Shattered Line

Chapter 23: The King's Sharp Claws

Wolfe dodged right before her. The King's front paw nicked him, launching him into a tumble.

She punched the air, aiming towards her target and the blades zipped forward.

The King slashed at the oncoming spell with it's twin-tail. The sweeping blow deflected half the blades. But the rest hurtled straight at the King's face.

A howl shattered the mingling grunts of battle. The King staggered and charged into a tree. The tree cracked and leaves rained, but the trunk stood grand.

"Attack!" Varnis bellowed. He situated himself behind the monster and continued his assault. Yet, the hide repelled his attacks.

The King countered with a sweeping tail. Varnis and Slate jumped back, dodging the strike radius. However, Ham blocked the blow and the force sent him backward. He lost both footing and balance, pushing him into a roll.

Isla remained distant, watching the King flail. After a moment, the beast calmed. Blood dripped from the open wounds she inflicted. A mere beginning to her assault's effects.

She kneeled, passing her aura through the earth. Instead of uprooting the dirt like earlier, she pushed down. She utilized her imagination, drawing a deep burial chamber. The earth trembled and rumbled, compressing next to her. The hole expanded, fitting between two trees.

"Lure it over here," she voiced, loud and controlled from her kneeling position.

The mercenary squad acted, beckoning and nipping the King.

The beast roared, the maw wide and teeth exposed. The raging King rushed the sound's source, head cocked. Without sight, the King plunged headfirst into the pitfall.

Isla's heart cooled then spiked. Her eyes widened at the King soaring in flight. The beast hovered, flapping the emerald coated wings, streams of light bouncing off the flesh constructs.

"Hurry, go for the wings," Varnis shouted over whirling gusts.

They swung and thrust their weapons, but their attacks rebounded. "Are you kidding me?" Slate groaned.

Isla's cloak swirled open and her hair turned chaotic. She diffused her aura into multiple crisscrossing thin lines. Her magic conceived thick vines, flourishing and lengthening from the dirt cage. With her fingertips, she conducted the fibers, commanding them to encase.

They twitched and snapped then darted at her target. The first contact forced the king to kick. The beast escaped, but her spell pursued. The vines clung and persisted, their relentless chase invoking insanity. Both the King's front and hind legs forfeited freedom. The layers multiplied, grasping each other and strengthening her plan.

She clenched her hands and pulled down. Her speed mimicked the vines, granting them slack and time to cooperate.

Yet, victory became hard fought as reckless attacks amplified from the King. The beast revolted, throwing its weight around. The mercenaries stumbled backwards, but their onslaught continued. Thrusts and strikes rained like hell-fire upon the indestructible hide. Their struggle reaped triumph with the King captured.

Falling beneath the surface, Isla fixated the vines. She completed her spell, ending on a stationary image. The spell would last for now.

She heaved a breath, her body slumping. Two more spells. She could muster enough aura. No, she would. Fate had an amusing way of countering her successes. Leave a venomous, vengeful monster alive, and she would pay the price.

Isla infused her aura a third time. She copied the architecture of the second spell but transmuted the material to earth segments—several layers worth—with gaps between the vertical and horizontal levels. One more extra precaution.

"Let's go," Varnis ordered while beside her, surveying her work. Blood smeared his arms combined with his shredded cloak.

"Not yet." Isla returned her concentration and crawled to the tomb's edge. The King growled and shook the confines, vibrating the earth beneath her.

She settled her hands and emptied her energy reservoir. Her soul gleamed free, no longer concealed. Her mind hustled, outlining the enclosure with aura. With a snap, the pitfall spewed alive, flames licking and splitting.

Isla collapsed, her face warm and tender. The fire grew, smoke pummeling from the earthen tomb accompanied by the King's shrieks. Burnt hair rode the wind, the stench filling her nostrils.

"We need to leave. He won't make it," Slate argued.

Isla's gaze switched from the burning gravesite to Slate. An uncouth bandage wrapped his upper left thigh, the cloth remnant stripped from his cloak.

"It's too late, dusk is approaching. We move on," Varnis retorted.

Her eyes scanned their location. Wolfe leaned against a tree, his face paled and sweat droplets permeated his hairline. He held his wounded side, blood painting his fingertips. Ham joined him, rummaging through his rucksack.

"Ham, patch him up. We need to move," Varnis ordered.

"Roger, Boss."

Isla wobbled and clenched her hands. Her aura needed to regenerate. How long did she have? Rather, would they survive? She observed Wolfe, another fight would kill them—her included. Layla's words nagged her. Use them as shields? No, they were distasteful mercenaries, but regret screamed louder. And chances reigned high, abandoning them would gimp her future.

She walked to them, observing Wolfe. With his hand over the wound and Ham hovering, the shadows obscured the damages. Life-threatening or not, she could provide no assistance. Though at such moments, affliction buried her heart.

Isla clenched her hands. Stupid. They were strangers: do not care for them and do not trust them. No matter how much they helped, they would retaliate and eradicate such feeble emotions.

Ham unspun a cotton roll with magic symbols scalding the fabric. He wrapped a section around Wolfe's chest before leaning into him. Wolfe stumbled, but Ham propped him upright, staring ahead. "We're ready, Boss."