Vaegon rolled to his feet, and saw the horn-helmed warrior bearing down on Mikahl. Like a fleeing deer, he darted through the forest, and circled around them until he had gained Roark’s undefended rear. Mikahl, bloody and grimacing, looked to be about to crumble under the pressing onslaught of the warrior. Mikahl was on his knees, using his forearm to block the press of his own sword, and his whole right side was wet and slick with blood.
Vaegon let his outrage strengthen him and charged forth. He thrust the serrated blade of his pike into Roark’s back with all the strength he could muster. Mikahl felt the surge of Vaegon’s attack jar his raw, exposed arm bone. The front of Roark’s breastplate dented outward from the savage force of the elf’s pike tip. Mikahl instantly felt the huge warrior’s strength ebb, but when he looked up, the red-eyed, undead face showed not the slightest bit of fear or pain. Roark didn’t as much as wince when Vaegon violently jerked the pike blade out of him. When the serrated teeth of Vaegon’s weapon caught on flesh and steel, he did stagger back a step. In that instant, and in a state of utter panic, Mikahl spun out from under Roark and attacked. He brought Ironspike around in a sweeping arc, aiming at the neck. Roark saw the stroke coming, and brought up a steal clad arm to deflect the blow. Had he been a fraction quicker, or had luck been on his side, he might have fully thwarted the pale blue blade. He managed to knock to the swing off course, but not far enough off. Ironspike hit Roark’s head just under the ear, at the jaw. The horned helmet did little to stop the sword. The warrior’s head would have been severed completely, had his armor not tipped the blade up. It didn’t matter though. Roark’s head, though still attached to his body, fell over, at a crazy angle, and hung there. The lower jaw was still attached to his neck, but the rest of the mass hung grotesquely canted. A hard boot from Vaegon, sent the huge warrior tumbling over, and one of the wolves peeled away from the Choska demon’s flank, to worry the head the rest of the way off of the still twitching body.
Mikahl turned towards the Choska. It was reared up and screeching loudly, but facing the others, not him. He surged to his feet, and took two running strides, but it sent icy shocks of pain tearing through his side. He ignored the pain, and drove Ironspike into the demon’s flank, up to its jeweled hilt. For the briefest of moments, he felt his swords magic trying to draw out the demon’s life force, but it just wasn’t strong enough. Had it been, the fight would have been over. The demon’s essence would have been trapped in the blade, like so many others had been before it.
It wasn’t to be though. Ironspike had exhausted all of its magical power, and Mikahl found that he was in serious trouble. He yanked the sword free, but not before the raging Choska spun, and slung him. Mikahl didn’t let go of his sword. He couldn’t let go, no matter what happened next. Loudin had held on, and so would he. He didn’t even let go to use his hands to cushion his tumbling fall.
Urp’s toothy grip broke free of the Choska’s fore leg, and the wolf went slinging away, just as Mikahl had, only Urp didn’t land before crashing into the forest.
Mikahl came down hard on his injured side, but managed to roll with the impact. He ended up on his back, with no air in his lungs whatsoever. He saw the Choska demon’s slavering yellowed teeth coming down at him and tried to scoot away. Hot pain shot through him, from the bottom of his feet up to the base of his skull, as if his nerves and tendons were white hot wires. He was barely able to keep his grip on Ironspike’s hilt. His back was broken, he was sure of it. Even with all of the pain, his legs should have moved, but they didn’t. Terror chilled his blood. All he could do was look on helplessly as those dagger sharp teeth came gnashing down for him.
Vaegon charged, seeing the terrible fate that was about to befall his young kingdom-born friend. Even as he did so, he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to get between the demon and Mikahl. Stopping in mid-stride, he launched his weapon at the Choska demon’s head as if it were a javelin. At the same moment, a flash of white fur leapt onto Mikahl and Grrr’s growl erupted into a peel of savage barking. It all ended with a wet, sickening crunch. Then, from beyond the demon’s bulk, a skittering, crackling boom concussed through the whole forest like a thunderclap.
The trees, the ground, and even the air, shimmered for a moment, like an expanding ring of desert heat exploding outward.