The Oracle Paths

A few seconds later, the ship emerged on the outskirts of Laudarkvik, on the edge of a valley sheltered from prying eyes so as not to alert the city. The huge spacecraft landed noiselessly and the passengers inside cheered with joy.

Yet, Jake was more in the mood to cry his eyes out. The speed of this Lodunvals-Laudarkvik trip was matched only by its Aether cost. 80B worth of Aether points was what the Purgatory had burned to power the ship's thrusters and support the illusion, put to the test by the atmospheric friction.

Right now, he had just over 100B Aether points left. That is, less than a quarter of the amount of Aether he had started with. And the Ordeal had only been going on for a day.

Jake drew a cold breath as he checked his savings. From now on, the Aether he had left should be reserved for life and death situations. But more realistically, he absolutely had to find a way to restore the spent Aether and put in place some solutions so he wouldn't be so dependent on it.

The events of that night had been traumatic and unforgettable in more ways than one. He never wanted to experience that feeling of helplessness again, but now that he had time to reflect on it quietly, he also knew that with the context of the Ordeals such situations were bound to happen again.

All he could do was make the best of his time to prepare for those grim days.

While Jake recalled the Purgatory in his Aether Soul Core in front of the dumbfounded survivors, Ruby, Wyatt and the veteran Mutants kept a vigilant eye on the southern sky for any sign of their pursuers. After five excruciating minutes, the oldest of Aisling's guards breathed a sigh of relief.

"We're safe for now. But until Aisling or Haynt regain consciousness, we can't risk returning to Laudarkvik." The old Mutant cautioned them. He then proceeded to cross-check their versions of events as he listened to their reports.

His wrinkled face had the pointed ears and blue-gray skin of the Night Elves, so he was probably much older than his appearance suggested. His name was Rifalen and he was the only one of the three Vice-Leaders of the Mutant Faction who had survived last night's battles.

Norton was presumed dead, while Tazee, the second Vice-Leader, a Vampire-Werewolf hybrid with the highest fighting capability after Aisling had perished while protecting her. Or so he thought. Given Aisling's and Haynt's grievous injuries, he could only hope that she had not sacrificed her life in vain.

Deep down, the old Mutant was much less optimistic. In reality, an enemy capable of putting Haynt and their leader in such a state could surely eliminate Tazee in a heartbeat. Perhaps she had even been ambushed and obliterated before she could even draw her sword.

As Jake suspected, as soon as they reached Lodunvals, Aisling, Haynt and Abbikesh, the respective leaders of the Mutants, Astral and Humans in Laudarkvik, were locked in a deadly struggle against the Head General of the Wengol army. It was the gigantic and unshakable Wengol warrior that Jake had seen retreating with his protectoral guards.

The other Mutants, humans and Astrals in their squads had rushed to the aid of the inhabitants and soldiers of Lodunvals under the command of a Vice-Leader, while the rest had been tasked with disrupting and slowing down the Wengol army.

As for the battle between the three Faction Leaders versus the Wengol Head General, it had started well. The fight was evenly balanced at first, and even greatly to their advantage thanks to the presence of Haynt by their side, but it quickly turned sour when the shadowy conspiracy of the other Laudarkvik factions came into play.

The dead on both sides suddenly began to resurrect, and many hooded figures and traitors within the Wengol army alike moved in to target generals, officers and other high-ranking warriors.

One such powerhouse was worth 100 ordinary troops. As they succumbed one by one and joined the ranks of the Undeads, the rate at which the Wengol army was being cut down increased exponentially.

At the same time, the common troops, human or Wengol, horse or Wurching, fell into an irrepressible killing frenzy, irreversibly sinking into madness. The elites capable of stopping them were already too busy resisting their evil impulses and facing assassination attempts by these mysterious enemies to do anything to prevent this catastrophe.

At this point, the Wengol army's Head General obviously had neither the heart nor the desire to continue fighting the three Faction Leaders. With a frustrated roar of rage, it had jumped into the fray and initiated an all-out attack on the hooded, traitorous figures wreaking havoc on its army.

