Ashborn Primordial

Chapter 297: Leaps of Faith (One)

 

 

“I must admit, your tending skills are quite impressive,” Lagen said. The trio walked beside the Ash’va that had all been tethered together. Laden with armor and weaponry, they resembled a rich merchant caravan on their way to a lucrative sale.

“Please,” Gunin replied. “Without you, we’d have perished long ago. All I did was ensure we had enough beasts of burden to haul this stuff back.”

“And yet,” Vir said, “the mission would have been a failure had it not been for your efforts.”

He was pleased to see Gunin and Lagen get along. They’d been far less talkative on their outbound journey, and he was sure he’d have to intervene at some point. The development gave him hope. Hope that one day, Garga and Chitran could coexist—if not in harmony, perhaps at least in peace.

Despite Gunin being a Chitran and with Lagen harboring a deep hatred of their kind, the two were still able to get along. Vir had no doubt Lagen still had plenty of misgivings, but if the demon could bottle them up and work together for mutual benefit, that was fine by him.

“Still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much wealth in one place,” Lagen muttered. “Sure would fetch a tidy sum in Panav.”

Vir walked in front of Lagen, but could guess that both of his companions were staring holes in his back at that moment.

“We certainly could,” Vir said, surprising them. “I imagine the gear here would fetch enough for each of us to live happily for years. We selected only the worthiest armor and weaponry, after all. All are combat ready, and of high quality, to boot.”

Their haul contained quite the assortment of styles, though if there was one constant, it was that they were all of high quality. These were armaments built for front-line warriors. High carbon steel chainmail and steel plate were common, though there were few full sets that protected all the limbs. Demons seemed to prefer mobility far more than humans, and this was especially true for the nimble kothis.

Even so, their armor was well-built and protected all the vitals. Vir approved—he’d chosen the mobility route himself, after all.

As for the weapons, there were steel and seric spears, talwars, scimitars, and a variety of maces, polearms, and other instruments of war. With a bit of sharpening and honing, they’d be ready for war.

“We very well could,” Vir repeated. “If we sacrificed the lives of two hundred of our brothers. Is that something you are willing to do?”

Lagen stiffened. “Of course not. It was just a passing thought.”

Vir nodded, knowing fully the demon would never betray the prisoners. He was fiercely loyal, especially to the Garga. It wasn’t him Vir was worried about. He threw the kothi an expectant glance.

Gunin sighed. “I would not. The Chitran would no doubt catch on, eventually. Especially when all the gear is built for Chitran Warriors. People would ask where I got all of this, and I’d have no suitable answer. At least, none good enough to resist scrutiny. And the subsequent imprisonment.”

Vir wasn’t exactly happy that the kothi seemed to reject the idea on a practical basis rather than a moral one, but he’d take what he could get. He hadn’t exactly chosen his bedfellows in this case.

Wonder if there’ll ever come a day when I lead a proper army. Well trained, and loyal only to me…

An interesting thought, but ultimately a useless one. If Vir couldn’t retake Garga with the resources he had, there was no point thinking of the future.

Vir’s eyes came to rest on the horizon. They would be arriving shortly.

“Can you imagine their faces, though?” Lagen said, echoing Vir’s thoughts. “They’ll shit their pants when they see this haul. Say, how are we going to assign the equipment, anyway? I had my eye on some pieces…”

“I-I as well,” Gunin chimed in.

Vir chuckled. “As the ones who risked their lives obtaining them, you two can have your pick. As for the rest, Balagra and I will…”

Vir trailed off, his eyes catching something on the horizon. Still too far to discern, the mass of black looked out of place, even from this distance.

“What is it?” Lagen asked, coming up next to Vir. “More Ash Beasts? We’ll handle them, same as the others. Or, I suppose, you’re the one who’ll handle them. We’ll just sit tight while we nurse our bruised egos.”

Lagen and Gunin chuckled wryly, but Vir hardly noticed. As they neared, his concern mounted.

“Those are no Ash Beasts,” Gunin said, jumping deftly up onto a laden Ash’va, which caused it to neigh in annoyance. “They’re demons.”

“Gunin is right,” Vir said slowly. “And not just any demons. That’s an army.”

“But what army would…” Lagen stopped in his tracks. “The Chitran. They’ve found us? But how?”

“It appears that way,” Gunin replied. “My eyes see around five hundred. A hefty chunk of the garrison. Based on their movements, I’d say they’re already engaged in combat.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Vir cursed under his breath. How had they found out? What had transpired at the camp in their absence?

Either way, there was nothing to be done about it now. In fact, there was only one thing they could do. The one recourse Vir had dreaded being forced to rely on now seemed to be their only hope.

“Lead the Ash’va to the Boundary. Get close, but not too close. And prepare for combat.”

“What will you do?” Gunin asked.

“What else?” Vir replied. “I’m going to help our brothers.”

Vir crouched and Leaped, kicking up a cloud of ash that sent the two others coughing.

“I hate it when he does that…”

---

Bloodline Arts flew in every conceivable direction, some blasting the rocks that formed the prisoners’ wall while others dissipated harmlessly in the sky. The prisoners had rolled boulders into the entrance, sealing themselves inside their barricade as they pelted the approaching army with magic from above.

This much was expected—chaos and danger.

It was when Vir drew close enough to feel Warrior Chakra attacks sailing through the air that he began to panic. This was no fair trade of blows, but a one-sided massacre. Stuck in the relative safety of their encampment, the prisoners were being pummeled, unable to escape or fight back.

