Chapter 27: The Final Blow (Part 1)

The Eye was crawling up the road toward the school.

Thumping over the ground and rattling the worms on it, Milo cut across the fields to try and get beyond the storm’s edge before it reached him.

Fence posts came at him in rows, the last of them leaning into the skeleton of a tavern. Whoever farmed here had gotten out in time.

The outer ring, however, was wider than his legs.

Under his boots, the turf went spongy and squelched up around the soles.

The storm’s edge swept over him, its wind thick with the smell of wet rot.

GONG!

Aldous had launched the flail into the Host. Milo wheeled into the gust and braced his back on the fencing, but the wood grayed at the slightest touch, crumbling to dust.

"Whoa!"

He slipped backward, swinging at the dirt with the hook to stay upright.

Alright, the run ended here.

Which left the fight.

He squinted at the two figures battling each other in a yet denser ring of clouds, and swung the Turnhook back-and-forth, gauging his speed by theirs.

But helping was not standing beside the man and swinging slower.

The tavern shuddered with each pulse of the cyclone. Its open doorway would give him somewhere to hide, if the roof stayed up.

The stone next to it looked more solid. Milo could use that as a wall between himself and whatever had just eaten the fence.

Three strides short of the well, he heard the whistle sharpen. He looked back. A smile-shaped ripple flattened the grass and folded the fences, coming straight at him. The whistle became a shriek, and the wave would reach him before he finished the last steps.

Since the window to dive behind the well had shut, he clung to the only pattern he’d observed.

First move, dip with a bob.

Milo exhaled with all his might, and the pressure hit him on the last stretch of that breath.

The mere sensation of the air being ripped away knocked him forward, leaving him to crawl on his elbows and knees the last of the way into cover.

Second move, straighten.

But as he did, not all the air returned at once. While struggling for a full breath only led to a wheeze, Aldous was upright and moving again.

Apparently, Milo had copied the dip too late. He’d still been breathing out when the wave reached him. Next time, he’d empty his lungs sooner. Mouth shut before it hit.

Maybe that was all he’d missed.

Aldous circled the Host, the flail whirling out and snapping back on a different line each time.

Coff!

Milo flinched, head whipping around.

Coff! Coff!

Coff! Ah-eugh! Cough!

Coughing in every voice, from a baby’s to an old man’s, swarmed the air. A wet one hacked right over his shoulder, prickling his neck.

As Aldous lunged for another attack...

One-two-hhk.

With its arm up, the Host gathered a wave of red-specked dust and cast it at the Warden.

"Most aware person on the field," Milo muttered. "Try acting like it."

In the same instant that the man dodged sideways, Milo worked a brick loose from the well. The wave’s edge clipped the man’s arm anyway, peeling a sliver of skin that then hardened over into crust.

Milo flung the brick at the Host’s side.

The Host raised its arm to block Aldous’ next swing. The brick fell short and struck hard ground.

When it snapped its head at the sound, Aldous’ flail smacked its skull and sent it flying. The Eye lurched forward alongside.

"Yes!" His fist came down on the stones and shook mortar grit from the joints.

But if a graze peeled skin, a direct hit would strip bone.

So he got to disassembling the stone well into his own ammunition, mortar crunching under the hook as he wrenched pieces free.

Another of his throws landed on the Host’s head, and the distraction opened it up for Aldous to drive a clean hit into the abdomen.

Every brick widened the gap in his cover, and every one that hit stoked the entity’s fury. It had begun to shiver, as if suffering from fever itself. When a fifth throw pried its attention from the defense, the Host summoned a gust that shoved Aldous off its path.

It spun in place, tremors mounting, hunting the source of the bricks. Worms bulged out under the tallow skin and thrashed where the shroud pulled tight.

"Take that, Plague!" Milo yelled, throat raw from the thrill.

A breath later, he was shivering too.

Cold flooded him to the bone. He clamped his arms around his body and pressed into the ground. Through the stonework, the flail’s outline also shook.

Was that his own head swaying, or was the fever in Aldous too?

Black spots spread over his vision. His teeth clattered. His muscles ached, sore beyond anything Seb’s beating had dealt.

"Come on..." Milo tried to sit up, but his elbows slipped under him. "This wears off. It has to."

The Host had been quaking all the same. Was it afflicted by its own attacks?

He flipped onto his belly, dragged himself to the well’s end for a firsthand look at the Host—and the black spots faded at once. The flail’s outline steadied along with his sight.

The Eye was three meters away.

Coff! Coff!

Aldous squared up for a lunge, but he did not foresee the next blast of wind coming. It swept him off his feet, and he scrambled for balance as the entity’s arm came back up.

Cough! Ah-eugh!

Milo threw the biggest brick at it.

It hit, and yet, the Host did not turn.

Red specks massed in the dust. Aldous was trying to get his feet under him.

One-two-

If the Warden went down, Milo would be alone out here.

He bolted from behind the well, Turnhook raised overhead. His boots sank into the soft ground, and he tore them free with each stride. Just long enough for Aldous to get up.

Milo was one step from the entity when it rounded on him.

The arm with the specks flew right at his face.

It learned.

-hhk!

═══════════════════

⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "The Final Blow (Part 2: Finale)" ... ⤵︎ [!]