April 1, 2025. Location: Fairy Sanctum, Scottish Highlands. Memory Perspective: Robert MacCallum.
The Fairy Queen rose from her throne, her dragonfly-like wings unfurling in a blaze of brilliance and menace. Light poured through their rainbow patterns, painting the floor in dizzying colors, almost masking the hateful, soul-crushing waves of power rolling off her. Her imperious gaze swept over us, disdain carved into her delicate, cruel face. "You dare intrude upon my domain, giants? You foul my home, trample my halls, and expect to leave unscathed?" Her melodic, biting voice echoed through the throne room, each word a needle in my skull.
The air grew thick, suffocating, as her magic's oppressive aura coiled around us, a tingling chill stinging my sinuses. The temperature dropped sharply, our breaths misting in the cold, the stone floor slick beneath my boots. Her spellwork felt like an unseen predator, clawing at my chest, daring me to falter. I stepped forward, hands raised to summon a Wind Barrier shimmering in the magic-laden air. "We're not here to destroy your home," I said, voice calm yet firm. "We need the Sanctum's core. Stand down, and we avoid bloodshed."
Her laugh pierced the air, sharp and cold, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Bloodshed? You speak as if you understand it. Let's see how your arrogance fares against true power." She raised her hand, and the air tore apart, dark tendrils spilling like living smoke. Figures began to rise, spectral warriors with shifting, incomplete forms, their blades and claws gleaming with malice.
The room dimmed as she launched a crackling surge of dark energy toward us. "Move!" I shouted, diving aside as the blast shattered my Wind Barrier, scattering wind shards across the throne room. Stone dust stung my eyes, the force rattling my bones.
Hamish surged forward, twin short swords flashing, chosen for their precision in tight quarters. He struck a spectral warrior, but it reformed with each blow, its hiss chilling my spine.
Gritting his teeth, Hamish infused his blades with radiant light, slashing again. The warrior dissolved with a shriek, its essence fading into the ether. "Keep at 'em!" he growled, eyes fierce, sweat beading on his brow. Snow raised her staff, an icy dome shielding her and Langston, its surface glinting like frost.
"These shadows are relentless," she muttered, hurling jagged ice spikes at the Queen, her staff glowing softly. The spikes shattered inches from their target, deflected by an invisible barrier, fragments tinkling on the floor.
Chaucer darted through the chaos, his small frame nearly untouchable, a shadow among shadows. He leapt onto a warrior's back, driving his blade into its core. "I've faced deadlier shades in tavern brawls!" he sneered, cool and cutting, as the creature dissolved.
His tail flicked, taunting the shadows, his boots scuffing the stone. "Focus, Chaucer!" I snapped, summoning a volley of Light Missiles, their glowing projectiles fanning out to strike multiple shadows, lighting the room and giving Hamish a breather.
Langston crouched behind Snow's dome, adjusting a gadget, his fingers deft despite the chaos. "This could use refinement," he muttered, hurling it into the fray. A blinding flash erupted, disrupting the Queen's focus, forcing the shadows to falter.
His eyes narrowed with militant focus, a shift from his usual skepticism, his breath sharp in the cold air. The Queen's composure slipped, her eyes narrowing, wings twitching with restrained fury.
She gestured sharply, and a grotesque, shadowy construct rose, its immense wings spreading as it roared, shaking dust from the ceiling. Hamish tightened his grip. "That's new." I shouted, "Hit it hard!" summoning a gust via Wind Barrier to push it back, the wind howling through the chamber. Snow unleashed ice shards, their edges glinting, but the construct absorbed them, unfazed, its claws scraping the stone.
Hamish charged, blades glowing with radiant light, slashing the beast's legs. The strikes seared, light flaring in the dark, but a sweeping claw sent him sprawling, his grunt echoing. Snow's magic cushioned his fall, her staff flaring, frost curling around her hands.
Chaucer leapt onto the creature's back, stabbing its spine. "Hold still, lumbering oaf!" he barked, dodging a claw swipe, his cloak tearing slightly.
