Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part eleven)
Rating and Warnings-- PG-13; violence and death.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, dishonored spirit warrior (baghan woman); the Rockhide tribe (baghans).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten.



"...okay, didn't expect that." Those were the last words out of Brandon's mouth before he crumpled, and the Light and holy fire he'd called up were extinguished. For a long moment, the darkness consumed everything in the center of the battlefield, and men died as they found they couldn't breathe smoke-like shadows. The black magician had had to compensate to empower his shadows to stand up to the radiating light, and with the luminance gone, they were more than enough to kill.

Rai stared in surprise at his fallen companion. He had no idea what the Rockhide hexer had done, but the baghan was still alive and standing, slowly pushing the shadows away from his warriors. The shadows, no longer actively fed from magic and willpower, faded and seeped back into the ground. Some fewer than two dozen men lay dead on the field, and the rest were picking themselves back up slowly. The hexer faced him, tribal magic beginning to build up around him; he had been burned by holy fire and survived.

Slowly, Rai inhaled, some long-dormant part of him feeling elated at the motionless paladin at his feet. A Light-bearer had fallen! He used his delight to fuel his control over every corner of darkness in the clearing and the treeline, even where tiny shadows huddled in the nooks of bodies. The ink on his skin was burning into his flesh, and he allowed himself to enjoy the lancing pain.

"You." The magician leveled an arm at the hexer. "Zeh Gurhai." The name would be enough to bring to mind pertinent information about the god, although the hexer wouldn't speak it aloud. Speech, though, had ceased to matter. The Rockhide drew a ward in the dirt with a hoof, balance easily maintained as winds picked up but didn't scatter the dust.

Rai smiled coldly and crooked his pointing finger in a come-hither gesture. The ward in the dirt smeared and smoked, breaking just in time to let the magician snatch the hexer's very mind from his skull. The baghan collapsed with an inarticulate cry as Rai enfolded the stolen mind in a crystal he'd drawn from the inner pocket of his robe. Smiling still, he tucked the crystal away, then looked up as he heard hooves and shouts.

There were still thirty-some baghans alive. Some were running towards him, spears poised to stab through his chest as soon as they were within range. Rai tilted his head and tripped a few with shadow-illusions, but two cut the illusions with their spears and forged on. They're fast, he thought to himself, surprised, as the first came close enough to kill him before he could conjure a shadow-shield--

A thrown spear burst through the lead warrior's chest at a strange angle, sending him hurtling to Rai's right with an agonized howl. The second twisted about in time to receive a solid blow to the skull that sent him staggering back.

Lhafa landed from her running leap and stood between Rai and the incoming warriors, a weapon in one hand that looked to have been carved from a living tree and the other hand gripping a Rockhide spear.

Rai blinked. "Lhafa...?"

She didn't turn or respond, parrying the warrior's lunge with her stolen spear and using her other weapon to bash him in the skull again. This time, he crumpled bonelessly, unconscious. The other Rockhides slowed and spread out as they saw that she had come to fight, as though they knew to be very wary of one lone woman. Rai glanced towards the spot she'd emerged from the forest, blinking again at the three bodies lying bloodied there. One was stirring feebly, but the other two lay still.

"So much for you being the defenseless innocent," the magician muttered, bringing up shadows to wrap around the nearest enemy. His skin was burning, and it was getting harder to focus and control the magic he had brought out of the blackness. "Will they not surrender?" he grated, choking another baghan with smoke-darkness.

"Not as long as you have their holy man's soul," she replied quietly, parrying an attack and then sweeping the attacker off his feet. She plunged the lighter spear into his chest, jerking it out in time to sidestep another charging strike. She crushed this baghan's face with her heavier weapon's wide end. "We will have to kill them all..."

For the first time, he realized that she was bleeding and panting. And that his own body was on fire and trembling, the red gleam from the symbols painting his skin almost painfully bright. Rai glanced towards the rest of the tribe, then down at Brandon's body. The elation he had felt was gone, burned out and evaporated like water over coals. Now that he was empty, he could feel rage. Rage was not a tool of a black magician, but Brandon had taught him how to use it by example.

"Lhafa. Move." She glanced at him, then danced to the side as he stepped forward. The warriors were disorganized now, charging forward in small waves, others still grappling with the imposed perception that their own shadows were going to kill them. Lhafa dispatched another pair with disconcerting ease, seemingly twice as strong as either of the larger men. Something was strange, something had changed, something felt wrong, but he had no time to puzzle it out now.

Now, there was only time for killing.

Rai spread his arms wide, pooling darkness in his palms before igniting the near-tangible shadows. They did not burst into ash immediately, as they usually did - no, this time, the flames fed on his anger and not the darkness. It would hollow him to nothing but a shell within moments, but they would all burn before he, too, fell.

The shadows bore the flames from his hands into the closest baghans, burning furrows in their flesh before leaping like the wind to others. The fire chained the tribe together and created white ash from fur, red steam from flesh, and black tar from bone. The few that Lhafa had unintentionally shielded with her mere proximity were quickly killed or knocked unconscious by the Softstep woman.

Rai shook like a leaf in a strong wind as the hellfire incinerated his anger, then fed on the shadows; the darkness became ash in the air. The clearing felt spent and barren, bodies and dust settling in echoing silence. Only he and Lhafa still stood, and then only she, as he toppled backwards when his legs gave out. There was no more magic in the area - it had all been burned to nothingness.

Breathless, Lhafa leaned heavily on her makeshift staff as she made her way to the two men, collapsed so close to each other after battle. She could hear the wailing of the widows and the children in the distance as she knelt between Rai and Brandon. Carefully, she set her weapon aside and rested a slender hand on each of their chests. She expected to find them silent and still.

However, both had a faint pulse that beat in time with the throbbing of her talisman.