from his hip, and the wealth of previously unwelcome information begins to flood back into the forefront of his mind. “They all knew from the start. How could they?”
“What are you talking about? Geist!” Cale retorts, shoving his friend to initiate any kind of physical reaction to the task at hand.
“Errrrghhh!” He groans, his anger multiplying tenfold as the concepts overwhelm his mind like tidal waves enveloping an island. “Enough!” He finally bellows, suddenly conjuring a fireball every bit as massive as it is unstable. Utilizing his entire body, he flails the spell into the heart of the fight, the explosion knocking everyone in sight off their feet, including the pair of reavers. A high-pitched whistle rings in their ears, the excessive attack robbing them of their bearings as they struggle to regain their focus. Geist lies inert, staring into the sky dumbly while Cale quickly comes back to his senses.
“Hey!” Cale exclaims, feverishly extinguishing the tiny bits of flame on his coat and scrambling back to his feet. “Calm down! We’ve got a job to do.”
“Sorry,” the emotional magi mouths, rising to a sitting positon. “I’m sorry,” he repeats more directly, his eyes seeming to return from someplace far away. “You’re right, you’re right.”
“One crisis at a time,” Cale encourages, offering a hand. “Come on.” Accepting the assistance back to his feet, Geist follows his comrade through the newly created scar of scorched earth, a fleeting reprieve in the battle quickly concluding in their wake. Rapidly proceeding out of the royal district, the duo see that several smaller battles are taking place throughout the area, no corner of the kingdom necessarily safe from the escalating war. Crossing the bridge, Geist’s vision shifts to focus inches from his face, the first snowflake drifting through his vision before the blurry backdrop sharpens to reveal legions of spirits and zombies ravaging the other districts. Their fellow reavers courageously keep the ghouls at bay, but their odds could not be worse. Spotting the cavalry crossing the bridge, Azrael slices an approaching specter with a conjured sword before waving excitedly for his classmates to join him. Moments after his companions spot him, a Garo Robe descends upon the unsuspecting peacekeeper from a nearby balcony.
“Look out!” Cale shouts, pulling his signature blade from his fist and doubling his pace into the fight, leaving Geist in his tracks. A pillar of ice knocks the descending assassin off course allowing Azrael time to throw a spectral spear through the ninja’s chest. Turning to give Aqua a thumbs up, the reaver’s eyes double in size as yet another Garo pulls its blade from the magi’s back. Falling limply to the cold earth, Aqua mouths some undistinguishable words while the ninja retreats back to the shadows to stalk its next victim. “Stay focused,” Cale demands, cutting down every spirit in his path with rapid efficiency en route to Azrael, now on his knees helplessly staring at his murdered friend.
“We’re not ready,” Grahn gruffly sighs, already sounding defeated. Effortlessly scooping Azrael from the ground, he commands an array of swords hovering about his form, launching and slashing them at any ghoul who wanders too close.
“Some of us are,” Cale declares, his tone morphing into that of a hardened warrior as he helps clear a path for the scattered survivors. Hovering skulls engulfed in flames join the already ample numbers of poes and redeads plaguing the area, no corner of the districts closest to the castle safe from the spreading violence. Utilizing what they have learned up until this point, the reavers beat the teeming ghouls back, but even their most optimistic members cannot believe they are fighting a winning battle. The few Garo in the area move among the spirits as if they are one of them, some manner of allegiance apparently formed between the religious fanatics and the restless aberrations. Unable to keep up with his significantly more athletic friend, Geist isn’t quite sure why he slows to a stop upon reaching a familiar path leading into his district. His heart tugs him in that direction, and soon enough, the obvious realization spills through his lips.
“Marta,” he gasps, instantly sprinting as hard as he is able down her street. His signature orbs whip about his form, every ghoul and Garo unfortunate enough to cross paths with him instantly enduring a violent barrage of the ethereal spheres. One of the few residences still intact, Marta’s house looks abandoned, the front door hanging open and creaking in the inconsistent wind. “Mar—“ he starts, dashing through the open door haphazardly. The distinctive whirr of a broom handle brushes against his eardrums as he barely manages to evade the unexpected attack. Quickly realizing who she is assaulting, Marta drops her impromptu weapon, her fearless demeanor shattering the moment her eyes meet those of her rescuer. Completely speechless, she simply throws herself into his arms, shuddering emotionally as her friend embraces her. Considering saying something comforting, he thinks better of it when he spots a body awkwardly lying behind a smashed table in the next room.