I channeled a Radiant Spear, its energy warming my hands, the light steadying my focus. With a deep breath, I hurled it at the construct's core, piercing through blasting a hole straight through its center. The resulting explosion left our ears ringing as it blew itself apart at the joints. The Queen's expression turned icy, disdain dripping. "Impressive," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through the silence. "But you're far from victorious."
She unleashed a dark pulse, knocking us off our feet, the stone cold against my back. As we scrambled to recover, she stepped back into a swirling vortex of magic, her form vanishing into the shadows.
My Insightful Vision caught a mana ripple as she vanished, shrinking us to her scale, the throne room looming larger, its pillars towering like ancient trees. The air felt heavier, the Sanctum's magic bending us to its rules. I steadied my breath, gripping my shillelagh, ready for what came next.
The room fell silent, our breaths ragged, the cold air biting my lungs. I pushed to my feet, glancing at my companions, their faces etched with strain. "Is everyone okay?" Hamish grunted, dusting himself off, his swords clinking softly. "Still kickin'. Barely." Snow nodded, her staff glowing faintly as she healed Chaucer's burns, her fingers trembling from the effort, frost still clinging to her cloak.
Chaucer grinned through the pain, relishing the chaos, his eyes glinting like polished steel. "A fine scrap, that," he rasped, tail flicking, brushing against the stone.
Langston stood, gripping his taser, his face pale but determined, the gadget crackling quietly in the lull. "She's gone, but for how long? This dark magic's worth fighting," he said, voice edged with aggression, recalling an alley brawl from months ago.
I met his gaze, the throne's shadow looming over us. "That flashbang was brilliant, Langston. Well done." He shrugged, staring at the magnificent throne, its carvings glinting faintly. "Didn't expect you lot to fight magical abominations. I can get behind that." His words soured my mood, a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Not all magic's evil!" I said, voice firm. "When a terrorist threatens a city with bombs, is science to blame? Good magic stops bad, just like good people stop bad ones." Chaucer agreed. "Yah, we'd be dead now if it weren't for Robert. This Sanctum and half a dozen others would be over running the world! If they haven't already. I thought you were smart." He addded after a moment.
Langston paused, sorting his satchel, tools clinking softly, then wiggled his taser at Chaucer. "Muh. Hey chaucer, come here. I want to show you something." Chaucer curiously made to approach langston, but Hamish's hand stopped him, firm on his chest. "Not ballad you want, poet."
Langston snickered, ducking behind a column, his footsteps echoing. The air crackled with tension, the Sanctum's shrinking spell making every shadow loom larger, the ceiling impossibly high.
A shrill whistle pierced the silence, fluttering wings heralding an army of fae warriors in gleaming, organic armor, shifting and shimmering in the dim light. Their tiny, enchanted weapons glowed with menace, sharper in our diminished scale, their edges catching the torchlight.
Snow's staff flickered, her face pale as she glanced at the approaching army. "Robert, they seem bigger," she murmured, voice unsteady, her breath misting. I nodded, the throne room towering around us, its vastness oppressive, confirming the Sanctum's trick.
Hamish's lips curled into a scowl, his swords glinting as he shifted his stance. "Tch. They think making us smaller evens the odds. They've got another thing coming." The fae surged forward, armed with glowing blades, magic coursing through their ranks, their wings buzzing like a swarm.
Snow raised her staff, her voice ringing with determination as she summoned a torrent of water from the air. The liquid surged forward, flooding the throne room's lower levels, forcing many fae to take flight, their tiny weapons clattering to the stone, the sound sharp in my ears.
"Good call, Snow! Keep them off balance," I said, deflecting spells with a gust via Wind Barrier, the air howling around me. Hamish charged into the fray, his twin short swords flashing, catching the light from Snow's spell. His movements were precise, parrying incoming strikes with brutal efficiency, his boots grinding against the wet stone.
A fae warrior lunged, but Hamish twisted, bringing one blade up in a sweeping arc, sending the attacker sprawling. With a deft scissor strike, he felled two more flankers, their armor clinking as they fell.
