Chapter 515: Lucian Nubis
The paws of massive white wolves thudded against the snow, leaving deep, crater-like prints in the frozen earth as they cut their way through the blizzard. Their thick fur was rid with frost, and their breath ca out in steaming clouds that instantly vanished into the swirling white. The wind was a relentless predator, tearing at cloaks and whipping hair into stinging lashes across their faces. Each step carried them deeper into Nubis territory, where the air seed colder.
Without warning, the air whistled, then scread. Arrows, hundreds of them, tore through the blizzard like a sudden rain of death. The sky seed to bristle with steel. Before Asher could fully react, a shaft bit into his shoulder with a sickening thud, the force making him grunt, his eyes narrowing in pain. Warm blood began to seep, darkening the white of his cloak.
Sirius roared, an ear-splitting sound, and opened its great maw, spewing a torrent of searing fla that hissed as it cut through the snow-laden air. At the sa ti, Shura, tilted its head to the heavens and summoned forth a storm of its own, bolts of thunderous lightning lanced down, the sky briefly flaring like day. The arrows ignited mid-flight, splintering into ash. In the montary illumination, the blizzard parted just enough to reveal shadowed figures high upon a far-off hill.
“Lucian! We are not here to fight!” Zenas’ voice thundered through the storm, rolling across the frozen landscape with the weight of command. Even over the wind, it carried to the heights. He yanked an arrow from his forearm without so much as a flinch, blood blooming across his sleeve.
The deadly rain ceased. A tense stillness followed, then a single figure began to erge from the white haze. His silhouette was broad and commanding. As he closed the distance, the veil of snow revealed a tall, black-haired man draped in a white-furred coat, the snow clinging to it in crystalline patches. His face was chiseled and harsh, the kind of countenance carved by a lifeti of war, his strong chin frad by a dark horseshoe beard. In his right hand rested a warbow of imposing size, the curve of its horned limbs gleaming faintly. Across his back was a sword, its hilt wrapped in worn leather.
Others followed in his wake, their forms gradually erging from the snow’s concealnt, silent, watchful, ard. Among them, Asher’s gaze locked on a face he knew too well.
Slade.
The mont Slade’s eyes t his, they twisted in recognition and hatred, his lips curling in a grimace. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his blade. Lucian’s sharp gaze flicked to him, catching the shift in his deanor.
“So… he’s the one who killed you.” Lucian’s words ca slow, deliberate, cold as iron left in the snow.
Slade’s jaw clenched, but he gave a single, rigid nod.
“We are not here for this!” Zenas’ voice cut through the growing tension, harsher now, edged with impatience. “I have killed more than my share of Nubis, and so have you. Many of our dead lie because of one another’s hands. But this is not the ti for records or vengeance, or I would not have co with so few n.”
Lucian’s eyes slid to Zorah, his expression self explanatory. “And yet you bring him. The greatest fighter of Ashbourne’s blood besides you, surely that alone is already an army?”
Zorah’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk. “We brought him too.” His gaze shifted toward Asher.
Lucian’s brow arched. ‘What can he do?’ The thought was sharp, skeptical. He could feel the strength in Asher, yes, but strength in the New Age was a shadow compared to the warriors born of the Dark Age. Could this man, barely into his third decade, truly stand among legends?
“Don’t hold anything back,” Zenas said, his tone carrying the weight of both command and challenge.
The change was imdiate. Asher’s right eye ignited with a fierce, molten glow, and his presence surged. Battle-forged will and the mory of countless slain foes poured from him in a tide of raw force. The air thickened, heavy enough to make lungs strain. That pressure alone drove Slade to one knee, his face twisting in shock and fury as he fought to breathe beneath it.
Lucian’s eyes widened, the calm in them breaking for the first ti. “An Awoken One… at thirty? Then how is he dead?”
“I’m not,” Asher replied, his voice steady, unshaken, the glow in his eye unwavering.
“Asher possesses a rare talent,” Zenas explained, his tone now heavy with implication, “one that allows him to pass freely into the spirit realm and more than that, he can bring spirits into the mortal realm.”
The mont those words left him, the air changed. Eyes, dozens of them, shifted toward Asher with a new weight, their stares sharp and assessing. It wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was hunger. Suddenly, he felt less like a man and more like a prize, an untapped gold mine that every Nubis warrior was now asuring with silent, dangerous interest.
“A man who can draw spirits into the mortal realm… Such talent is rare, remarkable,” Lucian said, his voice tinged with intrigue. Yet his gaze slid away from Asher and settled on Zenas, probing. “But why have you brought him here?”
“The Abyss,” Zenas replied simply.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed, the sharp glint of recognition cutting through them. His chest rose with a slow breath, as if inhaling the scent of an old, festering mory. “It’s back,” he said at last, his tone heavy with the weight of an old grudge.
“We’ve found a way to strike first, before they sink their claws into us,” Zenas continued, his voice calm yet edged with resolve. “With warriors from both the mortal and spirit realms fighting side by side, I do not believe we will lose to the Abyss.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Lucian, though it carried no mirth. “I never thought this day would co,” he said, shaking his head faintly. “That I would claw my way back from the dead… only to march once more against the Abyss.” His eyes shifted to Asher, holding them there. “What is that saying? Ah, yes. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. If marching into hell alongside you Ashbournes is what it takes to preserve my house, then so be it.” His voice was steady, but the faintest ember of defiance glimred beneath.
“I assu you’ve already gathered the mortals before setting foot here?”
“I needed to convince you first,” Zenas said, the corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly. “And how else could I do that… without him?” His head inclined toward Asher. “He will return to the mortal realm, while we remain here to deal with the lords of the spirit.”
His voice softened then, he turned fully to face Asher. “I will take it from here. Return to the mortal realm.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)