Runeblade

B2 Chapter 237: Drake, Finale

B2 Chapter 237: Drake, Finale

Kaius flickered in and out of the world as he charged towards the drake, his brother at his side and a screaming challenge on his lips. It was in a dire state. Half its body had been left paralysed and numb from the smoking canal that Ianmus had bored through its skull, blood poured from a dozen sword and claw wounds, and its back had been scorched until its ribs and spine had been bared to the world.

Reacting to their advance, the drake raked its good arm against the crevasse floor—a boulder ripped itself free of the stone, hurtling straight towards Kaius. Large as a pumpkin, if it landed he would be left shattered and broken.

He didn’t dodge, trusting in the bond he had forged with his brother.

A Prismatic Wall tore across the gully, the thick slab swatting the projectile out of the air like a fly. It shattered against sacred jade, shards of stone shrapnel dousing the surrounding area.

**Ding! Brotherhood of Ichor and Animus has reached level 80!**

…

**Ding! Brotherhood of Ichor and Animus has reached level 82!**

Porkchop roared, pulling the beast’s attention to him with a Bulwark’s Challenge. It snarled, showering his brother in a hail of fine tipped shards. They shattered like glass on Porkchop’s armour—a grunt leaving his chest as jade plates cracked under the force of the impact.

Halfway to the drake, a golden glow settled around Porkchop and himself—the warmth of the sun soothing the burn of his fatigue. His health shot up, capping quickly as Ianmus’s spell restored his reserves.

Kaius risked a glance to his teammate on the ridge, finding Ianmus already locked in focus—the tell tale sign of solar mana infused with the sparking energy of his meta magic roiling around him. The mage started to weave, threads of mana forming another complex geometric sigil centred on the tip of his staff.

Another beam.

Arriving at the drake with another two steps, Kaius ducked under a clumsy swipe of its sword-length claws, before he flashed from his mid-guard into an upwards parry—knocking away a fast moving shard of stone that had been racing for his head.

**Ding! Tempered by Dissonance has reached level 63!**

Stepping through the skin of the world, he halted under the drake’s chest—right where its wagon sized body met its thick neck.

Porkchop unleashed another roar, keeping the drake focused on him as he cracked its jaw with a fast moving wall of jade, rushing in behind the obstruction to claw at its face.

With the beast occupied, Kaius tapped into his Bladerite, feeling another chunk of his stamina bleed into his sword. It was low enough he’d need a restorative soon.

Burning with inner light, Kaius rammed his blade upwards—towards where he knew the beast’s heart to be.

Thin though the scales on its underside may have been, they weren’t weak. A Father’s Gift sunk in a handspan, blood running down the fuller of his sword as a pained growl resonated down its length.

Ripping his weapon free, Kaius forced more stamina through his bound weapon, fire burning on its sigils once more. He rammed his blade home—repeating the action again when his second strike wasn’t enough.

**Ding! Initiates Glyphic Bladerite has reached level 49!**

It sunk to the hilt on his third, a high pressure spray of blood coating him in scarlet. Pivoting through his hips, Kaius punched the side of his hilt with an open palm—levering the tip of his sword deep within the drake’s chest, widening the internal wounds.

**Ding! Liturgical Bladeform: Primus Ordo has reached level 67!**

**Ding! Liturgical Bladeform: Primus Ordo has reached level 68!**

Extracting his sword—dusky glass coated a bright red—Kaius rushed away with the last few steps of his spell. A potion that tasted of grass and a dozen cooked meals washed down his throat—soothing energy refilling his Stamina.

**Ding! You have imbibed a tonic: Restful Splendour**

Porkchop kept the pressure on, carving his way through fire-weakened scales to tear into the delicate flesh beneath. Blood poured from the wound in its heart by the gallon, and the withering damage of their flaming ambush had left it burnt to the bone.

They just needed to play it safe now.

The drake howled—anguish and spite ringing clear through the gloomy half-light. Mana surged within it, and it snapped its head forward in a final burst of vigour. Stone ran like water, moulding to the outside of its jaw—a second set of fangs, imbued and empowered by draconic fury.

Porkchop tapped into his amulet, launching himself straight at the beast. He smashed its jaw shut with a lowered shoulder—jade shattering the weakening drake’s skill like glass. Reeling and stunned, the beast had no recourse as his brother plunged his claws into its eyes—grabbing a firm grip on its sockets.

In an awe-inspiring display of strength, Porkchop reared up on his back legs before he muscled the drake’s head down—snarling as he wrenched it to the side, baring its throat.

Seeing the moment was here, Ianmus acted. His spell, two thirds charged, was cast prematurely. Only a fraction of the might of his previous assault, but still more than potent enough.

With needle fine precision, he threaded his attack into the gaping hole he had bored with his earlier attack—angle adjusted so that it burned straight down the drake’s neck.

Blinding luminance erupted from the flesh of its throat only moments before the lance of light cut straight through into the stone below.

Somehow, its vitality held. The drake was still standing.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Porkchop solved that a moment later—weathering a storm of stone shrapnel as a dozen wounds wept on his undefended flank, he sent a wall of jade straight into the beast’s remaining good leg.

Swept off its feet, it crashed to the ground. A hiss of agony slipped from its throat—blood foaming at the edge.

Kaius flashed to his brother's side, another cast of Slip Step granting him the fleet footing he needed. With the head of the drake pinned, he leapt onto its skull—blade held ready.

**Ding! Latent Glyph of Aelina has reached level 72!**

Rushing to the point of the injury of Ianmus’s first beam, Kaius peered deep into his skull.

