A Brief Interlude Part 1 of 6 (Fantasy / Sword and Sorcery)

The Last Whitelighter

Smoke lingered above the charred remnants of what had once been homes. Davi walked alone through the ruins, boots crunching on the debris and remains of shattered lives. His senses alert for any movement, for the parasites drawn to destruction's wake. Bandits. Scavengers. The not-quite-human creatures that always fed on war's aftermath. Wincing, he adjusted the bandages on his arm where a wound pulsed hot beneath filthy cloth. A constant reminder of death and the most terrible of defeats.

…

"The wards are shattering!" Lieutenant Mariel's scream cut through the cacophony of battle, blood streaming from a gash across her forehead, her once-pristine white cloak now coloured dirty crimson. Around them, Whitelighters fell like harvested wheat before the demonic onslaught.

Davi whipped toward the ridge overlooking the battlefield, where dozens of Arcanum mages were offering support from afar. His breath caught in his lungs. A cold sweat broke across his brow as his stomach twisted into a knot. The mages stood in perfect formation atop the hill, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, but not to strengthen their defenses. The Arcanum's shimmering barriers were falling in quick succession as each mage completed their incantation, the wards collapsing with the precision of an execution, the blue protective light shattered like glass before vanishing entirely.

"Treachery." The words escaped his throat. His chest squeezed. Truth tasted like bile.

As the last ward shattered reality itself was torn apart. Its edges curling like burning parchment, revealing absolute darkness.

A procession came through the void, a single female carried upon a high throne, visible to all.

Archoness Vexis.

Her skin, alabaster and luminous, cast a cold phosphorescence over the blood-soaked battlefield. Platinum hair hung perfectly still around her flawless features, not a single strand daring to stray from its ordained position. Her immaculate beauty froze the air itself. Men who glimpsed her perfection forgot to breathe, their hearts stuttering in their chests. Not worship—but the primal recognition of a predator so evolved, so refined in its killing grace, that death by her hand would be considered a fitting end. But her eyes. Gods, her eyes froze his blood. Contained within them was an ancient and unfathomable malice.

She was carried forward upon her throne. Her midnight gown absorbed every hint of light. Life withered as she passed - grass died and crumbled into ash, flowers shriveled into husks, stones split with sounds like breaking teeth. Even the air felt thinner, harder to breathe, as if she consumed oxygen itself. Death spread outward from the footsteps of those who bore her forward. Behind her, demons flooded through the ruptured wards, howling their bloodlust.

"Call the retreat, Captain." Kenrick appeared beside him, ornate robes pristine, eyes calculating. "Your Whitelighters have served their purpose."

Hand to sword hilt. Steel sliding free. The blade trembled with his fury while his wounded arm sent violent spasms throughout his body.

"What have you done?" Words hissed through clenched teeth.

"A necessary exchange." Kenrick's lips formed something approximating a smile.. "The Archoness made a compelling offer."

Three horn blasts from above pummeled into his skull. The death knell of three hundred souls. His knees nearly gave. Three hundred brothers and sisters. Sacrificed.

Across the killing field, Vexis found him. Her lips parted revealing teeth too white, too sharp. One talon-tipped finger beckoned. A collector to her prize.

"The last Whitelighter captain." Her voice penetrated mind and bone, each syllable a frozen dagger. "Bear witness to the end of your order.."

Sweat broke across his forehead despite the cold crushing his lungs. He lunged at Kenrick, blade slicing towards the Warlock’s throat, but his wounded arm seized mid-strike. Betrayed by his own flesh.

"You've condemned us all." He screamed as even more demons continued to pour through ruptured wards, their essence seeping into soil that trembled in rejection. "Their magic devours everything."

"It can be channeled Captain." Kenrick then raised a crystal-tipped scepter, its sickly green light casting unnatural shadows across his face. The artifact hummed with malevolent power, clearly not of Arcanum origin. "Some prices are worth paying."

He struck the ground with the scepter once before stepping back into a portal, its edges rippling like water trying to reject his presence. The crystal pulsed, as if it was feeding on the carnage, a harbinger of worse to come.

Gone. Kenrick was gone. Vision narrowed to a crimson tunnel. Copper flooded his mouth, his tongue bitten through. Around him, the last of the Whitelighters fell. Their screams carved themselves into memory.

