Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Serpent's Last Wrath
The battlefield raged on as Caedren's forces pressed the advantage. The death of the dark leader had sent shockwaves through the Serpent's army, but the enemy still had strength—strength that they were beginning to unleash with a vengeance. The air grew heavier with each passing second, thick with smoke, blood, and the growing tension of magic. Arcane energies shimmered through the sky, the colors unnatural—greens and purples twisting into the clouds above like a poisoned storm.
Caedren could feel it deep in his bones. The ground trembled, not from the charge of cavalry or the weight of soldiers, but from something deeper—an ancient magic being summoned. The remnants of the Serpent's followers had gathered in a black crescent at the far edge of the field, their hands raised in invocation, mouths chanting in forgotten tongues.
"They will not give up," Neris said, her voice sharp with urgency. She stood beside Caedren, her armor scorched, her blade slick with blood. Her eyes scanned the horizon, where the Serpent's acolytes were weaving a last desperate spell.
Caedren's face was set in grim resolve. "Then we'll have to give them no choice," he said. His voice was gravel and thunder. "We fight until the end. We end this now, or we never get another chance."
He turned to the battered ranks of his army, many bruised and bleeding, but standing tall. Their eyes met his, and he raised his sword high, its edge catching what little light pierced through the darkened sky. The signal was clear. The commanders barked orders, horns sounded again, and the troops surged forward.
The two armies clashed again with a roar that seemed to shake the heavens.
Caedren rode into the thick of it, his steed thundering through mud and bodies. Arrows flew, blades flashed, and shields shattered as steel met steel. Around him, his comrades fought like wolves defending their den. Each step forward was hard-won, each fallen soldier a sacrifice remembered.
But the Serpent's forces were no longer mortal men alone. From the depths of their ranks came horrors that should not walk the world—figures cloaked in bone, creatures whose bodies writhed with serpentine tendrils, and warriors whose eyes were black pits of void.
One such monstrosity charged toward Caedren, swinging a weapon that crackled with black fire. Caedren met its strike with a furious clash of blades, their weapons sending shockwaves through the ground. Sparks flew as he parried and countered, his muscles aching, his mind aflame with the power he had drawn from the Heartstone. Each movement felt guided, as though the land itself fought alongside him.
The beast hissed, lunging again, but Caedren ducked low, driving his blade into its chest. It shrieked, a sound like a thousand knives scraping stone, and dissolved into mist. Around him, the battle raged on, a whirlwind of destruction and courage.
Neris appeared beside him, slashing down a shadow-creature with precision. "We have to reach the summoners," she shouted. "That ritual—they're calling something. Something worse."
Caedren nodded, his jaw clenched. "Form a wedge! Drive straight through!"
With Neris and a dozen elite warriors, Caedren plunged toward the rear of the Serpent's formation. They carved a brutal path, leaving fallen enemies in their wake. All around them, the Serpent's forces screamed in desperation and defiance, channeling their hatred into every blow.
At the far edge of the battlefield, they reached the summoning circle—a ring of obsidian stones glowing with runes, within which five robed acolytes stood. One raised their arms to the sky, calling down a pillar of green flame that tore through the clouds.
"Stop them!" Caedren cried, leaping from his horse. His soldiers followed, blades ready.
The defenders around the circle were fanatics, willing to die to protect the summoning. The fighting was savage. Caedren dueled two warriors at once, his breath heavy, his sword a blur. Neris and the others moved as one, driving into the circle.
Caedren reached the edge of the ritual space just as the central acolyte finished their chant. The air rippled, and from the center of the ring, a massive serpent-like figure began to emerge—a creature of shadow and flame, its eyes burning with ancient malice.
"The Serpent itself," Neris gasped.
Caedren didn't hesitate. He stepped into the circle, sword raised. The creature turned its head toward him, its maw opening in a silent roar that sent waves of darkness outward. The wind howled. Trees snapped. Soldiers were knocked from their feet.
Drawing on every ounce of strength, Caedren shouted, "By the Heartstone and by every name of this land—I defy you!"
The Serpent hissed, lashing out. Caedren met the blow with his blade, light and shadow colliding in an explosion of energy. The impact hurled both combatants backward. Caedren landed hard, his vision spinning. The Serpent reared back, clearly wounded.
Around them, his soldiers pressed forward, attacking the stunned acolytes. The summoning began to falter. The circle cracked. The stones shattered one by one.
Caedren rose again. He looked the beast in the eye. "You will not rule this world."
With one final cry, he drove his sword into the circle's center, where the ritual had begun. A blast of pure light erupted outward, engulfing the battlefield. The Serpent's form writhed, shrieked, and then burst into fragments of dark flame.
Silence fell.
Smoke drifted over scorched earth. The Serpent's army, seeing their god vanquished and their ritual shattered, broke into chaos. Some fled. Some fell to their knees. Others fought to the last.
But Caedren's forces surged. Victory was within reach.
Caedren stood at the heart of the broken circle, his sword buried in the soil, breath ragged, body trembling.
Neris approached slowly. "It's over."
Caedren looked to the skies, where the green storm had finally cleared, revealing a pale blue beyond.
"Not yet," he said softly. "But soon."
And somewhere in the stillness, the land itself seemed to sigh in relief.
The Serpent's last wrath had come—and it had been cast down.