[The Twining] 31. The Tier Threes

[ haven't had much time to write, lots of other deadlines, but I can shed some of my backlog so people have at least something to read today. <3 ]​​

Against his rational judgment, he sprinted toward the powerful juggernauts. When he was close enough that their suppressive presences nearly made his heart beat unsteady, he stole a glance behind him.

The humanoid wolves had finally given up the chase, instead homing in on the warriors at the gate. Even they aren’t stupid enough to intrude on a battle beyond their tier.

Isen fell to one knee, trying to make sense of the current conflict. The black-armored man and the winged drayavin woman seemed to be doing… nothing. Neither moved. All that shifted and flowed were their murderous auras, which pounded into Isen like a tsunami.

He’d never felt such a concentrated, immaterial force from Ros and other monsters they’d fought in the depths. It seemed like another form of power entirely, separate from typical body empowerment and external manipulation.

“The city’s as good as fallen,” the woman suddenly said, her voice soft and silky smooth, like the voice of a singer. Isen was surprised he understood her—she spoke the common tongue, rather than elvish, with a lilting accent. “Surrender, and I’ll give you an hour to escape with as many people as you can evacuate.” She gestured to the burning skyline. Though her face was covered, Isen imagined the next line accompanied by a savage grin. “It’s not like there’s much left to salvage.”

The man shifted, his spear pointed straight at the woman’s head. His baritone voice was even more mellifluous, and his words—also delivered in common—held only a hint of the noble accent Talis used. It was the first time he’d heard an accent so like his own since leaving Goldbounty. “I’m confident that I can defeat you.”

She smirked. “Sure—given another hour to wear me down. An hour you don’t have. But can you defeat me and Demetros, at the rear?”

He didn’t respond for a good five seconds. Then, he asked, “Why Shevenar?”

She just smiled and flexed her claws. “None of your business. Now surrender and save us both unnecessary bloodshed.”

Isen listened intently. Why had his sixth sense brought him here, now? Was he supposed to speak up and let the armored man know that the tier three monster at the rear of the city was dead?

Isen still didn’t know why the drayavin were attacking, but evidently it wasn’t only to cause wanton destruction.

This was a conflict beyond him… albeit one he’d inserted himself into when he’d navigated the half elves from the inn out of Shevenar and dragged the spirit of the dead queen into a little girl. It had seemed like the only option when slavering monsters had broken in, questing for flesh.

Isen didn’t regret his decision, but he did recognize that just because the drayavin were the aggressors, they weren’t necessarily evil. This drayavin—the winged woman—was clearly intelligent, as smart as a person. And she reported to someone else who had sent her here as part of a larger plan.

The serpent—Demetros—was a tier three like Ros. And if it was trusted to take part in a larger campaign, and charged with holding the rear gate, it was probably intelligent, too. It wasn’t an animalistic, instinct-driven monster like the sort that Goldbounty always lived in fear of.

And just because I brought back the spirit of the queen doesn’t mean she’s my ally, Isen thought, his chest heavy. All she cared about was saving Shevenar, which was fine—that aligned with keeping me, and the other elves, alive.

Assuming the tier threes didn’t actively notice him and strike him down before he could speak, Isen was, somehow, the one individual who could influence the end of this conflict. If he revealed that Demetros was dead, he thought the black-armored warrior would refuse the offer of surrender and hunt the winged woman down. In the meantime, the drayavin would continue to ravage the city, hunting the civilians within.

If Isen didn’t speak, the warrior would likely choose to surrender, assuming he had no other options. And if he surrendered, the drayavin woman would call off the attack. Assuming she’s telling the truth, Isen thought. He didn’t know if the lesser drayavin could be controlled so easily, or if the woman was trustworthy.

Once again, his lack of knowledge—he’d never heard of elves or drayavin before today—was slapping him in the face.

He ultimately couldn’t tell which decision would save more lives, not at this juncture. So he considered another angle.

What will I gain by staying silent? he asked himself. Nothing. Maybe the tier three guard will surrender, maybe he won’t. But I surely won’t gain the favor of the drayavin woman. At best, I’ll be allowed to escape with my life.