A shocking sight—all blackened flesh and ashen bone. He could see now that the drake had only survived by dint of its own lacking intelligence. Its braincase—small and recessed deep in layers of boney defences, had only just been nicked by his teammate’s spell—the deepest defences burnt black, but unbroken.

The lameness it had experienced had been due to residual heat alone.

But scorched bone was brittle.

Another Bladerite filled his sword with vigour, and Kaius plunged it home. Backed by his weight and the full might of his strength, the remnants of the drake’s skull shattered. Two strides of steel and crystal slammed home.

**Ding! Initiate’s Bladerite has reached level 50!**

The drake stiffened, and still didn’t die.

Losing control of more of its body, the drake slashed at Porkchop with a final desperate swing of its claws. Porkchop took it over his spine, grunting as the weight of the heavy hit sank through his armour.

Kaius kicked off, the sudden movement threatening to take his legs out from under him.

Touching the ground, he raced in, carving into the drake’s flesh with cut after cut. Porkchop did the same, his claws tearing strips of muscle and gristle free. With its brain ruined, the beast had lost all control over its body—unable to muster even the slightest defence.

Lances of sunlight rained from above two at a time—invisible to the naked eye as Ianmus shifted them to a more potent form. They were but a candle to his earlier attacks, but they scoured the drake’s body—burning into every wound that had removed its armoured scales.

By the time the drake finally expired, it looked like a week-old corpse—bones exposed from the hungry jaws of questing scavengers.

**Ding! Liturgical Bladeform: Primus Ordo has reached level 69!**

…

**Ding! Liturgical Bladeform: Primus Ordo has reached level 70!**

**Ding! level 107 Lesser Earth Drake - Despot of Stone slain - Experience Gained! Bonus Experience for slaying a foe of Significant Strength!**

**Ding! Runeblade Initiate has reached class level 60!**

**+3 End, Str, & Int, +2 Dex, Wil, +1 Vit, Free - from Class & Racial Traits!**

…

**Ding! Runeblade Initiate has reached class level 74!**

**+3 End, Str, & Int, +2 Dex, Wil, +1 Vit, Free - from Class & Racial Traits!**

**Ding! Class skill available for selection!**

Kaius stood a dozen long-strides back from the slowly cooling beast, quietly reveling in their victory under the flickering light of the burning logs as his heart slowly returned to a normal pace.

Porkchop padded over, sitting beside him as he looked over the battered remains of their slain foe with a concerned eye.

“Something tells me Ro isn’t going to be happy about this.”

Kaius groaned. He didn’t even want to think about it.

…

Ingle’s nerve nearly broke when the dragon had lumbered out of the trees.

But she hadn’t—couldn’t. You didn’t take a job for Grave-eye and not see it through, that was a good way to get your stiff tossed in the gutters.

Pompous maniac he might have been, but he paid well, and life in the city was getting expensive. It was supposed to be an easy job—nothing too distasteful, the bastard had said. Just follow a few delvers, let him know what they got up to, and how strong of a beast they were fighting.

So she’d watched their camp, and followed them into the trees when they’d gone for their final assault. From a good distance, of course—what good was a tracking and surveillance class if you couldn’t find out everything you needed from three leagues away.

She’d scaled a tree—a big one on a hill—and had watched them set up around their little deadfall ambush. A reasonable plan, she thought. They’d definitely prepared for whatever they were planning to do.

Then a fucking drake had lumbered out of the woods.

A dragon. An actual fucking dragon.

It made her reevaluate everything—how dangerous could one criminal be?! By the grace of Kaand and all who took their fate into their own hands, she was Steel! At worst she could flee to another city, no one could handle the wilds like her. Even with all the beasts all it would cost her was a little time.

Then she remembered that small stack of platinum that Grave-eye had placed on his hideous desk.

Just three pieces—but that was enough to get her some new gear. Enough that she could gain a few more levels, and stay on top of this shitstorm of chaos that had fallen on them half a year ago.

Still, she’d readied herself to flee.

A dragon, just barely lower level than she was. Whatever Grave-eye wanted with them, he’d be disappointed, because they were going to get eaten alive.

That kind of threat was for Silver, not a bunch of no names. From what she’d been able to sniff out, they were as green as spring shoots. No way, no way in all the hells would they be surviving this.

What on earth was the guild thinking. It couldn’t be a sanctioned mission—the rumour mill would have been on fire if a dragon had hit the questboard.

They were doomed.

And when they died, she would be stuck in a forest with a pissed off dragon. Even the knowledge there was no possible way it would know she was here, that she would be able to sneak free after the delvers sudden and violent demise, wasn’t enough to make her feel comfortable.

It was only the memory of that silver sheen of three little coins that stayed her hands. Kept her steady as she held onto the gently swaying trunk.

So she waited, and she watched.

And chaos reigned.

Beams that turned night into day, the fury of a storm summoned at a moments notice, and a beast fighting in crystal armour.

The crushing beatdown that the delvers handed out should have steadied her nerves—made her comfortable that the job would be finished soon, with no uncomfortable hiccups to explain to the ill tempered fop playing gangster.

It didn’t.

All Ingle felt was fear.

Fear, when the mage burned the dragon from the inside out.

Fear, when the strange hybrid summoned the might of the Stormlord without a second of channeling—like he was blessed by the god himself.

Fear, when the warbeast wrestled the dragon to the ground—pinning it with strength of arm alone.

Dragonslayers.

Heroes from song. Living myths, with impossible strengths. Power beyond their levels, might beyond reason.

And here she was, about to sell them out for a little coin.