The Heart of Fire (114 page)

‘Hold on!’ You feel the wind behind you batter against your wings, throwing you forward at greater speed. Unable to keep your balance, you go hurtling head-over-heels across the grey
rooftops. Your shoulder catches on a rocky crenellation, flipping you again. In the spinning chaos, you lose your grip on Virgil, who slips away . . .

Smooth stone flies up at you. Then you are rolling and skidding across a dusty floor. A window reels into view. You go sprawling through it, across an alleyway and straight into an opposite
building. Ashen walls streak past, then you slam into something hard, a bench or chair, breaking your momentum with an agonising smack to the ribs.

A silence. Motes of dust dance through the air.

Your eyes scan back to the open window. There, above the rooftops, you can see the wind demon streaking across the city, shadowy body rippling like some hellish battle standard. The creature is
searching for you – but for now, it seems that you have eluded its gaze.

Your first thought is Virgil and his possible whereabouts – then a more immediate concern takes hold. You glance over your shoulder, flinching at the sight of your newly-formed wings.
Whereas Cernos had sported cruel-looking limbs of midnight black, your own are white-boned, with pale-coloured membranes shot with silver.

You flex your shoulder blades. The wings snap rigid, sending a wave of dust sweeping across the room.

‘So, the angel gets its wings . . .’ Virgil is standing at the window of the opposite building, his surprised expression illuminated by his glowing swords. He shakes his head in
wonderment, then glances down at the intervening alleyway. ‘Don’t suppose I could get a lift, could I?’

(Congratulations, you have completed the Abussos challenge. You may now restore your
health
and abilities.) Turn to
810
.

739

You fling open the cage, quickly leaping aside as the beast lowers its horns and charges. It thunders past in a cloud of dust, smashing and trampling through anything that gets
in its way. Luckily this also includes the giant, who is far too slow to avoid the rampaging animal. The rhinosaur rams straight into him, its sharp horns puncturing through the giant’s
leather armour and throwing him high over its head as if he was little more than a child’s doll.

There is a roar of celebration from the nearby tigris – which ends abruptly as the rhinosaur skids around and charges again, heading straight for them. Quickly the tigris break for cover,
bounding and leaping across the ruined compound while the enraged rhinosaur rumbles after them. Turn to
466
.

740

Benin is slumped on the ground, his face coated with blood and dust. Standing over him is Murlic, the Wiccan rogue with the half-painted face. He holds two daggers, snarling
with rage as he raises them to strike.

Your foot knocks into a broken sword hilt, sending it clattering over the loose rock. Both combatants freeze, looking in your direction.

‘My friend!’ wheezes Benin, clutching at his wounds. ‘Thank the One God – save me!’

The Wiccan rogue scowls, glaring at you with contempt. ‘Do not try to stop me, bright claw.’

Will you:

741

The dark rune-blade slices down in a crimson arc. It would surely have cut the witchfinder in two, if not for the ground lurching suddenly. Both of you are thrown off balance,
loose rock raining down from the walls.

Virgil is clinging to one of the balcony’s stony fingers. A jet of lava spirals up past his shoulder, hanging in space for a single heartbeat, then dropping back to the lake in a shower of
droplets. ‘See, demon!’ He leers. ‘Even the volcano balks at your very existence.’

He would have you back in Durnhollow. In a cell. A prisoner.

The words whisper in your ear, fuelling your anger and resentment. The demon fire is already leaping from the blade, sizzling across the space and smashing into Virgil. Such is the power of the
blast that it hurls him straight across the magma lake and through the wall of the crater.

Finish him.

Your wings snap open as you take to the air, rising up on the searing- hot currents.

Finish him. Finish all who stand in our way!

A dry wind whips at your face as you glide through the opening, out across the ash-strewn slope of the volcano. Below you lie the grey lava flats, pockmarked with craters. You are sweeping down
towards them, following the broken body that twists through the air.
My vision. This is my vision
. . . But you realise something is wrong. You were that body, falling down the mountainside.
Not Virgil.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don’t see the wave of ash until it is too late. It washes over you, plunging everything into darkness. You meet the ground suddenly, the impact rattling
your teeth as your hooves stumble for purchase amidst the dirt and ash. The heat from your blade sears through the cloud, turning it to fiery embers.

Finish him
.

Virgil lies ahead of you, dragging himself across the ground on his elbows.

‘No!’ he spits with rage, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. ‘You will not take me, demon. I will not be a slave to that cursed sword!’ He reaches into the
tattered shreds of his coat, fumbling for something.

You stride forward, aware of the roaring thunder at your back. Above you, molten fire arcs through the smoky skies, pounding mercilessly against the earth.

Yes, the world knows of my coming. It knows fear
.

You shake your head, trying to rid it of the dark thoughts, but the sword has control. It pulls you forward, until you are standing over the witchfinder.

‘My journey is complete!’ The words bellow from your lips, yet they are not your own. ‘Ragnarok is remade!’

