33. Give Me Strength II
Sure, why not?!
An instant later, the walls behind him began to move, compelling him toward the only corridor still open ahead. Tryg focused, summoning every drop of sanity and will that still remained in his core, then advanced through the foggy corridor.
Upon reaching the larger room, the doors closed and the mist inside it began to dissipate, revealing its vast expanses little by little. Tryg could already hear the sinister roar and the thunderous footsteps of the next creature, making his chest tighten.
He was eager to finish whatever it was already. He did not feel fear. It was difficult to fear anything after witnessing himself dying through the shadow vision so many times. How many times had he already been one second away from having his head bitten off or his guts ripped out?
Thousands of times? Millions...? Tryg blinked and blinked. He slapped his own face again, so hard the sound echoed through the chamber. He awakened from his reverie realizing he had forgotten to breathe.
"Trygve...?" his teacher suddenly called him. He turned his face to the fox, who stared at him with a worried look. "You know we can rest for a while, should you find it necessary."
Although Tryg fought to hide his exhaustion, Sinmara knew. It was getting harder and harder to hide anything from her. She probably already knew the man he had become almost as well as his own mother knew the boy he had been.
Even so, while the next challenge was slowly revealed, Tryg forced himself to sketch a faint smile, pretending calm, and answered, "I know. But I can still fight more."
"Are you certain?"
"Mhm."
Maybe he was exaggerating. But what else could he do? Wasting time was not an option. He needed to endure. His teacher's gestures, often discreet but still affectionate, would be enough to keep him anchored to himself.
Sinmara smiled back and watched the dissipation of the mist beside him.
"Very well. I will be here, should you need me."
Tryg nodded, grateful. He would not allow her to risk herself or use her magic, if he could. But it was good to know she would be there for him.
The mist opened further, revealing a huge shape in the middle of the room, growling. A colossal and terrible presence that made both student and teacher widen their eyes. For, unlike all the other enemies he had defeated in the larger chambers through which he had passed, that was not a monster they did not know completely... Or rather, monsters.
One of them was a dragon with pale, gleaming scales that seemed made of pure silver. Its enormous maw had countless sharp teeth, certainly capable of crushing its victims in an instant. Its wings were so vast they could embrace a hill, and its cerulean eyes burned with a threatening hunger.
The other was a red-haired Revenant with a frightening bone mask that extended down her spine. She was dressed in gray, dirty, and ragged clothes, and carried a branch-like staff whose tips, like her gray fingers, were covered in ice and snow. Her slender figure shimmered like the air above a blazing fire.
The witch stood in the center of the chamber, every now and then firing ice magic in one direction. The dragon was swinging its head from one side to the other, closing and opening its maw. Both acted as if they were fighting something hidden within the mist.
Indeed, Tryg knew that pair. Not only that; he had already fought and defeated the witch once, only to be forced to retreat before her protector... That was the Raven Keeper, accompanied by her colossal protector, the dragon called The Pale One.
"How...?"
Sinmara voiced the same question that came to Tryg's disturbed mind. Indeed, how had those two ended up there? The enemies the labyrinth presented were only undead, however large they were. But the Raven Keeper and her protector had been alive. At least, they had been when Tryg and Sinmara began searching for Ivaldi's Workshop, 15 months ago.
Which could only mean... that they had died outside. Something or someone had disturbed the peace of those two, who wanted nothing more than to protect each other and the Raven Tree. And this was all they had gained after fighting for what they treasured so much...
Tryg closed his eyes for a moment. It was cruel to know that the fate of those two had been to be revived by that damned complex, only to serve as puppets against its challengers.
A sinister, sharp laugh in the back of his mind. It was the labyrinth, mocking as always. Tryg gritted his teeth. Laugh all you want! I promise that if I survive this, one day I'll come back here and take you apart stone by stone. We'll see who laughs last!
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Tryg spent one more instant angry at the cruelty of that situation, then breathed deeply and focused on what mattered most.
"This is not good..." Sinmara said, her voice troubled.
Since the dragon and the Keeper were distracted, he raised an eyebrow at her and asked, "What?"
"There is only one reason for those two to have died, and it is because something must have threatened the Raven Tree... or someone."
Tryg frowned, worried. "Do you think someone might've killed those two on purpose?"
"Yes. But it is just a possibility. In any case, we will speak of that later." Sinmara smiled at him. "You have a dragon and a Revenant to kill."
He smiled back. "Indeed—"
Tryg stopped himself, only now noticing that... Weren't those two fighting something?
