Jarrek just wished he could find away to believe the words himself.
When Mikahl suddenly turned, and pointed his sword at Pael, and let loose a pulsing magical blast, it took the demon-wizard by surprise. The energy hit Pael full in the face, sending him spinning head over boot heels backwards, off the Choska. The winged demon was forced to dive quickly to avoid a collision with Ironspike, or Mikahl’s Bright Horse. Pael righted his tumble and came to a hover in midair. His hands churned with blinding speed the makings of another spell. Mikahl listened to the symphony of the sword, and made ready. It pleased him, and gave him hope, to see blood dripping from the wizard’s nose and mouth.
The streak of white energy that shot from Pael’s hands struck the magical shield before Mikahl, with violent force. Though it brought him or his flaming steed no direct harm, it drove them backwards through the air with tremendous power. When the spell subsided, Mikahl returned the attack, and once again, Pael was caught in a moment of shock.
The demon-wizard couldn’t believe that Mikahl had survived the amount of raw energy he had just released at him. Pael’s own magical shield came up a heartbeat too late, and he found himself being yanked toward the ground, as if by a spring-loaded cable.
The Choska swept by Mikahl so close, that he felt its claws graze across his skin. He twisted, and stabbed at the beast with Ironspike’s white-hot blade, but only found thin air.
Pael somehow undid what the sword had done to him, just before he slammed into the earth. He hesitated there, just above a litter of charred, mangled bodies, trying to gather his composure. The Choska quickly flew around, and under him. Once he was back on it, and situated in a riding position, he twisted, turned, and scanned the skies. To his maddening surprise, the Squire, and the flaming Pegasus were nowhere to be seen.
For the first time, since he had absorbed Shokin’s Power into himself, Pael found that he was concerned, if not a little afraid. He directed the Choska back towards the city, cautiously searching the sky as he went. He spat thick, dark blood from his mouth with disgust, as his eyes darted frantically to and fro. Over there, then below him, he craned his neck, and twisted to see if he was being pursued now. He didn’t like this anymore. He should disappear too, he told himself. He could do that quite effectively, but not just yet. He wanted to make a lasting impression on the battlefield, so that his presence would remain fresh in the mind of the Witch Queen, and every single one of her Blacksword soldiers.
The Choska circled high, and then came down, streaking across the front of the castle. As he passed them, Pael blasted away the huge stained glass depictions that had shown over Xwarda for centuries. Like an explosion of jewels, millions of glittering, but deadly fragments, exploded out across the forest park, into and over Whitten Loch, and out into the inner city, where battle upon battle still raged wildly. Then Pael came around again. The Choska was flying at neck breaking speed. From its back, Pael sent a wicked jet of wizard’s fire out into the park. A huge swathe of trees, turned from green to brown, then to black, before erupting into bluish-green flames. Smoke began to fill the air, and nearly a quarter of the park was ablaze in demon’s fire.
Pael laughed maniacally at the potency of his display, and reveled in the rush of all his demonic power. Already, he had all but forgotten Mikahl and the Bright Horse. It was a costly mistake.
From out of nowhere, Mikahl shot across the Choska’s path. Pael ducked, and let his magical shields protect him. After they passed, it took the wizard a few, long moments to realize that most of the Choska demon’s head was no longer attached to its body. Ironspike had not only decapitated the creature, it had taken its soul.
The body was streaking towards the earth now, on twitching muscle-locked wings, while the head tumbled away in a spray of thick, black blood. Pael, now fully aware of the situation, transported himself away, just before the crash. The lifeless, bat-like hulk, hit the fountain lake in a splashing tumble of wings and claws. It skipped across the water, like a poorly thrown stone, and then crunched to a stop, against the retaining wall, near the swan shelter.
Queen Willa stood speechless, looking down from her tower top, as a cheer rang through her troops, and the dark blood of the winged demon-beast, slowly turned the clear pristine water of Whitten Loch a deep, inky black.
When she looked out at the many battles being fought across the inner city, she saw the afternoon sun play upon the millions of tiny colored fragments of stained glass. Such beauty amid such horror, she thought. The dead, the dying, and the ones, who refused to fall, attackers and defenders alike, hacking, stabbing, and killing each other, in the middle of a field, full of sparkling jewels.
As if in agreement with the sick irony of the scene before them, Talon cooed from her shoulder, and bobbed his feathered head.