LoL Chapter 54- Dream’s End
Masterpost
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
A battle beyond the physical realm leaves an ally wounded, and the hermits fight over whether they should bother saving them at all- revealing a dark history of a fellow member.
Warning: Battle scene, some gore (not heavily descriptive)
_________________________________________
But rather than the hermits going down, Dolios crashes into the floor. Knocking him right out of this world.
And into the dream world. Standing behind Dolios, slowly sliding to his knees, Apatia is falling into the dream realm as well. His shoulders are slumped, eyes heavy lidded. Nothing looks different about the guildmaster, except for the fiery determination hiding behind sleepy eyes. “I’ll hold him off. He’s too angered to just put to sleep. I have to hold him back. Get out. Now.”
Ren steps forward, reaching out to help Apatia up. But the kipling shoos him away. “What about you, my dude?”
“I think it’s time Dolios sees what his own councilmember can really do.” Apatia offers a weak, tired smile. “If anyone has to go down, at least its just the lazy bum.”
Apatia falls into his sleep, collapsed with a light snore in the ruins of Dolios’s corrupted crystals. Dolios writhes in his sleep, attempting to force himself from the slumber Apatia has placed him in. But the kipling’s magic is strong. And now, Dolios is in Apatia’s realm.
“We have to get going.” Tango breathes, nudging Mumbo to his feet. Mumbo struggles to carry Grian’s weight, and reluctantly he lets Beef take the still weak, hardly living hermit in his arms.
“We’re really going to leave him here?” Stress waves to the two councilmembers on the floor. They don’t even know what’s happening, deep in the realm of sleep. “He saved us.”
“But he told us to leave.” Doc adds, forcing Beef to start walking.
TFC pauses. “Hypno, you deal in dream magic, right?” Hypno nods. “Can you scry us into what’s going on? I agree, we should put distance between us and Dolios. But I don’t think we should abandon Apatia. Yet.”
All the hermits grumble, but it’s a compromise they can live with. Beef takes the lead, carefully carrying Grian up the stairs and into the main dungeons. The hermits pile into a cell, huddled close and eyes glued to Grian. Ren uses his magic to make the cell appear empty, and that even sound won’t be heard through the illusionary barrier.
Light casts across the hermits as Hypno casts his circle, and the hypnotic pattern of his arcana swirls, spinning and growing until it becomes pure white. Like flying through clouds, Hypno guides his scry into the dreams of the two below. And from the white mist, a battle appears.
Dolios has completely lost all sense of calm and charisma. His hair is wild and untamed, as is his eyes, as the black mist and smoke of dark magic curls and ripples along his arms, dancing along the red sleeves and gold trim. His grin and sharp glare is met by a cold, hard stare from Apatia across the way.
He doesn’t smile, but his brows are furrowed with determination. A wayward lock, straying from his long, straight hair, falls to the bridge of his nose. Despite the blue hair, nothing breaks Apatia’s attention towards Dolios. He throws his cape aside, and from the fog and cloud of the dream realm, a halberd appears. Apatia reaches his hand out, and grips the weapon.
“Apatia, I should have known.” Dolios’s voice echoes in the dream realm, but stops at the barrier between vision and reality. “Though I expected you to be too lazy to bother getting in my way.”
“Got tired of your bullshit.” Apatia growls. “You’re in my realm now, Dolios. Anything that happens here will affect your corporeal body.”
“Good. Because I can’t wait to rip you apart. You may have the upper hand, but you know my power. And since you’ve let my targets run free, you’ll have to take their place.” Without warning, Dolios attacks. A barrage of corrupted magic, from flame to festering, fire and swarms of bugs barraging Apatia. But the guildmaster hardly seems concerned. He disappears into the mist, where even the blaze can’t burn it away, and reappears behind Dolios.
He swings his halberd, all his weight and force behind the iron weapon. Dolios blocks the attack, stumbling backwards. The dark magic fights with the mist of the dream realm, white fog and black ash dueling for control. Dolios raises a hand, pressing it on his cheek. When his finger comes away, a trail of red mars his fingers.
