Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

Named for the great sea serpent which had once dwelled in the bay, Mibrey had grown from a small town with one pier into the most important port in the land. Tons of cargo passed to and from its many docks. Mibrey was governed by a small council of merchants who had made their fortunes trading and hauling cargo. The city was protected on two sides by the walls of the ancient caldera that had formed the area. A huge wall with a massive gate formed the remaining side.

Robilar reined in his horse and stared down at the bustling seaport. A sea salt breeze tossed his brown hair across his face. ‘Even from up here, I can hear the pounding of the waves against Slayer Rock. Then again, this place has grown a lot in the last forty years. Is it even still called that? I hope so.’

Slayer Rock had been given its name when the adventuring party who’d founded the town stood on it to battle Mibrey the sea serpent and won.

‘I wonder if that… woman is still here.’ He scratched his knee through his buckskin pants and then nudged his horse into a canter as sea birds cried above him. ‘Never mind her. I have more important business than old dalliances to deal with.’

###

He pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted, stunned by the ebon-haired beauty before him. Her flawless ivory skin contrasted starkly with both her tresses and her scarlet lips. An onyx stone sat in the hilt of a sword strapped to her back, angled high over her left shoulder, in easy reach of her hand. Her hair hung over her shoulders and dropped to either side of generous breasts barely covered by an odd top which ended just beneath them, and revealed her cleavage.

Her long, lean torso was exposed, showing off the outline of her abs that didn’t quite make a six-pack. Her pants, the same shade as her hair, were slung low enough to show the tops of her hips, and held in place by a winged skull belt. He flicked his eyes back to the cross guard of the sword. ‘Yep. Same as her belt buckle.’

He bowed. “Greetings. I am Robilar —”

“Blackweave. I know who you are, Chronomancer.”

He put his hands on his hips. “You have an advantage over me, Miss…?”

“You may call me Drake.”

His eyes travelled over her small frame, looking beyond the physical. He then shook his head. “You’re not of dragon blood.”

“I never claimed to be. Drake is the name I gave you.”

“Alright. Who are you, Drake, and what do you want?”

“I’m a bodyguard, and I’m here to meet you on behalf of the Court of Blood.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Nonetheless, they have heard of you.” She folded her arms under her breasts. “They require a favor of you before they grant your request.”

He paused. ‘She’s used to using her attractiveness as a distraction. Though her arms are folded, her left hand is subtly positioned closer to her sword, and her stance is widened. She’s also made sure to turn a bit more side on to present a smaller profile, like a duelist. Her movements are almost imperceptible. I think I like her.’

“What request? I’ve not made one.”

“You’re going to request shipments of seawater on behalf of Queen Adora for her new Mer allies.”

Head cocked to the side, Robilar narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this?” ‘Something isn’t right, here.’

She shrugged. “The Court of Blood knows all.”

He raised his hand and the world paused. The air itself seemed to solidify. Birds hung motionless in the sky, their wings frozen mid-beat. The dust kicked up by his boots lingered in the air as though suspended in a glass jar. Even the faint rustle of the leaves had stopped, leaving only a peaceful, calming and weighty silence.

As he walked around her, he ran his fingers through his hair. “What the hell is this ‘Court of Blood,’ how do they know so much about me this woman is able to recognize me without us ever meeting?” He stopped in front of her leaned closer, staring deeply into her ebony eyes. “This incredibly beautiful woman.” ‘Why does she remind me so much of Tiffany? It’s almost like her appearance and mannerisms were designed for this meeting.’

Her eyebrows went up. “Why thank you. You’re rather handsome yourself.”

Robilar leaped back with a yell, drawing his sword. A rush of ice hit the pit of his stomach.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Blackweave?” She gave him a small smirk.

Adrenaline dumped into his body, giving his hands a subtle tremble. “How the fuck are you moving and talking? I froze time.” His muscles tensed, ready to strike.

She tapped her buckle. “This allows me to ignore your magic.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. His ancestors had created them to aid in their war against the Time Gods. “Your masters toy with dangerous things.” His voice was soft.

The young woman smiled, enjoying his discomfiture. “They don’t ‘toy’ with anything unless they know all about it.”

“Just be careful with that artifact, Child. It can cause great harm.” ‘How did they get hold of a Goldrine artifact? I thought I hid all of them. Either someone discovered my sanctuary – scary thought by itself – or I missed some. Either way, I can’t let her, or her masters, know I’m going to be watching her carefully.’

