It was at that moment that Bartholomew’s scream echoed throughout the main hall, and Jonathan looked down in time to see his oldest son die at the hands of Maximus. Looking back up to Vlishgnath, his response came as a growl. “I will not spend the rest of my days rotting in one of the church’s cells!”
Jonathan charged in, bringing his mace down in a surprisingly powerful downward swing that caught Vlishgnath off guard. Vlishgnath brought his kite shield up to meet it, but as the mace made contact with the shield, a sudden eruption exploded from the mace, the concussive force of which was strong enough to put a large dent in the front of Vlishgnath’s shield and send spasms of reverberating pain through Vlishgnath’s arm.
Vlishgnath staggered back, gasping as his arm quivered and shook. Jonathan laughed wickedly as he advanced on Vlishgnath, swinging again in a downward diagonal stroke. Vlishgnath deftly sidestepped the swing, countering with a cross slash from Retribution starting up near his left shoulder. Jonathan brought up the black shield, and the moment Retribution made contact with it, it reflected the full force of the swing back onto Vlishgnath, bouncing Retribution off of the shield with such force that it knocked Vlishgnath off balance. Taking several measured steps back, Vlishgnath crouched down, holding his shield out in front of him again.
Jonathan advanced on him slowly, chuckling darkly. “You see? Being the herald of Belphegor has its advantages...”
Vlishgnath charged in, sidestepping another powerful diagonal swing from Jonathan and ducking an attempted shield bash. Just as he was about to turn about and put his full momentum into another swing, Jonathan caught him in the chest with his mace, the same concussive force now catching Vlishgnath square in the torso and knocking him onto his back, the cracking sound of a rib breaking drowned out by the punching sound of the mace having struck his breastplate. An excruciating pain accompanied the break, leaving Vlishgnath gasping for breath for a moment and barely able to get his shield up, as Jonathan took advantage of him on the ground by bringing the mace down upon him in another swing. This time Vlishgnath’s shield split, his forearm splintering as the kite shield gave way. Vlishgnath let out a deep groan, fighting the almost unbearable pain in his side and forcing himself to sit up as he discarded his broken shield.
Jonathan stood over him, sneering and shaking his head. “Foolish boy. You should have turned back when you had the chance.”
Reaching up weakly with his broken left arm, gasping from the pain it caused, Vlishgnath lifted his visor and looked Jonathan in the eyes. Gripping Retribution tightly in his right hand, Vlishgnath smiled through his involuntary wincing and mustered all of his strength to sound as proud and noble as he could, despite being unable to breathe without great effort. “I know what awaits me in the afterlife, Jonathan LeFay. No such honor or glory awaits you.”
With a snort of derision, Jonathan raised the mace above his head. “Your death will be in vain, church knight.”
Then, as Jonathan tensed to bring the mace down upon Vlishgnath for what would be the last time, there was a sudden loud swooshing noise, followed by Judgment sailing through the air horizontally. Spinning in a large circle, the edge of the blade severed Jonathan LeFay’s right hand just below the wrist before lodging itself in the door to Jonathan’s study.
Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock and horror, his now detached hand falling lifeless to the ground, the mace it had been grasping dissipating. Seizing the moment, Vlishgnath gathered all the willpower he could muster, defying his body’s screams of painful protest as he sat up, and lunged the point of Retribution into Jonathan LeFay’s chest. The divine blade crackled and burned as a holy light coursed through Jonathan’s body, sending him into violent spasms of agony. Jonathan let out a hideous scream, crying out to his dark god one final time before his body went limp, falling to the ground as the shield in his left hand dissipated as well.
Once this was done, Vlishgnath let out a loud sigh, falling onto his back and lying on the ground, drawing deep breaths in a pained wheeze. Within a few moments, Thunderclese and Maximus had made their way over, Maximus clutching his stomach and Thunderclese walking weakly. The two slumped down next to Vlishgnath, who continued to lie there.
After several seconds of silence, Vlishgnath weakly turned his head towards Maximus. “Nice throw. That mace was absolutely destroying me. Not to mention you gave me the opening I needed.”
Maximus let out a dull groan, then spoke. “Hardly. I was trying to take his head off and missed.”
Vlishgnath laughed at first, then quickly stopped, grabbing his side and groaning.
Thunderclese pried his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground. His blonde hair was glistening with sweat and matted to his head, and he reached up to rub the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he spoke. “We’ll give you a couple minutes, then we need to get you up so we can get out of here. I’m ready to leave.”
Vlishgnath nodded slowly. “I think I am too.”
Later, back aboard the Hjorngrimar, Vlishgnath and Maximus stood along the port side of the ship. Vlishgnath was stripped of his breastplate, with bandages wrapped tightly around his bare torso and his broken arm in a sling. Still in his greaves and plate boots, Retribution remained belted at his side.
Closing his eyes and enjoying the warm, gentle breeze against his bare skin, with Maximus standing silently next to him, Vlishgnath welcomed the addition of Thunderclese when he joined them on the deck. Still wearing his armor, Thunderclese had his helmet tucked under his left arm and looked off into the distance along with them as the ship crashed over the crimson waves.
For several long minutes none of them said anything until, finally, Thunderclese spoke. “How’re you doing, Maximus?”
Maximus grumbled.
Vlishgnath smiled and answered for him. “He’s fine. He’s refused medical attention, but he actually seems to be doing better than either of us.”
Thunderclese nodded knowingly as he replied. “My whole body aches, but at least I’m not as bad off as you.”
Vlishgnath shook his head incredulously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You still have to live with that face.”
Both men chuckled, though Vlishgnath less enthusiastically than Thunderclese, if only because of his broken rib.
After several more moments of silence, Thunderclese spoke again. “Do you think Drenton will return to normal now?”
Vlishgnath thought for a moment. “I imagine so. From what you’ve told me of what Alexander said, it sounds like we got there just in time. And with the portal now closed, there shouldn’t be any more demons escaping into the material plane.”
Thunderclese nodded.
Just then, the man in the crow’s nest shouted something in the language of the Northmen, and Dnieper could be heard laughing and shouting orders in the same indecipherable tongue.
After looking at each other in confusion for a moment, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese turned to face the chieftain, and Thunderclese called out. “Dnieper! What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
Dnieper laughed again, calling back in a jovial tone. “Nothing is wrong, friend Thuundarclease!”
“Then what is it?” Vlishgnath shouted back.
“My man says he has spotted the green light in the distance! Yrgramir is guiding us home!”
As the walls of Ascention came into view, Vlishgnath relaxed visibly and sighed with relief. Holding the reigns of Aramus in his right hand, his left arm was still in a sling and now tightly secured to his torso. Maximus rode alongside him, having finally let Grisbane bandage him up back in Drenton. Thunderclese came up on Vlishgnath’s left, while a fully recovered Euronymus trailed behind on his