Luther's Pride Part 54

Branan huffed, confused but pushing forward. He struck at Luther with his staff, and Luther caught the blow in his gauntlet. He’d already switched to Helena’s arcanum, augmenting his strength and durability far beyond the normal limits. 

Luther lowered his shoulder and rammed forward, knocking Branan backward as his cloak worked to repel Luther’s armor and found itself overwhelmed by a greater force. Rather than push Luther away, it carried Branan backward, until Branan released his staff and fell aside, rolling in the wet dirt. 

“Damn, Fey!” Branan cursed. He must've assumed that's where Luther's strength came from, and Luther let him believe it.

Luther took the opportunity of Branan's rolling away and slammed Branan’s wooden staff into the ground like a post, nailing Branan’s cloak into the dirt. 

Branan struggled to pull himself free, but couldn’t climb to his feet. The shaft stood in the ground like a tent-spike, with a quarter of the polearm buried, the earth around it compacted, and the cloak filling in the gaps. With enough time, Branan might be able to wrestle it free, but Luther gave him no such opportunity. 

Branan huffed again. “You have the same Arcanum as Criella?” 

Luther didn’t answer, but Helena stood beside him, and both their eyes glowed red together as they surged forward. Confusion overtook Branan's features before fear took hold.

Meanwhile, Lucas had been firing and blasting at Eira and Rhosyn to keep them at bay as they chased him through the arena. His blasts of light and occasional shields proved durable and effective at destroying the terrain, but incapable of hitting Eira. Helena had taken more than one blow on her shield to protect Luther from Lucas’s random assaults as well. Lucas's offense wasn’t impressing anyone, much less the crowd, who had grown tired of cheering him on. 

Lucas turned his attention toward Rhosyn and leveled both hands at her as he fired a beam. She dodged, but had closed some of the distance and didn’t have the space needed to avoid the blow entirely. The blast caught her hip, and her cry of pain wracked everyone’s mind as well as their ears. She dropped the communication spell between them and fell to the ground. 

Lucas attempted to capitalize on his success, but Jowangshin appeared from the Earth beneath him, rising out of it like a missile and punching him square on the jaw in a spinning uppercut. 

Lucas flew through the air and landed on his back, even as a narrow column of stone followed Jowangshin, spinning out of the earth below them. It stopped, and the crowd murmured as Jowangshin slid down it, turning around and jumping away. 

The twenty-foot column of gray limestone towered over Lucas, who stared up at it in awe. 

Jowangshin kicked it, casting her spell as she did so, and the limestone made its own thunder, shattering into thousands of tiny, sharp stones. They clacked and rattled as they spilled to the ground. 

Lucas scrambled away from it, but Rhosyn cast another spell, and her eyes glowed in time with his. She used her spell to cast her will over his, holding him in place for what came next. Lucas cried out in pain as her mind burrowed into his, and Rhosyn gritted her teeth through the pain in hers.

Branan grunted, turning his attention away from Luther as he unfastened the clasp of his cloak to free himself. The cloak fluttered away from him as he stood, and he raised his hand to draw another lightning bolt from the sky. 

Luther withdrew the rod from behind him and spoke the fey word necessary to lengthen it. 

“Rhosyn!” Eira cried. 

The pointed ends of the metal staff shot out from the staff’s center with speed. At the same time, he cast his spell again and met Jowangshin’s spirit. He cast her spell, and earth rose around Rhosyn as lightning cascaded from the sky. The dirt exploded, showering the stands and Rhosyn, but the lightning bolt Branan summoned hadn’t struck her. Still, the blast and thunder had frightened her, and scorched her, and she had lost her concentration that held Lucas in place. 

She stared at Luther with gratitude in her eyes.

Luther swiped his metal staff at the unarmed Branan, preventing him from calling more lightning as he stumbled away. He sent a gust of wind at Luther, who weathered it without being blown away. It helped that he still had Jowangshin’s arcanum and could root himself to the earth. 

Lucas cast a dome of light around Branan as Helena’s sword struck against it, protecting him. Then he protected himself with a second dome as Jowagshin flung the stones at him like a field of arrows. They clattered against his defenses, battering like rain that continuously flowed around him while Jowangshin directed the current with her dancing movements. 

She kept up her assault, and Rhosyn and Eira turned their attention toward Branan as both domes moved with their occupants, then Branan’s faded. 