He looked toward the monstrous pair. While staring at the restless dragon with a frown, he relaxed and blinked a few times, not understanding what he was seeing. After a while, he understood, and then blinked a few more times, now unable to believe what he was seeing. The reason why The Pale One seemed to be swinging his gigantic, horned head like a mad dog.
Daydreaming, talking to a labyrinth... I think I really am going insane. There's no way what I'm seeing could be true, is there? I would've noticed before.
There was no way there was a person fighting those creatures, that deep inside the labyrinth. It was impossible for there to be more living beings besides him and Sinmara, right?
The mist, the dragon's colossal body, and the Keeper's erratic movements had hidden them almost completely. But there was indeed a stranger there, shouting and charging at the pair of Guardians.
They seemed to be gravely injured, if the dried blood in their short hair and the deep cuts breaking their golden armor were not another deception of Tryg's mind. How could that person still be moving? Or rather, how could they still be alive?
Slow and weakened as they were, they were struck squarely in the abdomen by a tail swipe from The Pale One. The stranger coughed blood and was thrown away, crashing against the wall. They fell to their knees on the ground, dazed, and opened only one eye to face their enemy, the other useless, covered in blood. They planted their fists on the ground, without letting go of the dark daggers they carried, fighting against their own body, and stood up, panting and staggering.
Then, upon seeing their silhouette, Tryg finally realized the stranger was not a man. It was a woman. One who had cut her hair and was so dirty, injured, and different that he had not recognized her at first. But that armor... those daggers... that eye, yellow like honey...
Overwhelming sanity returned to Tryg like one of his slaps. How had he not noticed before?
Sinmara widened her eyes. "Is that not..."
He did not hear the rest. There was no time. Gritting his teeth, he shot forward like an arrow, forcing his legs to their limit, making snowflakes fly wherever he passed.
The dragon growled loudly at the woman, and a cerulean incandescence escaped between his teeth. Through the shadow vision, Tryg saw it spewing a torrent of intense and freezing flames toward his enemy. Saw the warrior being swallowed by the bluish conflagration.
Damn it. Tryg would not arrive in time. He made a forced stop and, then, analyzing the future shadows, pointed his left palm at the pale dragon. The tattoos along his raised arm became as cold as ice and shone, beneath his clothes, with an intense bluish glow.
At the same time, all his muscles compressed and twisted, as if they were a wet towel being wrung by the burly hands of a Troll. Tryg did not care. He was more than used to pain by now, including the pain of the magic tattooed into his body.
A huge stone of ice formed in front of him, almost as large as his own body. A moment later, he aimed as best he could and fired. The projectile traveled across the chamber at an insane speed, a whistle echoing wherever it passed. It struck the side of the dragon's head dead-on, producing a thunderous crash.
The ice rock shattered against his silver skull. The Pale One fell, roaring in pain and spitting bluish, freezing flames to the side. The ground trembled with his fall. The warrior did not react to the blow that struck her enemy, nor to his fall. She did not seem to have the energy to express emotions. She merely looked in the direction from which the rock had come with an empty gaze.
Tryg, right after finishing his magic, started running again. As soon as the warrior turned her face, he was already at her side, sheathing his sword. She fell to her knees on the ground again, her only open eye half-closed in pain.
Tryg held her by the shoulder to keep her from falling. "By the gods, you look like a walking corpse," he said, crouching near her and opening his bag. "We've got to stop meeting like this."
"You..." she said, her voice weak. Her blinks were slow, her breathing heavy and wet. She seemed to have blood in her lungs. "Who... are you...?"
He smiled awkwardly, taking two flasks of juice from his bag, remembering the time she had scolded him for asking her name without introducing himself first.
"This is already the second time I've saved your skin and you forget me? That hurts a little, Lady Rist."
She raised her eyebrows slightly, almost nothing.
Tryg looked at the two flasks in his hand and hesitated for an instant. Soon, however, he laid Rist in the snow with tenderness and left the small containers in the snow, where she could see them.
Whether she would accept his help or not was a mystery. He had no way of knowing if the months she had spent away from him in that place had been enough for her to accept reality. But the choice was hers. If she had the will to drink, she would live. If she refused... Tryg could not think about that now. Nor about the dozens of questions he wanted so much to ask her. There was no time.
Another roar echoed. Tryg turned his face and saw The Pale One and his enormous shadow already advancing in his direction. The Keeper remained still, doing nothing for now, only watching him with her dark eyes.
Breathing deeply, Tryg stood up and walked calmly toward the dragon. Then, bringing his fist close to his mouth, feeling the tattoos on his body grow cold and squeeze his muscles, he spoke to himself:
"I beg thee, Queen of Niflheim, to come to me. I beg thee to bring me the mist capable of covering and blinding the vastest of worlds... Nifl."