Vexis raised her hands skyward. Clouds boiled into a vortex, the same sickly green, the same unnatural magic that lived in the crystal. Energy expelled from her fingers to the churning heavens. Venomous magic.

"My ascension begins." Her voice resonated with terrible power. "The first steps toward godhood, purchased with the blood of your brothers."

From the fallen Whitelighters rose luminous tendrils. Their essence. Their power. Their souls. Ethereal strands writhing as they flowed into Vexis, absorbing into her. Each consumed soul made her more beautiful. More terrible. Unbearable to look upon. Wind howled. Arcane energy whipped his cloak as he fought to stand against the magical storm.

"Flee, my captain," she purred, each syllable penetrating his mind with intimate precision. "I'll savor your fear as you run. Every night you'll feel me inside your mind, feeding on your memories of this day. And when I finally take you—and I will—you'll surrender everything, and my ascension will truly be complete."

Mariel's fingers dug into his arm. "We must retreat!" She had to scream above the wind. "The battle is lost, but we need you alive!"

Duty crashed against despair like waves against a crumbling cliff. He looked back—he shouldn't have looked back—watched more of them die. His legs moved before his heart caught up. Twelve survivors. No, eleven now. The screaming stopped..

Now both the Arcanum and Vexis hunted the survivors, and those who remained were now long separated from each other.

-

Davi closed his eyes, letting his other senses expand to detect the presence of magic. This skill had saved his life more times than he could count. Even now, he could feel faint ripples in the air, the residue of recent spellcraft. Not demonic, something... different.

A scream cut through the night. Davi's eyes snapped open. His body moved before his brain caught up - pure soldier's instinct kicking in. He sprinted toward the sound, pain forgotten. Staying low, he ducked behind a broken column and crouched there, breathing quiet, sizing things up. Through the gaps in the rubble, he saw them: a woman, and two men, one green and much more imposing than the other.

She fought against ropes binding her slender body and ankles. Small but fierce - her movements calculated rather than frantic. The green-skinned half-troll held her from behind, his massive hands clamping down on her shoulders. Standing before her, a man gripped the loose end of the rope, jerking it occasionally to remind her who was in control. His face was pitted with old pox scars. Teeth gone black. Wearing armor that didn't match and clinked when he moved – probably stolen from dead soldiers. The sort who measured life in copper coins. Who'd cut your throat for the rings on your fingers

"C'mon now," the man said with mock politeness. He grabbed the woman's chin, forcing her head up toward him. "Gimme some of that magic water, sweetheart."

His eyes burned with a sick hunger, his gaze fixed on her mouth as if it held something both sacred and carnal, something he thought he could take.

She twisted her face away, her voice sharp despite the bindings digging into her skin. "I'd rather die parched in the desert than give you the smallest drop."

The mercenary's hand lashed out, cracking across her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, but her glare burned brighter, sharper, as though daring him to strike again.

"Think you're better than us, fairy?" the man sneered. "You'll sing a different tune when our mistress drains every last drop of magic outta you."

Her answer came quick and sharp. She spat straight into his eyes. It appeared to burn.

"Jake!" he barked, his voice rising an octave as he pointed at the half-troll. "Hold her still. I'm gonna carve that attitude outta her."

Davi sprung into action

"Let her go."

His voice rang out, sharp and commanding, ricocheting off the broken stone walls. The two turned, their faces a mix of surprise and irritation. Davi stepped into the open, keeping the fallen column within reach, his stance loose but ready.

The mercenary's mouth twisted, revealing teeth gone black from rot. 'Ain't your business what we do with her,' he spat, short sword clinked against stolen armor that didn't match. 'Scavenger's law. We caught her, she's ours.

Davi drew his blade in one smooth motion, the steel catching the last burn of sunlight, casting faint streaks of red across the rubble. His voice was quiet but firm

"I see no law here."

The mercenary stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, his sword swinging casually at his side. "Jake," he muttered without looking back, "crush her throat if I fall."

The half-troll grunted, his massive hand curling tighter around the woman's neck..

Wind shifted. Davi caught the mercenary's stink—sweat and something fouler. His wounded arm sent out a pulse of heat that made his vision swim for half a heartbeat. Bad timing. He planted his feet anyway, finding the old stance. How many fights now? Too many to count.