“What’s happening?” She eventually asks, regaining her composure slightly.
“It’s complicated,” Geist sighs, several previous sentences failing to intelligibly initiate. “We have to go. I know a safe place.”
“What about Cale?” She quickly retorts, far from eager to venture outside. “What about your family?” Failing to even consider the fate of his parents until now, Geist feels the barbed embrace of hopelessness begin to bind him. There are too many choices to make, each of them slamming the door on another potential decision. Gritting his teeth, the exasperated magi fights the desperation back, seizing Marta’s hand and starting for the door.
“Cale is meeting us there,” he responds, distantly. Briefly checking the empty streets outside, he pulls his distressed damsel along as he quickly darts through familiar alleyways.
“Okay, what about—“ she starts, growing increasingly worried reading his body language.
“Look,” he interrupts, pulling her close as he struggles to suppress his rampant emotions. “I have to make you safe, okay?” He inelegantly blurts out, milling his thoughts down until only a single objective remains.
“But—“ she weakly tries to protest, touched and dismayed at the same time by the proclamation.
“Come on,” he instantly interjects, pulling her along as they round a corner leading toward the wooded area outside of the district. Without warning, a tenacious Garo blinks into the visible spectrum, nearly cleaving the reaver’s free hand completely off with an upward slice.
“No!” Marta squeals, tripping to the side as Geist pushes her out of harm’s way. Four conjured orbs whirl around the magi’s fortunate wrist, crunching together in front of his open palm before they are thrust into the ninja’s gut. Reeling from the unexpectedly effective attack, the robed enemy snaps its head upward, locking eyes with the reaver just as the four spiked spheres encircle its head.
“Damn you! You and your goddesses,” he growls, snapping his open hand into a clenched fist. Immediately snatching the wide-eyed Marta from her seated position, Geist treks back toward the main street, the forest undoubtedly crawling with more of the sinister killers. A stampede of civilians draws the reaver’s attention, emerging back onto the main road with Marta’s hand clasped in a death-grip. Dozens of men, women, and children cautiously follow Grahn’s lead, a pathetic perimeter of both reavers and soldiers attempting to escort them to temporary safety. Bringing up the rear of the convoy, Cale suspiciously eyes the alleys and rooftops, ready to cut down any form of surprise attack. Rushing over to meet him, Cale’s relief is palpable as Marta gives him a long hug, his eyes closing for the first time in quite some time while he exhales emotionally.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Marta smiles, overjoyed to be with her friends once again.
“No time for a reunion,” Cale admits, returning to his vigilant stance.
“He’s right,” Geist agrees, assuming a defensive posture himself. “We’ve got to get out of town. Where is everyone else?”
“This is it,” Cale responds, coldly.
“We making another s
weep once we get this group through?” He inquires, confused.
“No,” Cale sighs, struggling to keep it together. “I mean this is it. There isn’t anyone else.”
“What do you mean there isn’t anyone else?” Geist demands, his gaze slowly drifting to find his friends eyes, conclusively conveying he meant exactly what he said. Standing upright, the devastated peacekeeper scans the dozens of panicking survivors, finding only a few vaguely familiar faces. “This can’t be all,” he mouths, shaking his head in disbelief. “This can’t be all that’s left of us.”
“Look!” Cale shouts, jerking his friend’s attention back to the road behind them. A larger than average Garo wielding a large scythe deflects the attack of an undead Ikanian soldier, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him off his feet. The armored corpse twitches and struggles before falling limp, an otherworldly essence spiraling out of his face, and into the darkness beneath the Garo’s cowl. Idly tossing the motionless Ikanian aside, the large Garo’s green eyes sweep across the battlefield, searching for another victim. “Guardians help us, what is happening?” He pleads, rapidly reaching the edge of his unsustainable resoluteness. Terrible roars and cries of agony,