Chaucer darted through the melee like a shadow, his small form nearly impossible to track, a blur against the chaos. He leaped onto a fae archer's back, driving his blade into its shoulder, then flipped off, landing gracefully, his cloak billowing.
"Your arrows fly straighter than your wit, witless twig!" he taunted, voice cool and cutting, ducking under another strike, vanishing into the fray. Langston weaved between columns and debris, always just out of reach, stopping to jab his taser into a fairy's side. The jolt sent them crumpling, twitching on the wet floor, his smirk sharp in the torchlight.
"Langston!" I called, deflecting spells with another Wind Barrier, my arms straining. "Quit playing around and stick with the group!" Langston barely glanced back, smirking. "Playing? This is tactical genius, digsite guy!"
He jabbed another fairy, its yelp echoing, then darted behind a pillar. Snow, exhausted, raised another water wave, crashing into advancing fae, her hands trembling as she downed a mana potion, its glass clinking softly. "There are too many," she murmured, voice strained, her cloak soaked.
I nodded, feeling the same pressure, my chest tight from the Sanctum's magic. I summoned a volley of Light Missiles, each splitting midair to target a different fairy, their impacts lighting the room, scattering the fae and giving us a breather.
The air smelled of ozone and damp stone, my pulse steadying. A louder, sharper whistle froze the fae, parting for a tall, dark-skinned General in ceremonial armor, its intricate designs shimmering. His blade, nearly as long as he was tall, pulsed with raw power, its light casting long shadows.
His piercing gaze silenced the room, his voice heavy with authority. "Enough of this. Trespassers defile our sacred halls. I will not allow it." He pointed his blade at Hamish. "Swordsman, you've impressed me. I challenge you to a duel." Hamish's grin turned feral, his enchanted swords pulsing red, their crystalline edges gleaming. "I don't back down."
Snow grabbed his arm, eyes wide with concern. "Hamish, it's a trap. He's trying to isolate you." Hamish shrugged her off gently, his voice rough but warm. "Aye, lass, maybe. But I've got pride. No runt's superior to me." He stepped forward, blades gleaming, their red glow cutting the air, his boots steady on the slick stone.
The duel began, steel clashing in a symphony, sparks flying as the General's blade met Hamish's dual swords. Each blow was precise, deadly, the General's movements swift, a blur of martial prowess.
Hamish's footwork was impeccable, fluid and deliberate, but the General was relentless, his strikes faster, harder, the air humming with their clash. The fae watched, their wings still. One could cut the tension with a knife. Then, the General feinted, drawing Hamish into a strike that exposed his thigh.
The General's blade slashed deep, blood soaking Hamish's pants as he stumbled, his grunt sharp. "Hamish!" Snow cried, holding her ground, her staff trembling in her grip. Hamish gritted his teeth, steadying himself, blood dripping onto the stone. "Nice trick," he growled, voice tight with pain. "But I've got one of my own."
With a roar, he surged forward, feinting a stumble, his swords flashing. The General lunged for the kill, but Hamish crossed his blades in a scissor motion, twisting the General's weapon from his grasp. In one brutal strike, he severed the General's head, the body collapsing with a dull thud. The fae army gasped, their morale shattered, their wings faltering. Hamish stood over the body, triumph burning in his eyes, blood pooling beneath him.
Snow rushed forward, pulling out her staff and a healing potion, its liquid glinting. "Sit down before you bleed out," she scolded, her hands glowing with magic, frost curling around her fingers. Hamish smirked weakly, sitting heavily. "Aye, lass. You've earned the right to boss me around. Fix me up quick. I've got more fight in me."
Snow's magic worked swiftly, her face tight with concentration as she channeled healing energy, mending torn flesh, her breath misting in the cold. "You're lucky he didn't take your leg off," she muttered, stern but soft, pouring potion over the wound.
Hamish winced, glancing at the General's lifeless body, his lips twitching into a victorious smirk. "Aye, he won't be taking anything from anyone." Chaucer peered from behind a shattered wall, brushing soot from his coat. "Masterstroke of carnage, though the head-roll was messy."