His own blood should have warned him to be more cautious, to face his opponent carefully. But the red ochre, mixing with the darkness that trails along his hands like snakes, only fuels Dolios’s mania. The bloody cheek creases and crests, eyes forced to squint at the diabolical grin on the magistrate’s face.
And when he attacks, it’s without remorse or restraint. All signs of the graceful, charismatic leader of Lairyon are gone. In the dream realm, Dolios’s reality is bared for all to see. Eyes wild and crazed, bloodthirsty and hungry to kill. Hungry for power. His pearly whiteteeth, white as bone, gleam and glisten like a beast’s, sharp as the cold smile he wears.
Apatia was prepared to fight Dolios, the cold, calm, calculating magistrate. But this isn’t Magistrate Dolios. This is the dark mage, hardly even human. Not even a monster. Just pure chaos. His movements are erratic, unpredictable. His magic even more so. There is no plan, no play. Only to kill, and eviscerate all memory of Apatia from the face of the earth.
The hermits can only watch in fear as Apatia takes on the onslaught. Burned, bashed, thrown aside. But despite all the pain, he still stands up and continues to fight. Dolios’s dark magic glings to this purple and azure cape, to his pale skin and navy hair, attempting to drain the kipling of his magic, to claim him as a husk. If anything, it was the dark magic that controlled Dolios, not vice versa.
Like tentacles of darkness, dark magic whips across the realm of magic. Apatia slices them apart, dispersing the ashen mist among the dream realm. He uses his environment to his advantage. Disappearing in and out, only to appear and land a blow on Dolios before retreating. Sometimes he gets away unharmed, other times he’s not so lucky.
Apatia contorts the dream realm to his will, but his upper hand is starting to lose strength. Dolios is learning the laws of the dream realm. And turning them against it’s very creator. Apatia turns the mist heavy, a fog so dense even the hermits struggle to see the battle within. In turn, Dolios burns the fog away with blinding light, harsh and static. For an instant, Iskall swears he can see gilded wings appear against Dolios’s back, but the light forces them all to turn their gaze away or risk burning their eyes.
In the midst of the blazing light, a crack echoes through the endless fog of the dream realm. When the hermits are able to see again, only one combatant remains standing.
Dolios stalks towards his quarry, leaving behind a wake of darkness as the magic grows, nearly encompassing all of him. It’s impossible to see the color of his robes, but unmistakable is the unhinged expression on his face. At his feet, Apatia struggles to rise, one arm wrapped around his waist. Blood stains the cloudy dream realm, turning the endless cloud a dark red. “You were always the weakest link. I should’ve done this from the beginning.”
Apatia reaches out in one last desperate attempt to grasp his halberd, but bloodstained fingers slip from the wood as Dolios plucks the weapon from the ground. “But you didn’t.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. But now, you’ll be a perfect example to the others why you don’t cross me. No one, not even the Council, is immune to my wrath.” A dark, dangerous glint appears in Dolios’s eyes, a glimmer matched only by the bloodstained metal of the poled weapon. “I believe I recall you saying that anything that happens here affects our corporeal bodies, correct?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dolios swings the blade. Some hermits avert their eyes, unable to watch, while others force themselves to witness yet another act of the magistrate’s own cruelty.
And cruel it was. He did not land a killing blow. No, Dolios would not give Apatia the satisfaction of a quick death. Rather, the halberd cut right through the thick membrane of Apatia’s dorsal. A clean, painful cleave. Dolios is unbothered by the blood splattered across his face, his clothes, his hands. The dark wizard steps over the writhing form of a man he once called ally. “My dream has become your nightmare, Apatia. Now it’s time to wake up, and face the consequences of your actions.”
The scrying screen disappears, so abrupt that the hermits are left in waning silence. Trying to remember who they were, where they were. The only one who was not totally enraptured in the fight before them was Grian, though that was mostly because he was still fighting for his life.
“Dolios just-” Cleo starts to talk, before Joe reaches over and claps his hands over her mouth. She looks about ready to bite his fingers off, but the sound of robes shuffling and boots stomping keeps her, or any hermit, from even breathing.
