Book 8: Chapter 19: H
(The Flowers of Esthelm, Book 3 of The Wandering Inn is out on Audible! Grab it here! And please consider leaving a review! Thanks!)
As the last of the hopeless adventurers, soldiers in broken armies, careless wanderers, travellers and the lost who had been trapped here over millennia were finally released, their bodies destroyed, the Putrid Ones true army finally moved.
The illusion fell away. The inner city was revealed. It stirred. Undead, patiently waiting for so long, finally lifted the weapons they had been entrusted with. Ancient armor gleamed. Giant figures strode out of their resting places.
Monstrous undead climbed out of hiding places. Others took wing, or hung in the air, kept aloft by magic.
True undead. Not Draugr, not Crypt Lords or skeletons or zombies or Ghouls or any other lesser undead. Draugr were the foot soldiers, and these ones had armor.
The first undead Wyvern flew next to dead Griffins and even a Manticore, all three winged beast species flying high overhead, screaming soundlessly in parodies of life.
She couldnt breathe, seeing it. Her heart was palpitating. She clutched at it, and felt the steady rhythm falter. It wasshe was hyperventilating, clutching at the table.
It was her fault. They had gone because she had told them. Because she had suggested it. For Erin, they had said. But she had asked themasked him.
They were going to die. Selys Shivertail sank out of her chair, unable to sit upright. She kept watching, though. Only Mrsha even noticed the Drake fall to the floor. She tugged at Selys, but the [Heiress] couldnt speak or stand.
All eyes were on the scrying orb. The cheering in The Wandering Inn had stopped.
The story on the scrying mirror had been glorious. Desperate, action-packed, full of hope though. Each step the adventurers made, each time a spell threw the undead back, Imani and Palt had hugged, Bezale and Kevin and Troy had all taken a gulp of beerthen stopped after the three-dozenth time.
They had been on the edge of their seats, cheering, calling encouragement, as if this were a game. They had not been unaware of the stakes, but they had believed.
Now? Silence. The story had changed. Somethingcruel realitystole in like painful, bitter wind. The sun had set. It was cold, the chill of fear and certainty, the dark of night.
The first adventurers died within seconds.
-
Yvlon locked blades with the skeleton commander and threw her entire weight behind the first clash as their swords met. The undead skeletonblocked her.
It was weaker; it slid back, despite the ceremonial armor it wore, yet it parried her, redirecting the force of her blow. Its shield came up as Yvlon recoiled and struck out.
A calculated blow, to dizzy her and force her back as its sword went in for a stab. Yvlon recoiled, saw the blade coming as she tried to pull her sword down. She released her two-handed griplowered her arm.
The slash across her right arm was a scream of metal-on-metal. Yvlon recoiled, knocking the sword away, and brought down her sword once more, one-handed.
It met the shield and the skeleton commander staggered. She walked backwards, flicking her head, right, left. The other skeletons!
Hadnt moved. They stood in perfect formation, weapons readybut watching her and their leader duel. It was so uncanny that Yvlon moved further back, sure this was a trap.
No. The skeleton leader with the plumed helmet set himself, sword raised high, shield angled. It struck its sword hilt to the shield, producing a challenging clash of metal, just like Briganda had.
It was then that Yvlon noticed she was bleeding. Red ran from the cut in her right arm. She looked down, mildly shocked.
The sword had cut her arm. Actually cut it. The blade was as enchanted as hers andit had sliced open the silver-steel skin. Not deeply, but if it had done that to her armher armor would suffer the same fate.
Yvlon looked at the skeletons. She had heard nothing in the clash, which had taken all of ten seconds at most. Cut, parry, block, retreat.
It had moved as fast as she. That coordination! It was like fighting a Level 20 [Warrior]no, a seasoned [Soldier] at least!
Then Yvlon heard the first screams of panic, confusion, cries for help. Then she felt the first impacts coming up from the ground.
Explosions. Death from the skies. Only, not from adventurers.
The [Armsmistress] looked up and saw them. Glowing fingers, floating bodies
Liches. Skeleton-mages, casting spells from high above. They flicked [Fireballs], bolts of [Lightning] down, magical arrow spells, anything a [Mage] was capable of. Basic attack spells that killed.
A [Fireball] illuminated a trio of Silver-rank adventurers who couldnt dodge. They were flung, blazing, onto the street. Another Silver-rank dove, and the lightning bolt arced, catching him on his metal armor. He screamed, but was able to grab a healing potion.
The magical attack was first. Secondthe arrows. A volley flew from the skies, shot from far out of sight. Adventurers raised shields and a [Mage] had the presence of mind to cast a barrier-spell. The arrows glanced off; a professional, accurate grouping of shots.
The arrow with a pitch-black shaft and a glowing, purple-metal arrowhead snaked down and hit the [Mage] in the shoulder. He folded up without a word.
All of this was in seconds. Yvlon looked up and saw the shrieking undead monsters in the sky. She saw a huge shape, taller than the Frostmarrow Behemoth, raise a club of bone or something pale, advancing forwards.
The skeletonsadvanced. Yvlon raised her sword, waiting, but only the leader came towards her. The rest were moving past her.
Skeleton Knights. Say again: our group is engaging Skeleton Knights. Unconfirmed speculationSkeleton Lord leading them!
The voice was brisk, familiar, but not haughty. Justtaut with intensity.
Prince Zenol. His eight bodyguards were shielding him, eyes on the Skeleton Knights. AndSkeleton Lord? It looked no different than the others, save for its garb, but the way it saluted her, bone head turning as if to wonder if she and Zenol were going to flank it
Zenols voice was one of dozens shouting into their speaking stones. Yvlon heard mixed voices.
Liches! We need [Mages] here to battle them! We cant shoot them down! Half have barriers
Undead giant! Dead gods, Bone Behemoths too
just came at usfull of bugsdont get c
Fall back. All groups, fall back to your fortifications.
That was Soews voice, urgent despite the calm tone. Yvlon looked at the skeletons. The Skeleton Lord was just waiting.
We have to fight them before they join up. Attack 2first wave. We are fighting.
Prince Zenol tossed the speaking stone to a bodyguard. He raised his sword, and looked around. Dorgon had moved forwards with some Gold-ranks and two Silver.
Watch the skies for spells and arrows.
The Minotaur spoke, looking at Yvlon. She nodded. No one had said a word, save for Dorgon and Zenol. They were watching Yvlon.
She hadnt beaten the skeleton leader, and she had intended to in a single charge. Nowthe adventurers were poised. To run? To fall back?
It depended on the next moments. Zenol strode forwards, as if to put their uncertainty to rest. Yvlon blocked him.
Take the others.
He looked at her. Then grinned.
Dont lose.
The [Prince] whirled, and his Stitchfolk charged into the Skeleton Knights, fearless of the blades. Yvlon took a deep breath. She lifted her sword, seeing blood running onto the hilt from her arm.
The Skeleton Lord was waiting. It was grinning at her. Yvlon charged.
Silver and steel be my guide!
Her first stroke was a two-handed blow that made the Skeleton Lord stagger. It raised its sword, stabbing fast in the opening as Yvlons sword bounced off its shield.
A quick blow which could turn into a decisive cut before she could regain her balance and maneuver her sword. It scored a line down her cheek; no, a deep cut. Yvlon abruptly felt steel kiss the side of her tongue. The Skeleton Lord went to flick the enchanted blade through her skull.
Its arm never moved again. Yvlon had dropped her sword. Her silver hand had caught its sword-wrist. The undead recoiled
She wrenched off its arm. It was hard, far harder than a normal skeletons, but this undead was still weaker than a Draugr. It looked down at its torn shoulder, and tried to drop the shield and reach for a dagger at its belt.
Both of Yvlons hands grabbed its helmeted head. She began to pull.
The Skeleton Lord stared at Yvlon, grabbing her arm with its remaining one. Gently
She thought the light brown flames in its eye sockets were reproaching her. This was not how sword-wielders properly f
The silver arms ripped skull and part of the spine from the body. The Skeleton Knights turned, those not in the thick of fighting, as the Skeleton Lord collapsed.
Rhirs hells.
One of the adventurers breathed. Yvlon turned. She was holding the skull, her right cheek cut open.
The skull crumpled in one hand. She bent, to retrieve her sword. Then, Yvlon Byres stood. Her next words made living and dead flinch. It was a bellow, a raw shout.
Silver and steel be my guideeverything dies! Forwards! Attack, you cowards!
This time, when she ran, the adventurers charged down the street with her.
-
They didnt run. Eldertuin the Fortress planted his shield and bellowed a counter-command.
Hold this street with me! Hornskeep those giants off us! If we all run, we all die.
The Draugr were advancing at a run, their ferocious charge shaking the street.
The Named Adventurer put his shield down and gritted his teeth. His hair, already turning to grey in places, flashed.
Nothe air did. Ceria heard him shout.
[Shield of the Fortress]! [I Am Unmovable]!
A pale, sage-green shield burst from his shield. It traced a teardrop shapeas wide as the street. The spells and Draugr hit it andbounced.
The first armored undead swung their weapons and hit an unbreakable wall: Eldertuins shield. He braced, holding back the weight of their charge. His feet skidded back a foot, no more.
Then Levil shot flames into the Draugr, seeking to set them alight. Over Eldertuins shoulder, someone fired a crossbow, through the eyes of one of the Draugr.
Pisces!
Ceria shouted, and the [Necromancer] broke out of his stupor. He looked around; his hand flashed as he flicked it.
[Shatterbolt]. It went through two Draugrs chest plates, but one got up. Ceria pointed.
[Ice Spear]!
The head vanished. The corpse fell back down. Ceria looked around.
The street! Ward the street before my Skill ends! Arcsinger, get your archers over here! Soew! The Liches will slaughter everything they see! I see six
Eldertuin was bellowing, issuing orders. Ceria had no idea what he meant for a moment. Then her eyes widened.
[Ice Wall!]
Ice appeared and spread, thickening into the multiple feet of solid protection that could stop even the spells or a Draugrs charge for a while. But not on the groundit spread from rooftop to rooftop! Forming an aerial shield from the flying undead, spells, and arrows. Ceria lifted her hands, brows furrowing with effort as she created a fortress of ice. Pisces fought, stabbing, conjuring an orb of acidbut he never took his eyes from the heart of the city.
-
Two places held. Threefour. That was all Niers Astoragon saw. The rest of the adventurers were fleeing, regrouping or just running, nerves broken.
He sat, clenching his hands, watching the battle unfold from above. He was too far away to see the battlefield with his Skills. Yet he had to! He saw adventurers die from archers and whatever high-level undead had that barrier-breaching arrow.
Liches in the skies. Undead Wyverns? Not to mention whatever giants were out there, and armored undead infantry.
Where? He waitedvibrating with intensity. His was not the despair in the rest of the inn.
Show me. Show me, you motherless mage-brats! Dont pan over the battle, show me
He had to find it. The Titans whisper went ignored in the inn, even by the Gnolls. The only person who looked towards him was Apista.
And the frantic head of the little Gnoll. Niers ignored her. He waswaiting
-
A frozen grin on his face, the King of Destruction watched as the viewpoint of the scrying orb shifted. The smile had been genuine a minute ago. Yet contrary to what they believed, he did not enjoy this.
Tyrion Veltras forces were falling back as the Village of the Dead disgorged an armored legion fit for any Chandrarian nations best. He saw armored Draugr advancing, shields raised, ignoring the effective rain of arrows that had killed countless undead. They were using the other undead still on the field like shields.