Hamish shot him a look, sharp but amused. "Next time, rat, you duel." Chaucer straightened, dusting his sleeves, his tail flicking. "I'd rather weave the saga than swing the steel, old man." Langston folded his arms, his face unreadable, standing further back. "You all realize this isn't over, right? These fae won't quit over one flashy warrior." I nodded, scanning the disorganized fae, their eyes a mix of fear and defiance, their weapons still gleaming.
"He's right," I said grimly, my shillelagh heavy in my hand. "They've lost their leader, but the Queen's the head of the snake. If we don't deal with her, they'll regroup." Hamish tested his leg, standing despite Snow's protests, his swords clinking.
"Then let's finish it." The room trembled, a pulse of magic reverberating like a silent scream, torches dimming, their light flickering ominously. A chilling presence descended, the air heavy with malice. "She's coming back," I said, voice low, gripping my shillelagh tighter.
Snow rose, her staff glowing faintly, her face pale but resolute. Chaucer muttered, "Time for the final verse," drawing his daggers, his tail flicking with anticipation, burns still raw on his shoulder. Langston checked his taser, adjusting his bag, his mouth set in a grim line, his hands steady despite earlier tremors.
The throne room's stained-glass windows shattered outward, enchanted shards cascading like deadly rain, their colors flashing across the stone. The Queen's voice echoed, sharp and venomous. "You dare murder my subjects in my throne room? Prepare yourselves!"
The Fairy Queen's transformation was horrific, awe-inspiring, her regal black garments frayed and tattered, whipped by an unseen wind carrying pure malevolence. Her eyes glowed fiercely red, twin beacons of unrelenting fury, boring into our souls, her wings twitching with rage.
She radiated dark energy, pulsing with hate, veiled in a miasma of inky hues, refracting light into jagged obsidian streaks. A suffocating pulse of malice clawed at my lungs, heavy as molten lead, the air trembling with her power. Her guttural, otherworldly growl echoed through the chamber. "You dare desecrate my Sanctum? Your arrogance is your undoing."
I glanced at my team, their faces set in the flickering torchlight. Hamish tightened his grip on his twin short swords, his face grim, blood still staining his pants. Snow steadied herself, her staff glowing faintly, her cloak damp from her spells.
Chaucer crouched low, favoring his bruised shoulder, scanning the Queen for weaknesses, his daggers glinting. Langston drew his taser, a tremor in his hand betraying his nerves, but his eyes were hard.
The Queen launched forward with a screech that rang in my ears, a blur of black and red, her claws raking the air. I raised a Wind Barrier, the force of her attack skidding me back across the stone, sinuses tingling from her magic, my boots scraping.
Hamish charged with a roar, his blades a flurry of steel aiming for her midsection. She deflected with shocking speed, claws sparking against his steel, then twisted midair, launching a spinning kick that sent him sprawling onto the floor. He landed with a grunt and rolled to his feet.
Snow raised her staff, summoning a water wave that surged toward the Queen, its roar filling the chamber. It hit squarely, forcing her back, water splashing across the stone, but the Queen retaliated with a dark pulse, slamming Snow into a wall with a sickening thud. Her staff clattered beside her, the sound sharp in my ears.
"Snow!" I shouted, my heart lurching, but I couldn't look away, the Queen's wrath bearing down.
I countered with a barrage of Light Missiles, dozens splitting midair to target her from all angles, their light searing the shadows. The Queen shrieked, scorch marks crossing her shadowy form, but she didn't falter, raising her hands to summon dark tendrils from the ground, snaking toward me with terrifying speed. I spun my shillelagh, channeling a Wind Barrier to deflect them, but one snared my ankle, yanking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my lungs, stone cold against my back.
Langston darted forward, taser in hand, jabbing a tendril with a crackle of electricity, freeing me, the shock's buzz sharp in the air. The Queen's gaze snapped to him, her expression murderous.
"You insignificant worm," she hissed, voice like nails on glass, her wings flaring.
Langston froze, bravado evaporating, but before she could strike, Chaucer leapt from the shadows, his small frame a blur, driving a dagger into her arm. "Take that, shadow-spawned harpy!" he snarled, tone icy, her screech piercing as she swatted at him.
