Of course, those ignorant snollygosters would use the magic they profane to hate all over their underground hideout, he thought as he zipped down hallways, feeling the one he cared more about than his own soul getting closer. He was so close!
He stopped before floating through an invisible barrier. He sensed the magic just in time from braining himself against it. He could feel Brock and his mother through here and to the right.
Hold on, my dearest heart, he sent mentally, though he knew his promised one couldn’t receive it. I’m coming to save you! And because they are important to you, I will save your family as well.
He sent his thoughts into the barrier, to determine what kind it was, and then stifled a chuckle at the foolishness of the Knights. The magic shield covering the portal from top to bottom and side to side was designed to stop any magic from going through. All he had to do was stop being magic for a moment, and he could pass.
With a grimace, he also realized that meant he would actually have to use his wings or walk, instead of his power to stay afloat. He’d also have to turn off his invisibility. He couldn’t remember the last time his wings were used for anything more than the brilliant decoration they were. He couldn’t even use magic to speed through.
Dropping to the floor, Oberon increased his hearing for a moment, before allowing it to return to normal. He couldn’t hear anyone through there, nor could he sense anyone coming through the hall. A camera swung lazily in one corner, though, so he would need to be fast and time it correctly. An inconvenience to be sure, but nothing that was beyond his splendid abilities or unmatched intelligence. These fuck-nard Knights thought they were so smart, but they were less than children playing with matches when it came to magic. Sure, they could do a lot of damage, but they didn’t know what they were doing.
Oberon watched for three iterations of the camera’s movement before dropping his invisibility and all of his other enchantments. Holding his breath, he dashed through the divider, feeling its slick surface slide cross his skin and let him through.
Then he felt the second barrier, less than two inches from the first.
Agony ripped a screech from his throat. He lost control of his muscles and collapsed to the floor as his body lost the magic that held it together. Before his eyes started to melt and his eardrums disintegrate, he saw the flashing red lights and blaring claxons of some alarm.
Despite the pain and torment ripping his body to shreds, anger suffused Oberon. His strength didn’t come from the fact that he was Oberon, King of the Faeries, Keeper of the Cup, Lover of Ladies, and Soulkeeper of the Fay. No, he was all of those things because of his strength. His life spanned millennia. His enemies were not only dead, but their names and deeds were forgotten. There wasn’t a reality in existence that would allow Oberon to succumb to the foolish Paladonic Knights.
With an effort of will that even a Gaia would be impressed by, Oberon forced his magical body to coalesce. The second barrier negated all of his magic, so he pulled from himself back together using the ambient mana in the atmosphere. Bit by bit, molecule by molecule, he reformed his substance. By the time he was done, his breath came out in ragged gasps from new lungs, and sweat coated his small body. His immediate surroundings were tapped out of magic, excluding the two barriers, but he was whole again.
And very pissed off!
“Who in the fuck puts a null-magic barrier right next to a stop-magic barrier?” he demanded of no one in particular. “That kind of fumble-witted nonsense is absurd!”
“Seemed to fuck you up pretty good, little man,” came a voice Oberon didn’t recognize. Nor did he appreciate the tone.
“Little man?” he blinked, looking up to see a rifle—no, make that multiple rifles—pointed right at him. “Don’t you know who the fuck I am?” He gave them a slight moment to respond before continuing. “I’m Oberon! King of the Faeries, Keeper of the—Oof!”
Oberon picked himself up off the floor after the soon-to-be-dust Knight belted him in the face with his rifle’s butt. It hurt, but not nearly as much as feeling his body separating at the molecular level.
He licked his lips, tasting the blood that seeped down from the new cut on his head. His newly formed body sucked in the remaining mana from the two barriers, and even the morons surrounding him. Already he could feel them weakening as he grew stronger. He wasn’t nearly to full strength, but if he were smart, he’d have enough to deal with these meat-cups.
Oberon saw that they were shouting at him, but he ignored whatever foolish orders they thought he should follow. He counted six guns in total pointed at him. With a simple gesture, they all turned into bouquets of flowers. Titania always loved flowers, and he often missed her.
Thinking of his past lover, he grinned as he transformed the Knights next. Snouts stretched their screaming faces as their ears elongated. Their deep voices turned to a cacophony of braying. He recalled Cordova saying something about some redhead having a fine ass… Well now six previous humans wore the heads of asses. Perhaps one day, someone would be enamored of them.
The last of the barriers dissipated, their residue slipping into Oberon as he stepped past the twitching men on the floor. He didn’t care to waste what little strength he had left on flying, and he still needed to rescue…
Oberon stopped and shook his head. He no longer felt the overwhelming emotion for Brock or Bridgette that he had minutes earlier. The love spell Aphrodite placed on him was gone. As was his compulsion to protect and save them, or their family.
Oberon looked up at the ceiling, debating his next move. He could leave Brock to his fate, and go back to being carefree. He owed that family nothing. Other than an oddity, or a source of entertainment, Lyden Snow and his children meant almost nothing to him now.
A grin split his lips as he looked back at the men clawing at their furred faces. It was time to have some fun. Not here, though. He’d drained this area of magic and needed more. But first, he needed to turn off that damned alarm.
* * * *
Brock cursed his infirmity as he watched his mother pace their small cell. A steady trickle of water fell from a spout in the ceiling. It was enough to keep him wet and alive, but barely. Every moment was a torment as he felt on the verge of drying out.
They’d heard a scream a few minutes ago, but it had quieted shortly after. There might have been an alarm also, but it didn’t last long. The best they could guess was that someone was tromping donkeys through this lair, and one had stepped on someone’s foot.
Crushed their foot, I hope, Bridgette said to him. Serve the bastards right!
They deserve a lot worse than having their feet crushed, he thought back to his other half.
True, she agreed, but then he felt her emotions shift. But we shouldn’t focus on revenge. We need to be better than them. I hope our Oberon is all right.