Even the Lord of House Veltras couldnt just charge into them. He did it once, with a group of a hundred and twenty. The rest of the [Riders] held back, circling, baiting the undead into chasing them, but something was leading them, such that the rest were advancing on the infantry, forcing a clash.
He held back the rest of his [Riders]?
Maresar didnt understand. Tyrion Veltras was riding forwards, set in a jousters position. He surged up and down, his lance tip never wavering. Behind him came other [Riders] carrying spears and lances.
The rest must not be high-level enough. Theyll die on the charge.
Venith murmured. On cue, the image of Tyrion Veltras was lost as he accelerated.
A hundred and twenty lancers crashed into the Draug, their weapons piercing armor, throwing the hulking undead down. Dozens of spears or lances shattered and bent from the stress, but the [Riders] were already breaking away, following Tyrion Veltras.
He had killed two Draugr in a single charge, putting his lance through ones head and then using the momentum to kill another. Those two did not get up.
Half of the Draugr did. Flos saw mortal wounds on any Human, Stitchfolk, Dullahan, or other species ignored as the undead picked themselves up with gaping wounds in their armor. Tyrion was circling, looking for another charge. But his head was turned, looking up. He was bellowing orders unheard, and his soldiers were scrambling to maneuver. Their formation had changed, scattered because of
The flying undead. They began to drop out of the skies, interrupting the neat archery formations. Sowing havoc among the House of Els noncombatants. Now Lord Deilan, the Terland delegation, and the [Mages] and trebuchets were under threat.
And Tyrions children.
-
Halrac the Grim fought cold. He heard and saw adventurers dying.
Acid rained down from the skies. An adventurer clawed at her face and her burning eyes. A MinotaurThorvencharged out and threw her against the wall and overhang.
Healing potion in her eyes! Highest-quality and you might save them!
He bellowed at the terrified [Bandit Archer], who did as he shouted. Halrac leaned up. Acid threatened to do the same to him, but his eyes were closed.
He had memorized the position and took the shot. His arrow flashed through the skies, invisible! A [Mage]-killer, an ambush-specialists dream. Or a [Hunter]s.
But he missed. Halrac knew it. He looked from the shelter, wiping at the stinging liquid threatening to eat into his skin, neutralizing it with a potion.
The Lich hovered there, one of many, casting spells. Raining death down. Halrac cursed as he put another arrow to his bow. Yethe was a [Marksman], yes, but he wasnt Bird or Badarrow.
The skeleton was changing positions as it floated in the night sky, already torn by flashes of light, ruining his night vision at least six hundred paces distant. His enchanted arrow had to go around or through its magical barrier, and he was out of [Piercing Shots].
Halrac considered the second shotand lowered his bow. He was still cold. His mind raced, and he never stopped moving, standing, turning, shouting.
Follow me! We have to relocate! Move! Keep your heads down and out of the acid!
Cold, though. He knew the Liches were killing adventurers, but he let the one floating there and casting [Acid Rain] go. He had to focus on targets meant for him.
If we go out there, were sitting
Halrac seized a [Crossbow-woman] and threw her out of her cover. He pointed.
Go! Follow Thorven!
The Minotaur was leading the way. He had realized the exact same thing Halrac had; they might be burned by the rain, but they were dead if they didnt find adventurers with melee weapons when those Wyverns dove, or armored undead found them.
The [Archers] ran. Halrac was listening to Soew shouting orders, panicked reports. He broke free of the rain and whirled, not even bothering to wipe acid from his hair and armor.
There. There was his target.
Turn! [Archers], turn and loose! Theres your target!
As if he were back in the army, Halrac barked and the entire group turned at his [Voice in Your Ear], a low-level [Leader]s Skill from those days. Panicked, through the explosions, screams, and confusion, they still turned and saw his target.
A Zombie Giant, wearing armor and carrying a mace of bone. It was advancing down one street. To the sideHalrac saw a Bone Behemoth grappling with a slightly larger, stronger undead.
The Frostmarrow Behemoth was winning, but it couldnt fight two at once! The huge giant was swinging its club at unseen adventurers fleeing it.
Hit the head! The head!
Halrac drew an enchanted arrowAirburstand cursed. He fumbled for a better one and had a fiery arrow to his string in six wasted seconds. He drewsighted at the target, and loosed.
This time he hit home. The Zombie Giant was a much easier target. Even so, a number of enchanted arrows went wide as adventurers missed the moving head. Enough hit.
Chunks blew out of the giants head. It turned, flailing its club and destroying a roof, but didnt fall. Halrac drew another arrow.
More gigantic undead were appearing. He saw a mass of squirming limbs and bodies rear up in the shape of some kind of morbid slug. It took Halrac a second to realize it was a Wailing Pit rearing up. It collapsed, and if anything had been below
Commander Halrac. My count is six giant-class undead in range, not counting Wailing Pits. Let me focus on separate targets. Were wasting
Dont ask, do it!
Thorven nodded. He grabbed the [Magical Archer] and six others and pointed.
Soew, were fightinghere! Dead gods damn it, tell us where to go or get us backup before the undead on the ground get us! Were taking out those giants!
Captain Halrac? Standbyreturn to your position, Leader Melbret! [Restore Morale]
Soews voice was taking on an edge of desperation. Halrac cursed.
He saw Melbret and nearly twenty adventurers running past his street as the first zombie giant finally went down, an eye socket and that part of its head blown away. If it had kept the helmet that had actually been hanging askew
Halracs head turned and then the [Veteran Scout] bellowed.
Stop!
The adventurers halted, saw the [Archers], and ran up.
We have to get out of here! Fall back to the fortifications
Soews Skill hadnt worked, or there wasnt enough morale to restore. Halrac grabbed the [Armsman] and whirled him. Just [Armsman]. He was no Yvlon.
Hold this position with us or well be cut to pieces by those flying undead!
He said that, but most were heading towards the army distant. Halrac was still shouting for the best shots to hit their wings; if the Veltras army ran
Death, death, and death. He knew he should be thinking of where to run. Halrac knew it, but he also knew Yvlon and Eldertuins waves were standing and fighting. If it was time to runthey ran together. And if they didnt see sense, hed grab them and drag them back.
Yet they had no idea what the enemy was capable of. It was all chaos.
Set up defenses here. Block the street
Halrac couldnt risk them getting onto the rooftops and presenting a target. Adventurers began stringing up rope, wire, bear traps, even their portable palisade walls. They were attacked before they finished setting up the third street in the T-intersection.
Draugr!
Slow them and anyone over Level 30, get in front and use your Skills! [Double Shot]! [Pinpoint Shot]! [Experts Shot]!
Halrac activated three Skills in quick succession. Two arrows went through a Draugrs head, each. Armored or not, they died when you destroyed the brains. The third kill was another perfect shot. The [Marksman]s Skill that went after weak points if the owner knew them.
Three Draugr dead, and Thorven took down two more with an arrow that ricocheted between two, tearing pieces away until they fell. Archers got five more, and the adventurers had slowed them down.
Tripvine bags! Alchemical oil potions which made two Draugr slip! One even ran into a thrown, enchanted sword which pierced its chest. Halrac snarled at the waste of the weapon that hadnt even killed the undeadwhen the adventurer raised her hand.
[Recall Weapon]!
The undead group died hard. Adventurers were poised to meet their charge when Halrac saw one more undead moving at speed down the street. A lot faster than
Fundead rider! Hit that horse!
A skeleton on horseback charged them, holding a single sword in its arms. It wore light, painted leather armor. Halrac took aim, but Thorven was faster.
The X-bow thundered; the horse went down, bones blown to bits. The skeleton didnt join it. It had already leapt, and landed on the street, still running. If anything, it came on faster.
The adventurers had dispatched the Draugr in a hand-to-hand. Now, they turned as the [Archers] took aim. Halrac muttered.
[Curving Shot]
He loosed, and watched his arrow miss. Eight other [Archers] had shot with him. The bone-undead had dodged all eight in a leap sideways! Halracs invisible arrow it didnt see until
The sword slashed and cut the arrow in half. Halrac blinked. Hed barely seen that.
Skeleton Lord? What the hell is
The undead raced under a bursting tripvine bag. It dodged another arrow as Halrac fumbled for one. He thought he had time
An adventurer with her shield up gasped as the two-handed sword flashed at her chest. She lowered her shield.
[Reinforced Block]!
Halrac saw the sword curve under her shield. The skeleton cut up. The adventurer stared at her arms as they fell. Then it beheaded her and stabbed another adventurer in the chest.
It was so fast. ItThorven swung his bow in a roar as the undead leapt past him.
The Skeleton Lord dodged. Halrac didnt see a Skill, just anticipation. It nimbly avoided an adventurers slash, returned with its sword. A scream, gurgling, as the man reached for his cut throat.
Halrac missed from eleven feet away. His invisible bow launched the arrow at the back of the skeletons head and it dodged, sliding under the blow. It looked at him and the [Veteran Scout] cursed.
Halrac! Get back!
Adventurers were scrambling to let the Gold-ranks take another shot. Halrac ran backwards, still loosing arrows. He saw the skeleton dodge another one, almost lazily leaning aside as it ran. Its glowing magenta flame-eyes were seeing each strike! Nopredicting them! It dodged swords, a jabbing spear, a mace and a vial of flaming oil, as if the world were a jigsaw puzzle and it had found the one place it wouldnt be hit each time.
It was too quick. [Haste]. As well as that damn sword. Halrac found himself running towards a wall. He leapt up as the skeleton charged, intent on him.
The world was slow in the seconds of life-and-death. Halrac had one last arrow, unenchanted but a piercing arrowhead, in his fingers. He had it in his invisible bowand he was leaping.
His boots struck the wall and Halrac tensed to kick off and leap over the skeletons head, back towards two Gold-ranks charging at the undead with weapons drawn.
The Skeleton Lord saw it all. Contemptuously, it whirled about to face the Gold-ranks.
Its sword swung up over its head, catching Halrac as he leapt. The Gold-rank Captain was struck across the groin, a sweeping blow that cut through his pelvis up to his ribcage. He landed, half of him bisected
The Skeleton Lord didnt hear the thump. Nor did it feel the slight impact in its sword. Its head turned. The perfect strike it had made
Halrac had never leapt. He stood, his boots clinging to the wall, keeping him there like they were covered in glue, despite the unnatural angle defying the laws of gravity.
Boots of Stability.
Idiot.
The arrow went through the skeletons head and blasted chunks out the other side. Halrac landed, hitting the ground on his side as the enchantment on the boots gave out a second later. He just lay there, on his back, for a second. Then someone spoke his name.
Halrac?
He looked up. The Gold-rank adventurer offered him a hand; the other was bashing the Skeleton Lords body to dust.
Thanks.
He pulled himself up. Shakily. He reached for the speaking stone.
SoewSkeleton Lord under [Haste] or an even higher-level variant. Dodged everything nearly perfectly. Also, riding a horse. Watch out.
Understood.
The [Marksman] breathed. In. Out. He listened to his frantic heart beating, and knew he was alive.
Then he went back to the street, to keep shooting arrows at the towering undead as the adventurers fortified again. That was the first wave of undead. The first ten minutes.
The second wave came six minutes later. Halrac looked up and beheld his death. Bitterly, he took aim.
-
It was like a menagerie of undead. A playground of experiments. Everything he had ever tried or conceivedand some things he had not.
Too late, Azkerash realized the limitations of his undead experiments. Where he had conjured massed numbers, he had never gone down the same road as this Necromancer. It was like seeing two completely different architects given the same materials and creating vastly different structures.
The dichotomy was simple: in life, Perril Chandler had been the respected Archmage of Death, the Undying Shield of Calanfer. A man who had once been cheered and honored as Silvarias noble protector, albeit with undeath as his weapon. He respected the corpses of those he raised.
