How was I supposed to activate these things? The swords' cuts were great—their edges had cut every muscle, bone, entrail they encountered. But that was not enough when it came to invocations. What was I supposed to do? My husband was the one who used them. I knew he mastered those attacks more. I could imbue the weapons with magic, set some traps, make my arrows elemental weapons. But activating an enchantment was something beyond me. Yet a dwarf could. An enemy of mine achieved that. If I did not, we were lost.
That dwarf who wore gloves from the same smith—Rockbreaker, he was called—seemed determined to finish everything. He kept fighting close enough to give and receive support, but far enough that his blows sent attackers far from his position. The elves had not attacked us. Beyond the one he knocked out, the rest still could not get close due to the enormous number of enemies that kept pouring in. I made a sign that was repeated by Caliza. Everyone began to withdraw. This time, we would not return to the mansion—it would not hold, especially with those elves who could apparently pass through solid matter.
The idea came from Caliza: we made them attack each other and slowly led them in a spiral, so the smaller enemies obstructed the larger ones. Thus, as we eliminated them, we created a barrier of corpses. We had seen them—their only objective on a dead body was to consume it. That was why we left them distractions. Even when I gave no orders, the newcomers integrated fabulously. Only the one fighting beside me was alone, like me, involved in an endless war for the stubbornness of coming and joining a quarrel in which I should not have participated. I should have posted myself outside the mountain and waited for him to come out—for years or decades if necessary. But I had to come... now we had to reach the forges—not for pleasure, but for survival.
The fight in the tunnels seemed endless. We ran, making the elves, in an attempt to catch us, also fight. My swords were still just an edge, nothing more. One of the beasts attacking me—I had seen few like this one—had thick scales, the size of plates, with the strength of several giants, purple, claws. I did not think it was a predator; it was more built for defense. Yet it came at me. I was far from the rest; I was the rearguard. Everyone wanted that privilege, but they were not agile. None of them could dodge or jump. Each time this beast jumped, it eliminated those in the space I left. I only had to be fast, sharp—it did not matter where I cut; I had to cut. I had to annihilate, leave spaces so the others only had to fight at the front.
A jump left me closer to the beast than I would have liked. But there was that dwarf again. I saw his magic again—a spiral going down and up, each moment paralyzed by the impossible impacts on such a small body. That must be the Deathbringer's work. I had to find out how these swords worked! I began shouting at him to find out how his gloves worked—if they were the origin of his astonishing strength. He smiled, despite being red from sweat and exhaustion, and said no, that the lord of the dwarves gave him the strength not to give up, brought him hope, but that his power was his own—worked for years, perfected. He did not want to waste the gifts of the giant who freed them. Truth be told, it annoyed me that he spoke of him like that, but if that was how I found out, I had no choice—even if I should not. That beast had not relented, and each blow from the dwarf pushed it back, stunned it, but did not eliminate it. Ahead, the troops had encountered many enemies. I had to know how they worked, or we would be crushed on two fronts.
I insisted that I needed to know how they worked, that there were enemies ahead and I had to go, but I would not abandon him until I knew he could defend himself. With a sigh, he told me he would show me. In his eyes, I saw not resignation or fatigue—I saw the gleam of a young man wanting to show off his most valuable possession.
"Look," he told me. "My gloves have simple runes." At each word, the phalanges of his gloves lit up. Then he assumed a firm position, planted on the ground, his knuckles in a different shape than a punch. "Each set of runes can act together or separately. Using them all together is truly lethal, so it will only be my right hand." His fist projected using only the first part of his hand. Without stopping, his hand closed into a fist, and there, different runes were glowing. The beast's body had begun to light up. "Now this is what the runes included. But he also gave me some elbow guards"—he pointed to some disguised protections—"there, I asked him to write the trigger, but they could be triggered with any of the others—that just gives more power." The last blow was an elbow strike—so strong, so fast that I doubted the dwarf's words came out of his mouth fast enough to match what I saw. His hand struck twice, and when the elbow did, with a small jump from the dwarf toward the enemy, the beast's hard forehead caved in, opened a hole, and the rest of the body exploded. Pieces flew all over the tunnel, and the enemies stopped to devour them. It was time for me to help the front.
The engineers had carried several of the devices they used in the defense. At least those flamethrowers helped keep the enemies at bay. But at the front, several giant centipedes threatened them. The newcomers resisted while those who had accompanied me for so many days tried to smash their legs, staying away from the leg tips that released what seemed to be poison. There were two, and they were about to eliminate another dwarf. Without thinking, I jumped. The sword sank a little into its head, but they were fast. I saved the dwarf from death, but now I was the one facing those two beasts. What had the dwarf done? He gave power to the weapons, that was certain. But the runes were dwarven—coarse, with angular bases. I could not read them beyond those indicating what was food and which were weapons. I dodged one charge after another, but they were cornering me. I could not retreat further, or I would make them throw themselves at those I was supposed to defend. Should I ask Chapatrueno for help? No! I will never bow to anyone! My strength is my own; I do not depend on idolizing another being.
"Well said, young one. The weapons were built for you for two reasons. You have a people to save, but your aim is short. It is clear he knew you could not activate dwarven runes. Who said he was only a dwarf smith? Salvation is in the edge, but you do not read it. Hope is in the blade, but you do not feel it. Do it soon—your elf friends are being called to their death, and you must not allow it."
Runes on the edge? But it was thin—as thin as the sharpest sword. In any case, my magic traveled to my hands and to the weapons, accumulating in the blade, at the tip. A song left my lips—I did not know what I sang, but the blades made a half-cut, and the moment the sword traveled along one enemy's back, the edge projected? It left the blade and split the beast in half. The other blade only managed to cut from the weapon's midpoint outward. The beast began to writhe, screamed, and ended in an explosion of flames. Yet I could not be happy. The rest of my swords had lit up. Now I understood what I had to do. I would not let them die. Lilith was practical; she told me I could only do one of two alternatives. My enemy was prone to compassion. For now, I would accept that feeling, but my honor did not change. So as I invoked the alternative, my voice flooded the cavern:
The dragon's blade splits the sky
The blade of hatred sets the earth ablaze
Let not the enemies of my friends come
Imminent death awaits them
In the hands of the huntress
Breeze of the Dark Forest
Executioner of Chaos and its allies
The battle of one who hates the shadow
Will follow evil wherever it goes
Oh! Brothers abused by the innocent
Elves who lived in the twilight
The spider will not subdue you
Do not shed more blood for faith
The pretender will do you no more harm
I know you love her as a goddess
But you carry the weapons of good
In your hands, the unborn already lie
In your fists lies
The inheritance of Obsidian
Black dragon who will protect you
I will impose your wishes
Rejoice then, oh! Brothers
Liberation is at hand
Whether you want it or not
You will have no alternative
You submitted to evil by your own will
So I will not restrain myself
If you so want to be free...
*You will have to be my slaves! *
I did not know why I sang this, but the elves began to appear behind me. In their eyes, I perceived only hatred, but they were here, wielding weapons similar to mine. Yet they all killed the enemies, the chaos beasts. None attacked the others. I held them by my will—it was sad, but there was no other alternative. They must live if we wanted to survive. I could almost hear Chapatrueno's laugh... Damn you for forcing me to do this!