But if I reveal the serpent’s death… I may gain favor with the elves. After all, by helping to kill Demetros, I’ll have significantly contributed to victory over the invaders. That particular contribution won’t go away if I stay silent here, but if my speaking up now averts a surrender…

Gaining acclaim had been the least of his concerns in Goldbounty, but if he really wanted to continue advancing and save Ros, he required resources. He needed to go to a large city like Eldrassin and outfit himself in proper gear before braving the depths again on his own. Maybe even recruit others to help him, or perhaps purchase training from experts.

As a “minor,” as Talis had put it, Isen got the sense that he’d be prevented from moving independently. But if he proved his worth here, perhaps he’d be afforded the freedom he desired.

After considering his options as thoroughly as he dared in such perilous circumstances, he spoke.

“The rear gate is free,” he said, his voice softer than he intended, his vocal muscles suppressed by the two murderous intents. Neither tier three moved, but Isen felt their focus shift to him, the sense of suppression heightening. “Demetros—”

Suddenly, the woman made as though to silence him, clawing the air and forming an attack much like the serpent had with its tail. Before the wind blades could reach him, the black-armored guard interceded, spinning his spear shaft in a circle and generating a whirl of power that dissipated the claw strike.

Isen continued, feeling oddly calm, like he was in the eye of a tornado, surrounded by destructive chaos yet separate from it. “—is dead.”

The man’s killing intent soared, and he lunged toward the woman, who sent Isen a hateful glare before pumping her wings and propelling herself upwards toward the wall.

Isen thought the response was a bit ironic. The man had no reason to believe him, but the woman didn’t know that. It was the mutant woman’s reaction—trying to silence Isen when she heard him mention Demetros—that gave his claim credence. And then, the way she retreated when the man attacked… it revealed her true position.

She knew that the tier three snake was dead, Isen realized. She was always bluffing.

And suddenly, Isen was isolated on the battlefield by the gate, the tier threes gone, surrounded by clashing tier two guards and drayavin.

He knew he needed to move—needed to fight. If he stayed rooted, alone, drayavin would surround him and end him. So he ran toward the heart of the conflict.

His aim wasn’t to seek protection among the guards. No—he sought one of their fallen comrades. He found a ruined corpse, its head crushed to a pulp. Next to it lay a spear that was in decent condition, bloodstained but intact. Isen grabbed it and immediately felt more secure in his survival.

He limped toward the guards positioned around the gate and stood on the side, where the line ended. A lizard-like drayavin ducked under the spear of an exhausted guard and broke free of the line, its gaze fixed on the greater city. Before an arrow could pick it off, Isen stabbed it through the neck, cutting up into the base of its skull.

The drayavin collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

The guards didn’t afford him any attention after the first kill, or even after the fifth. But as the minutes wore on and the drayavin numbers started to decline, the guards gave him questioning, but assured looks. The kind of looks they spared one another as they whittled down the mutant foe.

When the black-armored man returned, his arm limp at his side, and the winged mutant woman nowhere in sight, the guards cheered uproariously.

Isen soon learned why.

The tier three guard smashed down and, with movements that appeared little more than blur, killed each drayavin threat near the gate, his spear unstoppable.

The elves had won.

Isen wasn’t the only one to stagger as exhaustion finally let itself be known. But he was the only one to be scooped up by the tier three. Before Isen could even register what was happening, the man hoisted him up, literally launching Isen a few feet into the air so that he fell onto the man’s back. Isen instinctively wrapped his arms around the man’s armored neck just as he jumped. He soared halfway up to the wall, then began to run up it, clearing the rest of the way with four steps.

Upon reaching the top of the wall, the archers who remained faced their superior. One spoke something in elvish. The black-armored warrior shouted a command back. Since he still had a full helmet on, it sounded tinny. His subordinates turned and bounded down, using ropes Isen hadn’t even noticed to quickly slide to the ground.

Soon, Isen and the warrior were the only ones on the wall. The armored man stood stiffly and surveyed the half-ruined town. He coughed, then drummed his fingers against his chest plate. “I hope it looks worse than it is.”