Bells

[Artemis Fray]

I've always hated bells.

Not because they're loud, not because of the weird sounds they make, or even because they tend to fall on people.

No.

I've always hated bells because, during the misfortunes of my life, they've always rung like a sick herald.

The bells of a Sanctuary of Light rang loudly in the night just before my home burned down with my parents still inside.

The bell at the school Apollo and I attended rang unnaturally long before we received the news of Damien's sentence to the Shield.

The bell of an ice cream cart owned by a kindly old man rang like an eerie harbinger when Apollo and I received our sentences.

That same bell rang on the day we learned of Damien's death, the old man's kindly smile a cruel mockery of my wretched life.

As a Deathwalker, hearing the bells is never a good thing. They herald the arrival of the vile creatures from the Tear.

"The most advanced arsenal in the world, and we still rely on bells dating back to Bran the Conqueror," I grumbled, glancing up at the ancient bells instead of the daemons whose arrival they signaled.

Their massive, weathered forms swayed back and forth, releasing deep, resonant tones that echoed across the valley like mournful wails.

They were more like funeral bells than warning bells.

"Those bells have been here since the Shield was first established," Ava said. "Apparently, they release a certain frequency that helps weaken the daemons."

"Weaken the daemons? Well, I say they're doing a very poor job of that," I scoffed.

She shrugged. "The results are very slight."

"Right," I rolled my eyes. "They should replace those antiques with sirens. They'd be more effective."

"Well, they do sound like funeral bells," Apollo quipped.

"Thank you," I said, giving him a grateful look.

Carlo sighed. "I don't think it will be easy to change that. Ringing those bells has become a sort of ancient tradition in the Shield."

"Tradition won't help us fight the daemons or bring back the dead," I grumbled, then turned to our Captain. "What do you think?"

"I think we should focus on the approaching daemons," he replied, his crimson eyes filled with cold hatred as he stared at the creatures emerging from the Tear.

"Not even curious?" Krystal asked, hopping up and down as a warm-up.

He shrugged. "Don't care."

The bells rang faster and he adjusted his bow. "Be careful out there and don't turn into a wraith. I'd hate to have to brutally kill you guys."

I sighed. "We'll be fine. Just don't go overboard this time. The things you do are so horrifying even the wraiths are afraid of you."

"As they should be," he replied, notching an arrow into his bow.

"They're here. Get ready." He pulled back the drawstring just as the screaming began—the daemons had started their slaughter.

I activated Aeris, spinning my yoyo and coating its string with ardor and swirling air.

Ice crackled as numerous ice spikes materialized around Krystal.

Silver flames covered Ava's metal claws as she assumed the Baskerville fighting stance.

Water swirled around the jagged edges of Apollo's chained blades as he channeled Aqua.

Blood glowed crimson as it swirled around the Captain, forming a layer over the black arrow he aimed at the approaching daemons.

His mechanima, the white serpent Basil, coiled around his body and bared her fangs, her shimmering scales undulating as she adjusted her size, ready for battle.

"Lunatics. Let's go," his voice was cold and filled with restrained rage as he released the arrow.

A whistling sound pierced the air, heralding our advance as we rushed at the daemons, swift as shadows.

The arrow struck a twenty-foot-tall daemon in the face and exploded, enveloping the creature's upper half in a crimson blast.

As the daemon staggered backward, I leaped, releasing powerful bursts of wind beneath my boots to propel me upward as if I were jumping in midair, reaching the creature's height.

Swift as the wind, I quickly ensnared the daemon's regenerating, oozing head with my ardor-enhanced threads and pulled.

The daemon's body jerked backward and crashed to the ground.

Lightning crackled above me as Carlo descended onto the fallen daemon, plunging his lightning-enhanced claymore into the creature's heart.

I swiftly retrieved my threads and darted away just as the daemon exploded into darkness, releasing a wailing wraith.

The wraith spun through the air momentarily before dissipating with a haunting wail, having failed to possess anyone.

I landed on the bloody snow and scanned the battlefield.

"Vice cap! Heads up!" Krystal yelled out through the sounds of battle.

I twisted around just in time to see a battleax-wielding daemon unleash a deadly strike at me.

I swiftly jumped to the side and the blade almost grazed my boots.

I ducked to avoid another powerful strike and approached the daemon from behind.

Swiftly wrapping the string around its legs, I yanked. The dark creature fell face downward as its legs separated from the rest of its body.

Twirling my fingers, I manipulated the trajectory of the yoyo toward its chest.