The Putrid One never had. He had experimented, and found variations upon the undead that Azkerash had only begun to learn after he had died.
Screaming Wyverns dove on the archers and adventurers that had made their unwise stand in the streets. Wyvernsbearing loads of Ghouls which leapt down, engaging the adventurers. Not deadlybut all they had to do was distract while the massive Wyverns tore the adventurers apart.
They might have survived that. However, Azkerash beheld obscenely bloated piles of flesh; not Draugr, far bigger. Waddling down the street, dangerous despite their corpulence for they held tiny undead rats and other creatures waiting to pour out when pierced. Using them as shields came boring Skeleton Knights.
Their bones were green and brown. Poisoned. Covered in it. Such an excellent combination of distraction, overwhelming aggression, and a final, insidious blow.
The adventurers morale broke twice. Wistram was covering the scene, but Drassi couldnt say anything. She was watching in horror, silent, having torn into the paper she was holding with her claws.
If he couldno. Azkerash had one card to play in this battle and it wasoccupied. The Necromancer watched as a few adventurers made their stand, the rest trying to run. They would fall, and the lines would break. The adventurers were wavering already; they needed to flee or they would be overwhelmed. The only thing saving them was that not all the undead in the city were on top of themyet.
What will you do, Pisces Jealnet? What will your team do? I will see it and never judge you, either way.
Azkerash watched, then turned away from the slaughter as the man with the invisible bow cast it aside and locked shortsword with one of the poisoned skeletons.
-
I see your death. I see you die. Soew closed her eyes. She had triedbut she had weighed the odds of someone stopping the undead attack and had told them to run.
Halracs group hadnt had a chance to escape the Wyverns. The [Strategist] sat at her map of the Village of the Dead and the battle, knowing she had to sit and save what could be saved, despite the deaths of so many.
She was out of Skills. If she had another minuteshe forced her eyes open. She watched the image of Halrac till the end.
-
I see your death. I see you die. It all rests on you. So make your stand. Not yet. Not today.
Niers Astoragon saw it. The crumbling lines. The place to hold them. He raised his hand. At last! He could do something.
[Raise the Banner: Hold, with Sword and Spell]! [Order: Throw Them Back]!
He spoke, focusing his will. And on the scrying orbthe faltering [Veteran Scout] forced back the lock of blades. He sent the Skeleton Knight flying back, and raised his head.
Mrshas eyes widened as the screen began to glow. She looked up and the Fraerling laughed. As the battle changed, he spoke once more.
[Reputation: My Famous Name].
-
Halrac had been about to die. Thenhed hurled the skeleton, armor and all back half a dozen feet! He felt something fill him. A familiar sensation.
Soew?
It was like a rally Skill in the army! It had to be her capstone Skill too! Halrac feltsturdy. His hand blurred and he blocked a second skeleton running at him. His boot came up and he planted it in its chest.
It went flying, as if he were Moore. Halrac saw the other undead slowing, struggling as if they were running into a powerful headwind. The little rat-undead and other pests were pushed back, unable to even move forwards.
What was happening? The adventurers had halted. Thorven, stabbing his sword into a Wyverns neck, completed the hacking cut and the rotten head came off.
Fight! We have a second chance at life! For the House of Minos and the honor of adventurersfight!
Gold and Silver-ranked adventurers whirled, moving faster, stronger! Tougher too! Halrac looked around as he reached for the blood-spattered distortion on the ground. He drew his bow and saw it at last.
Someone had planted it on the ground. Someone hadyet it wasnt quite real. It glowed, and had that magical aspect to its colors that were almost too real, that made the rest of the street look mundane, fake.
It was a glowing standard. It stood, the tip of it flying as high as the rooftops. Halrac thought he recognized the sigilsbut he was already loosing arrows. Those who stood below it fought like Demons, and a second Skill made undead fly back, light as feathers.
This was not Soew. Halrac felt as fast as that Skeleton Lord had been. He swept an arrow up; shot a Wyvern through an eye as it reared back unaided at thirty feet without hesitation.
Who? He looked up.
-
Thatssomeones used a Skill! Itslook at that! Look at that! Itits that guy!
Drassi was leaping up and down, hugging Joseph as what she thought had been the scene of Halracs demise turned to a rallying point. Even other adventurers were making for the glowing standard.
Also, what lay above it. For if ever there had been something to rally tosome reassurance of hope in disaster, it was probably that.
For a moment, Ceria looked up from the titanic fight between the Frostmarrow Behemoth and an undead group of Ogres. Her eyes widened. The half-Elf saw it.
That guy. They had all seen him. He stood there, for a moment. Larger than life. Towering even over the undead, who turned to regard the figure grinning over the line in the sand hed drawn.
The Titan of Baleros.
Joseph supplied. Drassi nodded.
Across the world, Tulm the Mithrils eyes narrowed.
Foliana, who had been lying and facing the wall in a hammock, not watching the news, stirred as Perorn burst into her rooms, brandishing her scrying mirror. The Squirrel-woman sat up. She took one look at the smug expression on the astral-projection of the Titanand smiled.
-
Niers Astoragon lay panting on the beam when it was done. One Skill had taken a lot out of him. Yet hed known it could be done, even before the news. Apista fetched him a cup of waterwell, a tankard with water in the bottom fourth. The rest had been sloshed out.
More than enough for him. The Titan pulled himself up and grinned.
Well, thats torn it. Bee, fly me to Miss Erins roomthen back here as soon as you can.
He needed to use another Skill! HoweverApista buzzed up the stairs and Niers burst into Erins room just in time to see it.
The magical chessboard moved. He saw the little message in code hed written change. The [Strategist] laughed. Only a fool played one battle at a time! However, there was no time. Apista was already buzzing downstairs as Mrsha ran towards her, eyes shining with hope.
Rags turned her attention away from the scrying mirror where Drassi was flinging her papers up and dancing with Josepha copy of the common room of The Wandering Inn. She frowned, and rubbed at the back of her neck.
Was that a coincidence?
She thought about it as Mrsha caught the little bee and ran into the kitchen. Rags had no idea who this Titan was, and obviously that was just Mrsha and Apista. No one could be there, even invisibly.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. But in The Wandering Inn? Hah!
Then she turned her attention back to the battle. Slowly, Rags inspected the banner-skill and the adventurers, fighting twice as fiercely as before.
The [Great Chieftain]no, the [Steelflame Strategist] raised her claw. She concentrated.
[Burning Blades]. [Battlefield: Power of Fire].
She felt a distant pressure in her mind. Like a bubble, one she could barely feel, let alone touch. It resisted her. Rags growled, struggling to force it through. Like lifting a Wyvern over her head; she had no purchase, no footing. Yet she had seen it could be done!
She failed the first time, panting. Six minutes of concentration resulted in a blinding headache and sweat pouring down her face so hard that Calescent checked to see if his spice had gotten in her bowl of popcorn instead of his.
The little Goblin tried again. What else could she do? However, as she watchedshe realized something.
She wasnt the only one.
-
Look and see. There were so many facets of the battle that the limited scrying spells couldnt keep up. They werefailing as they tried to enter the city. Only the [Mages] providing a direct link had any clarity.
What they showed was Halrac the Grim making his stand, saved by the glowing standard and the grinning Titan.
Alsocruelty.
The Silver-ranks led by Nailrens team were lying on the ground. They had been cut off from half their group by a wall of black fire one of the Liches had hurled. Levil was fighting with Eldertuin and the others. Nailren had tried to link up, but
Fallen down.
The Gnoll was runningthen he was staring at a wall. No? The ground? He muttered. Why? His legs kept running, kicking the air aimlessly.
I fell down. I fell
Another adventurer stumbled past him. One of Earlias former [Miners]. She looked around. Bile or vomit was running out of her mouth. She walked, stumbling, as the other adventurers lay on the ground, or wandered around aimlessly. Nailren tried to stop and turn to face her, but the wall was in his way. Why was he?
[Confusion]. Some kind of spell. The thick cloud of it swirled, revealing a group of Crypt Lords. One wasbelchingthe miasma. The rest dragged themselves over. Immune to the spell, they began reaching down and crushing the adventurers to death.
Nailren kept trying to run. He saw Earlia swinging her maul, flailing about at the nearest Crypt Lord. It watched her swing at the air six feet to its right and struck her, sending her crashing to the ground. Delighted, almost. Was it smiling?
-
Arrows fell again and again, targeting the half-Elves and the archers. They were hunkering down as the deathly arrow killed another adventurer, just a cutbut the poisons effect was immediate.
The hail of arrows stoppedthen came again. So did the dark purple arrow. A challenge.
Elia Arcsinger refused to take it. She grimly leaned out, forcing her daughter back as she loosed an arrow at the largest opponent.
The Frostmarrow Behemoth was fighting two skeleton giants. Losing. Its icy body was being hacked away swing by swing as it struck back, paws colliding with their armor.
-
The mocking Liches circled overhead. They were pointing, raining magical spells down at the sporadic counter-fire from the Halfseekers side. All the adventurers without bows or spells could do was fight the undead coming at them on ground-level. Even that was hell.
Seborn leapt away from a bloated zombie, shouting a warning.
Get b
Too late. The zombie exploded. Adventurers inhaled the spore cloud and two fell, convulsing. The last stumbled free, towards his teammates.
Help. I need an antid
Keep back!
Jelaqua grabbed him. The adventurer fought, crying for help. His team ran to grab him. Seborn tackled one.
Hell infect you too! Fight! Fight!
-
It was a dozen scenes like this. Flickering from point to point. Nailren, Arcsinger herself, pinned down.
Brave adventurers. Children, fighting the worst kinds of monsters from your nightmares. Gleefully, the Crypt Lords crushed another adventurer to death, savoring the cries from their stricken comrades.
You see it. You saw it, in all the manifest injustice. Did you come here to watch despair? Would you, if you could, sit idly by?
No.
Nailren heard a voice. It was female, and often drowsy. Not now. It spoke in his ear.
[Begone, Ailments].
He stared down at the ground. The Gnoll pushed himself up with a growl. His bow rose; he shot an arrow through the Crypt Lord bearing down on Earlia. Halfway towards the monster, the arrow morphed. It became a glowing swallowa bird that pierced through the monster. Nailren heard another voice. Male, authoritative.
[Blessing: The Bow of Wings]!
Nailren drew another arrow and felt like he was holding a bird, wings fluttering against his paw. He drew and loosed as Earlia stood. Why was her armorglowing?
-
[Greater Blessing of Armor].
The King of Destruction had done it again. Venith slapped his face with his hand. Yet Flos Reimarch had been one of six Skills that spontaneously went off. Adventurers were rising to their feet, confusion gone. The Gnoll with the bow was loosing birdsor their similethrough the Crypt Lords, severing their bloated bodies with ease.
Another adventurer had gone into a berserk rage. The King of Destruction blinked. He realized it and laughed.
Oh. Of course. Copycats.
-
The Queen of Desonis went back to hugging her pet sheep. A Naga-commander of Baleros sat back to raucous cheering from his mercenary company. He turned his head.
Inform Wistram who used that Skill.
His Skill was the one which had given the adventurer the raging fury to take on a Crypt Lord with nothing but an unenchanted shortswordand win.
It was one of a dozen. Elia heard a whisper in her ears at the same time as adventurers across the city found their armor repairing itself, new strength in their arms.
A bolt of lightning hit one of the Liches mid-air and vaporized it. Drassi, overwhelmed and trying to commentate, saw an icon flash up on the scrying orbs projection, without her even doing anything.
