Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 248: Siege of Smoke

Galamon pressed forward a fair bit ahead of Argrave, his metal boots impacting with the cold stone impressively quietly. Their strategy for the advance was quite simple—these vampires would rely on their senses to search out living things. Galamon, being a vampire, would have a better chance at surprising his foes. Argrave would serve as the eye-catching distraction.

To that end, Argrave had three electric eels swirling around his body, illuminating his surroundings through the beige smoke that assailed from direction. The smoke stung at his eyes, the sensation reminding him of swimming eyes-open through a pool with chlorine in it. He remained ready.

This place was a catacomb. It appeared to be a warrior’s tomb specifically, with statues depicting armored knights erected just behind stone sarcophagi. The opening section was a long, long hallway of stone coffins. Primitive traps, detectable even by Argrave’s unskilled eye, lined the floor—snares, caltrops, the like. It was the beginning of the vampire’s preparation. They thought the smoke would be able to stop any from entering for a long while, evidently.

Deep in the tomb, Argrave could hear the faint scrape and stir of scrambling. The long hallway opened up into many a larger chamber divided by a pillar down the center, and Galamon knelt down, gaze intent. He scanned the place. Argrave counted six openings, each leading into different rooms—offering rooms, he recalled, where the living could leave gifts to the departed. After a long silence, Galamon pointed to each opening, displaying on his fingers how many people were in each room.

Heaviest on the right side, was Argrave’s conclusion. With that in mind, he gestured right, and Galamon gave a nod of confirmation. He moved slowly and quietly, while Argrave remained in place. Once Galamon took his position just beside one of the rightward entrances, Argrave advanced.

Once he passed a certain point, a great roar echoed out, and three pale-skinned people wearing clothes too fine for a tomb stepped out of their recess, tossing daggers adeptly. They did not seem like monstrous beings—they appeared like ordinary men and women, and even resembled particularly well-dressed aristocrats.

But their daggers flew through the air as quickly as any arrow. Having been given ample warning, Argrave conjured a B-rank ward with his ring. Metal clashing against magic and battle cries echoed across the tomb, giving signal the battle had begun. Argrave scanned the three foes for any spellcasters but found none. Not all had the magic affinity for such a vocation, fortunately, elsewise vampires would be a much more potent force.

Galamon lunged and grabbed the closest, clutching his wrist. He pulled the vampire forth effortlessly, slamming him into one of his partners. The third reared back, retrieving more throwing daggers. Galamon’s speed had always been astounding, but with royal-forged armor and the crown both empowering him, he seemed naught but a dark gray blur. He jammed his Giantkiller in the vampire’s neck before he could ready another attack, then turned and cut it out, severing his head.

Vampires on the rightward side emerged from the other two prayer rooms—Argrave counted seven besides those Galamon engaged with, and once again found no spellcasters. One barked something about getting help, then fled deeper into the tomb. Argrave was pleased his enemies would be gathering closely together, but quickly dismissed the thought when the six rushed towards him and Galamon.

Though Argrave considered this a fine time to use [Pavise Gale], he knew it was important he conserve his magic. Argrave remained behind his ward and sent the electric eels swirling above his head forth, using their presence to suppress the six rushing at them. It worked—they stopped in their tracks. It gave Galamon ample time to deal with the three he’d surprised.

With one’s head severed and the other two reeling from his slam, they proved no match for Galamon. He was faster, stronger—the two he’d thrown recovered and tried to throw more knives, but Galamon ducked low, grabbing one by the foot and tripping him. The other he slammed against the wall with his forearm, suspending him in place for a dozen lightning-quick stabs to the stomach. The poison was working—the wounds did not heal, and he left the vampire to bleed. He turned back, kicking the vampire he’d tripped in the teeth. It was a devastating blow that sent the vampire sprawling, and yet Galamon pressed forth and snuffed out his life as one might step on a cockroach.

Seeing both Galamon’s butchery and Argrave’s magic before them, the six vampires lost their boldness. They were thieves—even as vampires, they had mostly subsisted on captors rather than actively hunting. They did not seem accustomed to struggles where death was a possible, even likely, outcome.

When the seven from the left side’s rooms joined up with them, that battlefield fervor was reignited. One of them was a spellcaster—C-rank, by Argrave’s heat-of-the-moment estimation. Given their regenerative qualities, vampires were a prime candidate to use blood magic. C-rank blood magic could break through his ring-conjured ward. Argrave regarded this new arrival cautiously.

After putting an end to the last of the three, Galamon turned, bracing for the coming horde.

“Green tunic, spellcaster,” Argrave informed him with a shout. At once, Galamon pulled free the Ebonice axe, holding it at the ready.

Rather than target Argrave holed up behind his ward, the spellcaster directed his attention towards Galamon. He shouted a command to halt, then advanced before his vampire kin. Two C-rank [Skysunder] spells surged out of his hands, yet the Giantkiller in Galamon’s hand attracted the white lightning, absorbing it harmlessly.

