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152. Dance Until Your Heart Explodes, Laugh Until You Choke
🕑 Added 2025-08-19 14:59:14 +0000 UTCThe wind howled past his ears as Corrin plunged, arms held wide. The world quickly became a blur as the tree’s massive limbs raced past him to either side. Behind him, a flash of light and heat lit the night, and he felt the warmth on his back even as he fell.
He hit the branch hard, like a leaf thrown by a storm, and the partial mantle he’d gathered around his feet flared with the bone-jarring impact. He dropped into a roll, tumbling over the slick, mossy wood in order to reduce the force, coming to a stop just before the edge.
Luscien landed without faltering moments later, holding Kita under his arm. He’d sprouted three tails of fire, which swayed anxiously as he looked to the branches below.
A roar ripped through the air, shaking the leaves overhead. Corrin jerked upright just in time to see a geyser of flame explode from the Ecclesterion behind them, blooming like a sunburst.
Eryndor was still fighting above.
“Corrin!” Luscien screamed, drawing Corrin’s attention. “Keep moving until we’re out!”
He dropped Kita onto the branch, and the two of them leapt for the next one down, the wind whipping at clothes and fur as they descended into the night.
“But—” Corrin grit his teeth, biting back his final reluctance. “Damn it!”
He leapt after them, landing again and sprinting down the branch, tearing through a mess of smaller offshoots and vines as his boots pounded against the surface.
Within twenty seconds, they’d dropped hundreds of feet down the tree, growing closer to the shifting river in the dark below. Luscien risked a glance back and let out a curse.
Corrin turned to see what he was looking at, and his heart pounded even faster.
Above them, gaining quickly, a lone cultist fell through the air, dark robes fluttering silently as he drew two curved, silver blades from within. They were shorter than Corrin’s new blade, and almost sickle-like.
“Faster!” Luscien roared, darting right and off the branch, taking a longer fall towards the next to shorten their route.
They tore down the side of the tree, but their pursuer grew ever closer. He was faster than either of them, and Corrin felt the danger growing with each second.
“We have to fight him, Luscien!” he yelled. “We can’t escape with him chasing us!”
The student’s eyes blazed at the cultist as he spun around. After a moment, he nodded, and his hands ignited, fire mana manifesting into raging claws as his tails stiffened.
Corrin drew his own sword, setting his stance against the branch as their opponent fell closer.
Silver glinted as the cultist slashed his swords towards them through the open air, and Corrin felt a tingling in his spine.
Instinct alone saved him.
Corrin shifted slightly to the side as a faint ripple appeared in the air, slicing open the side of his neck. Behind him, something tore into the tree, sending splinters spraying and cutting a gash into the bark.
“Wind channeler!” Luscien shouted.
Corrin pressed his hand against the cut, mind swirling as the blood seeped out onto his fingers. As the man drew back his blades once more, Luscien leapt towards him, cutting off the motion midway. The technique collapsed as silver clashed with flame in the air, and Corrin fumbled with the life elixir hanging from his belt.
Somehow, the vial hadn’t broken in all the chaos—enchanted probably—and he was grateful for it, splashing half on the wound and downing the rest. It was more viscous than he expected, and bitter, like unsweetened tea. As it slowly traveled down his throat, it burned, aggravating the mana already in his body.
Most of it suffused into the channels in his neck, working on the wound from the inside, though the rest traveled further down and spread out throughout his whole body, filling him with warmth as the cut closed.
It was a hell of a rush.
The whole thing had only taken a few seconds, but up ahead, the battle was already well underway. Luscien’s tails whipped at the cultist, hissing harshly whenever they struck his blades, and his claws tore at the deep purple robes, but the cultist was faster still, dancing away from each blow and striking from outside Luscien’s reach with slashes of wind aura.
One of them caught Luscien in the leg and he stumbled as it sprayed blood. Kita snarled, darting in to defend his master. The cultist brought the blade down, and Corrin intercepted with his own, kicking low to try and force him onto the defensive.
The cultist reacted instantly, pirouetting away from the kick and slashing at Corrin from range. Even in his mana-sight, the blade of wind was difficult to see, just a shimmer in the air, but he managed to catch it on his sword. The technique split in two and the weakened remnants dissipated harmlessly on his mantle.
Dark robes filled his vision as the follow-up came, twin blades arcing towards his neck and legs.
Corrin twisted his hilt downwards to deflect the lower strike, supporting the back of the blade with his hand and ducking low. The second blade missed his head by only inches. Before he could follow up, it twisted back around, already striking again.
He scrambled back, desperate for space, but even as the strike itself missed, another wind-blade caught him across the chest. It pierced his mantle and cloak both, scoring his skin.
Thankfully, the force had been mostly dissipated by the time it broke through, and it was only a shallow cut. There was a brief reprieve in the battle, as Luscien had gotten back up, bringing them into a true one-on-two, with each side waiting for the other to make the first move.
It’s such a simple technique, Corrin thought, but damn it's effective.
