Flight Mage Seraph

Prologue

The semi-transparent shield wavered and flickered under the enemy’s assault. Most who sheltered beneath the enormous dome could do little but worry and prepare themselves for the final battle. It was stretched too far, and the shield mages could not hope to withstand the strain for long.

Then it vanished. Wave upon wave of soldiers, ghosts, wolves, bears and other fearsome creatures poured across the border, across the space once filled by the shield. The panicked Eastern forces were quickly overwhelmed.

The skies above were no safer than the plain below. The flight mages were engulfed in a mass of horrors that strove to strike them down. Birds of all kinds – both living and decaying – pecked at their eyes, tore their skins or simply launched their bodies against those of the mages. Even doves were suddenly ferocious, and the eagles were infinitely worse. Western soldiers shot arrows from their skeletal flying machines. Worst of all, the ghosts of flight mages long dead pursued the dwindling survivors, matching them turn for turn.

Seraph had no time to observe the carnage around him; he was too busy trying to avoid his own demise. Even so, he couldn't help but notice that the flight mages were being condensed into a ball. From what Virtue had told him the formation would lead to annihilation if no help arrived - and he knew none would.

Virtue's voice called out to other flight mages and Seraph was surprised to find he'd fallen far behind his captain. He was, in fact, right in the teeth of the advancing enemy. He began to move towards Virtue, but was stopped by a strangled cry from above. An instant later, a small body whooshed past him, so close that he felt the child's hair brush his face.

A girl. Swift.

She was thirteen years old and one of the more talented student mages. The girl with a bright personality was now an unconscious, bleeding form rushing to the ground. Even if he could catch her now, he would be unable to protect her for long.

So focused was he on Swift that he almost failed to see a ghostly sword thrusting towards him. Seraph jerked back in time to see the spirit that had attacked her. He knew it was that spirit because the ghost, who he recognized as Wyvern, wore a face twisted with anguish and horror. Tears coursed down his cheeks and perhaps it was this that had saved Seraph's life, for his aim had not been quite true.

Wyvern's lips moved in apology as he raised his sword to strike again. Seraph found himself frozen, so shocked was he by seeing a former war hero forced by opposing mages to kill an Eastern child.

Which is why you must evade, he scolded himself. Don't let your blood stain his conscience too.

But when the strike came, all Seraph could do was let himself fall. The blade whizzed just above his head. He might have stopped his descent then, yet he continued to plunge, falling faster and faster . . .

Pull yourself together!

Seraph abruptly stopped. Examining the area, he noticed he was in an oasis of calm, both above and below the fighting. Any glimmer of hope he might have had, for his homeland or himself, vanished. Sooner or later, an enemy would notice him.

Wyvern swooped to attack, followed by four hawks. In desperation, Seraph searched for an escape route. He found one to his right. Skeleton Forest was close by. No living thing dared to enter. Even ghosts were said to fear it, for the creatures there were so powerful that any souled being would perish, leaving nothing but bones, if that. Zombies may be beyond caring, but with darkness falling, his speed would enable him to stay ahead long enough to evade them. Of course, the forest would probably kill him, yet the alternative was certain death.

His will found renewed strength, pushing him to the forest as if he'd just begun flying after a long rest. Seraph blocked out everything bar his intended path. When another ghostly mage intruded, he threw his remaining weapon, his dagger, at her. Although it could not harm her, she instinctively flinched and he passed her to begin his suicidal journey to freedom.