Page 95 of The Wind Dancer
My partner explained the basics of thaumaturgy to me in the simplest possible terms. So now I at least understood the gist of it. The one conducting the ritual cannot interrupt it, or they would be doomed. And if you disrupted the flow of energy, even the most experienced cultist would find it impossible to maintain the ritual.
Standing up on the Heavenly platform, one could clearly see green flashes where the southern warehouses were. Mistress Lin had kept her end of the bargain. It was time for me to do my part.
The masked men stood in a circle. Twelve of them and one in the center. Each of them stood in a specific place, lines carved directly into the stone connecting them to each other and to the statue. The lines pulsed with pearl-gold flashes of light.
Fouche stood in the center of the circle. His body was covered with tattoos that were in constant motion. He was chanting in some unknown language, and the words echoed across the platform. I couldn’t understand it, but I felt the rhythm.
I crept along the metal ledge, unnoticed. The stone and steel beneath my feet trembled with the sound of invisible drums.
Suddenly, I felt the air vibrate. As if someone had struck a massive gong.
The ritual seemed to be entering a new stage, and I was running out of time. The air was buzzing with distorted essence. It was getting harder to breathe.
A fire broke out in another part of the platform. The combat artifacts surged back into action. Someone screamed. Then another. Someone fell from the tower, breaking through the railing. Everything turned into a blazing hell in just one second.
The Chancellery’s forces were ruthlessly mowing the enemies down. The attacks were perfectly practiced, a sword to the throat, a crossbow bolt through the temple, a faceted blade under the ribs. They were like an unstoppable wave.
Distorted creatures started appearing from the rips in space. A big creature, the same kind as the one that broke through the wall and gave me a chance to escape from Fouche,raised its club with a roar. And then, his head exploded like a watermelon. The sniper had done an excellent job.
One of the cultists raised his hand, but before he could finish what he was saying, his throat was cut. A masked woman, one of Mei Lin’s agents, wiped the dagger on his shoulder and continued on.
The chaos of the battle was in full swing. And I took full advantage of it by attacking from the other side. I leaped and slammed my dagger into the back of the head of a priest, interrupting his chanting.
I jerked it out and moved on to the next priest, who got a crimson slash across his throat. I kept moving.
Blood spilled everywhere. I could hear a scream, but it wasn’t the people; the ritual seemed to be alive. It was tearing and cracking; the altar was shaking.
Fouche turned around. His eyes met mine.
He was smiling. The same smile full of madness and confidence in his superiority he had at the altar.
He raised his hands, and the world seemed to explode.
A wall of flame swept over the platform, scorching the stone. I rolled to the side, covering my head and face. The ends of my hair caught fire, and I quickly put it out.
Fouche was walking toward me. In one hand, he held a long, curved knife that looked like it was made of bone. In the other, he had a corporeal glyph pulsating with distorted essence.
“You’re late, boy,” he hissed. “It has already begun. Blood will only give me more strength. At this point, the ritual is functional on its own. I just have to finish it.”
“Only if you’re still alive.” I raised my daggers. “Let’s fix that.”
Grinning, he attacked.
I managed to fend off the first attack, but not the second. The blade sliced through my shoulder, drawing blood. He was moving too fast and struck from strange angles. It wasn’t human, it was beastly.
Without thinking, I activated the Basic Enhancement; it wasn’t the time to be saving essence.
I dodged and struck. The dagger sank into his flesh like wet planks. He hissed and staggered back. But I stayed close. The other dagger slid in under his ribs. But that wasn’t enough to stop him.
His glyph exploded in my face. The force threw me back, leaving my daggers buried in the bastard. My head rang like a bell. My body wouldn’t respond.
When my vision cleared, he stood over me, raising his blade.
“Obey and stand beside me,” he hissed. “In the name of the Mother, in the name of the master!”
“Fuck you!” I said, and followed up with a few choice street words that were usually accompanied by daggers getting drawn.
Fouche’s eyes turned golden. He growled and lunged at me.
