Chapter Thirty-five – Dash to the edge of the world
Fake and Andin saved nothing in their run for the edge, stopping only to exchange the bloodied, burdensome bag of Garruk’s body. Even a dismembered Garruk was still a potent foe. The immortal’s body would send waves of agony into the air dropping the boys hard into the dirt and shrubs of Torment.
The pain was just another obstacle to be conquered. They were so close to the end they could taste the sweet success. There was no greater high than that of accomplishing the impossible. Their path took them through the emptiest stretches of Torment, keeping them safe from patrols and slavers.
“Andin,” wheezed Fake.
“Yeah?” gasped Andin back.
“I love running,” lied Fake.
But the endless miles eroded Andin’s victorious euphoria. Garruk’s words ate at the prince, they spread through his mind like a virus. The unshakeable conviction that defined Andin was crumbling. What the hell are we doing this for? Screamed Andin in his mind.
Andin saw his friend resolutely take step after step. Andin saw the most unflinchingly loyal friend he could ask for. Andin saw the only reason to continue running. Do it for Fake.
Twenty miles from the edge the first Divisa arrived wrapping Andin and dropping him into the dirt. Fake’s sand star battered the creature off of his friend. Fake took the body bag from his hazed friend. Fake opened it and recut the arm that had started growing back into Garruk’s torso.
Steadily, the Divisa attacks increased as they converged on their master. Fake bore the load for the rest of the journey as Andin kept a vigilant eye on the skies. In the open the Divisas were masterful tacticians. They would attack in groups from all angles. Fake took up arms when the attacks were too large for the fire prince alone.
They could see the edge of the plane clearly now. Their pace quickened. Fake eyed only the finish line. Andin saw the cloud of Divisas growing behind them. He knew they would attack in one final wave. The fire prince wouldn’t surrender their prize to the enemy. The wave swelled, poised to attack.
“Fake, I’ll catch up with you,” lied Andin.
“But we’re so close,” said Fake confused, turning back to his friend. The Divisas filled the sky. Fake thought the lull in attacks an hour ago was the enemy’s numbers finally thinning. The illusionist was wrong. “Andin no!” shouted Fake as Andin launched Fake towards the edge with a stone platform.
Andin slid through the dirt changing directions. The Divisas dove in to consume their prey. The fire prince would hold them off long enough for Fake to reach the edge and hide himself. Wall after wall of fire incinerated the Divisas. Hundreds fell dead at the prince’s hands. Hundreds more replaced those he dispatched.
Andin strained every fiber in his body to delay his hunters. The fire prince was overwhelmed. One by one, the Divisas wrapped their barbs around the prince engulfing him in unimaginable anguish. The flying monsters ravaged Andin and left his mutilated body in pursuit of his friend.
The diversion worked; Fake was only a hundred yards from the edge of Torment, the infinite void ready to swallow Garruk forever. Fake crashed to a stop and spit on Garruk’s body parts as he threw them over the edge. Fake’s sand shredded through the bag mid-fall for good measure.
The mission was finished but the danger remained. Fake faced his enemy. The Divisas flew past him desperately seeking their master. It was a hopeless endeavor; Garruk’s body had been cut to a thousand pieces by Fake’s final goodbye. The Divisas returned like a flood to punish the illusionist.
Fake stood between them and Andin, sand at the ready. He knew his fate would be the same as Andin’s. The illusionist felt no pain when the first Divisa finally broke through his defenses. Nor when the second and third coiled around his head and neck. There was nothing they could do to him now. He went limp next to his friend.