[Lightning Bolt], courtesy of Archmage Viltach.
The little indicator faded after a second. More began popping up. The [Reporter] finally realized what was going on.
They were using their Skills! That was obvious. But what she hadnt realized was how many were using their Skills.
Thats sixty twosixty two Skills activated at long-range! Im reading the Queen of Desonis, the King of Destruction, Commander Luxri of the Hanging Serpents
Why so many? Why now? Obviouslybecause they had been waiting, these [Strategists] and monarchs and [Generals]. They had prepared for this moment. Every single one of the many people whod watched the first time and, individually, come to the same conclusion.
Why, if the King of Destruction can do it, Ill do it next time and take credit, make a splash
Hundreds of people all coming to the same original, completely un-unique idea to attract attention. What had made a splash because it was so unprecedented took on a different tone now.
Every continent in the world save for one was lending a hand to the adventurers in the Village of Death. The exception of course, being Rhir.
Theyre learning old tricks and calling them new ones. Do you see that? The Blighted Kingdom has known about this for ages.
The [Lord] indicated the Skills exploding across the Village of Death, the renewed fighting among the adventurers. He turned to the [Knight] with dark skin and a worried look on his face. The younger man looked at him.
Arent you going to do something, Lord Hayvon?
We dont waste our Skills, Richard. Adventurers glory on Izril will not protect Rhir from the Demons.
Richard stared at Lord Hayvon, and then turned to the scrying orb. He spoke, never looking away from the fighting.
Maybe not. But if I could lend a hand, I would. Didnt you say one of those teams was Hells Wardens? Theyre people. Like us. Or does the Blighted Kingdom survive without help, Lord Hayvon?
The man glanced at Richard, and his brows crossed. He stood there, thinking.
Then all five continents took part in the battle.
-
He is shooting birds! Do you see? Do you s
Bird was running around, all four arms raised and waving in the common room, crashing into chairs and tables. Selys was sniffing, holding
She looked at Ulvama, whom she was squeezing with both arms. The Hobgoblin [Shaman] glowered at her. Selys let go.
Wheres Mrsha?
Her answer wasnt needed. Mrsha came striding out of the kitchen, a bowl of dip in her paws. She put it on the table, sat down in between Selys and Ulvama and leaned forwards, chin on her paws. Every line of her body had changed from despair to determination.
Lets help. She scrutinized the battle like a [Strategist]. Selys and Ulvama peered at her as the Titan resumed watching from the beam. However, Niers was searching for another target. Half the Skills had been just thrown into poor spots. With enthusiasm and effectnot efficacy. That was fine. The adventurers had far more of a chance with so many high-level Skills at their back.
Niers was frowning at Lord Tyrions army. They were being ignoredhe raised his hand, hoping the scrying orb would focus on them.
Then the Antinium crashed through the front door and some ran out of the basement. The Brothers shouted in alarmbut the Black Tide of the Antinium was
I heard. Wherewhere are they?
Pawn. Yellow Splatters, Belgrade, Garry, Chesacre, Thaina, Purple Smilesall of them had rushed into The Wandering Inn.
They hadnt known. Scrying orbs were only used by the Queen. Now, Pawn sank to his knees as he saw the fighting.
It is for Erin?
He looked at the others. Selys hesitated. Mrsha nodded, eyes on him. Pawn knelt. Most of the Painted Antinium copied him.
He began to pray. Niers Astoragon stared at him, sword raised. What was?
-
Skills were activating across the Village of the Dead. The city was still pouring out monsters, though.
Pisces. We have to split up.
Ceria watched, dreamily, feeling every chunk of ice torn away from the Frostmarrow Behemoth. Pisces turned.
Why?
We have to split up. Youre the [Necromancer] here! Find a way to take out the stronger undead. Go! Illstay here.
Ceria pointed at the adventurers fighting with the Frostmarrow Behemoth. She turned, and the breaking walls of ice holding off Draugr refroze. Pisces looked at her.
Strategist Soew had spoken at last as the adventurers were reinforced by Skills. They could run. If they rantheyd be torn apart by the undead, flying and many as fast as an adventurer on horseback. So, while the Skills burned and they had a chance: fight.
She had named the greatest threats she had identified. Skeleton Lords were moving along with the greater undead. Each one could kill a Gold-rank. They were too fast, too deadly and too intelligent.
The giant-class undead were unstoppable if they reached adventurer fortifications. They had to be brought down from afar.
Lastly, the flying Liches were burning everything to ash. Most of the other fliers had gone to besiege Veltras armies.
Can you do something about the Skeleton Lords?
Yes. Perhaps. But
Then go!
Two hands, one flesh-and-blood and the other bone, pushed Pisces hard. He stumbledlooked back. Ceria had drawn her wand.
Well see each other again. Dont worry.
She saw him hesitate. Then the [Necromancer] nodded. He began to run, [Flash Stepping] across the street. He vanished, heading towards the first Skeleton Lord. Ceria exhaled.
Thenshe turned back to the Frostmarrow Behemoth. In the fighting, the silence of her mind, she conjured ice.
She began to climb.
-
This is how we died. Every time, they wanted our bodies. Our bones. Our bodies for their armies, living and dead.
Moore looked up and saw his kin. The face of the half-Giant was blank, rotten. It was nearly twice his height, and he was the tallest adventurer here.
It raised a fist and swung down at him. The half-Giant blocked it with a spire of earth. Stone powdered and rained down around him. He raised his staff and struck back.
A child fighting an adult. He drove his staff forwards. It was covered in barbs and tore at skin. The leghe tore, his hands covered in vines. A blow sent him to the ground, but he rose. A healing potion crunched against his side. He went for the leg, tearing at it as Jelaqua kept the other undead off him, roaring orders.
The undead giant would fall. That was how they were killed. That was how they died. The [Green Mage] looked up at his ancestor. Female? He looked for something.
Goodbye, Cousin.
He swung again, his staff like an axe. Undead broke around his team as the undead giant fell. The Gold-ranks held their ground.
-
Another team advanced, buoyed by no less than a dozen Skills. The Lifwail Blades on the ground had blown past two groups of Draugr, enchanted blades piercing their armor.
We need to take those Liches out! Themor find whats controlling them all! What is that?
The Captain of the Lifwail Blades was listening. He looked up and saw.
Thirty Liches hung in the air. All in the same spot, around a rounded building slightly taller than most. No one could halt them. No one could match them!
Typhenous had tried with some [Mages]. The Drakes had seen six [Valmiras Comets] fly up; the Liches blasted them with spells and blocked the rest, massing their barriers.
The Gold-rank had never seen the like. However, the answer came through the speaking stone. A panting mans voice.
Theyreits a Lich Coven!
What in the name of the Ancestors bones is that?
The Drake snapped back, his sword raised, peering up at the Liches. The reply was urgent.
Look at their legs! Do you see? The chains!
At last, the adventurers noticed the odd chains that had hung from each Lichs legs. Yes! Why were theythey were shackled, the captain realized.
Theyve been bound into a single network. So long as theyre there, they have the combined spell power to wipe out any group. They have to be stopped! IPisces told me the chains must be severed. Then the Liches will be free to move about, but weaker!
Pisces?
The Drake hesitated. Hadnt that been Pisces speaking? Nothe young mans voice came over the speaking stone.
Thats correctInstructor Tomoor. The Liches must be broken. Magic will not contest them, nor arrows.
Then well take that building and hit them. Collapse the entire structure if we have to!
The captain turned to the other adventurers with him. He pointed, turning off the speaking stone and made a hand-sign. The adventurers moved out in silence. They left the corner of the streetran into undead in seconds.
Bone Horrors. Each one trapped so that bones would explode outwards in grasping claws, showers of deadly fragments if they were approached. The Lifwail Blades and adventurers were ready for the challenge.
The undead hadnt noticed them. A [Rogue] went in, tossed two bags.
Tripvines exploded onto the Bone Horrors. The Drake Captain heard cracks as the trapped undead exploded into deadly showers of bones, scything claws
Completely ineffectual.
Go!
His team charged and wiped the Bone Horrors out, carving them to pieces. Threat neutralized, he raised his claw again.
[Silenced Maneuvers]. The adventurers moved muffled and quiet, even those in heavy armor. They rounded another street, closing towards the damned Lich Coven. The heart of the city wasquieter. The undead boiling from every street were almost nonexistent here! Could they win? The Drake had no idea. There were so many and those giants
Sixteen at last count. And the Frostmarrow Behemoth was about to be destroyed. They had to neutralize the biggest threat, fall back and hope that damned Human army could pull some weight.
Captain! Contact!
A whisper. The Drake spun. He hadnt noticed another wave of undead.
There wasnt a wave. A single figure stood in the empty street. Itwas a Drake.
A dead Drake. His scales were mummified, some fallen away. However, the undeads body was preserved. For a second, the Captain just stared. Then he gestured.
A [Rogue] loosed a crossbow bolt. The glowing shot flashed across the street, a probing shot.
Itnever hit the Drake. The Captain of the Lifwail Blades hesitated. He hadnt seen the crossbow bolt detonate. Nor had he seen it cut; it should have activated either way. The arrow justvanished.
The flying furry fuck was that?
An adventurer whispered. The Drake shot him an irritated glance.
Back up. Now.
The adventurers were stepping back. They did not mess with threats like that. The undead Drake didnt pursue them. Not at first.
He spoke.
His power is ended. Did you do that? Yet you are not the army who has that strength. Then it is ill-luck, for you came so far to meet me. Descendants of my people. Is that the best skill at arms you have mastered?
The voice. The Captain of the Lifwail Blades froze. That was the same voice which had so lazily called the undead to arms! The disinterested, almost self-deprecating tones. Bitter and tired and
Sentient.
Contact. Strategist Soew, we have just met the undead in charge of the others! Itits a Revenant. Confirm?
Confirmed. Fall back at once, Captain! [Expeditious Retreat]!
He needed no further urging. The Drake pointed. The adventurers ran.
Cowards.
The word struck the Drake adventurer in the back. Drakes do not rhe ignored the taunt. He did cast one look back down the street, though.
The undead Drake wore old armor, custom-made for him. The insignia was so faded that the Captain did not know what it was. From head to toe, the gear looked enchanted. What was truly scary was the sword he carried, though.
A two-handed sword. Not as long as a greatsword; not nearly. A dueling blade. If the pattern was right, then it was a mark the Walled Cities had long ago stopped issuing.
A [Blademaster]s sigils. Like a golden bell. The Captain knew his history. In those days, each Walled City would issue a mark, a delicate etching to be inscribed on the blade in some way. Each city had its expert, in those times. To best one city was to earn a mark. They did not carry the practice on in this time.
If they hadeven if they had. The living Drakes blood felt cold. There were nine marks on that blade.
The Drake did not move as the living ran. He stood there, face almostdisgusted. Then resigned, melancholy. He never lifted the sword hanging at his hip. Never touched it. All he did wasspeak.
Unlucky adventurers. [Thou Art Cut].
The Captain of the Lifwail Blades heard the words with confusion at first. Then he realized it was a Skill andslowed.
He reached for a potion. The back of his armor wastorn. He looked to his side.
That cant be. Did you hear th?
An adventurer collapsed, eyes blank. The cut had gone through his neck. Other adventurers cried out, cut to their very bones. The Drake reached for a potion, drinking with a shaking claw.
The cuts wouldnt heal. He lay, bleeding, on the street. Words? Words? Not even a
The Drake appeared, walking down the street. He stopped and looked down at the bitter expression on the Captains face. He bent to deliver a warriors mercybut the Drake was dead.