She smirked again. ‘“Child’? I’m four hundred years old. That removes me from that category.”

“Four hundred, huh?” He sheathed his sword, but kept his hand on the hilt. “I wish I could remember being that young.”

With a flick of his wrist, the world groaned back to life. The breeze hit him first, tugging at his cloak as the sound of birdsong slowly filled the air, as if the world were waking from a deep slumber. She gazed around at their surroundings with a slow shake of her head, eyes wide. She took a step back, as she stiffened. Her hand moved to her sword’s hilt before she paused, and returned her attention to him, face schooled into blankness.

He ducked his head so she wouldn’t see his smile. ‘I caught that, young lady. You were awed by my power.’ He glanced up, nonchalant and caught her glanced up at the sky to the birds flying past.

“‘That young?’” She narrowed her eyes as she tilted her head. ‘I can’t let him realize I’d been surprised by what temporal power in action looks like.’ She took a breath before continuing her question. “Are you saying you’re a lot older than that?”

‘Hmm. The Court doesn’t appear to know everything about me. Or else, they simply didn’t tell her. That’s useful. I might need that advantage later.’ He nodded. “Several tens of thousands of years older.” He waved his hand, allowing time to flow forward once more. “What is this favor your Court of - Blood, is it? - wants?”

“Drago the Clanless is searching for the Lamp of Allah-ad-Din. They want us to make sure he doesn’t get it.”

His eyebrows drew together as he bit his lip. ‘Fuck. That artifact is in this dimension? And this organization knows about it?’

“By ‘us,’ I’m guessing they want you to accompany me.”

She nodded. “They do.”

He wiped his hand over his face as he sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.” He picked up the horse’s reins and faced her again. ‘I’m going to keep her close, and try to tease more information from her about her Court of Blood. And if they really understand the danger of an artifact that can warp reality.’

She blinked. “Just like that? No questions about what the lamp is? No complaining?”

Robilar gave her a half smile. “Just like that. I know what the lamp is. I’m too old to complain to no point.”

“Oh.” She fell in beside him.

“What’s your real name?”

“Erna.”

“Battling to the death is serious business, huh? Kind of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”

“What?”

“Your name. It means ‘battle to the death,’ and ‘serious business.’ So, I combined the meanings to make a joke.”

“Oh. Heh heh.”

He chuckled. “You need to work on your fake laugh, Erna. That was terrible.”

“Pssh. That was a great fake laugh.”

“Nope. I wasn’t convinced.”

“Not only were you convinced, but you felt good because you got the pretty girl to laugh.”

He snorted and dodged out of the way of a group of children racing after another. Neat rows of houses lined the thoroughfare. Past the first intersection, he spotted the massive and ornate buildings of the local guilds. A massive hammer and anvil denoted the smith guild while a book surrounded by ever changing flames hovered outside the mage guild. A two story sign written in every known language showed him where the scriveners were located. On the other side of the jewelers’ guild, - revealed by the shiny gold-plated door with glass baubles around the knob – was the market place.

Awash with color, numerous shops and tents filled the wide plaza. Barkers called to potential customers as the air brought the scents of sizzling meats and different flowery perfumes. A man in a plain brown robe draped a cloth over his hand and whipped it away with a flourish and a bow, displaying a bouquet of wildflowers.

“Flowers for your lady, Sir?”

Robilar glanced over to Erna. “You’re my lady now?”

She shrugged. “Will saying yes get me flowers?”

“No.”

“Tsk. You suck at flirting.”

He was saved from answering by their arrival at the council hall. Finely dressed men and women scurried about, intent on their travels while nobles sauntered up with their retinues. The main building was an impressive edifice with statuary and inscriptions abounding. Trees grew in perfect rows between stately windows and surrounded by a well-manicured lawn.

Wide marble steps rose to twelve foot wide doors guarded by soldiers in heavy plate mail which shone in the cloudy afternoon sun. Both men stood with one hand on pikes seated at forty-five degree angles and their opposite hands tucked behind their backs.

As Robilar climbed the steps, a hooded woman in emerald robes trimmed in white embroidery walked out of the doors. She waited with her hands clasped before her.

He paused a couple of steps below where she stood. “Robilar Blackweave on behalf of Queen Adora to see the Mibrey Council.”

She nodded. “We know. We are Wizard Sixth Class, Kätharina Unruhestifter.”