The blade comes down. You hear a scream. Then your voice booms once again. ‘One of us will change the future.’

‘Indeed I will.’

The blast comes from the side, lancing into you with the force of a battering ram. You lose your grip on the sword as you are sent sprawling through the dust. Rolling back to your feet, you scan
the roiling clouds, looking for your attacker. The voice had not been Virgil’s, yet it was familiar . . .

An arrow of purple light streaks out of the mist. It pierces your shoulder, punching straight through to the other side. Teeth gritted with pain you stagger forward, dimly aware of the flesh
folding back, healing itself.

A black-cloaked stranger stands before you, a bright staff of gold resting across his shoulder. The wind tugs at his cowl, exposing his features for the briefest of moments. A bald head, gaunt
face, weasel-like eyes. A scar curves along his cheek, turning his upper lip . . .

It is the librarian from Durnhollow. The man who drugged you and then questioned you. The man who brought you to the edge of ruin.

‘YOU!’ Fire crackles in the palms of your hands, fuelled by your memories of that dark place; of your imprisonment.

‘Back off.’ The librarian speaks in a commanding tone – one you have never heard him use before. ‘I am Lorcan. And I am taking the sword.’ Raising his hand, he
points it at Ragnarok. The pale flesh of his arm reveals three branded serpents. They writhe and twist as if alive, glowing with an alien magic. ‘Try and stop me, and I’ll end your life
in an instant.’ From his fingertips the air bends and distorts, flowing outwards in a glittering current. It curls around the sword, enfolding it within an invisible prison.

‘You . . . you used me . . . used Cernos . . . to get the sword.’

He looks at you with derision, his scar twisting his features. ‘You wanted freedom, didn’t you? Look at you, fool. You are an archdemon now.’

The sword drifts through the air to hover at his side. He then raises the golden staff, its end panels flipping open to form the petals of a flower. ‘The future is yours, demon.’

There is a bright flash of golden light – then he is gone. And the sword with him.

The ground shakes violently, throwing you sideways. Only metres away the rock is torn asunder, ripping out a jagged fissure. From its depths, a bright sludge of lava spews forth in a glutinous
mass.

You quickly find your feet, lurching from side to side as the world continues to shudder in its death throes. From behind you there is a thunderous crashing din, followed by a fierce wash of
heat. You dare not look back, to see the scale of devastation. Instead, you simply press on. Virgil lies nearby, his crumpled body giving off a thin grey smoke.

A sudden tremor knocks you to the ground.

Forced to crawl, you scramble over the rocks to reach the witchfinder’s side. ‘Virgil?’ The sword has left a gaping hole in his chest, the cauterised flesh gleaming with
fragments of bone. He lies twisted, arms outstretched as if reaching for something. Your eyes trace the line of his body, to the golden sphere lying in the dust.

A beacon stone. Identical to the one that Virgil placed inside you, to summon himself and Avian to the volcano. He had another . . .

Your hand closes around the sphere, thumb resting on the switch. ‘Freedom . . .’ The word has a bitter ring to it now, tainted with lies – tainted by what you have become. An
archdemon. Like the great Barahar who once waged war on the world. ‘All I ever wanted was freedom . . ..’

Your eyes stray to the witchfinder. The man who had fought by your side. In the end, Ragnarok had taken his life. You wonder if he will ever find peace, or be forced to serve the sword’s
new master for all eternity . . .

There are many steps on the path of darkness. I pray you find deliverance before its end.

You crush the sphere in your fist – just as a violent earthquake rips open the ground. You spread your wings and take to the air, sweeping over the ravaged landscape. A thought, a desire,
now spurs you on – driving you across the forested hills and sparkling turquoise ocean. A desire for revenge.

Congratulations! You have now reached the end of this adventure and have earned yourself the title
The Blood of Barahar
. You may now turn to the epilogue.

742

Clouds of blood obscure your vision as you pummel away at the beast, until you feel its grip around your limbs ease. Then you frantically kick with your last remaining
strength, breaking above the surface in a fit of coughing and choking. The carcass of the dead alligator bobs up beside you – a twenty-foot long giant, its aged body scarred by hundreds of
previous encounters.

With this fearsome hunter defeated, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

You swim to the nearest bank, using the splayed roots of a tree to drag yourself up onto the sand. After taking a few minutes to attend to your wounds, you set off again – following the
edge of the treeline. Turn to
703
.

743

You study the complex arrangement of cogs. The system is operated by a handle, attached to a small cog on the left of the contraption. You give it a tentative push, watching as
the chain of cogs starts to turn, groaning and creaking as the grime-covered teeth scrape against each other. Several cogs have come loose from the wall. Virgil places them back into the chain,
looking less than certain over his choice of positioning. He stands back, scratching at his scarred cheek. ‘Hope you understand this better than I do. Makes my head spin . . .’

To stop the lava reaching the forge, you must now solve the following puzzle: