Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

“Foolish boy.” She smiled. “You’re not going to die. There’s no peace in death.”

“Peace is worse than death,” the mage thought but remained silent.

Seconds ticked by, followed by minutes. Anna’Bre pondered for a while until she came to the solution that, in Ash’s opinion, seemed like the only correct one. The witch waved her hand and the cage exploded in a hail of snow dust. Ash had never liked these theatrical hand gestures. In his opinion, nothing expressed a mage’s feelings and intentions better than a good hit to the ground with a staff. Then again, perhaps he was biased since he couldn’t kill a fly with a wave of his hands even if he tried to.

Ash straightened up; the sound his stiff limbs made as bones cracked back into their place made Anna’Bre grimace. The mage grunted something obscene and blinked away a tear of pain. After sitting in the same position for a week, without food and a handful of melted snow to drink, Ash was an even more pathetic sight than usual. His cheeks were sunken and eyes framed with dark circles, and his skin was so dry that it stuck to the bones of his torso, making it a perfect model for anatomy lessons.

The mage swayed, threatening to collapse, but Anna’Bre supported him just in time. And it was in that brief moment, while the witch was occupied, that Ash felt his chest fill with hope.

He held out his hand and called out to his other half. The staff flared like a dry branch and flew over to its companion. However, it wasn’t faster than Anna’Bre’s reflexes.

The witch’s eyes darkened and she let go of the mage. Ash didn’t have the time to react so he fell face-first to the floor and felt all the air be knocked out of his lungs. He began to wheeze and clutch at his throat and chest.

“Idiot!” Anna’Bre shouted in rage. The chamber was instantly filled with spikes that shout out from the walls, floor, and ceiling. “I offered you myself and my kingdom, and this is how you repay me?!”

“Adventure,” Ash wheezed.

“What?!”

“I prefer adventure to peace!” the mage shouted, lips curling into a mocking smile.

The Word of fire flared, and his heart beat a little faster, and he was finally able to form a small ball of fire and throw it at the witch. Anna’Bre didn’t so much as flinch as she watched the flame die down before reaching her.

“Fool!” A blizzard began to form, swallowing her. “You dare mock me?! The Queen of the Winter Court?!”

The power of her rage was something that Ash had never experienced, not even during his apprenticeship with Hu-Chin.

“Die, you worm!”

She leaned over the mage. Her eyes went from dark to black, like two windows on a moonless winter night. A Word formed in her lungs and crawled up her throat. The echoes of it were already dancing on the tip of her tongue, making both Ash and the walls of Graven’Dor tremble.

If he had his staff, then, perhaps, and only perhaps, he’d be able to resist the power of a Word that could end any mortal being. But the staff, although it wanted to be free, couldn’t escape Anna’Bre’s spell. As much as he’d like to think that he was ready to face death without fear, Ash knew that that wasn’t true.

A scream he thought he’d never be able to produce escaped his throat. He screamed with all the desperation that a person on the verge of death could muster. If he had known that pleading would’ve had an effect, he would’ve prayed to all the Gods, all the demons, and even the Dark ones themselves, but he knew that it was useless.

The Gods wouldn’t descend from the Heavens to save their servant; the spirits wouldn’t answer the call of one of the few mortals that could speak to them; nor would there be anyone among the mortals who would risk their lives to save “a demon in human form.” Now more than ever did Ash know how alone he was in this nameless world.

The first sound that escaped from Anna’Bre’s lips made Ash’s heart stop, and his scream to die in a wheeze. All she needed to sever the connection between Ash’s soul and body was a second. But before that could’ve happened, everything went silent. The blizzard settled and then disappeared, and Anna’Bre’s silhouette could be seen through the thin veil that obscured Ash’s vision.

The witch stared in disbelief at the black arrowtip that had pierced the back of her head and exited through her larynx, slicing through her tongue and breaking her teeth. The adamantium tip glittered menacingly. In less than a moment, another arrow emerged from her throat, then from her heart, and then her stomach.

There were no cries or groans or cursing. Anna’Bre’s eyes widened and then she fell apart like a broken crystal vase.

Alice ran over to her fallen companion, screaming healing spells as she did so. Ash wheezed, his throat hissing like a kettle left alone on the stove for too long.

“Man, you’ve got some healthy set of lungs!” Lari exclaimed, hopping frantically on his right leg while he poked his left ear with his little finger. “I think I’ve gone deaf!”

“Four arrows at a time?” Mary asked.

Tul stuck his chin out with pride and hit his chest with his fist.

The Stumps were fooling around, pretending like they hadn’t just defeated a great fae. In all the history of adventures and adventurers, there were maybe fifty lucky individuals who could boast of such a feat. To kill an immortal is an achievement paid not in gold, but in eternal glory. Then again, this, too, is paid in gold.

“Sss,” Ash croaked.

“What? What is it?” Alice asked, leaning