The Demoner Series: The Trails

Chapter Sixteen - Chronicle Map

Elves pulls on their bow strings, firing desperately from tall towers as the ponderous sizes of rocks advances towards the archers. Despite the elves known for their outstanding archery skills, some of them took part in the melee combats at the foot of their wheeled fortress. Every arrow, stroke and time matters, they knew as they hack and shoot around. More lifeless orgs fell after a hefty amount of cuts and piercings.

Humans firing spells around, their luminous palms lighting up the the barbaric scene. Empty potion glasses dropping on the bodies below them after chucking down the multicoloured contents. Mana powered swords flash around, shields appearing around. The zing sound could be heard through the fight, melee or ranged combats.

  Orgs dominating the field despite the fact that they're outnumbered. Their thick layer of armour did much to protect them from strikes to their flesh. Their spiked club with the extra force from the weight of the orgs was enough to crush the puny defenders standing in their way. Clubs weren't their only weapons. Javelins flew from the fat arms of the orgs. Their long clumsy arms make it difficult to hit a target. However, the war was so packed and brutal that most projectiles practically hit a body, dead or alive, enemies or allies.

I look down to myself, sighting a translucent and floating ghost. An org came rushing towards my direction, waving his club fiercely, blood trickling down his obese figure. I duck in fright, throwing my hand over my face and expecting a killing blow landing on me.

  But it never came. The thick wooden weapon slice through the air and my body, landing on the earth below and sending a thin cloud of dirty to the air. The blow went inches away from an soldier elf, who shied away just in time and skipping forward to cut the org's vulnerable arm.

  I'm a soul! I conclude with surprise. Below me lies a dead body, his facial features recognisable as if I've seen it moments before. His face is covered in ash and sweat, blooding flowing out from his gapping mouth. His arms are wrapped with cuts and dark bruises, lying motionlessly on the ground. A large bruise with blood seeping holes is marked on his side, an indication of a full blow from the spike clubs the orgs were holding.

  I can feel myself getting up at its will. A mixed emotion of confusion and pain running through my body.

"You had a terrible and heroic fight with the orgs," the lady in white says, reaching out her hands to touch mine. "You have suffered painful injuries before the final blow from the albino org that killed you," she says, touching a wound from my side that came out of nowhere. "But, you're not done yet," she whispers darkly.

"What do you mean?" I ask, "I mean, I'm dead already." My soul pointed to the still body of the battlefield.

  That's me? I ask in my mind, unsure to believe it or not, true or false. Are these memories or dreams? I quiz myself. My thoughts are in a mess, going in random directions, making my brain a living insanity.

  "I'll revive you, but you'll start a different life," the angel says, her hands glowing white like a lighting bulb, tongues of light flickering around like a luminous flame. Images begin to fade as she shoot a ray of energy into me.

  "Joel? Joel?" An external voice calls out. I blink my eyes multiple times, realising I'm back in the library. Terrance is nudging my shoulder.

  "Thank god, for a moment you became stiff and had no reaction at all," Terrance says breathily, wiping off imaginary sweat of panic.