The mercenary lunged. No finesse, just brutality and bad technique. A downward chop meant to split Davi's skull. The kind of attack that worked on farmers and fleeing villagers, not soldiers.

Steel kissed steel. The impact rattled up Davi's arms and into his teeth. His wounded flesh screamed in protest, but his grip held. Barely.

Don't block next time. Can't take another hit like that

"I'll pry that fancy blade from your corpse!" The mercenary circled left, dragging his sword tip across the stone. "Your boots'll fetch a fair price too."

Davi said nothing. Breathing was enough work. Sweat ran cold down his spine, then hot under his arms. His shirt clung to his skin, heavy and restrictive.

The mercenary feinted high, then swung low. Predictable. Davi stepped back, but his heel caught on a loose stone. A stumble. His knee buckled. The enemy blade whistled past his face close enough that he felt the air move.

Shit.

He regained his balance, brought his sword up as the mercenary pressed his advantage, swinging wild. Something savage gleamed in the man's eyes, he'd seen the weakness, the pain.

Their blades clashed again. Once. Twice. A third strike nearly tore Davi's weapon from his numbing fingers. Each impact traveled up his arm and into his chest. The wound was bleeding again; he could feel warm wetness spreading beneath the bandage.

Can't keep this up. Need to end it.

"Getting tired, soldier boy?" The mercenary grinned through rotted teeth. "I'm gonna gut you slow."

A flash of memory then, his first sword master. "Your enemy will talk. Let him. Every word is stolen breath. Every word is one more heartbeat you get to stay alive."

The mercenary lunged again, overconfident now. His sword came straight for Davi's chest, all his weight behind it. A killing strike.

Davi twisted, but not quite enough. The blade sliced across his side, parting cloth. No blood. Just a kiss of steel against skin. Close.

He's overextended.

Davi brought his knee up hard into the mercenary's stomach. The man doubled over, breath escaping in a surprised wheeze. Their bodies collided. Davi smelled rotten meat on the man's breath. His wounded arm screamed in protest as he shoved the mercenary back.

"I'll kill you!" The mercenary's face flushed red. "I'll…"

Another wild swing. Davi sidestepped, but his wounded arm seized, his muscles contracting against his will. The mercenary's blade caught his, metal shrieking against metal once again.

The man pressed forward, using his weight, trying to drive Davi's own blade into his throat. For three heartbeats, they stood locked together, trembling with effort. The mercenary's breath was hot on Davi's face.

He's stronger. But I'm…

Davi let his wounded arm collapse. All resistance gone, the mercenary stumbled forward, off-balance, momentum carrying him past Davi's shoulder. A mistake born of anger and overconfidence.

Davi pivoted. His blade flashed out, opening the back of the mercenary's sword hand. Not a killing blow. Just enough.

The man howled, dropped his weapon. It clattered against stone, the sound echoing through the ruins. Blood spurted between the fingers of his good hand as he clutched the wound.

Davi's sword tip found the hollow of the mercenary's throat. He could see the man's pulse in his neck, beating frantically.

"Stop!" The half-troll's voice boomed across the ruins. His fingers tightened around the woman's throat until her eyes bulged. "Kill him and she dies!"

Everything went still. The only sound was the mercenary's whimpering and the scrape of the half-troll's feet against stone as he adjusted his grip.

Davi didn't take his eyes off the mercenary, but his attention split between the two threats. The woman caught his gaze.

"A trade," Davi said, voice steady despite the fire in his arm. "His life for hers."

"Jake" the mercenary's voice cracked, "do what he says."

The half-troll hesitated, massive brow furrowed with the effort of considering options. Slowly, reluctantly, his fingers uncurled from around the woman's throat. She crumpled forward, gasping, but Davi noticed how her fall seemed controlled, how her eyes never stopped scanning.

"Leave," Davi said, lowering his sword just enough to let the mercenary stumble back toward his companion. "Now."

The mercenary clutched his bleeding hand to his chest. Hatred burned in his eyes, but fear won out. "This ain't over," he spat on the ground between them. "We'll find you again."

The half-troll hauled him away by his collar, like a mother cat with an unruly kitten. Their shadows stretched long across the broken stones, then vanished around a crumbling wall.

