KESM: Terra Quatuor Chronicles

Jon surveyed the situation anxiously. His knuckles white as he gripped his staff.

The air grew heavy, Sabbath's mind clear, waiting for the Fiend to attack.

Jon smirked despite the tension.

"What I'd give to capture the look on its face right now." he muttered under his breath. 

Watching as the drake lunged, its claws meeting no resistance, simply passed through Sabbath's visage like a phantom that didn't exist. 

Sabbath didn't flinch, he was oddly static. 

The Drake realised with renewed hatred, it had been played the fool once more by this human. It roared in bloodcurdling rage. It expanded its senses, searching above, below, everywhere across the island — something it hadn't done since Hayz's surprise attack.

Nothing. No trace of the Esper. 

'Had this all been a figment of its imagination?'

Jon imagined that to be the Cumulodrake's train of thought, just before Sabbath descended from the sky above. This time a sword holster added to his attire. 

One which never seemed to have any blade in it, as Jon would note. In short, it was all for sport. 

Outstretching his arm a vanta black longsword manifested itself and he wielded it as though it has always been there. He held it with an ease that belied its weight.

The drake's eyes widened. For the first time, it hesitated. That presence — it reminded it of the other. The one who had driven it to this desperate moment.

The Fiend could actually feel it again, fear so primal it was etched onto its very bones.

On instinct the C.drake summoned lightning to strike the Esper down. All the lightning from the clouds gathered above, ready to converge on Sabbath's being….but they never responded.

"There you have it," Sabbath said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "My game."

With one swift, nigh imperceptible motion Sabbath had already gone past the Drake, landing with grace that defied the storm's violence. A flicking motion was all it took, and dark blood sprayed across the ground from the blade. Already being washed over the rocks by the rain.

The King had made his play, and the Cumulodrake had made landfall once again, this time, for good. The beast crashed down, its wings severed.

Though his muscles tensed, his teeth gritted. The strain was evident, but he didn't falter.

With a sigh of relief he said

"Now!", his voice sharp and commanding.

Unmoving, Angie responded, but with a mental command — her threads manifested, tightly securing the beast. Hayz, bloodied and broken, followed suit, slower but no less determined. Moulding his Aura, he lifted the Drake with spectral Aura arms, hurling it in Jon's direction where a magic circuit lay waiting, their glow fainter but resolute. This would keep the beast docile.

And it did.

For a moment, victory was so close he could almost taste it. Jon cast a different type of Spell, emptying a vial of shimmering liquid into the water beneath the beast. He whispered a single word: "Dilatare." The ground beneath the drake shifted, thickening into an odd mire — changing it's properties, becoming more resistant when subjected to shear stress or agitation.

For a moment, they thought it was over. The Cumulodrake struggled, its massive form sinking deeper into the enchanted trap.

Jon could already imagine telling Sabbath after this ordeal that he worried too much. Creating so many contingency plans they might never have to use. The Drake reeled, its body battered from every angle. Blood — thick and dark— trickled from the deep wounds they had managed to inflict. 

But then it laughed.

A guttural, bone-rattling sound that froze them all.

The Cumulodrake straightened, its wounds barely reason enough for it to stay down. 

Lightning surged across its scales, shattering Angie's threads and destroying all its bounds. It roared, and the storm answered, a deluge of rain and thunder drowning out all sound.

The drake stood, blood dripping from its wounds, but its fury undiminished. 

They had fought well. They had fought together. But it wasn't enough.

Not against this.

It moved faster than their eyes could follow, intent on finishing what it had started. Its tail lashed out, bypassing Sabbath's defense, tearing his skin, breaking his bones, impaling him through the chest….his heart.

He fell. 

And then….

It's eyes widened.

***

Sabbath saw his opportunity. He calmed his troubled mind, he had no weapon, he had no mystical energy to draw from like Hayz, Jon and Angie possessed. He must've looked like easy prey for the Cumulodrake, for it had come to face him, its one good eye gleaming with predatory intelligence, rage and hate that sent chills down his spine, even while so heavily injured. But Sabbath met its gaze without flinching, his resolve unshaken. 

Its tail shot forward without warning. Bypassing Sabby's defences, tearing his skin, breaking his bones and piercing his heart.

Sabbath gasped as pain lanced through him, sharp and cold. His vision blurred, the drake's silhouette looming over him like a nightmare given form. 

He was going to die.

But his mind remained clear.

This was the final move. 

Every step, every deception, every sacrifice had led to this moment. The drake didn't know it yet, but the game was over. 

Sabbath's ability, Pawn's Advance, was not just a tool for battle — it was a battlefield in itself. The chessboard was everywhere, its pieces moving unseen across the island. While the team fought, Sabbath had set the stage. He could summon components of the game, in bits, like he had done earlier; creating a sword, or he could summon the pieces as actual familiars which did his bidding. They all carried his presence, serving the role of perfect decoys.

Past this, he could manifest the game of Chess into reality, imposing its rules on any targets of his choice. Doing so was a major strain on his mind, but when executed its effects were truly simply sublime.

Combining these aspects of his ability, he came up with a plan to sever the Drake's connection to the weather, limiting it's arsenal; The Stormbreakers.

The pawns scattered across the terrain weren't just decoys — they were catalysts, each one a critical piece in the final act.

As the Drake turned its attention to the others, Sabbath's lips curled into a faint smile. 

The king never falls without taking the board with him. 

The storm above them faltered. The rain slowed, the thunder softened. And then, with a sound like shattering glass, the storm collapsed, its energy siphoned into the dormant Stormbreakers. 

The drake staggered, its power ebbing with the dissipating tempest. 

Sabbath pushed himself up, blood pooling beneath him. His voice was a whisper, but it carried across the battlefield: 

"Checkmate."