The wards are failing

Edlynn stops a pace from the hanging carcass her hand covering her mouth and nose partially muffles her words but in the stillness of the deep chamber, you can still here the pain in her voice.

"What have you done, Althea?" Using a white rag that must have been poor Muirielle's tunic, the slender priestess wipes away the globs of congealed blood examining the pitted marks on the smooth stone that show the effects of the drops of blood like water eating away at a limestone block. "I don't know if I can save the wards, Captain." Even without Cassiopeia's gasp of alarm, you can sense the importance of the wards.

The Priestess looks up at you from her knees. "Once this gate has been opened, Captain, the demons of the under city will no longer be bound by our goddess's power." She places a warm hand on your arm almost in supplication and you cannot help but note the softness of her skin, "The monsters trapped under this city will once again be free to feast upon the souls of both the city's inhabitants and soldiers like you who think this doomed city is theirs by right of conquest." For no reason other than the urgency in her voice find you believe her absolutely at some point, you cannot even remember when you have released your end of the chain wrapped around her neck and it now swings gently between her breasts ending not far from the tuft of blonde hair that covers the prize between her untouched thighs. In spite of this erotic vision, at the moment, you are more concerned with saving the city than the pleasure that awaits you between the priestess' white thighs.

"We can fall back, your Holiness." Looking around with a tactical mind you eye the massive door to the Temple's treasure room. That great door could surely hold back even the most horrific of monsters. "We'll seal the door to the vault and give them the treasures. It's better than giving up the whole city."

"It's not enough, Captain." Edlynn eyes search the treasures with her eyes as she explains. "This stone is the hub that feeds all the other seven wardstones. If this central ward fails, they all fail." She seizes a large amphora by its handle and understanding her intent you grasp the other side; together you carry the sealed jug inlaid with silver to the ebony disk in the rear of the vault. If this works, Sir," the panting priestess smiles at you in what feels like genuine appreciation, "you will have well-earned whatever price it is that you exact from my body." You had almost forgotten the promise made by the slender priestess up in the sanctuary, but her off-hand reminder sends a wave of desire through you. Even now, naked except for the chain wrapped around her neck and draped between her breasts she looks almost like a goddess herself, to have her willingly open her thighs for you to despoil makes your cock swell under your clothes. It is a short-lived moment because as the holy water from the amphora floods the pitted surface of the polished wardstone you see immediately what has the cleric of Athena so alarmed. A circle of red is clearly visible under the frothing liquid, and you can see cracks of pulsing heat that crisscross the inner circle like the fractures on a broken eggshell.

As soon as the extent of the damage to the black disk has been made apparent the priestess by you side begins to chant in a language far older than anything you've ever heard spoken. Judging by the sweat that is beading her brow, simply reciting the words is taking more effort than carrying the heavy amphora. Not that it seems to be doing any good. The red cracks in the center of the stone are growing thicker and brighter.

As you watch, a long slender hand with claw-like nails pierces through the softened stone and claws at the surrounding rock tearing away a handful of the black obsidian like soft clay on a riverbank. The next time the hand breaches the ward, you strike the long thin fingers with your new sword, and in addition to biting deeply into the wrist of the demon, you see a flash of white light and hear a howl of pain and anger from below.

"That's good, Captain, but it won't be enough!" Edlynn stops her chanting long enough to warn you. "The blade of Athena can hurt them, but when this ward shatters you won't be able to hold back the demons, save your strength."

"What do you need?" You ask as whole disk pulses like a smooth pond when a rock is thrown into its center.

"I need priestesses trained in the warding ritual, but the only ones still left in the Temple are acolytes." Edlynn doesn't have to remind you that many of those young women are probably not in any condition to perform any kind of ritual, but you decide to do what you can. Turning to Adriana, you send her to get help.

"Tell your mother that we need any of the acolytes who can to come immediately, my men can accompany them if they like. Only the gods know what we can do, but it's better than giving up without a fight." Edlynn nods silently as she surveys the assorted artifacts and then points to the weapon's rack.

"Arm your men with the spears, Captain; they're said to be relics from the first Titan wars. If they truly are, you may make the demons think twice about forcing their way through the breach." As you pull the spears from the rack you decide that if they work as well as the silvery sword that sings in your grip that the demons may have something to worry about. You may be struck down for your blasphemy of using this gladius, but better that than to strike uselessly at your foe.

When you get back to the ravaged wardstone, you find Cassiopeia has joined Edlynn in her chant. The pretty young acolyte is clearly doing her best, but even you can hear the hesitation in her voice as she tries to follow along with the unfamiliar ritual. It doesn't seem to be enough; the polished black stone continues to wobble like a bowlful of pudding and this time it is not one clawed hand that reaches through the growing breach but two. The two hands claw at the edges of the hole and the gap is now roughly the size of your head. Tearing the stone downwards even as your blade swings over them, a fraction of a heartbeat too late.