Davi waited until their footsteps faded before allowing his sword arm to finally tremble.

Davi knelt beside the woman, the cold stone pressing into his knees. He used his blade to slice through the ropes binding her ankles and wrists, careful to avoid nicking her skin. The frayed ropes fell away, leaving red marks etched across her pale flesh.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low, steady, deliberately calm.

"I'm fine." Her response was quiet, clipped. She rubbed her wrists slowly, her fingers pale and delicate. She wasn't trembling. It was as if she was holding everything in tight control.

"My name is Davi," he said, sheathing his sword.

"Asra." Her voice softened, but her gaze remained low, fixed somewhere between the ground and his boots. "Thank you for your help. I was careless to be caught by those two."

Davi studied her in the fading light. Her skin was moonlight pale.. Blue-black hair tumbled to her waist in waves, tangled from the struggle but still striking. She wasn't human - that much was clear. Even dirty and disheveled in torn clothes, she retained an ethereal beauty.

"You're far from fae lands," he said, watching her carefully. "These parts aren't safe for anyone. Especially your kind."

Asra finally looked up. Her eyes caught what remained of the light, the colour of which shifted like water. "I don't have your strength," she said with quiet pride, "but I'll manage."

Davi glanced at the shadows stretching longer across the ruins. Night was coming fast, and with it, things that were worse than bandits.

"Nearest settlement is two days away. You shouldn't go alone."

She rose and brushed dust from her clothes with deliberate movements. "And you offer protection? How noble." The words dripped with sarcasm beneath a thin veneer of politeness.

"Until somewhere safer, yes." The offer surprised him as much as her. Why did he care if she walked alone through the ruins? He told himself it was duty that made him speak. Nothing more.

She stepped closer. Too close. Her eyes shifted between blue and green, never settling on one color, never quite matching each other. When she exhaled, he caught her scent, wildflowers in the rain,. His mouth watered against his will, even as his stomach clenched with warning.

"How do I know you're not like them?" Her eyes locked onto his. "Just more patient. Better at hiding what you really want?"

Davi's fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword, his breathing steady but slower now, his thoughts deliberate. "I've taken an oath," he said. "To protect the innocent. To speak the truth. To stand against the dark."

Her head tilted slightly, and for a moment, he thought he saw the faintest flicker of amusement in her expression. "I've heard many oaths from many lips, Whitelighter. Few survive the test of time... or temptation."

Wait! What!

She called me Whitelighter!

"Fairy or not," Davi said, stepping forward despite himself, "I can't leave you here. Night's falling, and you need protection. I will…"

Something sharp flickered in her eyes then, a warning. Her posture shifted, her body taut as a drawn bowstring. "Stay back," she said, her voice cold now, commanding.

"I'm only offering to help you." His voice sounded wrong in his own ears - too soft, almost pleading. He caught himself wanting to step closer. Wanting to find words that would make her trust him. Where was this coming from?

She moved faster than he expected. Her hand flashed up, and the slap cracked against his cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. His skin tingled, and for a moment, the world swam before his eyes.

By the time his head cleared, she was fifty paces away. Running wasn't the right word, her legs blurred, her outline wavered like a mirage. One moment crossing the open ground, the next dissolving into the tree line. And then she was gone.

Davi stood frozen, cheek still burning from the slap. Her scent hung in the air. He wanted to follow her. To keep her close. Why?

A howl cut through the night. Not human. The sound jolted him back to reality like a bucket of cold water. Whatever spell she'd cast broke, replaced by a soldier's instinct to survive.

The End of Part 1

---

Thank you and taking the time to read ‘The Last Whitelighter’ which is Part 1 of a six part serial “A Brief Interlude”. The full story runs approximately 16,000 words, and I have been working on it for most of the last month. Like “The Naming Ritual” and “Deity Auditions” before it, this is an older story of mine that I have reedited and extended. I plan to release two issues per week, one on Wednesday for ‘Warrior Wednesday’ and the other for ‘Swords and Saturday‘ these two days are run and put together by

The Man Behind the Screen

and

The Brothers Krynn

. The idea for the ‘Algorithmic illustrations’ came from

Brian Heming

and his remix of the first Conan stories. If you are a fan of sword and sorcery and adventure fantasy fiction, you will also enjoy his own original tales that he serializes on Substack.