Nothing could fight Chakra, except other Chakra. And only the Chitran army possessed Warriors experienced enough to launch ranged Chakra attacks. Bound by neither physical nor magical constraints, they tore into the walls, rending asunder the souls of anyone unfortunate enough to stand behind them.

It was an effective tactic, if cruel—the Chitran army slowly advanced, preventing the prisoners from harming them as they matched over the open plains. Then, when they arrived at the rock wall, it would be far too late.

While the mountain’s natural protection had kept them alive until now, it wouldn’t be much longer until they were overrun. After that, only a massacre awaited the poor souls on the other side.

That was, of course, unless Vir sowed some chaos in their ranks.

Leaping near the back of the Chitran forces, Vir allowed himself to fall into the shadows. From there, it was a simple matter of killing without being seen. A skill Vir had extensive practice with.

One by one, the kothis fell. A Prana Bladed talwar swipe here cut leg tendons, while a thrust there slipped his blade between the gaps in their armor, ending their lives in an instant.

Perhaps it was wrong to kill so freely. Ordinarily, Vir wouldn’t think of it. But the Chitran had made up their minds. They’d marched their army out here for one purpose and one purpose along—to send a message to the world. To tell other prisoners that any act of rebellion would be met with overwhelming force.

As the one responsible for putting the prisoners in that situation, it was Vir’s duty to clean up his mess.

For them, Vir spared no remorse. Even if it required killing every last foe.

As it turned out, he hadn’t needed to. Only moments later, several kothis bellowed out roars, which Vir knew to be the initiation trigger for Warlord’s Battlecry—the Chitran bloodline art that emboldened allies while striking fear into their foes.

Their response was swift and efficient—the hallmarks of a well-trained organization that had drilled group combat tactics to perfection.

The bloodline art was followed by another, with waves of prana rippling through the ranks. Warlord’s Domain. The Chitran ability that sped up allies, slowed enemies, and allowed the caster to sense the location of all enemies in its domain.

Vir sunk into the shadows before the wave passed over him, revealing him to the caster.

The Chitran bloodline arts were ill-matched against Prana Vision, though by no means did that make them any less worthy of respect. The battlefield was where the Chitran arts shone brightest—with each invocation of their ability compounding to boost their allies and cripple their enemies.

It was due to this multiplicative effect that Chitran combat prowess was so feared by the other clans. One kothi was a joke, but a hundred? Better to bring an army several times that size to have any chance of defeating them. The Chitran knew this well, and it was why they boasted one of the largest, most organized militaries of all the demonic clans. Not quite on the scale of Kin’jal or the Altani, but far more than anyone else in this realm.

Unfortunately for the prisoners, they had neither the numbers nor the individual skill required to overpower such a foe. Forget outnumbering them—Vir’s demons didn’t even match the Chitran in that area.

To fight was to die. A fact driven home when Vir’s final Leap took him soaring into the camp. As he landed, a fellow Gargan fell, but he wasn’t dead. He twitched on the ground, having been struck by some unseen force. Alive, but vegetative, his mouth foaming as he spasmed.

No magic had done this to him. Vir could feel the aftereffects of the Warrior Chakra. No, this was an attack to the soul. The first of its kind Vir had witnessed anyone sustain.

While only moments prior, the demon had a life, a future, and perhaps even a family, now, the poor, crippled soul was doomed to this state that was neither life nor death. It was his fellow demon who brought his ax down on his friend’s neck, ending his suffering, and leaving Vir stunned into silence.

The downed demon twitched once more, before he exhaled his final breath and his movements stilled forever. His killer looked Vir in the eyes with desperate insanity. “To ease his suffering,” he said, before climbing back up to the ramshackle stone wall to rejoin the fight.

That was the true horror of Chakra attacks. Unless one opened their Heart Chakra—the fourth in the line—there was no recovery. No healer in the realm could undo the damage, nor would it even heal on its own.

And I’m as exposed to it as this demon here. This is what lies in wait for me if I sustain even a single such attack…

Vir shuddered at the thought, murmured a quick prayer for the dead demon, before forcing his legs to move. Now was not the time for such considerations. He had to find Balagra, and fast.

---

The task was thankfully not difficult. While Vir’s first instinct had been to head straight for the command tent, he knew Balagra would not idle by when there was a battle going on—not even if he was crippled.

Vir found the demon in his half-serpent form by the wall, directing troops the best he could. Which was to say, with limited success. Lacking training, the demons fought as most demons did—individually, with little regard for organization or group tactics.

“You have returned,” Balagra said with obvious relief. “I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

“As much as I want to know what happened, that can wait for later.”

“Indeed. I presume it was you who halted their advance?” the naga asked.

Vir nodded. “They probably suspect an enemy in their ranks now, which is why they’re being so slow to advance.”

His attack had never been intended to get them to rout or retreat, but rather to buy some time. Vir seemed to have succeeded in that endeavor.

“Well, I appreciate the breathing room. Yet, what now? You must know we cannot win. I’ve fought my fair share of battles, and I have to say this situation is hopeless. Can’t fight, can’t run. Can’t surrender, either. Even if we wanted that. Which we don’t, of course,” he added hastily.

“You’re wrong,” Vir replied.

Balagra looked at Vir like he’d grown an extra head. “You truly intend to surrender? Impossible. They have made it clear they wish to take no prisoners, and good luck getting our demons to lay down their arms. It’s either death here or death by execution. Pick your poison.”

“Not that. You’re wrong about fleeing.”

Balagra scoffed. “Even if we could somehow escape our encampment, where do you suggest we run? The Ash?”

When Vir failed to reply, Balagra’s mocking expression morphed into one of confusion, then understanding, then terror.

“You’re joking. Oh, Adinat, please, have mercy on our souls…”