The collapsed adventurers began to stir as the Drake lifted his claw. The Revenant stood.
I resent it. I resent my servitude. I resent my death. If I could not
His sword rose. He studied it, musingly, as the Gold-rank adventurers walked back the way they had come, eyes glowing with the malice of undeath. They had forgotten who they were. The Revenant had not. All that he had been had stayed. Forced to serve. Twisted, but remained.
If I could not. Strange.
The sword in the Drakes claws gleamed in the light. His beautiful armor shone. He stood there, in the street, eyes focused on the distant shape of the Frostmarrow Behemoth, a clear threat. He regarded his sword.
It did not move.
Howstrange. Could it be?
The undead mused.
-
Lord Tyrions army had not benefited from the Skills aiding the adventurers. The reason was simple: his was a Human army, the forces of a [Lord] of Izril. One of the Five Families.
Similarly, the adventurers who hailed from every place in the world were all individuals. The army was an army.
They fought with only a handful of Skills making it across the vast distance. And of them
Tyrion Veltras cursed as he felt a hand grabbing at his authority, distracting him. His lance went wide, clipping the head of the Draugr. Such Skills interfered with his command of the battlefield!
Break away!
For the umpteenth time, his riders fell back with him. Less now. His forces had begun taking real casualties. His bloodless training battle?
A shrieking Wyvern dove from the skies, biting, crushing men and women and tearing about with brute strength, refusing to die even as it was stabbed countless times, showered with arrows.
Tyrion reached for his sword.
[Thirty-foot Slash].
His swing chopped halfway through the neck, but the Skill wasnt enough. The Wyvern was distracted, though, and a flashing, glowing blade burning orange-green finished the cut.
Kaalblade. The House of Els forces were fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with House Veltras. So were Terlands guards and the Golems.
Three of the Five Families, fighting here! And they were being pushed back.
Jericha, the fliers are breaching your aerial cover! Pull the rear back!
Milord, we cannot move the trebuchets
Tyrion swung his sword about him, breaking clear of the melee. He saw a [Rider] go down behind him. He turnedbut the man or woman was already dead, caught by the milling undead.
Abandon them if you must. Guard the nobility and the coach!
He looked towards the rear of the desperate fighting and saw the non-combatants sheltering behind Jerichas magic, and all the archers. The crossbow-wielding [Mercenaries] were targeting the fliers, but there were so many and they were so hard to kill unless you destroyed their head!
Undead Griffins, Wyverns, and so on. Powerful undead coming out of the city. Tyrion turned.
The first undead giant had come marching towards his lines. He had not brought forces meant to fight them.
He should retreat. Yet the [Lord] was aware that if he didthe adventurers within the Village of the Dead were surely dead. He owed them only a promise to a Courier; there was little to gain here andhe looked towards the coacheverything to lose.
Lord Tyrion Veltras did not call the full retreat in that minute. Nor the next.
It would cost himhis head turned up as he saw coordination. Movement. Eight Wyverns loaded with Draugr dropped out of the skies towards the trebuchets. And the little coach.
He turned and began racing back, through the undead, his people. Too slow. Jericha was trying to bring them down.
Too slow.
-
The Lifwail Blades are dead. I cannot contact them.
The battle waswere they losing or winning? He could not tell.
Prince Zenol saw two of his bodyguards die. He would have let them use his spare limbsthere was no point. Ones head was torn to bits, the life-thread destroyed. The other consumed by magic from above. What his people feared. Fire.
He could not tell if they were winning or losing. The undead had no quantifiable numbers, no morale. Thusso long as adventurers lived, that was his only metric.
They were dying, though. He had gotten separated from Yvlon and Dorgon in the fighting. He had linked up with another group just by luck.
The Halfseekers were stalemated in the street. Moore, face covered in sweat and blood, was resting, drinking three stamina potions. The only reason this group of adventurers had survived so long was Moores strength
And Jelaqua. She had burned through nine bodies already. Throwing herself into the center of the fire, demanding the undeads attention, letting them savage her rather than the others who could not replace their flesh.
Zenol admired that. Yet he had no time to waste on words or platitudes. There was only time forwhat had to be done.
Theyre killing us! You have to stop them!
A Silver-ranks voice. Zenol stared up. He saw the undead Lich Coven. They were hurling [Fireballs] down. Thirty [Fireballs]. Then thirty again. Then
Nearly a hundred in two minutes. Zenol had heard of spells like [Meteor Storm]. He thought this was as close as he would see to it in his life.
The begging voice cut off. Perhaps they had survived, some.
The Lich Coven must die. It must be severed!
The [Prince of Sands] of Nerrhavias Fall spoke. He looked around.
Where are the [Scouts]? It must fall! I will join you! Anyone who can take it downdistract them!
Agreed.
A clipped voice. Halrac the Grim. Zenol saw a glowing arrow shoot towards the Liches. They pivoted, blocking the arrowand then the volley, before returning magical fire.
Well support you! Go!
That was Revis voice. A babble of voices joined it. Zenol looked around.
Captain Jelaqua, lend me your [Rogue]! I will give you my bodyguardswe have to bring it down!
He pointed. Seborn turned and Jelaqua looked around.
Your highness! You cannot
His [Mage] bodyguard protested. Zenol cut her off with a slash of his wrist. He checked a dangling thread from his wrist and gripped his sword tightly.
I am a Gold-rank Captain! Do not presume to tell me not to risk my life now! Adventurer Seborn?
Lets go.
The two ran towards the Lich Coven. More adventurers had made up their minds like Zenol. They fought, rather than run! That was what he admired about them.
We have a route up! Keep the pressure on!
Instructor Tomoor. SomehowZenol grinned as he saw two flying Drakes and the bounding [Duelist] ahead. They had created a way to take the fight to the enemy!
A [Light Bridge]. It hung in the air. A beautiful construction, leading from the ground to the Lich Covens tower. It was far more elaborate, magnificent even, than any other spell Zenol had seen of its ilk. As he and other mobile adventurers ran towards it, he blinked at the shimmering letters glowing in the air.
Courtesy of Grand Magus Eldavin of Wistram.
The [Prince] laughed and saluted the skies. He saw Tomoor leap up the staircase, four at a time, and the two Drakes followed him. Zenol was pointing with Seborn towards a street when the Liches noticed. They whirledpointed.
Dive!
Tomoors scream came a second too late for one of the Drakes. One of the last two Lifwail Blades became a living torch. The other dodged the hammers of falling stone. Pillars of obsidian that smashed the bridge to pieces.
Zenol looked up, cursing. He saw adventurers falling back as the damned mages began hammering the streets around them.
We cant make it!
Seborn dragged him back. Zenol looked over his shoulder, roaring in frustration. Someone had tobut the [Mages] were contesting the skies! If he could get close enough, his jumping Skill
His eyes fell on a huge figure coming down the street. Moore, Jelaqua, and the other adventurers were in a fighting retreat from more undead. Zenol pointed.
Half-Giant! Moore! I can reach the tower! But I need you tothrow me.
Zenols bodyguards whirled. The [Prince] pointed at his personal [Mage]. The Cotton-caste woman looked horrified.
Prince Zenol!
Do not argue! The scroll!
Zenol was sweating now. He saw Moore raise his head.
I cant throw you that far.
It was hundreds of feet. Zenol bared his teeth.
I dont need you to do it alone. Just give me a platform. Your strength and my Skill combined can do it. With this.
The [Green Mage]s objections were cut off as Zenols [Mage] produced one of his remaining scrolls. She opened it, looked uncertainly at him.
The [Prince of Sands] snatched it. He unfurled it and magic flashed around Moore and him. He saw the half-Giants shoulders rise and his eyes open wide. Zenols teeth ground as he felt the same, familiar power. If only it were enough.
[Ogres Strength]. An enchantment stored in the precious scroll. On a half-Giant?
Launch me. I will end the threat.
Moore looked down at the [Prince]. The Stitch-man had just whispered that. He stood, poised as if he was standing before a crowd.
Sweating. His eyes were fixed on the tower with the Lich Coven. Thirty mages in the skies.
Youll be blasted to pieces.
Ill sever that chain and their combined magic. Nerrhavias oath on it.
Dont be a fool
Seborn reached for Zenol. He was stopped by Moore. The half-Giant bent.
Are you sure?
His arm flexed. Zenol sighed.
Do it.
The half-Giants right hand held Zenol as the [Prince] balanced. Like a javelin thrower, Moore drew his arm back. He threw Zenol, nearly a hundred feet, staring at his own strength! The [Prince] soared through the burning skies. He touched ground once. The roof. The Liches spotted him and began to aim.
Too late, wretches. [Like a Lion, He Leapt].
The [Prince] flew, the momentum of Moores throw adding to the second jump. He soared high, higher
Maybe I wont make it. Perhapshe was ashamed of the surge of hope. Perhaps hed live
He landed on the tower. The [Prince of Sands] hit the roof and skidded. Therethere was the central object the Liches were bound to. His sword flashed once.
The bound, dead [Mage] kneeling in the center of the nest of chains was glowing with magical power, head bowed. Zenol wasnt even sure if it was undead, or a [Mage] of a different era. It looked up oncehe saw a woman smile gratefully.
His falchion severed the top of her head. The Liches screamed. They whirled as the chains shattered. Freed, but weaker. Their fingers pointed down at the man who stood there, sword raised, shouting.
Nerrhavias Fallen!
The [Prince] laughed, brandishing his sword at the skies and hoping they could see him. He saw the thirty skeleton [Mages] pointing at him, burning spells captured in their fingers.
Fire. A Stitch-persons worst fear. Zenols smile was bitter as he stared at the skies. He had known there was no coming back.
Someone had to do it. Let them never say the [Prince] did not fight like one of them. I could live with their scorn so long as it was never true.
To prove he was more than a [Prince], he had come here to die. If only he had a second Skill. His fathers legacy
Like a lion he leapt. With his pride, he died alone.
Zenol murmured. He tried to keep smiling as he pivoted, waiting. There was nowhere to dodge. The Liches shrieked again. Their fingers unleashed
Ksmvr landed on the first Lichs head. He fired all three crossbows point-blank into the second. Zenol saw him fling something.
A jar of acid. It burst over the third Lich and the flailing undead failed to cast its spell. Zenol dove into the opening.
Fire flung him, burning, across the tower. He landed, rolling, and got to his feet. Alive. He saw Ksmvr land next to him.
Antinium?
Only a fool fights alone, Prince Zenol. I believe I have a debt to repay.
The [Skirmisher] raised his Forceshield, blocking a swarm of magical arrows. He pointed.
The door! We will fight them inside!
He and Prince Zenol ran towards the door as the Liches dove, maddened with fury. The [Prince] ran, heart pumping with terror, fearrelief.
He was alive. The Stitch-man realized he was laughing. He heard Ksmvr chuckling too. Madness? They were both mad! There was no room for anything else. Life and death. They had to fight like the insane. Only that had a chance of survival.
-
She killed seven of them. Seven Wyverns died, falling to earth, their Draugr crushed by gravity or the huge beasts weight.
Jericha failed to slay the eighth. It landed, Draugr falling around the [Mages] and Jericha herself, who drew a sword, screaming triumph.
Tyrion was riding faster than he ever had in his life. But he was always so
Slow. He had missed the hour of Salvas death. And now
The Wyvern reared back, undead mouth gaping as it turned beyond reason, for the coach. As if it could sense everything that mattered to him was in there. It began to tear the enchanted wood apart as easily as if it were paper. Tyrion was too distant, Lord Deilan and the other nobles helpless. A scattering of spells from wands and a crossbow from a bodyguard peppered the thick hide to no avail.