Branan flung a knife at Luther, but Luther knocked it aside. He wasn't fighting an inexperienced warrior or a mindless animal. Luther had seen more combat than his years suggested, and Branan was seeing hard-won victories in every line of Luther's face. 

For every step back Branan took, Luther stepped forward, keeping close to Branan as he struck at him with the metal staff. Helena shuffled around, serving to shepherd Branan rather than striking him down with her sword. 

Branan flung a knife at her, but it stuck to her shield, not bothering her. He used the momentary reprieve to whip the wind around him, shielding himself. He spun the air with a spell so that they had to hunker down and root themselves to keep from flying away as it expanded from him.

“You’re such a fool!” Branan shouted over the wind, his voice riding along it. “You come at me with a mockery of my staff, intricate metal, carved with runes and protected with spells, but it’s still metal!” 

“Yes,” Luther said, grinning despite himself. 

“And you think I won’t risk calling the lightning if you stay close to me?!” Branan asked. “It’s my lightning. It won’t hurt me!” 

“You may be able to direct the bolts, Branan, but we both know you can do nothing against the heat or the thunder. Go on, call your bolts, deafen yourself in its wake. Boil your eyes for all I care,” Luther said, striking as Branan ducked his sweeping blow. The wind picked up as he waved his hands, sending the rain horizontal as the air currents pushed Luther sideways, away from Helena. 

Helena struggled, using her enhanced strength to push forward, but even that wasn’t enough. 

Branan called down the lightning, not at Luther, as he expected, but at Helena. 

Helena cried out in pain and agony. Her fathers and mother rose from their seats in the stands, crying out in dismay, but the storm overwhelmed their words. 

Helena fell, smoking, as the smell of burned hair slammed against Luther. Crisp, black flesh covered her formerly sun-tanned arms. 

Anger rose in Luther’s veins, and he moved his spirit toward hers. To his relief, he found it devoid of peace. She was angry, which meant she was still alive. Burned, hurt, and likely unable to move if her armor had fused at all, but alive. 

Luther found it easy to slide into Helena’s raging spirit. His eyes glowed red as he cast her spell, and he surged forward despite the storm. 

Branan’s eyes flew wide as Luther’s gauntleted fist punched forward. He raised his hand to block, but his strength was nothing compared to Luther’s. His own arm smacked against his face as it broke under Luther’s fist, which was probably the only thing that prevented his jaw from shattering. Still, he pulped the bones in Branan's hand and laughed at the pleasure it gave him—the first of many strikes.

Luther’s knee to Branan’s torso broke his ribs with a crack. The wind died. Branan cried out and tried to fight, but Luther showed his prowess in hand-to-hand combat. His left fist had struck Branan’s face, his right knee had collided with Branan’s torso, bending him in half. His right elbow struck forward, smashing Branan’s teeth into splinters. 

The crowd gasped at the brutality as Luther grabbed Branan's sagging body and slammed it into the earth with such force that he might as well have fallen from the castle wall. The rain continued, but the wind stilled, and the thunder rumbling in the clouds above remained there as if discussing its master’s death. 

Branan breathed in, a wheeze of air that sounded painful. Still alive, he didn’t move, even as Luther grabbed a fistful of his hair, lifted his head, tilted it, and set his chin on the dirt. 

“Watch,” Luther said. “Let’s see if you can live long enough to witness the might of my arcana.” 

Branan exhaled, the same wheezing, dying breath Luther expected. 

Luther spoke another spell, a word in the ancient language, and stabbed his metal rod through Branan’s back. Helena’s arcanum provided the means to push through Branan’s bones and intestines and the Earth below. His blood soaked into the dirt below him, and Luther left him there as he turned his attention toward Lucas. 

He assumed that Lucas was smart enough to learn his lesson, but he had to try anyway. He shifted to Jowanshin’s spirit and stomped the earth once more. She kept the cloud of stone shards swirling around Lucas’ dome, but the drain it placed on their magic was too much. She dropped the cloud as Luther stomped. 

The dome rose into the air at the blast, proving that Lucas had been smart enough to provide himself with a floor between himself and the dirt. The same tactic wouldn’t work twice, so Luther didn’t bother. He instead cast another spell, this time opening a portal beneath Lucas’s dome, which swallowed it whole. 