But whoever these enemies were, they were well prepared. Several unassuming individuals in their shabby cloaks immediately rose up against the tyrannical Wengol, easily containing it.

As Aisling, Haynt and Abbikesh and their guards recognized the techniques and auras of some of these hooded figures, a terrible feeling gripped their hearts. They had been played.

Who was it for? As soon as the answer crossed their minds, they found themselves surrounded by dozens of enemies. Rifalen, who was fighting far away alongside the paladins of Lodunvals, was fairly certain he recognized with his keen vision the Thrajah clan's Vampire Ancestor, but also Strudaaqyx, the Undead leader.

Cornered by these formidable antagonists, the trio had unhesitatingly fled in the direction of the Wilderness, hoping to shift the battlefield there to preserve their troops and the civilians they were trying to protect. As for the rest, Rifalen couldn't say for sure and would have to wait for Aisling and Haynt to wake up to get to the bottom of it.

What he did know, however, was that humans and Astral had betrayed them in battle, but not all of them. Some had also been deeply shocked at the reversal of their companions and many had died with irreconcilable expressions on their faces as they were stabbed by those they believed to be their friends.

It was these unforeseen treacherous attacks that had caused most of the casualties among these Mutants. How else could they have died so miserably?

Each of these 26 Mutants were veterans who had accompanied and supported Aisling throughout her rule. They ranged in level from 60 to 75 and each was an indispensable pillar of their faction. After tonight, there would be only 7 of them left.

For the Laudarkvik Mutants, that fateful night would go down in history as the night that nearly caused their extinction. It was a catastrophe from which they would have difficulty recovering for many years.

After hearing the report from Jake and his group, the old Mutant and his 6 companions were left with a heavy heart, filled with a strong pessimism about their future.

" So how are they doing?" Rifalen asked shortly afterwards to Wyatt, who was tending to the two unresponsive leaders.

The Vampire Progenitor had volunteered to tend to the wounded. With his Blood Thaumaturgy he could do some amazing feats of healing magic. It was particularly effective in the case of Aisling who had been drained of her blood during the battle.

One drop of Wyatt's blood could regenerate the entire blood volume of an ordinary man, and although it was less effective on Aisling, it was still better than nothing. His Blood Magic gave him extreme control over the blood of creatures entering his field of perception and if he wanted to, he could make them explode with a snap of his finger. Of course, he could also use it for good.

"I can't do anything for Haynt, since his body has no blood, but Aisling should be waking up soon." The blond man replied with a reassuring smile. "She'll need a lot of human blood to recover, but I guess you already knew that. With all the Blood Essence she used, it's a wonder she survived."

Rifalen nodded with a blank stare, realizing once again how close they had come to disaster.

"And Haynt? What are his odds?" The old Mutant questioned again, his features tense with worry.

Wyatt grimaced apologetically,

"These wounds are much worse than Aisling's, there's nothing I can do. If he wasn't so powerful, he would have been dead long ago. He needs a kind of energy to recover that I unfortunately can't provide."

Well, that was putting it mildly... The Astral was like a neutral star. His brightness was not lethal to Vampires, but Wyatt obviously didn't have what it took to help him. Perhaps a certain walking sun could...

"Let me take care of him." Jake declared with perfect timing as he walked towards them. His disintegrated shoulder and torso were back to health, though he was a little more gaunt and pale than before.

A strange glint flashed in the Vampire's eyes, but he gladly obliged,

"I entrust him to you."

Suddenly, dozens of loud, supersonic shockwaves echoed in the sky several kilometers away from them as everyone in the valley stiffened. On the lookout, Elduin and other Mutants clambered to the top of a tree to see what was going on. A few seconds later, the elf came back down and whispered darkly,

"Dozens of hooded figures have just flown into Laudarkvik. From what you've described, they are Aisling and Haynt's attackers."

"Peeh! You dog bastards!" One of the Mutants spat on the ground.

Their arrival had just put to rest their last doubts. They had indeed been betrayed by their allies.