The Chimera Summoner – ch 45 (part 1/2) – Grace Valant, Duelist

Ch 45 - Grace Valant, duelist

Black eyes, and dark lightning.

I surged back to consciousness.

Breath filled my lungs, burning and crackling.

“-her back, or I swear I’ll quit!” A girl was sobbing. “Give her back, or I'll swim to the bottom of the fucking ocean! You won't let me go. Don't you fucking take her away from me. Please. Please please. I can't. I can't do it alone. Please.”

Hera held me and sobbed into my chest, rocking us back and forth as she was racked with shudders.

“Hey.” I whispered.

Hera just squeezed me, burying her face in my cleavage, dampening my shirt with her snot and tears.

“Hera.” I wheezed.

She clung tighter, muttering incoherently into my breasts and she nuzzled herself aggressively into me, totally incoherent.

With a massive effort against her vice-like grip, I groaned: “If you wanted to touch my tits that bad, you could've just asked any time.”

Hera screamed and dropped me. I thumped into the stones as she leapt awkwardly backwards on her knees, tumbling sideways and clutching her chest.

Belatedly, I recalled the methods of moving the damp sack of meat that I called home, once more. Not fast enough to stop my head hitting the ground, though.

The flagstones beneath my head should not be as warm as they were.

It felt like I had my cheek against the side of a volcano that was getting ready to do its best Lucy impression.

Hera’s face was an absolute wreck, and not in the fun, consensual, sexy way. More of an involuntary ugly cry/scared when I come back from the dead kind of way.

“See?” I asked, rubbing my bruised ribs. “That's what it's like. So no more making fun of people for acting like it's weird–”

Hera tackled me, mounted me like a koala and squeezed.

“Easyyyyyyy easy.” I grumbled, from my back. “Big fucking magic soul monster incoming remember?”

“Valant’s on it.” Hera said.

She sounded detached. Shell shocked.

“VALANT’S HERE?!” I demanded. My memories were slowly filtering back. Valant and the others coming through a portal. Carmine, swathed in stolen souls, attacking them like a ghostly hydra of hands and wailing mouths.

Windows opening.

I craned around, feeling normal. The gifted power was gone. Spent. But my soul had lost the cracked feeling. Death must've put me back together well.

“Your hair’s changed!” Hera blinked. “Your EYES have changed!”

She peered closer, her nose nearly touching mine as she went slightly cross eyed examining each of my eyes, twisting like she was looking into a crystal ball.

The majority of the surviving cultists were being rounded up under Marok’s watchful eyes.

Only Carmine and Valant were still in notable combat.

But that was more than enough to shake the whole place to its foundations.

Carmine was swathed in a writhing mass of stolen souls, held together with rows of pale stitches. She had a wild kind of glee on her face as she sent wave after wave of howling, twisted faces at professor Valant, like some profane hydra.

Valant was carving through them doggedly, sweeping her giant broadsword around her in shining arcs to keep the seeking jaws at bay. Step by step, she was wading through the horde towards Carmine.

Both Brawly and Marok were poised on the edges of their fight, but they didn't join.

“Why don't they help her?!” I asked, pushing Hera back from running her fascinated examination of my hair.

Whatever that was, it could wait.

“Valant used her Challenge Skill on Carmine immediately to keep her from killing every non-ascendant in the building,” Brawly answered, without taking her eyes off the battle. “And Carmine chose ‘fight’. So we can't help, and they can't attack anyone else until their duel is over.”

Ah. Valant had seen a dangerous foe in the midst of civilians and weaker Wayfinders, and instantly made it so that the foe could only fight herself.

At the expense of her own backup.

So it would be single combat. Plus, Valant was at least a couple Ascensions higher than Carmine.

I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, and I had a lot of new questions about it, given what both Carmine and the primordials had said.

But regardless, the gaps between those echelons of might could not be small.

I relaxed.

Then two people came running into the throne room. Seela and Bayla!

Marok turned, raising her massive stone sword. Then vanished, reappearing with her arms around Seela in a gust.