The crowd gasped, and waves of shouting and murmuring broke through the nobility as they struggled to realize what Luther’s arcanum was. Conjuration, surely, but then how had he performed the geomancy spell? His eyes had glowed red when using his superior strength and physicality, so surely it wasn’t his fey nature? 

Even Duke Beaudivere’s spouses engaged in rapid-fire discussions to make sense of what they were seeing. The duke, for his part, struggled to keep his eyes open. He was very sleepy, or perhaps that was the poison he’d tried to use on Luther. Luther, however, showed no signs of sluggishness. Neither did Branan, as far as Luther could tell. 

It must have been due to one of the protections the duke had given Branan. It was a pity the duke hadn’t saved it for himself. 

Luther looked up, spotting the dome of light as it plummeted toward the arena from above. Eira pulled Rhosyn away, though Rhosyn cried in pain at the motion from the wound on her hip. She struggled to stand, but managed to get to her feet, though she was unsteady. 

Lucas dropped the dome, turning his eyes toward the ground in panic as he oriented himself. He fired a blast of light with both hands directly at Luther, who teleported away and regrouped with Jowangshin. 

Jowangshin moved in her form, sending stone shards flying through the air toward Lucas as he fell. He blocked with them a partial shield of his light, then blasted again, but this time he fired directly at the ground, slowing his descent. He landed roughly, rolling to the side before he regained his feet. 

Luther stood ready and waiting, and he grinned as he locked eyes with Lucas. The ground swirled beneath Lucas’ feet, and he sank to his calves, stumbling as he fired a blast of light at Luther. 

Luther jumped aside and vanished. 

He reappeared at Lucas’s left side and grabbed his arm. “You shouldn’t have told me what these charms were for,” Luther said as he ripped the bracelet of protective charms from Lucas’s wrist. “This might seem nostalgic to you,” Luther said, as Lucas’s eyes shook with fear. 

“No, don’t–!” Lucas cried out, but it was too late. Luther was gone, and so was Lucas’s left arm. “AGGHH!” 

Luther reappeared on his right side, panting. The jump had taken more magic than he’d expected, but they’d have just enough if he planned this correctly. He grabbed Lucas’ right arm even as he tried to bring around to fire a blast of light at Luther. It fired against the wall of the arena instead. He ripped the bracelet from Lucas’s wrist, and then Luther was gone. So was Lucas’s right arm. 

“Gods above!” Someone in the crowd cried. “It’s over! He doesn’t have to be so cruel!” 

Luther reappeared, and this time, he put one hand on each of Lucas’ legs. 

“No, oh gods–!” Lucas cried out as both of his legs vanished with Luther, and his torso tumbled to the ground. 

His blood flowed from what remained of his body, and his color drained with it. The last thing he saw in the final fading seconds of his life was Luther’s hand covering his face, and vanishing once more. 

Someone in the crowd vomited, but this was what they’d come to see. Luther had no sympathy for them. He reappeared with his gauntlets soaked in blood and stood beside Lucas’ limbless, headless corpse. 

Murmurs rushed through the crowd, debating what he’d done with the limbs, but Luther had been faithful to his sworn oaths. That’s all there was to it. Would the temple forgive him? Maybe not. He had no intention of seeking their forgiveness, though. Lucas’s bones would decorate the arena at Luther’s manor, but he’d let the duke burn the man’s torso. Let him ascend to heaven without his head, arms, or legs. 

“Luther! Look out!” Eira cried and pointed as Branan regained his feet. 

The bands of metal around his fingers glowed with magic, draining their runes to heal Branan’s wounds. As he lay there, watching Luther tear Lucas apart, he’d quietly healed his wounds, enduring his bones sliding into place, and the painful closing of his organs after he pulled the shaft from his back. 

He stood with it now, in a fighting stance, and grinned. 

“You may have taken my last spouse from me, Luther Le Fey, but I will take everything from you!” Branan cried and slammed both of his hands down to summon the lightning. 

Luther only hoped everyone remembered what he’d told them to do when this happened. 

Pure, white light filled the arena in an instant. This assault had been the move that killed Criella, the one that had destroyed countless battlefields and ended the challenges the Feothe’s faced over the years. The amount of magic it took devastated their pool, keeping it as a last resort, but Branan had no reason to hold back anymore. One or two lightning bolts might strike a chosen target, but filling the battlefield with lightning meant having nothing and no one left to lose. 