Robilar covered his mouth in an attempt to smother his laughter, but it escaped anyway. When Wizard Kätharina raised her right eyebrow, he shook his head. ‘“Pure Troublemaker?’ Is that really your name, or did you have to adopt it?”

As she glared, Erna tapped his elbow. He turned to her.

“No antagonizing wizards, Robilar. It’s bad form. Apologize, ask her forgiveness and make the arrangements.”

“Spoilsport.” He returned his attention to the wizard. “Wizard Sixth Class, Kätharina Unruhestifter, I Robilar Blackweave, Chronomancer and Right Hand of the Walker of Worlds, do humbly beg your forgiveness for my rudeness.”

Kätharina’s eyes widened. “You know the Walker of Worlds?”

“I’m also a Chronomancer.”

“May we travel with you? We’d love to meet him.”

Robilar rolled his eyes at her gushing. He threw his hands up as he shrugged. “Sure, why not. It’s not like I’m here to do anything other than pick up Carter Blake’s fangirls.”

Kätharina clapped her hands. “Yay!”

He turned back to Erna. “You see what you’ve done?”

“Don’t blame me. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Fine. We’ll blame Carter.”

“Agreed.”

“Hey, no blaming Carter for anything!”

He looked back at her. “What about what he does, Kätharina?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Not even then.”

“Fucking fangirls.”

Kätharina flicked her eyes back and forth between them. “Did you rehearse that chorus?”

“No, though that would have been fun,” Erna said with a snicker.

“Alright, ladies. Enough joking around. I have an important mission.”

“Oh, right.” Kätharina raised her hand, palm up and a yellow flame danced above it. Within the fire were the shadowy images of the Council.

“Lord Robilar,” said a distinctly feminine voice, “where is the water to be delivered?”

“Queen Adora’s army. It’s encamped just outside of the remnants of Rivorei.”

“Thank you, Councilor.”

“Will you be off to retrieve the Lamp for us?”

“For you?” He placed his hands on his hips. “That’s a new wrinkle. I thought you merely wanted me to prevent Drago from getting his hands on it.”

“If we have it, Drago cannot, correct?”

Robilar nodded. “Fair point. Where’s the last place you head of it being?”

“Rumors put it as being in the dungeons of Castle Stormhome.”

“Ah. Lovely.”

“You have heard of it?”

“I don’t know of many who haven’t.” He scratched his cheek. “It is considered the most dangerous place in the Realm.” ‘It’s also not far from my ancestral homeland, a place I’m reluctant to go back to. I don’t need to relive the war in my memories any more than I do nightly.’

“If you have need of any supplies, feel free to take what you need from the mage’s guild.”

“Thank you, milady.”

Kätharina closed her hand and the flame vanished. “To the guildhall, then?”

“To the stables.” He turned with a wave for the ladies to follow him. “You need horses.”

###

Castle Stormhome stood at the foot of the Bleak Hills fifty miles from Victory Keep, ancient home of the Orwen clan. It was a crumbling monument to madness, rumored to be filled with treasure and halls laden with traps. The archmage who built it vanished without a trace four thousand years ago along with her husband, family, and all in her household. The castle – otherwise untouched by time – served as a tempting task for treasure hunters, adventurers and would be-rulers ever since.

Robilar looked down at the imposing building with foreboding. Few who entered the palace returned.

Kätharina watched Robilar’s broad shoulders stiffen as he stared down at Castle Stormhome. The wind, cold and sharp, tugged at their cloaks, stirring the heavy air that smelled faintly of damp stone and rusted metal.

The mage drew her horse up next to him. “What’s wrong, Robilar?”

“I lost friends in there, Kätharina.” His grip on the reins tightened, the creak of leather barely audible over the low moan of the wind.

Kätharina stared at Robilar, her curiosity tempered by a rare moment of restraint. She saw the weight in his posture, a man bracing against memories that threatened to resurface. The castle’s looming presence seemed to press against him, as if the stones themselves whispered of the past. She wasn’t close enough to ask for details, but she knew loss when she saw it. She touched his arm. “I am sorry. Was it… recent?”

“Thanks.” He gave a chuckle that faded into a sigh. His jaw clenched, eyes dark and distant. Kätharina’s hand hovered near his arm, but she drew back. The silence between them thickened, even the birds had gone quiet. Robilar’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, before he finally exhaled—a sound more like a sigh than relief, as though even breathing was a reminder of those who couldn’t. “No, not from your perspective.”