A door slid open. The Wyvern turned, and Tyrion opened his mouth.
No!
He charged towards a group of skeletons, not even seeing them. He saw the Wyverns head rear back to strike like a serpent.
Then the bright sword blazed to life. The blade, thinner than paper, the length of a longsword. A searing light pink, artificially bright.
Tyrion saw the Wind Runner holding it aloft, uncertainly. She didnt stand like a [Swordswoman]. She swung it, desperately, as the Wyvern dove.
-
The Faeblade cut through the air as Ryoka Griffin swung it, hearing the screams from the boys within, Jerichas desperate voice, the scream of the Wyvern.
The tip of the glowing blade met the side of the Wyverns neck. Ryoka saw its maw opened wide enough to tear her torso apart in a single bite. An undead monster far beyond anything she could fight. A magical being, a
Animated piece of meat.
The Faeblade cut through the neck and passed through the air in an arc that left afterimages. Ryokas swing overbalanced her and she stumbled. Something hit her and knocked her flat. She cried out, flailing. Thenrealized the jaws werent closing.
The head of the Wyvern lay half on her. The severed body had already collapsed against the coach. Ryokas burning sword stuck out of the body. She tried to shift the huge weightthen cut.
Her sword severed the Wyvern without effort. Like there was nothing there. Ryoka shoved two chunks off her and stood.
Snicker-snack.
She murmured. Then looked around and saw Hethon and Sammial staring at her. So was Jericha, who had run forwards, bleeding, wand and sword raised.
Ryoka looked at her gift from the lands of the fae. From theshe hadnt thought it would work. She looked around, in the stunned silence.
Lord Tyrion Veltras had halted, over a thousand feet away in the fighting, and he was looking at her. Shakilyslowlythe man saluted her with his sword.
Ryoka waved. Then she looked at her sword. The words of the Faerie King began to echo in her head.
The time has come for you to do more than just run.
The Wind Runner looked around. Her face was lit by the glowing weapon she held. Hethon and Sammial had lost their jaws, perhaps never to be recovered. They stared at the Courier. She pointed at them with a shaking finger.
Staystay there. Okay?
They nodded. Ryoka looked around. She took a breath. Then she spread her arms. The Wingsuit caught the sudden breeze.
-
Mrsha, Tyrion, an open-mouthed Drassi, and the world watched the young woman fly. She went nearly straight up, holding the glowing blade.
Straight towards an undead Griffin. It dove at her, shrieking. The Wind Runner swung, franticallythe wind slammed her right and the Griffin missed. Dizzily, the Wind Runner recoveredand was blown into its back. She impaled the Griffin, almost by accident, through the head.
She had the sense to whirl the blade. Andthe Griffin fell, head diced to pieces. In a moment! In a swing! The Wind Runner didnt have time to process that; the wind took her in a loop-de-loop, over another diving Wyverns head. She passed itand her sword cut through one wing, shearing through and sending the beast falling to the ground.
Two monsters, dead. Ryoka turned, pausing for a second. Then she dove, and the winged horrors began to die.
-
Lord Deilans mouth was so wide open that he nearly got a few droplets of liquid in it. He closed it hurriedly. Perhaps only hed noticed that Ryoka Griffin had taken that moment to vomit after the sudden motions in the air.
The wind was blowing her as if it had a mind of its own! Slowly, he saw her begin to take command, dodging, rolling in the air with more finesse. She looped around a Wyvern and slashed through one wing, then the other.
It dropped like a stone. The [Lord] of the House of El couldnt believe it. His eyes never left the glowing blade in her hands. It was effortless as it swung, a projected beam of pure energy that turned Gold-rank undead into corpses in seconds.
Lord Deilan?
A quiet voice from his left. The [Lord] stopped his frantic run towards the coach where Lord Tyrions sons had been about tohe shuddered.
Yes? Desiree?
The woman was looking up at Ryoka too. But she spoke, the [Message] scroll in her hand.
We have now sold all one hundred and ninety nine Kaalblades in our possession. We have begun manufacture of the restfor a backlog nearly three times that number.
Despite the cost?
Despite the cost. I have over a thousand requests for Miss Ryoka Griffins custom-madeKaalblade.
Desiree looked up. So did Lord Deilan El. He watched the Wind Runner slay another monster and send it falling as the people below cheered and pointed.
What should I tell them, Deilan?
His cousin looked uncertain. Lord Deilans mouth worked. The truth? He eventually responded.
Tell them the Wind Runners bladethe sword. The Windsword is clearly, obviously, a custom-made artifact and we cannot take orders for more. Yet. However, the House of El is pleased she is finding her artifact so efficacious in this battle.
Desirees eyes widened, and then she smiled and nodded. Deilan went back to watching Ryoka as she scribbled urgently.
All the truth. Technically. He was getting better at this.
-
The Wind Runner flew through the air, death to any undead trying to contest it. She was more nimble than a bird! Impossible to hit!
Or rather, the wind was. Ryoka was just along for the ride and her sword did the rest. Even so
Ceria couldnt stop laughing. Elia Arcsinger heard it over her speaking stone as she rose. It was time.
The undead were still coming. The heroics of Prince Zenol had ended the Lich Coven. So the adventurers could fight. So many, though?
Elia looked up past her rooftop and shook her head.
I have never seen so many. Even the Necromancer could notso many kinds.
What she saw was the full power of a [Necromancer] in their lair. The Named Adventurer looked up and saw a waddling giant like the smaller containers of tiny undead. More zombie-giants armored in metal. And a giant bone horror.
All smashing the Frostmarrow Behemoth. Yet Ceria was laughing, somewhere. Why? Because of her friend? Did she know the Wind Runner? She had said as much.
Elia had no time for questions. The Frostmarrow Behemoth had survived four battles with undead of its size. It was clearly superior to most of the mundane ones, but the faster-moving giant looked like a Draugr scaled up. Could that even happen? Her blood ran cold at the idea.
The behemoth will fall! I will buy your group time to retreat with my greatest Skill. Eldertuin, fall back!
Acknowledged, Arcsinger.
Her daughter looked up, eyes shining, and began shouting into her stone.
Arcsinger is using her Skill! Fall back! Fall
The Necromancer sat there, in a blank space in his head.
You will give me control of your body and Skills.
Can you beat him?
The silence was telling. Tomoor looked for a sign of Perril Chandler, the Archmage of Death. He thought he saw him at last. A trace of nobility, where he had seen only unliving rage before.
You willnot survive, likely. I will attempt to win. This Drake is a master bar none, however. Even if he fights without his Skills or artifacts, it will take everything to strike him.
Tomoor nodded. He felt light. Afraid. He was no hero. Azkerash had fought in the raid using him like a puppet, directing him with his superior knowledge and ability, augmenting him with magic.
His heart beat as he lifted his rapier in a salute. The Drake performed some ancient ritual-salute of his own. Tomoor spoke to Azkerash.
If I die. We are quits. My debts are repaid. Youll leave them alone? My family?
The Necromancers gaze flickered, as if he had forgotten the day Tomoor had been driven to his bargain.
They will live natural lives without my touch. I shall see to it they have gold to live on. You have my word.
My son, my wife. Tomoor closed his eyes and nodded. He reached out
When he opened them, the [Duelist] sighed. He was neither Tomoor nor fully Azkerash. He finished his salute and faced the Drake of old, whispering a Skill.
The two met in a clash that would have killed Tomoor if he had been a step off. The Drakes eyes widened and he began to smile. At last!
They danced under moonlight, outside the dead village. A dance with blades and art and grace.
-
The Horns of Hammerad staggered down street after street. At first the city conformed to a regular layout. Then it began to twist in on itself. Nowthey walked down boulevards that felt slanted. Past walls they could see over, for all they were twice the height of the adventurers.
In and in. Yvlon felt sick. She felt death magic, at least, pressing down around her. A purity of power that even the non-[Mages] could sense.
Pisces. I feel
Ceria cut off. Her bone-hand was trembling. She looked around, and then shuddered. Ksmvr stopped, aiming his crossbow, but Pisces held up a hand.
Dont. I dont think
A wave of carrion parted in front of them. Scuttling beetles, some as long as Yvlons leg. Tens of thousands of them. Centipedes, ratsall undead.
They were lining the walls and street. Covering every surface. Ceria breathed, eyes wide.
Undead beetles?
Pisces murmured.
Harbingers of plague and pestilence. I always knew it could be done. Yet this isisnt even a spell. Its a byproduct. Dontdont attack them.
If they swarm us
Yvlon began to walk, even so. The Horns advanced, slowly, seeing the mindless creatures parting in front of them like a wave. They were still.
Waiting.
Theyll wait for an order. Somethings ahead. Do you feel it? Something
Pisces was shuddering. Now, the reality seemed to hit him. It had hit Yvlon from the start. She put one hand on her sword.
Grab it and run. Whatever it isthe Helm of Fire, an artifactone thing. We run.
The others nodded. They walked ahead.
A silent building waited for them in the center of it all. They had seen it from the moment the world started warping.
There it was. A single, rounded building, half caved-in at the roof. Acathedral? A building of old, pale marble ruined, moving with the insects.
The Horns of Hammerad staggered towards it. They reached the door.
Within, they found the Necromancer.
-
The duel of Instructor Tomoor and the Revenant Drake was shown around the world. In silence, adventurers and viewers saw the two touch blades, strike at each other, pivot, attackall without a word.
They had seen battle and bravery when the King of Duels earned his name against the King of Destruction. Yet that moment had been defiant action, blood and courage as both bled the other.
This? This was skill. The purest heart of it. Neither man nor Drake touched one another. They were both at the height of their respective disciplines. One with a dueling sword, curved, warding his areas of attack and defense in perfect unison.
The other a fencer, rapier and parrying dagger moving in a completely separate modality of combat.
It stunned viewers, who had not expected this display of talent. Tomoors family, his students, his son and wife saw the Human man fighting out of his mind, on a level they had never dreamt he knew.
Courage? Heroic inspiration? They would find reasons for it later.
The truth was Azkerash. Perril Chandler. He pivoted, and Tomoors living body moved with him. When he uttered a Skill, it was one Tomoor knew. He lanced out in piercing thrusts, trying to touch that Drakes scales!
The other blademaster was excellent. And his Skillshe was holding back. He could have cut Tomoor with words alone, yet he matched the man, using only the Skills the duel would allow.
Honor. Mutual admiration. Both were smiling. A wide, desperate, joyous, bloody smile that promised death.
How could you both admire someone and want to kill them in the same beat? Azkerash felt his heart beating. He struck out, wanting to end the match and yet
Prolong it another minute, another second! He felt alive.
The two nearly moved into the widening circle of adventurers, who fell back. They fought around a terrified Stitch-girl, who threw her hands up. She fled as the Necromancer pressed the Drake back, advancing in to slash with his parrying dagger.
This was what they wanted. The Drake was smiling.
So you are the great champion of your time! So young!
Azkerash was laughing too, in his castle far to the south. Toren watched, awestruck. The old man was good. He had known that, but this?
Tomoor stepped back, blade flourishing. He raised it over his head as the Drakes eyes narrowed. A tauntacross the world, Terandrians, Izrilians, Humans, were cheering his name.
Hero! Warrior of death, champion of blades and death! Perril Chandler was smiling. He lowered his blade and stepped forwards to end this.
Lunging, pirouetting under a strokelashing out with his hand, missing by a fraction of an inchstep left. Tilt your head and feel the score of pain across one cheek. Yet the dance was ending. He felt the Revenants resolve failing. Satisfied.
