped back at him. He couldn't help it. He was alone with this fiendish, avaricious wizard.

"Why are you doing this?" Maxwell asked, his voice strained and hoarse from the stress. Ethryn chuckled, playing with a bolt of magic that slithered down his arm and wrapped up in his hand.

Maxwell was still aware of the key in his pocket. He was so close... all he had to do was retrieve the lyre and get out of there; but he couldn't do so with Ethryn alive. The sorcerer was quiet, looking down to the helpless human who cradled the unconscious satyr in his lap.

Maxwell gently laid Saevel onto his back and stood to his full height. He scowled and bolted for the room to the left, carved out into the cave messily with hanging moss draping over the entrance. Ethryn was on his heels in a minute, throwing him back with a tug at the collar of his shirt. He fell to the ground and grunted, pulling himself back to his feet.

Just as the human began to conjure up another round of coiling magic, Maxwell shot forward and rove his screwdriver right into the man's shoulder. Maxwell paused at the sound; wet and gushing like thick jelly.

The blue-green spell vanished from his palm and a cerulean blast of particles pulsed from his wound, glowing like alternate blood. Ethryn cursed loudly and shoved him away, using a dandelion-colored spell to stitch up the wound. Maxwell was so shocked by his attack that he stood in place, eyes frozen in surprise.

"Levucio Arachnieom!" The wizard shouted. A flat duo of interwoven waves accumulated in his fist, hissing sharply like venomous snakes. After his soul returned to his body, Maxwell fled, diving into the room where the lyre was held. The mage followed closely, his spell fully charged in his grip.

The room was as small as his bedroom. A large chest was buried halfway into the ground, tilted slightly. It was surrounded by jewels and flawless gems, sparkling in a flame held by a silver candlestick.

Jewelry and special, glowing weapons were racked up on the wooden shelf beside the large decorated chest. Maxwell shoved forward and inserted the key, twisting it. He pried open the chest as it's curved lid lifted with ease.

Inside sat a vivid lyre, golden and slick with an ornate silver lining. The strings each held their own gleam, their fine silken look soft on the human's eyes. The tips of the handle were ornamented with etched carvings and two large bulbs of silver at the top. Maxwell looked back to Ethryn, who raised his clenched hand.

"You could've shared my magical skills. We could have ruled the satyrs together. You had the choice to achieve unlimited power." The spell in his hand kicked, enlarging into multiple streams of cyan. The waves lit up Ethryn's face like the night land under a full moon.

"Are you kidding? I'd never choose that path, even if it weren't for Saevel. Black magic is wrong." The wicked sorcerer seethed with anger, eyes lighting up with a misty white glow.

"Then know your place." he uttered, shooting the magic forward. Like slithering creatures, the spell's individual streams of energy spiraled for Maxwell, but he slid to the side before they crashed into him. Instead, they busted right into the chest as some of the jewels flew out of their sockets.

Maxwell gripped his screwdriver tightly. He dashed forward and sliced the man's arm, weakening the next incoming spell in his palm. Three shadowy figures, looking a lot like the ones from before, crawled up from the ground. Maxwell ducked and swiped the screwdriver across two, then plunged it through the third one. Ethryn used a pineapple-colored spell to heal himself.

Maxwell went to make another move when hands gripped at Ethryn's hood, tugging harshly. Myra stood behind the mage, using her switchblade to hold against the man's neck. "Think I was gone?" she hissed, pressing the blade further against his neck.

Just as Ethryn began to chant another incantation to free himself, Maxwell closed his eyes, aimed his screwdriver for the man's heart...

CRACK!

A throaty scream ripped through the air and Myra finally dug the blade deeper into his neck, cutting the flesh as if it were regular meat. She sawed into his throat until the scream dissipated into hollow silence. She yanked the blade from the man's body and watched as he fell with a thud.

Silence ensued.

"We... We just killed a man." Maxwell breathed, then dropped the screwdriver.

"...Yeah, I-I guess.. we did." Myra replied, winded. Her arm wasn't any better than it was before, the dark violet wound had spread all along her arm, burning through the sleeve of her shirt. She winced and put a hand over it, pressing into the wound to hopefully stop the throbbing.

Ethryn's body lay lifelessly between them.

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