A bug zipped near her face and she waved it away. “What do you mean?” She raised her eyebrows as she leaned closer to him. The desire to know more was palatable.

“Fifty years is a long time ago to you, but for me, it was practically yesterday.”

She straightened. “How so?”

“Some things aren’t worth revisiting,” he said softly, the words disappearing into the air as quickly as they left his lips.

Erna rode up, catching the last few words. “He’s thousands of years old, girl.”

Kätharina turned, stunned, then back to Robilar, the weight of his age settling alongside the shadow of the castle. ‘Thousands of years? And grief still hits him like this? His life must be full of agony.’

He nodded and clicked his tongue at his horse, sending the animal into motion once more, guiding it down the path to the forbidding castle.

###

The demon’s garden was in full bloom on the castle’s parapet. Fleshy limbs, devoid of mark or characteristic danced under the midday sun. No thought, or soul remained to these mindless creatures. Their animus had been ripped from them to power their master’s fell magic.

Unclean, oily water lay on the ground underfoot. Ebony fur, a lion’s mane and a kingly bearing marked the being watching the three approach. A telepathic call went out, rousing the thin skinned warrior seated beside him in deep sleep.

Glowing green eyes opened, revealing hollow sockets and skin stretched taut over the bone just beneath. The warrior grinned, revealing needle sharp teeth as a bony hand tightened on the haft of a war hammer.

###

Not even the least glimmer of light escaped the castle’s black windows. Broken battlements sketched a ragged line across the sky, as damp gusts swept through, carrying the sharp, earthy scent of incoming rain. The wind pressed cold moisture into their clothes, making the air feel heavy and clammy. Lightening flashed overhead, jagged spikes reaching down to Castle Stormhome’s crumbling battlements.

Erna shivered as a creeping chill settled over them, the kind that warned of rain soon to fall, thickening the mist that swirled up from the valley to their left. “I can almost feel the evil that lurks within.” She glanced to her left. “Kätharina, are you certain the Lamp of Allah-ah-din is in there?”

“That is what the Mibrey Council said.” Shifting her attention to the path they’d taken down the plateau, Kätharina said, “I’m glad we’re finally down that road. I hate heights.”

“‘I?’ What happened to the ‘We’?”

“Oh, that’s just the formal way the Council speaks. Since I’m away from there, I can talk like normal folks.”

“Hunh. You seemed more regal when talking the formal way. More memorable.”

“Hey, Robilar, are you going to allow her to talk to me this way?”

Silence was the only response from the Chronomancer. They looked over to him to see his attention was riveted on the castle. Almost unwillingly, they, too, turned their attentions to it. A blot of night detached itself from one of the towers and moved out onto a walkway. Lightening flashed again, showing the shadowed form of a humanoid, staring down at them. Sepulchral wind moaned up from the valley, sounding like the howls of the damned.

“Who is that?” Erna said.

“You mean, ‘What is that,’” Robilar said in a voice that frosted the air. “That was once one of my companions. She’s now a vampire thanks to the former lord of this castle.”

Kätharina took in the tension radiating from his body and stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry, Robilar.”

It was a long time ago. The Anila I lost is long dead.” ‘And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone back to my previous self, she’d still be alive.’

“Robilar, it sounds like this Anila meant a lot to you… Was she someone you loved?” Her voice was soft.

“Drop it, Erna.”

###

Her eyes, burning with an unquenchable thirst, took in the clouds, plateau and the three people below. She placed a hand over her long still heart and muttered a name, as a promise, or a curse. “Robilar.” The decayed mass almost twitched at the once beloved word.

Anila grimaced, and her sharp canines promised mayhem. A bitter wind blew leaves around her, billowing her fur lined cape.

Another flash of lightening from the storm’s underbelly lit up her angular features. Her muscular features revealed someone long accustomed to wielding absolute authority. On her face was no pity, or mercy.

Her eyes narrowed as she spied the rapidly approaching wagon. [Slow. Do not overtake Robilar and his companions.] Her telepathic command was immediately obeyed. The skeleton horses were reined in by her spawn. It wouldn’t do for him to discover the wagon’s contents so soon. The wagon’s dark cargo shifted under the tarps.

She gave a hideous smile. Soon, he and his friends would enter her castle. Soon, she would deal with them. Personally. She knew why they were here. Knew what they sought and why. And relished what would be their ultimate fate.