Then it happened. Azkerash felt his beating heart swell andsomething changed. The Village of the Deads influence? A ripple in his emotions? The scrying spells? Him?
He didnt know. But for a second, the magical link between him and Tomoor
Wavered.
Tomoor felt Azkerash vanish for a second. The man slowed.
I
His blade wavered. Elegance, poise, left h
The sword ran him through and cleanly finished the stroke across his shoulder. Tomoor fell.
The cheering adventurers went still. Even the Revenant looked surprised, as if he had not expected the killing blow to land. He hadnt. He lowered his bloody blade and saw the mans body fall back.
His genuine pleasure, excitementturned to bitterness in a moment. All the living emotions twisted by undeath. The Revenant spoke, shaking the blood onto the grass.
I expected more.
For a second, it seemed as if he might accept that. Thenthe Drakes head rose. His eyes glowed once more, with malice. Expectation.
Who is next?
The adventurers stared at dashed hope. Azkerash shouted his fury, but it was too late. The Drake turned, setting his blade. Looking for the next sacrifice.
-
They found the Putrid One seconds behind the huge doors that Yvlon forced open with Ksmvrs help. They stepped into the giant chamber beyond, and saw him.
He was not hiding. He stood in the center of the room, as if waiting for them.
The adventurers froze. A crossbow came up; a wand aimed, frost glittering on its tip.
The Putrid One never moved. This was where he had been, all this time.
He was even facing them. Not looking at them, but gazing slightly upwards, caught in the middle of a gesture.
A half-Elf. Ceria had not expected that any more than the others. Her eyes went wide, focusing on his immortal features. The robes around his body. His beautiful, twisted expression.
He stood there, and they realized in the second moment that he was dead. Or if not deadYvlons eyes locked on the scene.
It all made sense now. In that way where all the pieces fall together. Why this place had existed. Why the undead were so uncoordinated, why some had gone rogue. Not why the power had vanished; they would not understand that. But perhaps it was just time.
The answer was in this scene. The Putrid Ones end. His body was still here, roughly in the middle of the room.
Behind him was his lair. His workshop. The vast room was his fortress, the container of his treasures, from which he could create more minions, protected by so many powerful undead that no army could have taken it by siege without giving him time to flee or destroy them.
A perfect abode. Yet he was dead.
He looked so surprised. Almost annoyed, but gratified. Cerias eyes traced the dance of magic and damage that had led them here. Broken floor, melted in places; destroyed rich, half-Elven furniture, each a piece of art, one table severed in two.
A short battle, no less intense; a surprise attack that exceeded all of his expectations. Begun by someonea team perhapsthat had made it all the way here.
Just like now. Yvlon looked down and saw the fallen Lizardperson on the floor, bones outstretched, a wand aimedanother fallen pile of bones, there. They had turned to bone long ago, not even reanimated. The scene of the last battle preserved. Yet the Necromancer was untouched by time.
So was she.
Thencountless ages ago, the great Necromancer stood there. His hand was outstretched, touching her cheek.
Her cheek. The womans cheek had turned pallid. Pale. Streaks of black invaded her flawless skin. Just a single touch, yet it was her death.
The Horns of Hammerad looked at her next. They had not expected to find the Putrid One, but that went double for her.
The womans eyes were tensed, but relaxing. The marks of battle, the concentration that had brought her to this point, this final strikewas caught in the midst of evaporating on her face. Countless years of strife, a burden too great to bear, finally ending.
She was older, almost in her middle-years. Her armor was beautiful. Damaged, but beautiful. She had taken wounds getting here, and one last one in the final struggle. No blood showed though; her wounds had healed. She could not heal the last, though. Not that final touch.
The woman was a Dullahan, Yvlon realized. Her body tensed, her armor her body. She wasYvlon knew it from the aura that hung around her, a radiance even now.
A [Paladin]. A warrior with more than just force of arms. More than a [Knight]. The enemy of the undead, the unrighteous.
They stood there, the [Necromancer] and the [Paladin]. A story so old everyone knew it.
Half-Elf and the Dullahan. Neither one moving.
Had they known each other? Were they faceless to each other until this final moment? Were they the oldest of nemeses? Friends? Lovers?
The truth was lost. All that Ceria knew was what lay before her eyes.
This was how the Putrid One had died:
The sword was buried in his chest, the tip emerging from his back. The killing blowjust as his final spell grazed her face.
Silver and steel.
Yvlon whispered. Ksmvr murmured.
Awe.
He had no expression for this. The tableau of the battle, the short fightended with the two in that pose. The Necromancer, head tilted back, finger outstretched, the grim [Paladin] delivering the final blow.
They stood there, the two. Instasis. Perhaps some kind of final spell? A triggered effect? Both combatants were frozen. Preserved.
Hair, even particles of dust suspended in perpetual motion. Time removed from time.
How long the Horns of Hammerad just stood there, taking in the moment, Ceria couldnt have said. A single second? An hour?
Urgency made her raise her head and move. She spoke, through dry lips.
Im going to say something obviousno one get near that. No magic; dont even say hisnickname. Got it?
The other adventurers jerked. Pisces looked up and stood; had he been kneeling? Yvlon checked herself. Ksmvr lowered his crossbows and hung them at his side.
So thats how he died. She came throughdid they come through the roof?
Pisces looked up, eyes tracing the broken cathedrals roof, which showed the sky. Ceria shook her head. She wrenched her eyes away from the glorious, terrible sight.
We have to move. Wake up. Stay away from it.
The Horns nodded. Shaking themselves, they edged around the room. Ksmvr bent to inspect the bone pile, but a sound made him look up.
There. Look.
Pisces was pointing towards the back. They all saw the glow of artifacts beyond. The Horns stirred.
The treasury of the Putrid One. It lay right behind the two. To get there, they would have to go around the battle in the center. Yvlon motioned and Ksmvr advanced. Ceria with Pisces on the other side. They kept along the wall, looking around.
They felt the danger. They tried not to touch anything, looking around. Surely there was a guard here. Or was the magic able to keep everything away? Yvlon felt her hair standing up. Ksmvr saw it, the closer they went to the stasis in the centerand that was as far away towards the walls as they could get.
Traps. Traps. Its like last time.
Ceria was whispering to Pisces. He nodded. They were all remembering their mistake in Albez. He slowed, panting, as he reached the open door beyond. Pisces stared into the vast armory, beyond which a hundred sparkling lights waited. He raised his hand, well away from the entrance and concentrated.
I cant sensehold on. Theres so much magic
If he was ambushed, maybe its not active?
Ceria, Pisces. There are scrolls on the altar. Here. See?
Yvlon was staring at the workbench of the Putrid One. Ksmvr beheld a stone so dark on a pedestal that it stayed in his vision, searing his eyes even after he jerked his head away.
None of the Horns touched any of it. Pisces was biting his lip.
I dont sense traps! But Im not high-enough level to
Toss it in a bag of holding?
Ceria was shaking. She didntdidnt know what to do! They had to grab something! Yet she knew death-artifacts would turn her entire body to rot or waste her if there was a trap. Or even if they were relic-class. Yvlon gritted her teeth.
Ill do it. Justwheres the Helm of Fire? Ill grab that first and then
Pisces lowered his hand, sweat pouring down his face. He wiped at that with his other hand, but missed the injury on his other hand. Ksmvrs head turned.
He saw a little trail of blood, running down Pisces arm from a wound opened, a scab torn. His mandibles opened.
Pisces.
The [Necromancer] looked down with Ceria and Yvlon. Too late, he jerked his hand up.
The little droplet of blood fell from a fingertip. It was just blood.
The drop touched the floor of the cathedral.
A single drop, touching the stone.
The Horns of Hammerad flinched. Yvlon swore.
Pox-rotted
Her voice trailed off. The world did not explode. The Horns looked around. The two figures were frozen. The motes of dust in the air still held. They relaxed. Exhaling.
Ceria looked at the Putrid One and the Dullahan [Paladin], laughing shakily. Then her laughter caught and choked. Pisces followed her gaze.
At first, it looked as if nothing had changed. At first. Everyone was in the same position. But thenthe young man noticed it.
The motes of dust were slowly drifting downwards. Andone of the two figures had moved.
It was just one motion. The eyes did not blink. Yet the half-Elf, the Necromancer, had turned his head.
The Putrid One looked at Pisces. The half-Elfs face had changed. The Horns of Hammerad stood there, petrified. Thentime resumed.
The woman fell, soundlessly. Her armor crashed to the ground as her body fell. The Putrid One staggered back, sword in his chest. He
He was smiling.
Smiling? He looked at Pisces, and then his eyes closed. He fell, blood pooling under him. He lay on the floor and did not move.
He was dead.
Ceria, Yvlon, Ksmvr and Pisces stood there in horror. They waitedbut the Putrid One didnt get back up. Cerias voice was shaking.
Pisces?
It wasnt me. It wasnt
The Putrid One was dead! It had seemed to them all, surely, as if once the stasis was ended, he would get a second lease on life, another chance, however short.
Yet that never came. The undead [Necromancer]s body never moved. Pisces repeated the words.
It wasnt me.
It wasnt him. The Horns had no way of knowing why the Putrid One was dead, though. How he had perished. Yet there they stood, as time resumed, as the echoes of the sound reverberated around the inner sanctum of the Putrid One.
Unheard by the artifacts, mindless insects and harbingers of the power here. There was no one here
Except for him.
He came through the doors, steps hurrying, frantic. He had gone to check on something. The traitor, if he might be coming here. His one lapse of attention in this entire time
The Putrid Ones servant returned at a run and found his master lying on the ground. Beyond himthe four adventurers.
Master?
Ceria was screaming inside her head. She was looking around, wand raised. Ksmvr was pointing at the treasury, and Pisces, horror-struck, was just staring at the Putrid One. Yvlon had set herself, sword in her hands. She saw the great servant, the guardian of this place burst into the room and stop, seeing his master fallen.
It wasa half-Elf. Younger than the Putrid One. Wearing noble dress-clothes of another era. He might have been around thirty years old in appearance, but that was all.
His hair was golden flax in color, his features beautiful to the point of being effeminate. He was far more attractive than Ceria, her hair tangled, her body grimy and bloodied.
He stopped as he saw the fallen bodies, then threw himself forwards. His voice was high, desperate.
Master? What have they done to you? These insects? How could theyeven touch you?
He saw the Horns. Yet in another moment he was reaching down, heedless of the blood staining his clothing, feeling for a pulse. It was somortalthat Ceria couldnt believe her eyes.
He was kneeling, clutching at the motionless form. Weeping. Tears fell from his eyes.
None of the adventurers were fooled for a moment.
Silver and steel. Were
Yvlon never finished it. She had strode over. The half-Elf was weeping as he held the motionless Putrid One. He too detected no life. Ceria stared at her as the [Silversteel Armsmistress] lifted her sword.
Yvlon.
Pisces shook himself free. He looked around. Nowhis eyes were roaming the room. He looked at the scrolls, staggered over to the altar. Ksmvr was aiming his crossbows, back to the treasury room.
We have to run. YvlonYvlon
Ceria held up a hand. She was just looking at the servant. He could be just aa mundane servant. A half-Elf, even mortal.
He was not. She knew it.
So did Yvlon. Her sword was raised for a coup de grce over the motionless half-Elfs head. Yet every instinct in Yvlon was telling hernot to swing.
The adventurers rushed, grabbing at random objects, one second of desperationthen flight. They dared not spend even another second. They were still too late.
All four had sprinted towards the door when the voice came again. Nowdeeper. Nowthe grief replaced by a burgeoning wrath.
You.
