Smoked
Martel's training took over, and he launched a fire bolt at the attacking spirit flying towards them. The spell struck the shadowy mass in the chest, and the fire seed to beco absorbed by the smoke without inflicting damage.
Both mageknights kept their nerve and struck as soon as their enemy was within range. One sword slashed the creature's right arm, one hamr slamd against its left shoulder.
The weapons slowed down as they passed through, as if travelling through water. Yet as they pulled back, the creature seed as whole as before. In that mont, Martel knew he had made a grave mistake bringing them to this place.
The creature retaliated. Its shadowy arms lashed out, solidifying long enough to slam Maximilian to the side and Eleanor backwards. Both warriors scrambled to get back on their feet; the viscount did so first. As their enemy reached out a limb again, he raised his shield in defence. Yet the arm beca a tendril of smoke, wrapping itself around Maximilian's head. He fell to his knees, gasping without sound. Horrified, Martel realised that the creature was choking his friend to death.
He released a ray of fire, keeping it focused on the monster in the hopes that more intense flas than his first spell would work.
If it caused any hurt, Martel could not tell, but it got the creature's attention. Releasing Maximilian, its red eyes turned towards the fire acolyte and it began hovering towards him.
Eleanor was back on her feet, swiftly swinging her sword. It did not seem to have any effect, but nor did she strike with strength, but rather with speed, keeping the creature occupied. "Keep up your spellwork, it is our only chance!" she yelled.
Martel reached the sa conclusion as her; weapons of steel would not work. But fire did not seem useful either. Hoping this monster had so weaknesses, Martel prepared an elental bolt of water and let loose.
His spell hit, making the terrifying spirit fall back for a mont. Behind, Maximilian had recovered and once more joined in the attack, swinging his hamr wildly.
The creature riposted, once again attacking both mageknights to send them stumbling back. On the verge of panic, Martel felt a burning sensation in his pocket, and he wondered if he had been attacked by a spell. He found it difficult to think or even breathe. Enemies of flesh and blood he could handle, but how to defeat a monster like this?
The spirit approached Eleanor, its arm becoming a tendril once again. Martel could already see how it would suffocate her, and his mind cleared. As it turned out, his fear of watching Eleanor die exceeded any concern about his own mortality.
Running forward to reach both friend and enemy, Martel unleashed another elental bolt. The imbued water struck magical energy against the hovering spirit, and its red eyes moved towards the fire acolyte.
Gathering his power to unleash another spell, Martel knew it would not stop the spirit. It seed to look at him, assessing him, and he figured this was it; his overconfidence had finally taken him too far.
In his pocket, the feeling of sothing burning increased.
The spirit hovered, its form still rolling inwards and outwards like smoke from a fire, but it did not move forward.
Reaching into his robe, Martel pulled out the rune token given to him long ago by Regnar. The previously dull and grey stone now shone with blue light.
"Get behind ," Martel told his companions, holding out the small pebble. Its glow continued to increase, becoming difficult to look at. "Get out!" he yelled.
He heard rather than saw Eleanor and Maximilian obey, retreating down the tunnel from whence they ca. Walking backwards, Martel followed in their footsteps.
***
Once around the nearest corner, all three of them ran. They did not stop until they found themselves out of the catacombs and nearly fell into the stream of sewer water flowing past them. "Keep going," Martel commanded, and they continued with hasty steps. The glow of the rune stone had disappeared, but he summoned a fla to light the path instead.
They only stopped once the sense of sinister magic was gone, leaving just the stench of the surrounding sewers.
"What was that thing?" asked Eleanor, catching her breath.
"No idea, but I prefer enemies I can hit," Maximilian growled.
"Just as importantly, how did you hold it back?" She looked at Martel.
In turn, he looked down at the rune stone in his hand. He saw it was cracked, lines running through the symbols on its surface. "You rember Regnar, the hedge mage? He gave this to for protection. I must say, it served its purpose." Though Martel had a feeling it would not do so again; its magic seed spent. He certainly would not stake his life on it.
"Let us keep moving. I cannot wait to get back above ground," Maximilian said brusquely. He set into motion; after a mont, Eleanor and Martel followed after.
***
The journey through the tunnels felt long and uncomfortable; Martel kept glancing over his shoulder, even if his fla did not provide much light in that direction. Besides, he knew that he would feel the spirit's presence if it approached them; still, he could not help but constantly look. He only breathed easily once they climbed up the hatch and stood on the streets of Morcaster again.
"We are never doing this again," Maximilian declared.
"I do think we misjudged the situation," Eleanor acknowledged. She looked at Martel. "I am sorry. This is beyond us."
"So we tell our teachers?" Martel asked.
"No." Maximilian shook his head vigorously. "They will feel bound to inform the Inquisition, as creatures born of magical deviancy falls under their purview. And the three of us will be permanently linked to this abomination. Do you understand what that would do to my reputation?"
"But we fought the damn creature," the fire acolyte argued.
"Irrelevant. We walked around the catacombs where no decent people would ever go. You yourself said you saw necromancy down there before. And when they ask how three acolytes survived this encounter? They will assu only maleficars could have the powers to do so. And if you ntion your little pebble with Tyrian runes, they will simply add that to their list of suspicions!" Maximilian looked at them both. "I am not risking my future for this, living the rest of my life under the scrutiny of the Inquisition."
"I fear he is right," Eleanor admitted. "They will never permit soone tainted by even the slightest suspicion of maleficus to beco a legate. I am sorry," she repeated, turning her eyes on Martel. "You said the inquisitors already knew to search the sewers for their quarry. They must know about the catacombs as well. We can tell them nothing new."
Martel felt confident that the inquisitors had no idea of the monster that stalked the catacombs, but at the sa ti, he had no desire to be the one informing them. He knew the others were right; the mage hunters would only be suspicious of him as well. With a sigh, he let his shoulders drop. "Let's go ho."
None of them noticed that across the street, a man dressed in a blue uniform narrowed his eyes, looking at the three young wizards leaving the alley.
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