###

A wolf howled in the distance. Robilar shook off the old memories. They’d interfere with the mission. “Let’s go, ladies. Don’t want to keep the rulers of this castle waiting.”

“Robilar, is there something you’re not telling us?”

He flashed them a humorless grin over his shoulder. “Yes.” He then grasped a long iron handle and pulled the massive wooden door open. The hinges squealed with unused and rust. Dust sifted down from overhead.

Erna shrugged at Kätharina and followed him inside. The ladies paused behind Robilar as he waved his hands before him. Kätharina peered around at the small area they were in. The room was illuminated by flickers of fire in the mouths of six coiled serpents which formed archways branching off into different sections to the east, west and north. Their mouths sent the light towards them, cloaking the rooms behind in darkness.

Robilar reached into the air in front of him. Kätharina gasped as his arm up to the mid-forearm vanished. He tugged on something and reverently pulled a sheathed sword out of… somewhere. The hilt was obsidian with a sapphire gem in the pommel. He unsheathed the weapon, revealing a broad-bladed longsword with a series of wicked barbs along its lower third. The metal of it had been infused with some substance that gave it a bluish tinge, except for elven runes inlaid with alchemical silver.

“Wuh-what is that?”

“This is ‘Sǐwáng de shǐzhě,’ or ‘Deathbringer’ in Celestial. I… um… ‘borrowed’ it from someone who forged it to attempt to kill the Walker of Worlds.”

“They want to kill Carter?” Kätharina’s voice went higher.

“No. This was intended for two Walkers ago.”

Kätharina scratched her head. “I’m confused.”

“Yeah, me, too, Robilar. I thought there was only one Walker.”

Robilar chuckled. “Carter is merely the latest in a long line.”

“Really?” Erna put her hands on her hips. “How many have there been?”

“Ten.” He sheathed the sword after giving it a twirl and buckled it to his waist. “Let’s go get that lamp.”

He picked up a length of wood from the floor, lit it in the fire, and led the way forward. Cobwebs hung from dust covered columns running up to the vaulted ceiling. Stone gargoyles snarled from their perches around the edges of a balcony running the length of the room about twenty feet from the floor. Cracked and faded frescoes adorned the walls, nearly obliterated by the centuries of neglect and decay. Two great bronze doors stood closed at the opposite end of the room. To their right, a wide stairway wound up into the darkness. A narrow hallway extended to their left.

“Okay, Erna, which way do you want to go?” He turned to her when she didn’t answer him, and found her staring, transfixed, at the hallway opening. “Erna?” He poked her, causing her to jump with a small scream. “What did you see?”

“I-I didn’t see anything, but I heard someone telling me that you would abandon us after stabbing me in the back with that sword.”

He rubbed his chin. “Seems like Castle Stormhome is up to its old tricks.”

“W-what does that mean?”

Occasional flashes of lightening spilled into the room through the jagged glass and tarnished copper frames of the large window in the wall opposite of where they stood. Otherwise, the room stood in oppressive shadowy darkness barely pierced by the pitiful light of their lone torch. A chill breeze danced over their exposed flesh, raising goosebumps. Hundreds of dusty cobwebs hid the ceiling from view. At the far end of the hall, a huge throne sat on a raised platform with its back to the room. The three separated to explore.

“Stormhome may be stone, but malevolence has filled it for millennia. It is almost alive.”

Erna gulped as her heart continued to race. ‘Just what I needed to hear.’ She suppressed a shiver and wandered to a collapsed doorway which partially barred the way up. When Robilar raised the torch to examine something on the other side of the room, an answering flicker came from the wall to her immediate left. Closer examination revealed a dust fogged mirror. She wiped away some of the dust and straightened her hair a little. ‘Wait a second. Did I see that right?’

Erna raised her hand again, and waved. Sure enough, her reflection was delayed by a split second, as if it had to wait to see what she’d do. She leaned closer, fascinated in spite of herself. Her reflection shifted slowly, the skin sagging into gray hollows, until the face staring back at her was no longer hers—just a decayed corpse, lips peeled back over rotted teeth.

She screamed and leaped back, hand over her heart. At the same time, her reflection gradually reverted to its original state.

The others hurried over at her outburst. As Robilar comforted her, Kätharina ignored them and examined the mirror herself. Seeing nothing amiss, she turned and said, “Erna —,” a movement out of the corner of her eye caused her to stop and whip back around to the mirror. Again, nothing was amiss. Kätharina hugged her arms tighter, trying to fight the chill creeping up her spine. ‘That’s weird.’

