Chapter 516: end of the invasion
Loriel did not have the leisure to savor her victory. No sooner had the Prime Demon collapsed than the horde, frozen for an instant by the fall of its leader, surged forward again with redoubled fury. They were everywhere, a sea of fangs and claws closing in on her.
She pivoted, her spear tracing a circular arc that decapitated two creatures. A third leaped over the bodies, its forelegs shredding the air. Loriel ducked under the attack, drove her spear into the demon’s body. The creature flew off, struck a group of its fellows, and knocked them over like bowling pins.
But she had no time to catch her breath. A claw slashed her calf. She bit back a cry, spun around, and thrust the shaft of her spear into the attacker’s throat, crushing its trachea with a wet crack. The hot, viscous blood splattered her face.
Another. And another. An endless series. Loriel fought blindly, every movement dictated by instinct, every action a desperate prayer to her burning muscles. Her spear danced, but her arms trembled. Her wounded shoulder screamed with every thrust, and the blood flowed down her arm, making her grip slippery.
She saw a demon with its maw split open to its chest lunging at her. She impaled it, but the creature continued advancing along the spear, its fangs snapping a few centimeters from her face. Loriel spat a curse, released her spear, and drove both fists into the monster’s eye sockets. The creature collapsed, and she retrieved her weapon with a jerky motion.
She backed toward Konstantin, striking to the right, to the left, forward, without respite. Her lungs burned. Her legs threatened to betray her. But she could not stop. She had to hold on.
Meanwhile, Konstantin was elsewhere. His eyes were closed, his lips moving in soundless words. The runes he had traced on the ground shone with an almost unbearable intensity, and their lights rose into the air like columns of bluish fire.
In his hand, the Key of Solomon, a grimoire engraved with symbols that seemed to twist gently, like sleeping serpents. His fingers trembled as he grasped it. He had no more time. Not a second to lose.
He planted the key in the ground at the center of the rune circle and poured all the energy he had left into it. The air tore with a sound of breaking glass and luminous fissures spread from it, racing along the ground like roots of lightning. Konstantin began the mudras.
His fingers assembled into impossible configurations, shapes that had nothing natural about them, angles that made his joints crack. The first mudra: his hands joined, two fingers raised like horns, and the runes around the rift blazed with pure white.
The second mudra: his palms open to the sky, his fingers spread like rays, and a violent wind rose, sucking the corpses and debris toward the rift. The third mudra: his fists striking against each other, thumbs crossed, the rift emitted a low groan, a deep complaint that made the earth vibrate.
The demons around them slowed, as if an invisible force weighed them down. Some stopped, their heads turned toward the sky, their cries turning into howls of terror.
Konstantin had no breath left. But he continued. His fingers intertwined in a fourth mudra, then a fifth, each gesture more complex than the last, then suddenly the rift contracted.
The edges of the breach, which had torn open in a violent spasm, began to throb, to draw closer. Shreds of darkness detached and fell, dissipating before touching the ground. The rumble intensified, became a roar, then a shrill cry, almost human.
Loriel felt the change before she saw it. The demons around her suddenly became more feverish, more desperate. Their attacks lost precision, their movements lost strength. One of them tried to flee, but the white light emanating from the runes froze it, consuming it in a fraction of a second.
She took advantage of this respite to strike harder. Her spear cleaved the air, tore open a chest, shattered a skull. She no longer thought, she acted. Every thrust was a response to a threat, every movement a refusal to die.
The rift closed a notch. The edges touched, then separated, like lips hesitating to seal. Konstantin let out a hoarse cry, his fingers moving in a final mudra, his arms trembling with the effort.
With a thunderous sound, the edges of the breach came together, embraced each other, and a blinding light burst forth. The tear healed, its lines closing like a wound healing in fast motion. The sky, a moment earlier fissured with darkness, became once more a dome of motionless ashes.
The last demons on the battlefield let out howls of despair. Deprived of the rift that fed them, their bodies began to disintegrate, to crumble. Some collapsed like rag dolls. Others burned away, their skins lifting in shreds of smoke.
Loriel brought down her spear on the last one approaching, impaling it with an almost mechanical gesture. She remained frozen for a moment, her spear embedded in the monster’s body, her breathing raw and ragged.
Around her, silence settled. A heavy silence, disturbed only by the crackling of cooling stones and the panting breath of her own lungs.
The ground was strewn with corpses, hundreds of twisted bodies, some still smoking. The smell of blood, burned flesh and sulfur permeated the air, a stench so thick it could be tasted.
Konstantin collapsed to his knees. The Key of Solomon was still in his hand, but it had lost its glow. His arms hung limp, and his head bowed forward.
Loriel pulled her spear from the corpse with a painful effort. Her shoulder wound was still bleeding, and her vision flickered at times. She took a few steps toward Konstantin, stumbling over a severed limb, stopping for a second to avoid falling.
"... Is it over?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Konstantin raised his head. His face was livid, his eyes ringed with black, but a tired, almost incredulous smile stretched his lips.
"Over." he breathed.
He placed the key on the ground and let his hands fall. The rune circle faded gradually, the bluish lights dimming like dying embers.
Loriel stopped in front of him, her spear planted in the ground to lean on it. She looked around: the battlefield, the corpses, the empty sky. The rift had disappeared, leaving behind only a barely visible scar on the horizon, a slight shimmer in the air that would no doubt fade with time.
"Fuck," she murmured.
She sat down heavily beside him, her head turned toward the sky. Her wound throbbed, but she was too exhausted to bandage it. Her fingers, still clenched on her spear, slowly relaxed.