With such short blades, Corrin would have normally been at a reach advantage, able to strike without fear of a riposte. The cultist’s technique took that away. He could pepper Corrin with slashes from afar, or use them as an opening to get within Corrin’s optimal distance, where his longer blade was actually awkward to maneuver.
For Luscien, who could control any distance in melee with his tails and claws, he simply stayed away, using his superior speed to keep his distance.
“Box him in!” Luscien shouted as the fight began anew.
Of course. The boughs of the tree were as wide as entire streets, but if they could just cut off his escapes, they could force him into their ranges.
Corrin dashed to the side, rather than straight ahead, and Lusicen did the same, positioning the cultist between them lengthwise on the branch. He reacted instantly, rushing Corrin, preluded by a barrage of wind-blades.
Corrin grit his teeth. So I’m the weak link huh? He wants me to step back and give him space. That’s what any sane person would do—I bet that’s what he's thinking.
Grinning wildly, Corrin charged instead.
His mantle tore open, assaulted by the remnants of the attacks he failed to deflect, but he’d focused most of the remaining mana there, and though it stung, the cuts weren’t deep.
The cultist slowed for a second, thrown off by the sudden change in tempo, and Corrin pulled as much mana as he could onto the edge of his blade. It eagerly leapt up the nightsteel, and the air around his blade distorted from the density of the mana as it crashed against the curved swords of the cultist.
Corrin roared, and his aura flared further, driving the cultist back a step. Beneath the hood, two yellow eyes widened, then narrowed again, and the force against Corrin redoubled, stopping his momentum.
One hooked blade slipped out from the bind, and the cultist grinned wickedly as he brought it down on Corrin’s side.
Got you.
Corrin took a step in, and his arm, wreathed in the last remnants of his mantle, struck out, clamping down around the cultist’s wrist. The blade dug into his side, drawing a line of blood—but stopped, held in place by his grip.
It only lasted a second, but it was enough. Too late, the cultist tried to pull away, but Corrin held firm, feeling his lips stretch in a grin.
Luscien closed the rest of the distance, claws tearing into the man from behind. Wind aura flared up, buffeting the branch as he desperately tried to defend himself. Corrin felt small cuts open up all over his body—the aura sharp even without the form of a technique—but it died down as Luscien ripped the cultist’s mantle apart.
In a moment, Corrin realized that Luscien wasn’t actually going for the kill.
Trying to take him alive so we can question him? Can we even do that?
Before he could start to think of an answer, a defiant roar erupted from the man’s throat, and a blade of wind severed his arm at the wrist, finally breaking him free from Corrin’s grasp. Blood spattered up onto Corrin’s face, and the sheer audacity of it shocked both of them long enough for the cultist to stumble out of their pincer, towards the edge of the branch in a final burst of speed.
Luscien recovered first, dashing after him, tails reaching out to grab his limbs, but the man was already going over the edge. As he stepped off the edge, his hood fell back, and he turned to face them.
In an instant, Corrin caught his gray, almost white skin, marred with splotches of black. A thick, black ooze dribbled out the sides of his lips, like he’d drank something, or bled from the mouth, black instead of red.
And then, he plummeted. Corrin heard a distant, sickly laugh trail off into the night, towards the sparkling lights of the city below.
He didn’t watch to see him reach the bottom.
Slowly, Corrin wiped the blood from his face, his eyes catching on the severed hand resting on the branch below. Out of instinct, he kicked it over the side, then looked at the now drying blood on his sleeve.
It was darker than a normal human’s blood. But if he compared it to the three-armed man at the root of the tree, it didn’t even compare. It wasn’t as thick or alive, and lacked the glut of aura. But he sensed a connection nonetheless.
And he began to wonder. How many more like them were there?
The battle rush was already starting to leave him, but before he could begin to sway on his feet, Luscien clapped him on the shoulder.
“We’ve got to move Corrin! There could be more on their way!”
Wasting no more time, he took off down the branch’s length, heading towards a spot where they could jump lower.
Corrin took one last glance back above—the battle still raged in the Ecclesterion, Eryndor fighting against however many more, putting his life on the line so the two of them could escape. With effort, he finally dragged his gaze away and jumped after Luscien once more, following him down the branches.
They weren’t pursued any further, eventually reaching a low enough branch that a drop into the river would have been easy. Corrin intended to keep moving down the branches though, until Luscien stopped him.
“Hold,” he said, his eyes searching the city below. He raised his nose to the air and sniffed twice. “I smell blood, and listen… there’s fighting.”
Oddly, Corrin felt that he and Luscien were actually calmer after the skirmish, though he couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it was just that it had broken the initial panic, forcing them to refocus—or maybe defeating the cultist had somehow salvaged the sense of overwhelming defeat, but as Corrin followed Luscien’s gaze, checking for danger, his heartbeat was steady.
Either way, he was grateful. He’d been here before—worse even. There wasn’t time to panic, and he knew that better than anyone.
A fireball lit up the rooftops in the distance, and a crack like thunder echoed out from one of the streets, followed by the shriek of some kind of beast.
“Spirit shit,” Corrin growled. “Are they attacking the whole city? Why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But if chaos is the result… maybe it was the goal.”
