Draven Ashborne's Arc

Chapter 37 of 17

Draven struck again. His six-powered blade split the black hide and drew a second wound. But Malakorax barely flinched. The primordial was too vast. His arms already ached, and the borrowed light in his steel dimmed with every blow. He landed a third strike near the first. Black blood sprayed. It was not enough. The wound wept but did not reach the core. He could not kill this thing alone. "It's healing faster than you can cut," Aldric said. He watched the wound close at its edges, flat and precise. "You reach the core, or we die here. Simple math." Malakorax's red eyes fixed on Draven. "You are one blade," it said. "I am the first of all things. You cannot reach me." "Then I won't try alone." Draven turned to the five behind him. "I can't do this by myself. Not this time." Seraphina moved first. She raised both hands and pulled the heat from the air. White frost bloomed across Malakorax's shoulder and held the beast still. "Go for the wound you made," she said. "I'll keep it from closing." Celestia stepped beside her. Green light spread from her palms into the split hide. "I will pry it open," she said, her voice steady and clear. "The corruption fights me, but I am older than it fears." The wound tore wider under her light. Aurelius raised his sword and poured gold into Draven's blade. The dull steel flared bright again. "Take my light while it lasts," the paladin said. "Make each strike count for two." Briar pressed her hands to Draven's back. Warm gold ran up his spine and into his tired arms. "Your strength won't run out now," she said softly. "I've got you. Swing." Aldric spoke fast, reading the shape of the wound. "The core sits behind the second cut. Two feet deep. Angle up." Draven set his feet. Frost held the beast. Green light held the wound open. Gold burned in his blade and warmth burned in his arms. He drove the sword in with everything the six had given him. The steel sank past the black hide, past muscle, into the dark heart of the thing. Malakorax screamed. The sound cracked the stone around them. Black blood poured from the wound. The primordial thrashed, then sagged against the broken floor. Its red eyes still burned, but dimmer now. Draven pulled his blade free and staggered back. His companions caught him. The wound in Malakorax gaped open, deep enough to reach the core at last. But the beast still breathed. Its darkness leaked from the cut and pooled across the ground, spreading toward the six. "We reached it," Draven said, breathing hard. "It's not dead. And it's still bleeding into the floor." Malakorax lifted its head. "You opened me," it said. "Now you drown in what pours out."