No one dares to move as the offputting laughter that bubbles from Dolios’s lips crosses the cell they hid within. He’s mumbling to himself, laughing in a way that begins as a nervous chuckle before growing into a booming cackle. The ramblings of a madman continue, though fading, until the sound of a door slams closed way in the distance. Even then, the hermits wait a few beats longer.
TFC emerges first, and doesn’t hesitate to turn back towards the spiral staircase. Following immediately behind him, Wels sheathes both his sword and shield, even removing his gauntlets. Some follow along, confused but guided by their guildmaster, others remain behind, just wishing to leave as fast as possible.
So when Wels returns with the others, and in his arms was the bloodied body of Apatia. A trail of red follows every step the paladin takes, and the metal of his armor is caked in gore.
Most hermits follow TFC and Wels without pause. They just want to leave. But Tango gives pause, as does Doc. “We’re only slowing ourselves down, why the hell are we taking him along? He’s probably halfway dead already, and-”
Their guildmaster turns around, and even Doc flinches when he is met with a stone cold stare. “We can argue when we’re back on Eremita. But he’s coming along.”
Without another question, the hermits comply. TFC has never been one to pull rank. He never rules absolutely, much preferring the input of his fellow hermits before making a decision, or even positing it for them to vote. But now? Now there was no questions, no if, ands, or buts. Cub opens a portal, allowing Beef to carry Grian through first, followed by Wels with Apatia.
Eremita is quiet again, but in a different way from when Apatia first arrived. It’s a tense silence as the two victims of Dolios’s magic are carried into the infirmary. Apatia, now ex-councilmember and enemy to the hermits, and Grian, the hermits' own healer.
Wels pulls out the meager infirmary supplies they had left. Between being Lairyon’s most wanted, and their own dependence on Grian’s angelic healing magic, they are poorly stocked. The paladin unrolls the wrappings, biting his lip and shaking his head. It’s not enough.
“Ren, do you think you can wake Grian and mimic his magic?” Wels presses against the bloody wound on Apatia, trying to staunch the blood. He’s used to battle wounds, but this even makes his stomach sick. This wasn’t a wound from a fight. This was Dolios taking a trophy.
Without hesitation, Ren turns around and places his hand on Grian. The angel is silent and still, but his chest rises and falls, if shallow. Color continues to grow across his body, saturating his skin and clothes with each breath of life.
Another hand appears, grabbing Ren’s and holding it down. Raising his gaze, he’s met by fiery red eyes. Tango’s hair burns bright and hot, causing beads of sweat to form at the hairline of Ren’s forehead. “And why should he? Apatia did this to himself for ever siding with Dolios. He’s getting what he deserved.”
Ren shrinks back, but Tango keeps his hand firm over his. TFC winces, but presses his shoulders back and meets the red eyes. “He’s the reason we have Grian in the first place. He’s the reason we were able to escape with almost no injuries.”
“But how does that compare to the thousands of lives he let Dolios take while he sat on his ass and napped in his office? What about my guild that he let Dolios destroy, and for years lead everyone to believe it was bandits? What about all of Gildara, every last soul in that town? What about Iris and Mica, all of the Asklepions? One right doesn’t negate all his previous-”
“Because it’s what’s right!” Wels’s voice rises above Tango’s filling the entire infirmary. Metal armor clatters as Wels sands, eyes staring- one clouded- down Tango. There’s a certain glimmer in Wels’s gaze, one Tango has never seen before.
“Don’t you have any empathy, Tango?” TFC adds, his voice sharp and grating. It makes Tango let go of Ren’s hand, allowing the werewolf hybrid to begin healing Apatia. Tango has never, ever heard TFC raise his voice- even when he was corrupted by Dolios’s own crystal, he didn’t shout. “This man is trying to change, trying to fix his mistakes, but you won’t even let him live to do so.”
“How do we know he’ll even do that?” Doc growls, finally raising his voice and appearing from the shadows. “When has a monster like him ever decided to do things right, and stick to it?”
“I did.” Silence follows, and all gazes are turned to Wels. “I changed. Became a better man. Or am I still the monster you know as Helsknight?”