Seela finally looked small, cradled in Marok's strong arms. They clung to one another, murmuring swiftly as Marok examined Seela worriedly for harm.

“We need to get out of here, right now!” Bayla announced to the room.

Marok turned. “Explain.” She commanded.

“The Crawling Castle is about to explode. Or melt. Or just turn into an oven. I'm not sure, but none of these are going to be compatible with life for us non-ascendants!”

Fuck.

“How long?” Marok asked.

“Should've already happened!” Bayla yelled. “Let's GO!”

Brawly sprang into action. She raced over to the great windows and with a jaw rattling boom – smashed them open.

Viciously cold northern air rushed in.

“BOATS!” She yelled, waving her arms wildly.

I squinted through the dazzling light. When my eyes adjusted, my mouth fell open.

Outside the window was Bayloft Wayfinder Academy.

Hanging in the air over the great northern plains of Gott.

The three mountains that the school was carved into/suspended between had been plucked from the ground like daisies and flown out north. It hung just under the cloud line.

From the school, skyships were swiftly launching. Long, narrow, single sail vessels carved of a strong red wood that drifted down towards us, leaving ripples in the air like wakes on the sea.

“Holy. Fuck.” I gaped.

I instinctively resummoned my Familiars.

They materialized around Hera and I, looking like I had dragged them directly from hibernation.

“Ten more minutes.” Grumbled Violette, groggily covering her namesake eyes from the light.

Lucy waddled over and rested her head on my shoulder. “Do we have to fight more?” She pouted.

“Loooook!” I insisted.

I knew they were still tired. But I couldn't bear for them to miss this sight.

“Isn't that your university?” Asked Serenity, shading us all with one of her great wings.

“You never mentioned that it was a sky ship.” Lorna murmured, sounding interested.

“It's NOT!” I crowed.

They blinked, uncomprehending, at the obvious falsehood. I felt them probing our bond for verification.

“Principal Maule is a Ninth Ascension stone mover.” Hera clarified. “She must have picked up the school and flown it out to get us.”

Ships started docking at the broken windows.

Bayloft Seniors leapt out looking thirsty for vengeance, and Brawly started barking orders.

Netherim were gathered and guided onto the boats, about thirty each.

Captured cultists went in a separate ship, along with Bernsley to keep an eye on them.

Marok and Seela lingered nearby, with Brawly, watching Grace's fight intently.

It was tricky, as we had to skirt the edges of the room to avoid the steadily escalating duel. Valant seemed to be slowly wearing Carmine down with her slow, defensive style. Carmine was throwing more and more eldritch looking soul creations at her. But Valant methodically carved through them all. She was dancing, her footwork steady and graceful, her sword work elegant and efficient. It was a far cry from the wild pummeling I had delivered with Melody's Nightwish.

Maybe I could beg some sword tutoring from her later!

Angry red cracks were starting to show on the huge flagstones beneath their fight. Steam and smoke rose from them in threatening wisps.

My team, Hera and I were just about to board when the duel went wrong.

Carmine released a forest of spooky hands. More numerous, and bigger than we’d seen. Needle fingers clawed at Valant from all directions, clanking eerily from her sword. In the midst of the chaos, Carmine’s bone needle darted around Valant's twisting sword and pierced her sword arm.

Brawly and Marok both took a step forward, but barely arrested themselves. I knew interfering would break the terms of [challenge] and cripple Valant. And they knew it too.

The great broadsword tumbled.

The needle darted in a pale flash through Valant's other arm, piercing her in a dozen places and looping her arms in the deadly thread.

Carmine laughed.

“The Great Duelist.” She taunted. “You’ll make a fine patch.”

She yanked on the web of threads running from her fingers, and they tore through Valant's arms in a shower of blood and bone.

Her arms fell in pieces.

I lurched, and strong hands arrested me before I even realized I was moving.

Not this. Not now.

Carmine’s soul arms retracted into the folds of her transparent cloak and she opened her hand for her bone needle to return obediently, trailing its sickly wire.

Valant regarded her, on unsteady feet.