The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 16: Death is the Strength of Mortals

“Saint-speech is by its nature a difficult language. It is the tongue of Seraphs and the Beyond. Spoken not by mouths but by souls. Transfering ideas and concepts in an efficient if alien way. The beings of the Beyond perceive time and information in ways we cannot. Their language reflects this. Missing the articles and conjunctions any mundane language requires.” - Lord-Scholar Reuel’s ‘Celestial Linguistics’

Natalie watched this whole ordeal with mounting terror. With his fire and halberd, she’d been certain Cole would emerge victorious. That hope was quickly dashed after seeing him stabbed and tossed about like a used dish towel. Natalie was no expert on anatomy or violence, but she doubted Cole survived what she just witnessed. Even if he did, much of his body would be broken beyond repair.

With her hatchet clutched to her chest like a child’s blanket, Natalie sat in horrified silence as the Charnel scuttled over to where it had thrown Cole. Its body elongated into a snake-like pile of bones as it moved. The thinner “mouth” of the Charnel slipped into the hole Cole’s body put in the rotten wood. After a second or two of its strange twitchy movement, the Charnel pulled free of the hole with a bloody and ragged Cole. The Charnel’s mouth unfolded into a lamprey mouth of spikes and bite into Cole, his limp form stuck with perhaps a dozen bone-teeth.

Twisting rapidly like some malformed whip, the Charnel spun its head towards the Well, hurling Cole free from its mouth. The Paladin sailed through the air, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. A resounding crack echoed through the painfully silent village center as Cole slammed into the Well’s stone structure. Slumped there, in a slowly growing pool of his own blood, Cole looked dead to the world, or maybe just dead.

For a few terrible moments, the only sound was the unending clatter of bone. As Natalie watched the terrible sight before he, acrid bile filled her throat as a stomach-churning shock hit her. A terrible cold feeling settled in her heart, and different thoughts warred in the young woman’s brain. Raw animal panic screamed for her to run; childlike terror wanted her to curl into a ball and cry, while other madder impulses demanded she help Cole. These battling impulses kept her feet firmly planted and her heart beating like a smith’s hammer. The deadlock was broken as two separate promises echoed in Natalie’s mind. She’d promised Cole she’d run if he died, and she promised her father she’d survive. Natalie needed to run. It was the only sane option she had left.

Backing away from the doorway she’d been watching from, Natalie skulked through the ruined house. Passing through the forgotten remains of someone’s home, she tried not to focus on grime-coated dishes still sitting on a worn table or the mess of tattered threads once a homespun rug. This had once been a home; now, it was a grave marker, a monument to death and loss. Forcing those thoughts from her mind, Natalie snuck out the back door of the house and into the dirty, forgotten streets of Lungu.

The sound of rattling bones pulled Natalie’s attention back towards the village center. The Walking Charnel towered over the ruined buildings, its body stretched out into a spire of shifting bone, at least three stories tall, its grotesque form twitched and shifted, snapping back and forth at random. Natalie stopped mid-stride, surprise and instinctual terror filling her. As she watched, the Charnel collapsed forward. Part falling tree, part avalanche, it crashed into the house she’d just been hiding in. Rotting timbers and worn thatch collapsed under the impact, and the Charnel broke through the roof and into the building.

A moment of irrational anger flared through Natalie. Was it not enough that the remains of Lungu’s people were desecrated? Did the mindless malice that animated those bones also need to destroy what little remained of their memory? Stifling those thoughts, Natalie hurriedly moved away, putting distance between her and the still thrashing Charnel. Now confusion had its turn to rule in place of anger, as she tried to understand why the Charnel was after her. Was the amulet not working? Did it ever work, or was it a stupid attempt by Cole to make her feel safe?

The splintering of wood and chattering of bones pulled Natalie’s focus back to the abandoned house as the Charnel thrashed its way out of the building. A dozen tendrils of bone flailed about, and the Charnel’s body undulated constantly. Now with it closer, Natalie could see faint plumes of smoke still leaking from the Undead and realization clicked into place. It wasn’t trying to find her; the fact it was so close was just a coincidence. The accursed thing was still on fire and trying to put itself out.

