Stolen Destiny - part 2
“Ah yes, surprise interventions by unlikely heroes,” Malrog chuckled. “I remember them well. Even the Plane of Secrets respects tradition, I see. Well boy, what is it that brings you to your doom?”
“You killed my father,” the man replied, having finally cleaved his way through the crowd to stand before Malrog, determination personified.
Malrog closed his eye, tilting his head back. “Thank you, Nexus. Yedraw’s brat. Kerebrus, is it? Another betrayal Syne will have to answer for.”
“Silence,” Kerebrus said. “Just die.”
He leaped forward, sword raised above his head, and neatly sliced stright through Malrog’s right elbow. The iron claw thudded to the ground, and Kerebrus landed neatly behind the NoThRoG, his blade spinning into a defensive stance.
Malrog roared, the Channeling Rod of Bascaron fuming and blasting a molten cascade of energy at the human. Throwing his hand up, Kerebrus spoke a prayer, the baleful magic splashing from a protective aura.
The Destroyer bellowed again, but then looked to his stump. While his enchanted prosthetic had been removed, the still-living flesh was pulsing and writhing, bones and flesh clambering over each other in a coil to recreate a fist, flexing fingers forming a hand. Malrog considered it.
“The Silvered Fount. Hah. Know you now, oh mighty Kerebrus, that you face a being that cannot die! I am immortal!”
At these last words, his newly grown hand rose to his face, nails clawing at the edge of the metal plating that had given rise to the Ironface name. A single tug of his augmented muscles ripped it free, a brief spurting of blood and brain fluid scattering through the air before a new skull slid into place, all too soon clothed in fresh, green flesh, with an angry red eye staring directly at Kerebrus.
“Carve off all you want, ‘hero’. I shall regrow it. I’m guessing that you can’t boast the same.”
Malrog pounded toward Kerebrus, who stood unflinching. Yet the giant’s first blow was faster than anyone could have imagined the brute capable of, slamming into his opponent’s chest and hurling him a considerable distance across the chamber, crunching down only slightly shy of the blazing Nexus of Secrets itself. His scale-mail had not softened the blow at all, and the broken bones within him slowed his rise to his feet. But rise he did, silently bearing the pain.
No sooner had he regained his feet than Malrog was upon his again, kicking him to the ground with savage fury and following up with a foot crunching down upon his sword arm, shattering it.
“The Nexus tells me all your secrets, Kerebrus,” the NoThRoG laughed. “Last of the Avendeen. Unwitting pawn of a duplicitous god. Principled, devout. Yet all your rules, your petty dreams and standards, came to nothing in the end, did they?”
Malrog paused to grasp Kerebrus’ broken arm, raising the warrior by it and savouring the defiance on his face. “Blackthorn bested you. Blackthorn. To me, to Malrog Ironface, he is almost nothing. Against me, Kerebrus, you have no hope of victory.”
Once again Kerebrus was slammed into the ground, but Malrog withheld the killing strike. “Your pathetic clinging to the tenets of Law has brought you nothing. A leader of sellswords, too pious to actually sell their swords. Your men loathed you, and the sundering of their brotherhood was a release.
“Whereas I? I have killed thousands, grown in power beyond your comprehension. This rod that I hold is the very embodiment of Chaos. And yet it is chained to my will, unleashing my every desire. The last surviving memory of a dead species, that I crushed myself. That is an achievement, Kerebrus. My enemies lie dead and their mechanisms serve me. Now prepare yourself to join the Medusans in extinction.”
“Kasugoan will judge me just.”
Malrog sneered at the words, and the Channeling Rod began to glow, the eyes speeding their cycle about it as the power built. The final discharge snaked through the intervening space to Kerebrus instantly.
Yet instead of obliterating the fallen hero, instead the energy was reforming into another cloaked humaoid shape, light cascading from beneath the hood. The woman’s fingers arched into mystical gestures, and the rod disintegrated in Malrog’s hand.
“How?” was all he could gasp as the newcomer backed away from him.
“You courted Medusa’s heritage, damned one, and so here I am.”
“No…”
To be continued…
Tags: Kerebrus, Malrog, Stolen Destiny