The hidden blades sprang out from inside the yoyo just as it went through the daemon's chest, ripping into its heart.

I quickly fled away as the fallen daemon convulsed and exploded into a raging ball of darkness, releasing a wraith that wailed like crazy before dissipating into nothing.

I slowed down and caught my breath.

It was pure chaos around me.

Daemons flickered here and there, swinging their weapons with deadly precision, their only aim to deliver a brutal and swift death onto the Deathwalkers.

Rivers of blood flowed, skin and flesh were torn from the bodies of Deathwalkers, bones broke and shattered, limbs were ripped off, and heads rolled on the ground.

Loud explosions boomed all around, from the projectiles hitting their targets to daemons exploding into destructive balls of darkness.

Screams and yells filled the frigid air of the valley, resonating with screams of pain and agony, as well as the cries of the crimson smoke that escaped with each daemon's death, and the unholy screams of those possessed by the wraiths, whose bodies contorted into grotesque killing machines.

And even amidst this chaos, the bells continued to ring.

Somebody just shut them up, please.

Suddenly, I sensed a presence behind me and quickly jumped out of the way as a huge spear plunged into the ground, shattering it and scattering crimson snow all around.

I twisted around to see a massive daemon, about twenty feet tall, effortlessly pulling out the spear from the ground.

It turned its faceless head toward me and lunged, spear in its black hand.

It was so quick that I almost didn't see it.

Blood sprayed all over the ground as the spear point tore into my right shoulder, cleanly slicing my arm off.

I cried out in agony as the burning pain consumed my body.

As my vision blurred, I saw the daemon retract the spear and aim at my face for another decisive and deadly attack.

I have to do something before I get a major redecoration of my face. The blazing pain all over my body isn't helping things at all.

Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"How many times have I told you to be careful?" his cold voice asked as the daemon was pierced with multiple rapidly spinning long blood projectiles.

One ripped through its chest and the creature staggered back. Another volley of swirling blood lances blew the daemon away just as it exploded in a ball of darkness.

A horrible wail filled my ears as a wraith shot out of the fading darkness and shot toward me, vying to possess me and twist me into its physical form.

Time slowed down and the sonorous rings of the bells filled my ears as they heralded another misfortune for me.

I smiled.

Not this time.

Multiple appendages of blood surged from behind me and speared through the crimson smoke, instantly turning it into dust with a despairing wail.

"I know I can depend on you to save my hide," I remarked, looking at the hauntingly beautiful face of Mordred Pendragon, Second High Prince of the Kingdom and Captain of Unit 21 of the Deathwalker Army.

"I say don't push your luck," he spoke in a cold voice that was hollow ever since the day she left.

I smirked. "I thought you were busy ripping into a wraith."

"I was," he turned around. "Until I saw you in danger."

I turned around as well and gagged. "Oh Incarni. That's just sick," I remarked, looking at the wraith pinned to the bloody ground by multiple stakes driven into what used to be a 17-year-old Deathwalker with dirty blonde hair.

Its limbs were grotesquely twisted in all directions and its torso was ripped open and gutted. Instead of its unholy screams, the wraith whimpered and shrunk at the sight of the Captain's cold red eyes.

"Quite creative, I must say," I spoke drily. Another set of bells rang on the Shield, signaling the departure of the daemons into the Tear.

"This was a rather short battle," the Captain said, his eye still on the pinned wraith.

I shrugged and looked around. "Short, but quite deadly. Almost all the newbies are dead."

He didn't respond but stepped closer to the wraith. The creature started screeching as he got closer.

Incarni!

For a wraith to fear him, I shudder at the Captain's actions toward the creature.

So I stopped him. "Enough. Let me."

He turned his crimson eyes to me, sending chills down my spine.

"I haven't set a wraith on fire in a long time," I told him and approached the wraith.

Its blood-red eyes flared and the creature started gnashing its needle-like teeth at me.

I sighed. "It's better this way."

With these words, I donned my Spark Gloves and snapped my fingers, igniting ferocious blue flames that consumed the wraith.

Its horrifying screams were mixed with the young man's as his skin burned, his flesh melted and his bones charred black.

Soon the screams stopped and the flames died down to reveal hot ash left behind by the cremation.

Yet his screams still echoed in my ears along with the bells.

I turned around to face Mordred Pendragon, raising my eyes to meet his crimson gaze.

"You fine?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"PENDRAGON!"

An angry voice boomed at us from behind.

I sighed.

Now what?