Chapter 1717: Chapter 1534: Lich 3

Chapter 1717: Chapter 1534: Lich 3



Maria, her breath misting in the frigid air, surveyed the scene of her victory. The once- majestic surrounding was a frozen tableau, a monument to the power she wielded. While exhaustion gnawed at her, a deeper resolve burned within her eyes. The Lich, the puppeteer of this macabre spectacle, had escaped. It was time for the hunter to become the hunted.

With a whisper and a flick of her wrist, a miniscule shard of ice detached itself from her crystal sword. This wasn't a random act, but a beacon. A tracker, imbued with a sliver of Maria's power, that had subtly attached itself to the Lich during their final confrontation. As she channeled her magic, the shard pulsed with a faint, ethereal light, guiding her towards the necromancer's lair.

The chase began. Fifty kilometers Maria traversed, leaving a trail of shimmering frost in her wake. Lush forests turned into desolate plains, vibrant rivers into frozen arteries winding through cracked earth. The wind, Maria's constant companion, howled a mournful song, echoing the desolation left in the Lich's path.

Finally, after hours of relentless pursuit, the icicle's glow intensified, leading her to a hidden valley nestled within a treacherous mountain range. This valley, shrouded in perpetual mist and untouched by the Age of Ice, emanated an unsettling aura of darkness. Here, amidst jagged peaks that scraped against the underbelly of the clouds, stood the Lich's personal dungeon a monument to his twisted ambitions.

Carved from the very mountain itself, the dungeon was a grotesque mockery of architecture. Black obsidian spires, devoid of any warmth, reached towards the sky like skeletal fingers grasping for the heavens. Crimson runes, pulsing with an unholy light, were etched into the stone, their malevolent script whispering promises of pain and suffering. A gaping maw, a cavernous entrance guarded by skeletal statues that seemed to writhe in unseen torment, marked the dungeon's entry.Th.ê most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m

An oppressive silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the mournful cries of unseen creatures echoing from within. This was no ordinary dungeon; it was a living entity, a manifestation of the Lich's dark power, and a final obstacle before Maria could confront the mastermind himself. It was a place where light dared not tread, and the very air reeked of decay and a bone-chilling dread.

The stench of decay, temporarily subdued, lingered in the air as Maria continued her descent. Each floor deeper felt like a step closer to the heart of darkness, the closer she got to the Lich, the more suffocating the evil became. Finally, after battling through hordes of animated skeletons and spectral warriors, she reached the final floor.

The air here was stagnant, devoid of the faintest breeze, and heavy with the oppressive weight of dark magic. A single, flickering torch sputtered against the cavern wall, casting an eerie glow upon a sight that sent chills down even Maria's spine.

A throne, a single seat of power, stood at the end of the vast cavern. Carved from a single massive block of obsidian, the throne was a grotesque mockery of royalty. Jagged spikes jutted from its armrests, their tips dripping with a viscous, black ichor. Carvings, depicting scenes of torture and suffering, adorned its back, their details rendered even more horrifying by the flickering torch light.

And upon this macabre throne sat the Lich.

Unlike his skeletal minions, the Lich retained a semblance of his former human form. Yet, it was a form twisted by undeath, a grotesque caricature of humanity clinging to a semblance of life. His skin, stretched taut over his skeletal frame, was a sickly gray, mottled with purple veins that pulsed with a malevolent light. His eyes, glowing embers in the cavern's darkness, burned with an unholy intelligence, devoid of any warmth or humanity.

Clad in a tattered robe of midnight black, adorned with shimmering silver skulls, he exuded an aura of power so oppressive it felt like a physical weight upon Maria's chest. In his bony hand, he clutched a gnarled staff, its skull-shaped head leering at her with a malevolent grin, a single glowing ruby embedded in its forehead pulsing in sync with the Lich's malevolent heartbeat.

This wasn't just the Lich; this was the embodiment of death itself, a terrifying puppeteer who had orchestrated this city's downfall from the shadows. A cold smile played on the Lich's lips, devoid of humor but filled with a chilling certainty. He had anticipated her arrival, and now, in this throne room of darkness, their final confrontation would unfold.