Backing away from it, Natalie watched as the Charnel continued its bizarre thrashing dance, slamming its amorphous form into anything it could find. Part of its central mass unfolded, and she could see a knot of skulls shaking and pulling away from the rest of the bones. Forming an outcropping of gyrating skulls in the middle of the thrashing shifting bones. In the middle of the shaking totem was a heavy-browed skull with golden teeth. Teeth that shone even in the bleak cloud-covered sunlight. Natalie stared at the hypnotic yet horrible display, slowly backing away from the monster.

As it thrashed, Natalie realized the smoke issuing from the Charnel was decreasing. It was beating out the fire. She knew it was injured, but not enough to destroy it. Splattered with blood and ash, the Charnel was winning the fight. No, that was wrong. Cole was dead, Natalie was running, and she knew nothing of who pulled the strings in this whole disaster. The Charnel had won, and by extension, so had the Feeder.

That cold, vicious hatred that was new to Natalie returned. It smashed into Natalie like a wave of icy water and drowned her mind in its depths. She’d had an opportunity to avenge her mother, to maybe free Glockmire. An opportunity to be part of an adventure like the Bards told, to start a new life unafraid of the darkness. That opportunity was gone, lost to Natalie, with only hate remaining. In that terrible moment, that cold icy hatred consumed Natalie and drowned out everything else.

With a trembling hand, Natalie raised up her hatchet and threw it at the Charnel with all her strength. She let out a pained screech of hate as the tool spun through the air. The hatchet found its mark with a sharp crack and smashed into one of the skulls. Not the dwarven one she’d been aiming at but still close to it. The Charnel instantly stopped its erratic movements, and Natalie felt the hate drain away. Replaced by one of the few emotions that could triumph over even that level of fury. Raw terror filled her as realization sunk in. She’d not been cognizant of what she was doing before the hatchet was in flight, and now it was far too late to prevent what that pointless act unleashed.

Stumbling back, Natalie stared at the Charnel with wide-eyed terror. Her hands flew to the bone amulet around her neck, and she prayed its power would be enough. Slowly the Charnel started to move again, rattling closer on those horrible insect-like limbs. Natalie had seen Stockings the cat hunt enough times to understand what was happening. The Charnel knew prey was nearby and was searching for her.

Slowly she crept away from the monster, never taking her eyes off it; she managed maybe a dozen steps before learning why walking backward on unfamiliar terrain was ill-advised. Her heel caught on a piece of fallen masonry, and she stumbled backward. Natalie hit the ground hard, letting out a pained cough as the wind was knocked from her. Desperately she told her limbs to move, to pull herself up, and continue running. They didn’t respond as her body focused on sucking in air and throbbing pain. All she managed to do was pull her head off the ground to look up at the approaching Charnel. It was taking its time, scuttling forwards, with its body covering the entire road. Some part of Natalie wondered if it couldn’t see her well, hence why it was spread out; but most of her was busy panicking and trying to move away.

With great effort, Natalie managed to prop herself up on her elbows and start edging away. The Charnel was moving slowly, but so was she, and by merit of its huge size, the Charnel was faster. Natalie wanted to scream in frustration and terror, but her lungs still burned from the impact, and all she could do was glare daggers at the bobbing mass of skulls inching towards her. The hatchet still stuck from one’s front, having cleaved into the bone. A testament to her efforts and why letting hatred run rampant yields only poor results. Hot tears started to form in Natalie’s eyes as she felt the first of the Charnels' boney feelers touch her foot. This was how she was going to die, torn apart by an undead horror as punishment for her crime of wanting a better world. Natalie shut her eyes, hoping that it would be quick.

A shout then echoed through the ruins of Lungu. A deep warcry that turned into words Natalie didn’t recognize. “ MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!”

Standing atop the nearest ruined house was a bloody and grim figure. Cole stood there, soaked in his own blood, one arm hanging limply from his side. Like some War-Seraph from the Book of Miracles, Cole lept off the building and directly onto the Charnel’s skulls.