Chaucer darted away, narrowly avoiding her claws, but a blast of shadowy energy grazed him, his hiss of pain sharp as he retreated behind a fallen column, nursing burns on his fur. "Keep her busy!" I shouted, forcing myself to my feet, my legs aching. I channeled magic into the ground, summoning Vine Snare to entangle the Queen's legs, thick greenery wrapping her briefly.
She tore through them with ease, claws slicing like paper, the vines' snap echoing. Hamish bellowed, charging again, his blades flashing, feinting left to draw her attention, then striking from the right, his swords biting into her side, her furious screech shaking the air.
I joined him, my shillelagh glowing with light, swinging in a wide arc, the magic's glow disorienting her for a split second. Hamish landed another strike, his blades sparking, blood and sweat mixing on his face. Langston, emboldened, hurled a makeshift flashbang cobbled from his satchel, overloading his taser in a clever burst.
The blinding light and sound detonated, the Queen reeling, her screeches filling the chamber, the air thick with ozone. "Now, Chaucer!" I shouted, gesturing to his daggers, imbuing them with a double light spell via Aetheric Weaving, their radiance flaring.
Chaucer launched from the rafters, a furry meteor streaking with radiant fury, his small frame a blur of precision. The Queen, disoriented, didn't see him until too late. He landed on her back, driving his dagger deep into the shadowy mass where her heart should have been, nearly cleaving her form in two right between her wings. The Queen froze, wings faltering, the chamber holding its breath. With a final, ear-splitting shriek, she collapsed, her body disintegrating into a cloud of dark mist, slowly dissipating into nothingness.
Chaucer landed lightly, panting, clutching his injured side, burns raw on his fur.
"A fine end to a wretched tale."
He rasped, voice cool despite exhaustion, his daggers still glowing.
Hamish limped over, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, his own wounds seeping.
"Good work, rat. You earned that one."
I knelt by the Queen's remains, the air heavy with fading magic, using Essence Refinement to extract her essence, a dark, radiant wisp pulsing with power, its energy warm in my hands.
With Essence Harmony, I shaped it, the wisp solidifying into a Shadowthorn Staff, its ebony shaft veined with glowing red runes, thrumming with dark and radiant energy, casting faint shadows on the stone. I could've imbued my shillelagh for shadow-infused strikes, but this staff's potential demanded study, perhaps for infusion later. I stored it with our loot, the runes' glow lingering in my vision, then hurried to Snow, who stirred weakly. "You okay?" I asked, helping her sit up, channeling gentle light to steady her, her cloak damp against my hands.
She nodded, pale, her breath shallow. "Did we win?" Her question echoed a movie I'd seen in another life, Rat Race, a fleeting memory in the chaos. Langston joined us, rubbing his head where he'd hit the wall, his taser still humming faintly. "So, is it over?" he asked, tone uncertain, his eyes scanning the chamber. "Seems so," I said, glancing around, the air still heavy with the Sanctum's magic.
As the dark mist parted, the Queen's treasures materialized from thin air, gold and silver coins gleaming beside orichalcum bars, fist-sized jewels sparkling, uncut jade pillars framing enchanted weapons, their steel clinking softly in the quiet.
We stumbled toward the hoard, the five of us, encircling the staggering wealth, our boots echoing on the stone. The torchlight danced across the riches, their glow almost blinding after the battle's darkness. I caught my breath, the weight of our victory settling in, the cold air sharp in my lungs.
Something caught my eye, out of place among the treasures, stopping my heart, its shape wrong in the flickering light. A sharp pop broke the silence, an enchantment shattering, the sound like glass underfoot.
Moira's voice screamed through my mind, "Robert! Where are you? Answer me!" I winced, covering my ears, Hamish and Snow reacting similarly, their faces twisting in pain, while Chaucer and Langston looked confused, Moira's fear palpable, her voice raw with desperation. Snow began explaining our battle to her, voice steady despite exhaustion, her words faint against the chamber's vastness.
I tried to respond, but my focus kept pulling back to the impossible object in the treasure pile, unnoticed by the others, its presence a riddle in the torchlight.