Sand turned to glass from the heat, and wooden posts holding up the awnings shattered like stalks of straw. The thunder knocked everyone back, and the light caused everyone to look away. 

The smell that followed was awful. Burnt hair and leather mixed against everyone’s will, filling the area. Smoke rose in a steady pillar from Branan’s molten corpse. 

Luther and his spouses carefully lifted their heads from where each lay prone on the ground. Helena hadn’t moved. She was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Branan’s corpse sagged. The staff he’d raised in his hands to direct the lightning had summoned it, as intended, and drew it all to itself. The result was that Branan’s death was quicker than Luther would have liked, but ultimately brought about by his own hands. His rings had melted and fused themselves to his flesh, everything he wore burned to ashes, and the old man’s flesh was black and tight against his bones. The fat in his body had burned away, the liquid had boiled, and all that remained were crumbling embers of bone and flesh that flaked away in the wind. 

The rain sizzled against him and the ground around him. The staff glowed with heat, but had withstood the blast undamaged. 

The crowd gasped, confused, until Luther laughed. Underhanded trickery, perhaps, but no less than what Branan deserved. 

The duke, blinking and struggling to stay awake, seemed drunk as he staggered to his feet. One of his spouses held his arm and steadied him, while another held his other arm. The duke blinked, looking over the battlefield in consternation. 

“They didn’t win?” 

His spouse whispered into his ear, but the duke slumped and sagged in their arms. A gasp arose from the crowd, but from what the others could tell, he’d fainted. Others rushed him inside, to the many murmurs and whispers from the crowd. 

“Guards!” One of the duke’s spouses called. 

The duke’s guards shifted to the forefront of the stands as the nobles moved aside to let them pass. 

“That’s Orion, Duke Beaudivere’s first husband,” Jowangshin whispered in Luther’s ear. 

“What trickery did you use?” Orion bellowed. “What friends did you have helping you from the crowd?” 

“None, sir,” Luther said, answering honestly. 

“You had a second geomancer at least, and a conjurer, if not more, we saw you,” Orion said. 

“You saw only my spouses and I using our magic, good sir,” Luther said. He took a deep breath and stood proudly as he made his declaration. “I have Anwyn’s arcanum.” 

A murmur rushed through the crowd before Orion could calm it. “What?” he asked. “Is that a name or an arcanum we should know?” 

“I bear the arcana of my spouses,” Luther explained. “Geomancy, physiomancy, psychomancy, divination, and conjuration are mine, as they are theirs.” 

More murmurs. 

“Even if that is true, which I do not accept, how is it that you come by conjuration?” Orion asked. “Criella was unmarried, was she not?” 

“From my love for Criella, and hers for me,” Luther answered without answering as to her marital status. “Our connection began in childhood and transcends the boundaries of life, union, and even death,” Luther said, still not admitting to their secret, illegal marriage. 

Whispers of romance, tragedy, and sympathy swept through the crowd as Orion struggled to come to terms with what he’d seen and its ramifications. Yet the crowd was dividing itself. Some thought Luther’s power incredibly impressive, and, if true, worthy of their admiration when they’d underestimated him before. 

“Declare us the victors,” Luther said, “And see to our wounded, as is the law.” 

Orion huffed. “And you can prove this arcana of yours?” 

Luther nodded. “If you wish me to prove it in private, to demonstrate it beyond the doubt that I need no external assistance from any member of the crowd, I will gladly do so, after you tend to my wives’ wounds.” 

Orion frowned, but nodded. “Very well. On your oath that you will prove no foul interference, I declare the Le Fey clan victorious!” He gestured to the servants, and healers moved forward to tend to Helena and Rhosyn. More of them swarmed Helena, who was much worse off and closer to death than Luther had thought. Another minute, and the healers might have been useless. 

“Let our might be praised!” Luther cried, raising his sword in the air. 

Orion hadn’t ended with the traditional cheer, so Luther led it in his place. The slight didn’t go unnoticed, but the crowd joined in cheering for the Le Fey clan, even if some did so against their will. Still, Luther basked in it. Those nobles who’d been his friends before the match were free to be so again. Anyone who had distrusted his union before now respected them. 

Now, all they had to do was deal with the consequences.