Robilar continued to soothe Erna in the mirror’s reflection. When Kätharina blinked, her own image was suddenly attacked from behind. She watched, rooted to the floor as she stared into the mirror, as her reflection died in agony only inches away on the other side of the glass, leaving behind only a blood-splattered surface. Kätharina’s heart leaped into her throat, and she stumbled back, trembling hand gripping her sword hilt as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. She never saw what had attacked her reflection.

“Robilar,” she voice was higher than normal, “Can we get the fuck out of here?” She stared at him, face pale, eyes wide and shocky. “Now?”

He nodded. “Of course. We’ll search - ”

“No.” She shook her head violently. “I want to leave this castle.” Kätharina's voice echoed in the room.

An unfamiliar gravelly voice cut through the air. “Though you entered of your own free will, you may only leave when we allow it.” The harsh words were filled with malevolence.

All whirled to the throne. Short, black fur covered the lean frame of the humanoid with wolf-like features sat there. Long sharp claws peeled spirals of wood from the arms as he glared down at the trio.

“Lucien. Long time no see.”

“Robilar. Why couldn’t you have died like you were supposed to?”

At his cackle, the women turned to stare at him. Erna shivered. ‘That was a creepy laugh from him. Didn’t think he was capable of that sort of thing.’

“I’m a Chronomancer, remember? It’s a lot harder to kill me than merely stabbing me in the kidney.” His brow drew close as he folded his arms over his chest. “Was the lycanthropy worth betraying your brother?”

“Yes. I was no longer as weak as you.”

“Instead, you became a betrayer, and a monster.”

The werewolf lunged to his feet. “You dare call me a monster after all you’ve done?”

“I never harmed children.” Robilar’s voice was nearly a growl.

“Lessons needed to be taught.”

“By all the hells, Lucien, listen to yourself. You’ve justified your atrocities?”

“You abandoned us. Left us to die.”

“After you stabbed me in the back. Me! Your own flesh and blood. After you sold me out to the vampire, Romulous.”

Erna turned to Kätharina mouth agape, and grabbed her upper arms. “Did you hear that? They’re related?” Her voice was a sharp whisper. The other woman responded with a shaky nod.

“You choosing to fight him lead to my family being slaughtered. He confirmed that.” The lycanoid stalked down the stairs to the main floor of the throne room. “How many times did I swear to you that the person responsible for the death of my Lisbeth would die at my hand?”

“Many.” Robilar unfolded his arms and cracked his knuckles. “How many times did I swear to rip your heart out of your chest for your betrayal?”

“I neither know, nor care.”

“You should.”

“And why is that?”

“Because - ” Robilar sheathed his sword – “I have a debt to pay. One that is long overdue.”

The werewolf cackled. “You can’t kill me. I know your weakness.”

“Says you.”

Lucien launched his assault. His claws rocketed to Robilar’s face, but the Chronomancer twisted to the side, allowing the attack to shoot past.

An instant later, the werewolf brought the back of his fist to Robilar’s nose.

He ducked, and the claws whistled through the air.

Lucien struck for his face once more, wrinkled snout baring fangs.

Robilar batted it away with a serene expression.

The werewolf’s left fist came for his chest, and he swatted that away.

A split second later, the right came in with a grunt of effort.

Robilar smacked it down.

The werewolf once more clawed at his head.

He ducked again. And then leaned back, dodging as the werewolf used his momentum to continue the strike.

The werewolf’s claws tore through a stone pillar, sending clouds of powdered rock and stone splinters through the air.

Another punch was dodged to the side.

“Stand still and fight me, coward!” The werewolf’s howl was filled with frustration.

This time, Lucien bought his claws down diagonally to rake the Chronomancer’s chest.

Robilar hopped back, just out of reach.

A lunging strike came for his face yet again.

His own fist to the lycan’s inner shoulder halted that.

Lucien swung his other fist at Robilar.

Robilar countered by crossing his enemy’s arms.

The werewolf responded by kicking at his knee.

He drew it back in a hurry.

Lucien arced his foot around and kicked at Robilar’s stomach.

He hopped back once more, and found himself up against a wooden weapon rack.

A thrusting side kick made him roll to the side as Lucien’s foot shattered the haft of a polearm and the middle of the stand.

Wooden splinters exploded through the air at the impact.