The barracks was in chaos, smoking bodies apparent everywhere, cots overturned, whole sections of the walls scorched by lightning. I cared not a whim for that devastation.
"I need a blade." Ssserakis was happy to oblige and shadow twisted around my right hand, forming itself into a small, wide blade. "Sorry about this." I shoved it into the dead Sourcerers midsection and cut through robes and flesh alike, opening his stomach. It was messy work, but I pulled a single Source out of the bloody wreckage. Not a large crystal, at least not by some standards, but larger than I was used to. I wiped it as best I could on his stained robes, and then shoved it inside my mouth. It tasted vile, blood and worse that I refused to think about. I tensed and swallowed it. The taste almost made me vomit, but I forced it down.
Half of the barracks exploded as a lightning storm raged to life around me. It was not quite an Arcstorm, it did not take on a life of its own. No. It was just me, exalting in my power once again. Revelling in the feeling of magic inside and fuelling the Arcstorm that had resided in me since the day I died at Picarr. I reigned it in, but only a little. Lightning crackled around me, constant bolts sparking off my body and my wings, striking anything and everything nearby. Some things were set alight from the heat of the bolts, others just smoked as the power scorched them. I stepped out of the wreckage of that barracks and set my sight on the palace. The Emperor was gone from the balcony, but I had no doubt he was still up there, hiding where he thought he was safe. Nowhere was safe. Not for him. Not from me!
"Eska, what—" Hardt paused at the sight of me. "Are you alright?" A fair question given my appearance. My eyes were flashing once again, lightning struck around me constantly, and I had blood smeared across my mouth. Someone else's blood.
"You should find somewhere to hide," I said, my voice croaking.
"I'm coming with you."
I stared up at the balcony and plucked the lantern from where I had left it. "You can't. I'm going up there. You can follow behind though."
My Cursed were still battering uselessly at the palace doors as I approached, some had already broken their wrists in their fervour to get inside. "Stand back." I shouted the command and the Cursed turned toward me, the intelligence all but lost from their eyes.
"They obeyed you," Hardt said in wonder. My Cursed waited nearby, almost thirty of them, mostly in soldiers' uniforms.
"They have no choice. My will is theirs'." I drew my Arcstorm back inside, letting the power build and build until I felt as though I were about to explode. Then I unleashed the full fury of it, drawing upon the Source inside my stomach, as a single bolt of lightning directed at the palace doors. They burst open with a crack, the bar on the other side giving way in an instant.
Smoke drifted from the doors, bent and buckled from the force. Through my dark sight I could see men crouching on the other side, bows raised, waiting for targets. I doubted arrows would do them much good. "Go." I said to my Cursed and watched for a moment as they surged into motion and charged in through the doors. Some went down under the hail of arrows, but most ignored their wounds and the screams started once more. I turned to Hardt. "I'd give it a minute or two. They should leave you be, but you don't want to get caught up in that."
I turned back towards the balcony so far above. "What about you?" Hardt waited nearby, not daring to get too close with the storm striking all around me.
"I told you. I'm going up there. Ready?"
Ssserakis laughed. He will pay for your arm.
I crouched, my wings unfurling and spreading out high above me. "And everything else." I leapt upwards, my wings beating hard. Once. Twice. It was not true flight. Even with wings so large, I could not have sustained the lift, but it hurled me upwards. Even so, the balcony was high above us. It was a start at least. We gave up on the attempt at flight and my wings drove into the stone of the palace wall, shattering windows and gouging rock. I had only one arm, and that was carrying the lantern, so I relied entirely upon my wings as they thrust into the palace facade and dragged us upwards. No, it was not anything approaching flight. I was more like a giant black spider, crawling its way up the side of the building, leaving scarred, crumbling stone in my wake. I imagine the noise of it was quite terrifying to those inside the palace, though they may have been more focused on the screaming from my Cursed slaughtering their way from floor to floor.
It's fair to say they were expecting me by the time I reached the balcony. With a last push of my wings, I gained the lip and stepped down just as a plume of fire shattered the double windows and engulfed me. Ssserakis shielded me with my wings, but barely in time. I felt the heat of the flames and the searing kiss of them on my face. My chin still bears the scars of that fire, mottled flesh between chin and neck, pitted and annoyingly smooth from where it melted. I often find myself rubbing at that scar, the feel of it strangely both horrifying and compulsive. I screamed at the touch of it, and Ssserakis screamed with me, its shadowy body taking the brunt of the heat.
The flames continued and my wings curled tighter around me, so tight I could barely move. I knew Pyromancy well, had always felt the attunement stronger than any other school, and I knew the Sourcerer could keep up the attack for a long time.
I cannot hold out against fire, Eskara. Forever Ssserakis' weakness, fire is the enemy of ice and darkness both.
Cold rage built inside of me. I couldn't let it end like this, couldn't let them beat me so easily. Not after all I had survived, all I had been through. The very thought of it made me angry. The Emperor winning was more than I could stomach. I stopped caring. They could burn my body to ash, but I would take them all with me! I let my Arcstorm rage with me.
A plume of flame is easy for a Pyromancer to maintain, simple magic but effective. It also has a limited range. The Sourcerer needs to be quite close to their target. It is difficult to remain close with a lightning storm raging around you. I'm not sure if the Pyromancer was struck at all, only that they backed off, the flames subsiding as they beat their retreat. My anger and my Arcstorm were linked in a way I have never quite understood. They feed off each other, growing stronger and stronger until neither can be sustained, and then fade for a time, leaving me numb and raw. Drawing on my Source and turning my mind towards the atrocities directed toward me, my anger and my storm grew until none could stand within twenty paces for fear of being struck.
I stepped off the balcony and into the throne room, the centre of an Arcstorm, my eyes flashing, and shadowy wings poised behind me, ready to strike. Before me stood half the royal guard, thirty soldiers all wearing gold armour with runes glowing pink in the gloom. Armour designed to absorb magic. Two Sourcerers, one to my right, the Pyromancer readying another attack, the other a mystery, and standing next to the throne. Opposite her, stood Prena, eyes hard and damning and locked on me. And beyond them all, cowering on his throne, the Emperor of Terrelan.
"Aras!" I screamed the name.
"She's a nightmare. Kill her!" The Emperor all but screeched in his fearful hysteria. I could taste the terror on him.
Soldiers started forward just as the door to the throne room burst open, my Cursed piling through it. The Pyromancer turned and sprayed flames in their direction, but they were dead things, shrugging off injury and pain. They swarmed the man and carried him down, fists and weapons rising and falling, screams turning to sickening thuds. Others ignored the Sourcerer entirely and rushed on towards the royal guard. The throne room erupted into a chaotic battle where only I understood the rules. Or so I thought.