Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 83: The Horde Rises

Darrin spared me a glance. "Jared can conjure metal shields in links. If he alters his spell enough, he can conjure a walkway for us to cross. But that would be too slow. Jameson can make ice walls. He'll be doing the same thing. We'll get people across the gap to the next building."

I saw through his plan immediately. "And after that?" I asked, keeping my attention focused on the rooftop access door to the pavilion. If I focused, I could hear the undead below us. Their constant footfalls pattering against the floors, more like a constant, neverending rumble than individual steps. Their groans reverberated through the air, audible only to me.

Darrin gave me an approximation of his usual playful smirk. "We'll outrun these bastards. We'll cross as many buildings as we need to."

The man was lying. He didn't have another plan to let them escape. "I've got the best mobility of all of you," I said. "I'll guard your rear."

Darrin didn't have time to protest. "Not alone," Sevren Denoir said, stepping up beside me. "We never declared a winner for our race. You can't say you've got the best mobility yet."

"Yet," I said, feeling the edges of my lips turn up.

The rest of the mages shuffled near Jared and Jameson, who were hard at work conjuring a bridge between the two buildings. In the few seconds since Darrin and I had started speaking, the structure was already twenty feet across, quickly approaching the other side.

The door thumped once, twice, then burst apart.

The corpses were met with spellfire. Bursts of flame, punches of wind, shards of ice, and shards of earth tore into the creatures with abandon. I lamented the dangers of using sound magic, so I relied heavily on my telekinesis and fire magic, throwing fireshot and crippling telekinetic pushes every chance I got.

Yet the undead kept coming. Our initial attack was forestalled by a few of the creatures throwing their own spells, malicious mana seeking to carve us apart.

One of the shields from the Aensgar Exiles stepped forward, pressing his hand into the ground. Tendrils of water burst up from cracks in the concrete, the writing tentacles catching basketball-sized chunks of earth before sending them hurtling back. The tentacles worked in tandem, pushing away anything that got too close and blocking as much spellfire as they could.

I stepped up next, brandishing Oath and Promise. My blades flashed an oily sheen, their edges severing skulls and piercing hearts. Focusing my magic through my hands, I was able to vibrate the cutting edge of both my saber and dagger. They passed through flesh and shield alike, shearing through anything in their path without resistance. With my telekinetic shroud shrugging off most stray spells and my own mobility keeping me from being locked down, I became a demon on the small pavilion roof.

The rooftop shook constantly, forces it was not designed to withstand crashing against the concrete. Flipping to the side to intercept a few searing arcs of fire that were headed for the bridge-makers, I felt a brief moment of hope.

The undead only had one way to reach us, creating a perfect choke point. With the sustained efforts of the mages present, the corpses died their second death, their gray, rotting bodies littering the ground. The bridge to the next building was nearly completed, the combined efforts of Jared and Jameson yielding results.

Only a few more seconds.

But then I felt something shift in the air. That same strange, obscuring effect that made the zombies' mana signatures indistinct began to slither like putty, advancing like a flow of magma toward one, undeniable source.

I felt like I'd been struck by a thunderbolt, recognizing the subtle, wafting change. It echoed back to what I'd done with my violin; how I pressed my will into the world. It's intent, I thought. Or the visible aftermath of intent mixing with the ambient mana.