The first thing Cole felt when he awoke was pain. Which was, as far as he was concerned, a good thing. Pain meant he was alive; pain meant he could do something. Blearily, he blinked away blood from his eyes and tried to take in his surroundings. He was slumped against the well, covered in blood and in considerable pain. Cole tried to move his arms, only one responded. He didn’t know if the unresponsive one was broken, dislocated, or ripped off, and it really didn’t matter to him. His legs both still worked thankfully, and between them and his working arm, Cole pulled himself to his feet.

Once standing, Cole checked himself over, gauging how bad his condition was. A lifetime of injuries made Cole acutely aware of his anatomy, and he quickly determined that his left arm was torn from its socket, most of his ribs were cracked or broken, his skin was just one large bruise, and he was losing blood rapidly from the myriad cuts across his body. Groggy and unsteady on his feet, Cole felt himself smile. He’d been in worse shape before, and with time and perhaps a bit of healing magic, he would be alright. Except he didn’t have time. Something nagged at the back of his mind, screaming that his time was running out. Which to his concussed and light-headed self seemed ridiculous. If Cole had anything, it was time. Isabelle and his God made certain of that.

A tortured scream pushed past the ringing in his ears, and Cole realized why time was short. Natalie was here, and her life was far more fragile than his. Looking around, he spotted his halberd. It wasn’t far away but wouldn’t be practical with one useless arm. So he looked down at his working arm and saw his other weapon. The Spark-Stone was still bound to his palm. Cole looked up and saw the twisted form of the Walking Charnel nearby, and more importantly, his own blood splattered all over it. The pieces of a mad plan came to Cole, and he moved towards the Charnel. It would probably get him killed, but when had that ever stopped him?

Trying to move with anything resembling stealth while in his condition was impossible, so Cole simply hobbled slowly towards the Charnel. A cold tug in his chest told him where Natalie was. The amulet he’d given her made sure of that. Looking around, Cole saw a decrepit house next to the Charnel. He was only going to get one shot at what he intended, and getting as close to the Charnel’s core was key. With it flattened out like it was, attacking from above was his best option.

Reaching the abandoned house, Cole reached up to grip the edge of its roof. With his great height, he could get a good handhold on the small village cottage’s roof. The leverage was enough to make getting his feet onto the nearest window sill possible. And from there, it was simply a painful process of hauling himself up. It was remarkably unpleasant, and Cole left a trail of smeared blood on the wood; but he managed it, pulling himself onto the roof. Sowly getting to his feet, Cole could only pray that the unmaintained thatch would hold his weight. Another pained noise from nearby forced his hand, and Cole crept quickly across the roof. Despite a few plaintiff groans of stressed wood, the roof held, and Cole reached the other side of the building.

The Charnel was badly damaged, and its knot of skulls was exposed. Looking down, Cole felt his heart momentarily stop when he saw Natalie lying on the ground. It started beating again when he saw she was alive.. Moving his focus to the Charnel, Cole felt a cruel grin cover his face. He could finish this.

Cole tried to not let emotion cloud him while in combat. He tried to approach his more violent duties like a puzzle. A problem to be solved through skill and technique. That option was gone. His injuries and the threat to Natalie limited him. He had perhaps one last spell in him. One, he’d been unwittingly prepared for during this entire terrible fight. Cole had covered the Charnel with his blood, and more of it leaked out of him every second. So now, all Cole could do was cast that spell and pray it worked.

Letting out an uncharacteristic roar of determination, Cole leaped off the roof. Shouting the sacred words of Master Time as he fell.

“ MAGNI MORTAE MUNDUS!”

Translated from Saint-Speech, it roughly meant “Death is the Strength of Mortals.” Words that Cole lived by and understood better than almost anyone. He used that oath in place of the usual rhyme he used to focus a spell. The words themselves were not magical but a way of focusing will and power into Magic. Sacred words with the weight of faith behind them would work as well. They would not be much use with a complicated spell, but it would help Cole infuse the last embers of the power Master Time had given him into the Spark-Stone and his blood.