Galamon advanced, Giantkiller faintly sparking. The spellcaster, panicked, conjured a wave of fire and retreated. The elven vampire batted the flames aside with the Ebonice axe. Argrave urged his [Electric Eels] forth and rushed in, forcing the vampire to conjure a ward. With the ward up, the vampire was sealed in place. Galamon lunged and swung his axe again. It stalled at the ward, yet broke past. Even still, the vampire managed to fall backwards and dodge. He scrambled to the protection of his kin.

Not content to let his foe get away unpunished, Argrave stepped up beside Galamon and cast [Pavise Gale]. A knight of wind formed before him, swinging a thick and tall shield. The vampire had reflexes fast enough to conjure a C-rank ward, but it shattered like sugar glass before the giant knight of wind. The pavise struck the spellcaster directly, slamming him against the right wall. The group of vampires he’d been seeking protection behind scattered before Argrave, tossed by the powerful gust to the walls, the floors… one even managed to hit the ceiling.

With the twelve of them tossed aside so effortlessly, they were routed. Those quickest to gain their bearings did not dare rejoin the fight—they fled. Galamon seized the initiative ruthlessly. He severed the dazed spellcaster’s head with his Ebonice axe and pursued those fleeing with his Giantkiller. He dealt haunting wounds that would not heal, but it was difficult to stop all from fleeing. He killed two more and injured several, yet they did largely escape.

Once he dared not pursue any longer, Galamon returned to Argrave. “They’ll group up,” he informed Argrave with a voice too-calm in the wake of their slaughter. “Whether they retaliate or fortify themselves, I cannot say. Their leader will decide.”

Argrave nodded, adrenaline still pumping through his body. “Our goal remains the same: deal with the poison smoke. We break their bellows, put out the fires, the smoke stops flowing. If they chase, I’ll deal with them. If they don’t, we’ll do our job, join up with Elenore’s men, and then I’ll deal with them.” Argrave glanced around at the gore, mind scrambled. He shook his head to gather himself. “Come on. We head deeper, then turn right at the second hall. You take point.”

After a quick moment to clean his weapons of blood, Galamon nodded, reapplying the vampiric poison on his Giantkiller. Argrave paced around, driven to constant motion by the adrenaline. Once finished, Galamon advanced, and they proceeded deeper into the tomb with him far ahead just as it had been the first time.

They were unharried in their quick advance to the furnace rooms. The moment they turned right to proceed into them, Argrave saw movement at the opposite end. Through the smoke, it was difficult to distinguish how many there were. Yet lightning surged across the gap directly at them, gravitating towards Galamon’s Giantkiller.

“God damn it,” Argrave cursed—a long corridor was the worst place to be caught in, and he couldn’t afford to endure a protracted magic battle: it would cost too much magic. “Rush. Just rush!” Argrave commanded, sending his electric eels darting forth to assault whoever was opposite them.

Both of them sprinted, Galamon slightly ahead. It became immediately obvious there were multiple spellcasters on the opposite end as the attacks came very quickly. Lightning, blades of wind, balls of fire—even despite Galamon’s diligent protection, Argrave took painful blows that cut past the haze of adrenaline. When they finally made it to the other side, their foes rushed at them with blades of blood in hand: two spellcasters, both using the C-rank blood magic [Putrid Paramerion].

Though more skilled than those they’d fought earlier, Galamon still effortlessly outskilled his foes, breaking the blood magic with his Ebonice axe and stabbing one through the eye. Argrave delivered three C-rank spells in quick succession on the other—three loud white bolts of [Skysunder]. Though kept alive by his vampiric blood, the spells stunned him long enough for Galamon to crush his head against the wall.

Argrave leaned against the wall, finally with the liberty to inspect the damage dealt. His gut had been pierced slightly by an ice spike that still persisted. Without his armor, the wound would have been incapacitating, he was sure. He pulled it free and healed it and tended to another cut on his thigh.

“No more ahead. I hear fire, though,” Galamon informed Argrave.

“That’ll be the furnace,” Argrave said, rubbing the now-healed spot on his gut. He had other, lesser wounds, but those could be healed later. “Let’s hurry.”

Pushing past things, Argrave stepped over the fallen vampires and proceeded into a room that felt as hot as a volcano. Twelve iron furnaces persisted here, fires blazing hot within them. There was a vast pile of herbal bundles in one corner of the room, while now-unmanned bellows beside the furnace collected the beige smoke and pumped it into ports that undoubtedly distributed it throughout the whole place.

“I’ll douse the flames. Destroy the bellows just in case,” Argrave commanded.

With that, Argrave conjured water into the furnaces, flooding them out. They hissed in defiance as they died, and the heat persisted in the air long after they’d left… but the smoke immediately began to thin. To ensure those herbs could not be burnt more, Argrave doused them in water, too, all but flooding the room. Meanwhile, Galamon ripped apart the bellows by hand. Once that was done, Galamon grabbed the furnaces and pushed them over. They were mounted to the wall, yet the elven vampire easily ripped them free.

“Excellent work,” Argrave commanded as the last iron furnace fell to the ground. “They might salvage this… but all we need is a window of opportunity to press in. Back to Elenore’s men—time to begin the real assault. And I can get my hands on some ancient relics that’ll help quite a bit for the task ahead…”

Galamon nodded, and Argrave adjusted the Humorless Mask over his face. They both ran to where they’d come from.