Chapter 510: Broken Resistance
Broken Resistance
Despite his decision, Martel knew he could not hope to intervene in the battle of spells between Atreus and the maleficar. Their magic was far beyond his, even if he had any of his spellpower left. But he had to do something.
To one side of him, Eleanor desperately averted Maximilian's blows without retaliation; to the other, the spellbreaker and maleficar continued their struggle. Picking up the bronze mace from the ground, Martel crept forward.
One blow to the back of her head; the eerie symbols upon the weapon in his hand promised to do terrible harm. It almost felt like they spoke to him, whispering of power, as if the mace itself wanted to be used, to carve skin, cleave flesh, and crush bone.
As he came closer, Martel's other sensory impressions seemed to fade away. The sounds of weapons clashing, the dusty smell of ancient rocks, even the bright flares of spells in the otherwise dark hall; none of it felt as real as the raw impression of pure magic being expounded in the titanic struggle between spellbreaker and maleficar. Martel could not begin to comprehend the nature and effect of the sorcery, nor did he need to. He hefted the mace in his hand, trying to decide whether he should sneak along the wall or simply rush forward and clobber the witch before she could react.
The choice was taken out of his hands, as Elena turned around, clearly aware of his approach. She flung a spell at him with an almost careless gesture before turning her attention back on Atreus.
"Martel, stay back! Don't come any closer!" the spellbreaker shouted.
Even obeying the command, Martel could not simply stand idly by; he did not have to look to hear the noise of the duel behind him, reminding him of Eleanor's plight. Although it would leave him exhausted and unable to squeeze out more magic, Martel went for his strongest spell. He reached into his very soul and drew upon the fire inherent in him to unleash everything he had. Lightning formed to jump between his hands before it hurled like a spear through the air to strike the witch, punishing her arrogance for turning her back on the battlemage.
Immediately, Martel felt greater pain than ever before in his life coursing through his body, like being roasted over an open fire. It seemed any arrogance being punished belonged to him. As the agony subsided, he finally saw a thin thread of magic, glowing sickly green, tying him to the witch. Although he had never seen or heard of such a spell, he realised what had happened; his own spell had been turned against him, reminding him that he was up against magic far beyond his understanding.
Stolen ; please report.
A gesture from Atreus sent a gale of magic to rush over Martel, and the thread disappeared, freeing him from the maleficar's bond. Martel gasped, knowing he had spent his magic and beyond; another spell would leave him unconscious or worse. His only remaining contribution lay in the mace. Picking it up once more, Martel steeled himself for one final attack.
As before, he never got the chance. The witch turned her head and unleashed another spell, and this time, there was no subtlety to it. Martel could barely see it happening before the effect struck him, and he fell to his knees. His entire being was on fire. He screamed in absolute agony. This was not physical nor mental pain; his very soul was being seared by magic beyond his comprehension. He seized up and fell to the ground, paralysed.
Although incapacitated, Martel felt her presence as she approached; he realised what would follow now. The which would drain him of life and power, just as Atreus had warned. In a battle between archmages, Martel had meddled, although he was not even worthy to be called a novice compared to them; this would be the price he paid.
***
"Elena, wait! Leave the boy be. Take from me instead," Atreus' voice rang out, speaking Archean.
She laughed in disbelief. "You would sacrifice yourself for him?"
"Yes. Take me, but let them go."
Her reply came tinged with suspicion. "You will not resist?"
"They are but children. Release them from your spells, swear to me you will let them leave! In return, I'll give no resistance to your spellcraft." He fell to his knees. contemporary romance
The maleficar narrowed her eyes before a cruel smile found its way to her face. "I swear it, upon Archen and its memory." Elsewhere in the hall, the sound of weaponry ended as Maximilian ceased his attacks on Eleanor. She gave Martel a last glance before turning away from him, placing her dagger in her belt. "Farewell, foolish boy. You served me well for a short while." She strode over to where Atreus still remained kneeling. "At last. I shall finish my ritual, the portal shall take me to my home, and I may finally have what has been denied to me for three centuries."
She placed one hand upon his head. Green light filled the palm of her hand, and pain took over Atreus' expression, mirrored by the intense look of pleasure upon hers.
"At last!" she reiterated. "Your power tastes so sweet, my love! So sweet" The triumphant tone in her voice trailed off. The light glowing underneath her hand flickered and changed colour, turning blue. "What is this?" she screeched.
Atreus grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching her away. As he rose to stand, wrath filled his countenance. "Fool," he whispered. "My brethren spent all our youth training to withstand the dark spells and leechcraft of a maleficar. Now feel a spellbreaker's fury!"
She tried to tear herself away, but his grasp upon her was stronger than iron. Now his hand shone with magic, and where he held her, blackness spread along the veins under her skin like venom. She clawed against him with her free hand to no avail. All of his power coursed through the connection she had established; she had opened the door for him. He did not release his grip upon her until she fell limp to the ground. Finally, he took the dagger from her belt and drove it into her heart. The maleficar who had haunted Morcaster and brought Archen to ruin was dead.
