Chapter 9: The Cost of a Spark
Time seemed to slow. Pythios descended upon him, a vortex of shattered pride and raw hatred. The two obsidian brutes, freed from Roric and Orion's harrying attacks, flanked their master, their stone mauls poised to crush Leander to paste. He was utterly exposed, his mind reeling from the strain of severing Pythios's connection to the blight-sac. He had no defense left.
A shield of brilliant, unwavering light flared to life before him. Roric, his face a mask of pain and determination, threw himself into the path of the lead brute. The maul crashed against his shield with a deafening clap of energy, and Roric roared, not in attack, but in sheer, defiant endurance, his boots digging furrows in the earth as he was driven back.
"Get to him!" Roric bellowed, the strain evident in every syllable.
From the side, Orion, bleeding from a gash on his temple, slammed into the second brute with the force of a battering ram. He didn't try to punch through its hide this time. Instead, he wrapped his powerful arms around the demon, his own power reinforcing his muscles, and heaved, wrestling the monstrous creature away from Leander in a grunting, desperate struggle.
This left Leander face-to-face with Pythios.
The Corruptor's elegant features were twisted into a snarl. "You have been a fascinating diversion, Catalyst. But your spark dies here." He raised a hand, and darkness coalesced into a spear of pure void, aimed at Leander's heart.
A whip of searing flame snapped through the air, wrapping around Pythios's wrist. Elpis, her hands blistered and raw, pulled with all her might, her own will against his. The void-spear wavered, its aim deflected. It shot past Leander's shoulder, and the void energy within it didn't just miss; it *unmade* the air where it passed, leaving a temporary, chilling vacuum.
"You will not touch him!" Elpis screamed, her voice raw.
The distraction was all Leander needed. He didn't have the energy for a complex strike. He had one shot. He focused everything that remained in him—not on attacking Pythios's body, but on the core of the demon's power, the font of his arrogance and his connection to Deimos. He remembered the vision of Azhoroth, the all-consuming pride. He shaped his will into a needle, fine and sharp, and thrust it into that same psychic wound in Pythios.
He did not show him fear. He showed him his master's face. He showed him the truth of his place—not as a valued general, but as a disposable tool, a mere instrument of a greater being's spite.
For a fraction of a second, Pythios's rage faltered, replaced by a sliver of doubt, a crack in his invincible arrogance. It was a vulnerability he had never known, and it was agony.
He recoiled with a shriek that was part fury, part shock.
It was the opening Orion needed. With a final, Herculean effort, he lifted the brute he was grappling with and slammed it bodily into its companion, sending both demons stumbling into their master.
The collision broke Pythios's concentration completely. He snarled, his form flickering, the elegant armor seeming to lose its solidity for a moment. He looked from Leander to his struggling guards, to the smoldering ruins of his blight-sac.
"This is not over," he hissed, his voice dripping with a venom that promised a future, far more personal reckoning. "You have won a battle, child. You have only ensured the war will be more painful."
With a final, hate-filled glare, he dissolved into a wisp of shadow, his two brutes following suit, their forms unraveling into the night.
Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by the ragged gasps of the four companions. Orion slumped to his knees, exhausted. Roric let his shield fade, his entire body trembling from the effort. Elpis extinguished her flames and rushed to Leander's side.
"You're bleeding," she said, her voice trembling as she pointed to the blood under his nose.
"It's nothing," Leander whispered, his legs feeling like water. He looked around at his friends—battered, bruised, but alive. They had done it. They had faced a Corruptor and lived. They had broken the siege.
But as he looked at the scorched earth where the blight-sac had been, Pythios's final words echoed in his mind. *You have only ensured the war will be more painful.*
This wasn't a victory. It was an escalation. They had shattered Deimos's favorite toy, and the fallen god would not take it lightly. They had bought Last-Hope time, but they had also drawn the gaze of a truly vengeful god.
The cost of their spark was a fire they might not be able to contain.
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Author's Note:
The immediate threat is over, but the price of victory is a far more dangerous future. The enemy's attention is now fully on Leander and his friends. What form will Deimos's vengeance take?
The stakes continue to rise! Thank you for reading. If you're invested in the story, your support through adding it to your library or leaving a rating is deeply appreciated and helps the story reach more readers.