Fire erupted from the Spark-Stone and spread across Cole, following the trails of crimson on his flesh. It burned pure and hot; white fire ignited with faith. Like some falling hammer of divine judgment, Cole crashed into the Walking Charnel. He thrust the Spark-Stone into the knot of skulls and let the flames rise. Every drop of his blood touching the Charnel ignited, turning into splatters of white-hot fire. With his working arm thrust into the mouth of one of the skulls, Cole screamed in a mixture of pain and triumph. He was mostly protected from the flames, but he was also covered in them. A fraction of the heat generated escaped the spell's control, searing Cole’s skin and hair. Yet he held on, willing the fire to burn away the Undead and save Natalie.

The Charnel thrashed and gyrated, but these were its death throes. The faith-touched fire charred bone and burned the magical threads animating it. For an entire minute, the flames burned, consuming the shed blood and animus of the Walking Charnel. The undead horror made one last desperate attempt to remove Cole from its body, but it was pointless. With one final hideous spasm of breaking bones and crackling flames the Charnel collapsed into a smoldering mound of ash and blackened bones.

The Paladin of Death stood atop it, a hand gripped firmly on his prize. Half-delirious with pain and blood-loss, Cole yanked a charred skull free of the remains. Its orbital bone was cracked, and its teeth were melted together, but the skull of Buri, brother of Gurni, was still recognizable.

Unsteadily, Cole wobbled forward, his feet barely finding purchase on the broken bones as he moved to Natalie. For her part, Natalie had managed to scramble a good three meters away from where he’d last seen her and was standing but favoring one foot. Natalie looked at Cole with wide-eyed shock. A mixture of horror, awe, disbelief, and wonder filled her eyes at what she’d just witnessed.

Covered head to toe in ash and filth, cloak destroyed, his clothes barely intact with the last few flickers of white fire dancing in the air around him; Cole looked like the survivor and victor of some primordial war between Gods. Staggering slightly with each step, Cole reached Natalie and collapsed forward. While she’d managed to escape the Charnel’s grip when Cole attacked, Natalie’s ankle was badly bruised, and she was in no shape to catch the falling colossus of Cole. So she took the practical if not particularly polite option and sidestepped Cole.

With a grunt of exhausted pain, Cole hit the ground and lay still. After a moment of silence in a rasping croak, Cole managed to speak. “My apologies for all of this. It could have gone better.”

Natalie could only stare at Cole before she started to laugh. Deep laughter from her core, fueled by the joy of surviving certain death and the sheer absurdity of Cole’s words. She laughed for what felt like an age, and eventually, Natalie fell to the ground next to Cole, landing on her hindquarters and still doubled over in laughter.

A weak cough from Cole refocused Natalie, and she turned to see her companion’s condition. He coughed again, this time a little harder, his chest shook with it, and it took Natalie a moment to realize he was laughing as well. So the two of them sat next to each other, laughing like fools over the joy of being alive.

Eventually, the laughter died down, and Cole rasped. “My bag and the amulet I gave you, could you please bring them to me?”

Natalie complied, getting up and limping over to where Cole left his pack a few houses away. She returned and slipped the amulet from her neck. Finding Cole trying to flip himself onto his back with little success. Gingerly, Natalie approached Cole and helped him. Together they got Cole onto his back, and he let out an exhausted-sounding sigh as he settled. Cole gestured for the amulet, and Natalie slipt it into his hand. He squeezed his hand into a fist, and Natalie heard the bone of the trinket crack, and with it, Cole let out a pleased sounding noise.

A slight cloud of unnatural fog slipped between Cole’s fingers and traveled up his arm and to his head. Cole inhaled the fog with a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. He exhaled nothing but normal air and then started to sit up. Natalie moved to stop him, but he motioned her back with newfound strength. Cole pulled himself to his feet and picked up his pack with still shaky hands. Next to where he had collapsed was the skull of Buri; he picked that up as well with a pained groan and put it in his bag.

Exhausted, in a considerable amount of pain but triumphant, Cole gave Natalie a weak smile before speaking. “The power I reclaimed from the amulet should be enough for us to get to shelter. The arrowhead rock will be a safer place to spend the night than here; let’s go.”

Natalie wanted to argue, Cole seemed to be in no state to travel, and her bruised ankle would slow her down. But as she looked around the abandoned ruins of Lungu and the still smoking remnant of the Walking Charnel, a shiver went up her spine. So Natalie decided to continue doing what had led her into this insane situation and trust Cole.