“What do we do?” Corrin looked back to the second year student, hoping he would know better than he himself did.
Luscien’s gaze was steady—his eyes were slitted like a fox’s, which Corrin hadn’t noticed before. Despite that, his hands were trembling, and Kita nuzzled his legs, attempting to comfort him. “I don’t know.”
The wind blew, uninterrupted across the branches, the rustling of the leaves louder than the clashes of battle in the distance. Neither of them spoke.
Corrin wondered where Wyn was, and what he was doing down below. A knot of worry wormed its way into his chest. The sense of calm he’d felt in the immediate defeat of the cultist and their escape was replaced by new stresses. He hadn’t been here before, not even close. This was bigger than the dungeon—bigger than the colossus even. Liresil was being attacked, the spirit tree was being poisoned, a single cultist had fought the two of them almost evenly, and Eryndor…
Something caught his eye, a light from above.
Both of them turned at once, watching as something like a comet hurtled down from the boughs above. It fell past them aimlessly, crashing into the river and sending a plume of steam out in all directions.
They waited for perhaps ten seconds, but nothing emerged. Corrin and Luscien both looked at each other.
“You think…”
“Shit shit shit!”
They dove off the branch, aiming for the spot where the fireball had landed, and splashed into the cool, dark water of the river.
It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, thankfully, and he didn’t need to adjust much, his body was already drenched in sweat and blood. His eyes stung as he forced them open, the darkness of the water all-consuming as he searched for the source of the flames.
There!
A pale glow bled faintly through the water, and bubbles raced upwards as the last of the heat faded away. Corrin kicked towards it, the drag of his cloak pulling him back. He was a strong swimmer though, growing up playing in the rivers and lakes of Straetum. Though he couldn’t see it well, he reached through the murk towards the glow, and caught hold of something warm and solid.
He hooked an arm under what he thought was a shoulder, and fought to pull him up. He wasn’t used to carrying other people through water, but mana made up the difference, and he broke the surface with a gasp.
Finally back in the air, he was able to make out Erydnor’s familiar red and yellow hair, and he heaved the limp body higher so his face was clear of the water.
“Damn this is hard to maintain in water,” Luscien complained as a single fiery tail lit up, sizzling the water wherever they met. “Let me take him!” The tail wrapped around Eryndor’s arm, and left Luscien free to swim with the rest of his legs unburdened, dragging the spirit knight unceremoniously to shore.
Corrin heaved his own body onto the mud, then turned back, getting his footing and helping Luscien get Eryndor through the shallows. Finally, they let go, and his body collapsed onto the mud and reeds.
“Spirits…” Corrin coughed, spitting river water as he turned Eryndor over. Half of his coat had burnt off, and the remaining half were either charred black, or cut to tatters. Beneath his clothes, his body was bruised and swollen, and his chest had several scars and long cuts which looked like they’d burnt over, searing themselves shut. “He looks dead.”
“He’s not.” Luscien’s tone wavered, and as if on queue, Eryndor’s body convulsed, coughing and spewing water out from his lungs. Luscien turned him onto his side and held him steady, letting the water soak into the mud as his body stilled again. His chest began to rise as he started breathing faintly, hardly a whisper.
Corrin thought of the situation he’d been left in. He’d been hurt more than either of them, facing off against dozens of the cultists, no doubt at least comparable to the one that had chased them down. They’d been ambushed, so they’d likely put together a force they thought could kill a spirit knight, and made sure to land a decisive blow right off the bat.
Yet somehow, Eryndor had lived.
Luscien took the elixir from his own belt and poured it down the spirit knight’s lips. His breathing grew a little easier as it passed through his body, and the smallest amount of color returned to his cheeks—but he didn’t wake up.
“Not enough,” Luscien said. “He needs real attention. We have to get out of here.”
Corrin looked up the banks towards the lights of the city. The sounds of battle were nearer now, along with strange pure notes that clashed in disharmony, a jarring noise that screamed ‘danger’.
He wanted to ask how they’d make it back, how they’d deal with the situation at all. He wanted to complain, curse the world, and most simply, stab it with his sword until it stopped kicking him in the balls. But he swallowed his doubts and anger both. It wasn’t a matter of how. That word, need, rang in his ears. They simply had to do it.
“Where to?”
Luscien took a breath, adjusting his broken glasses as best he could. “The manor. It will have what we need, and if the city’s under attack, its wards should hopefully hold.”
“I don’t know about you,” Corrin said. “But I’m in pretty bad shape. If we get into a fight…” Mana was working to heal the cuts and accumulated wear on his body, but it would still take time, siphoning off his intake in the meantime. Pulling mana away from injuries took more effort than normal, and with his body in such a state, his circulation was choppy and uneven—difficult to work with.
“I know,” Luscien nodded. “I’ll take us around any confrontations as best I can. With Kita’s senses… we should be able to get back. I hope.”
Corrin met his eyes for a moment. Then, he bent down and hefted Eryndor up onto his shoulder. “Lead the way, fox boy.”
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