The half-Elfs head had risen. He turned, laying his master on the floor, gently, folding his arms. The Horns halted at the door.
They should have kept running. But again. Every sense in her body told Ceria she could run and could have run for ten minutes and it would have been too late. So she faced the half-Elf.
She had to see.
We didnt do th
Silence.
The half-Elf was shaking. The two tear tracks running down his face had stopped. Liquid began to flow again.
Blood. His face contorted into a rictus of rage. He was breathing hard, his body shaking.
For all that, he seemed no more imposing thanCeria. He was bare-handed. He had no magical armaments nor weapons about him. The Horns quailed.
I do not know how. I do not know why. Yet you insects came here. You ruined his great army. His servants turnedyou! And now this. My beloved master. I do not know how.But you will die for this, intruders.
His voice rose with every sentence. Growing louder. Vaster.
Run. Everyone just run.
Yvlon stepped forwards, sword gripped between her hands. Pisces looked around.
We need help. Pleasehelp us.
He turned to the sky. Had he gone mad? He was touching his temple. Was he calling for
Ceria just watched as the half-Elf took a step forwards. He opened his mouth
Ksmvr pulled up all three crossbows and fired. The paralysis affecting the others did not stop him from taking an obvious opening.
Three crossbow bolts buried themselves in the half-Elfs body. Two in the chest; the last punched through the open mouth.
Blood sprayed. Blood and bone andthe half-Elf staggered. Yvlon and Ceria gasped. The figure totteredthen regained his footing.
He spoke through the hole in his head, ignoring the blood running from the crossbow bolts in his chest and down his cheeks from his eyes.
Now, his voice filled the cathedral. Booming. Vast. Far larger than his frail body should have been able to hold. The half-Elf spoke.
I am Tolveilouka Vedelina Mer, the greatest servant of the Putrid One. My masters will incarnate.
Oh no. Hes got a long name.
Ceria whispered. She couldnt have said why that was so hilarious that Yvlon started laughing. She lifted her sword, preparing to charge.
Too late.
Tolveilouka, the beautiful half-Elf, let his clothing drop to the ground. Cerias eyes bulged. Then she saw his body bulge.
His pristine flesh began to puff outwards, like someone blowing air into it. The ephemeral skin turned pallid. Dark.
Rotten. The half-Elf was six feet tall. Then eight. Then fifteen
He rose, bloating, all that symmetrical beauty turning misshapen. Growing vaster still. His skin erupted into pustules and rotting meat. Another arm burst from his chest. His voice
Run!
Yvlon shoved Ceria. The half-Elf raised a shaking hand and walls of ice began to block the entrance. Yvlon stepped back, waiting. Pisces was shouting something at the sky, yet he grabbed her and ran.
Ksmvr stopped, as Tolveilouka Vedelina Mer completed his transformation. The abomination towered higher, breaking through the walls of ice with a single flick of its body. The Antinium spread his arms and called to him, above Yvlons call to arms, the shouts of his friends.
I did it. Your wrath should be directed at me.
It was all he could say. The undead monstrositys head swung towards him. Yvlon charged, a scream on her lips.
As he listened, as he saw and heard the desperate pleas and what came next, what even he could not stop, Azkerash, the Necromancer, covered his eyes.
-
The Drake [Sword Legend] waited.
It was Eldertuin the Fortress who lifted his mace and shield. He strode forwards. The adventurers shouted his name. The last broken Golem raised its sword, as if to salute him or charge as well.
The Revenant watched Eldertuin place himself in front of him, like the banquet of the fae and the warrior from strange lands.
The difference wasthey were both of this world. And there was no respect here. Only contempt.
[Shield of the Fortress]!
Eldertuin raised his shield as he charged. The Drake did not speak his Skill aloud. He swung his sword
And cut Eldertuin. The sword shattered the Skill. It sliced through the artifact. It cut into Eldertuins side. Even his strike couldnt cut the Named Adventurer in two. Yet, one cut
Eldertuin fell. The Revenant turned. He shook blood off his blade again as the cheering turned silent. He shouted, his voice wrathful.
Is this the greatest of your kind, adventurers? All of his might was in a shield and a Skill. Nothing more. The duelist had some grace, even stolen, but the rest of you? Who is next?
No one spoke. Eyes turned to Elia, but she was shaking her head. She was an archer. This
I will challenge you. For the pride of the House of Minos. Face me, Drake.
The next was Dorgon. The [Twinblade Linebreaker] strode forwards. He lifted his blades, unwilling to give a salute to the Drake. Not after what he had seen.
He charged forwards in a roar, blades singing as they cut the air. Trying to catch the Drakes blade with his swordbreaker, strike with his shortsword.
His charge was all aggression, yet he moved with a mimicry of Tomoors grace. He knew how to fight. He was as talented as any of the best in Nerrhavia Fallens court, in Zenols eyes.
Not high-level enough, though. He was a touch too slow. He did not know the steps after he struck naught but air. He had never fought a Drake like this before. He was excellent.
The [Sword Legend] had slain Dragons. He evaded the head-long charge, the daring blow that invited a counter-strike, if only Dorgon could touch
He whirled his sword, once.
Minotauryou are too inept. You shame your house. Do not pick up a sword again.
Dorgon collapsed. He dropped his shortsword and clutched at the bleeding stump of one hand. He roared in pain and loss.
The Drake turned. Now, Zenol saw him for what he was. Pure arrogance, distilled. He did not care if the House of Minos bellowed Dorgons name as their champion, who had not disgraced himself.
I will face you, Drake!
The [Prince] spoke, forcing the words out. Another voice spoke as well.
Me too.
Dont! Pekona
Insill tried to stop her, and Dasha too. Anith just watched as the [Blade Dancer] from Drath moved forwards.
Both of you. Try.
The Drake waited as the [Prince] and [Sword Dancer] took flanking positions. Zenol met Pekonas eyes. Saw nothing but calm determination. He gritted his teeth.
They moved without a signal. A flowing dance both of them had learned from the finest instructors, not the instinctual moves of a self-taught [Warrior]. They struck, coordinated
Missed. Zenol pivoted. He lashed out. He called on his sword art.
Prince of deserts, you are too slow.
The whisper was followed by agony. Zenol screamed as a blade severed both arms at the elbow. He fell, and Pekonas voice was a second later. She clutched at her hand.
Severed. Insills cry of horror was spoken over by the Drake as he walked back, addressing the two.
Insufficient, [Prince]. You too, from Drath. You two dance, but you know only a fraction of the steps. So I shall merely exile you from this world. Not so for those who know nothing at all yet walk onto bloody ground.
With that, he turned on the other adventurers. Zenol heard screams. He tried to rise, to help, but he could not. Eldertuin was trying to use a potion, but he was bleeding out. So was Zenol. Thehe couldnt turn his arms to cloth.
Whatever patience, pretense at this test had beenwas lost. The Drake turned. He began to kill the adventurers one by one.
A [Mage] cast a [Lightning Bolt] spell. The Drake cut it in two, letting it turn to harmless sparks in the air. He stabbed through the barrier. Turned, calmly. Slowly.
We have to attack all at once! With me
Jewel of Glitterblade leapt forwards. Staggered
Her teammates watched her fall, clutching at her stomach. They didnt even have time to get within swinging range of the Drake.
He stabbed them, struck them without them seeing, across two dozen feet. He was using his Skills. The other adventurers prepared to fight togetherbroke into anarchy. Fleeing.
All they had to do was touch? They couldnt touch him. The Drake moved from one adventurer to the next. Those that attacked them were cut, and the wounds would not heal. They bled out on the ground, next to Eldertuin, Zenol, Pekona
Those who didnt attack or flee he advanced on, one by one.
The woman who was next lifted her shield. She spoke, as her hatchet raised.
I have a son.
The Drake regarded Briganda blankly. His expression crossed from puzzlementto contempt.
Then why did you come here?
He lifted his sword. Briganda charged with a shout. The Drake took careful aim
Whirled.
He deflected the dagger a fraction away from his back. He didnt slash, but kicked Typhenous in the chest and shattered half his ribs.
The Plague Mage lay, curled up on the ground. The Drake blocked Briganda, sent her stumbling back. Yet he spared a word for the old man.
Brave, old one. But too slow.
Briganda shoutedstopped.
The sword in her guts withdrew. The Drake shook the blood off his sword onto her body and turned. He ignored Typhenous, reaching for the dagger, cursing him. Briganda was staring, glassy-eyed, at the hole in her stomach.
Tell Cade. Tell
The Drake spoke over her, addressing the others. He blocked the invisible arrow streaking towards his face, as he had the last two. They justvanished, as his sword touched them. Halrac was aiming point-blank at him, but the Drake just shouted at the others, the fleeing, the paralyzed.
My anger grows without limit. For what did we strive for, if this is the petty future? If the small replace the great, I would rather it all end after all!
He swung his sword and beheaded an adventurer charging him. Six came at him and they died as he cut them down in a flash. Halrac loosed another arrow. The Drake walked towards him.
Halrac!
Jelaqua charged, flail swinging. Ulinde pivoted, firing both wands. Halrac loosed another arrow as Revi shot a spell at point-blank
Flail-cut. Spells, disintegrated. Halrac looked to the side. Jelaqua stared at the sword in her chest. Striking her inner self.
Jelaqua!
A booming voice. A scream. Echoed in Pallass. Jelaqua staggered back and the Drake looked at her contemptuously.
Your inner body is here, Selphid. And I cut
He never finished. He withdrew the sword and Jelaqua fell back, limply. The Drake moved so fast Halrac only saw the conclusion.
He pivoted, thrusting the blade under one arm to stab the shadow leaping towards his back. At the [Rogue].
The Drakes sneervanished. Halrac, reaching for his shortswordstopped.
He saw the Drake look down at the dagger. Thenat Seborn. The adventurers looked up.
The tip of the blade was touching the Drakes arm.
Was it luck? No. The blow had been calculated, as the Drake was speaking, his sword buried in someone else. Merciless. Coldcalculated for when it would work after seeing the other failures.
A strike with all his weight and speed behind it. Even then, the undead nearly dodged it. Yet the tip of the enchanted daggertouchedhis arm.
Had he flinched or slowed at all, he would have been too slow. Had he done either, the sword would not have run through him.
Seborns blood ran blue from one part of his body, red from the rest, mixing as it dripped to the ground. Already forming a pool of liquid he slowly sank into. The sword had run him through. His voicewas triumphant.
Got you.
The Drake touched his arm, where the blade had struck. He looked down, and the undead wrath, the ruination of the living in his eyes was replaced by a mortal look. For a second. He let go of his sword. He looked down.
Well done. What is your name, warrior?
Seborn stared up at the sky, and the beautiful light above without speaking. His eyes were open. His mouth didnt move.
The Drake stepped back. He reached downand a hand seized him, lifting him high as a voice filled with loss filled the air.
A half-Giant tore his head off. The Drake Revenant died as fingers ripped his body to shreds. Howeverthe bones were already turning to dust, the scales disintegrating. The magical light had already been lost.
It was done. The adventurers knelt amid blood and death.
-
She screamed. A shriek of pain that went beyond anything he had ever heard her make. Yvlon Byres stumbled back. Her beautiful arms of silver and steel
Were black. Were twisted. The touch of that thing
Tolveilouka Vedelina Mer. It raged as Yvlon stumbled away. Her arms were twisting. Breaking. The pure metalcorrupted by its body.
You send men of metal against me once more? Half-made! Pathetic! My masters blessing breaks all!
He towered over her, corrupt flesh as Yvlon screamed and fell, writhing. She was the last.
Azkerash watched. The Horns of Hammerad had fought. They had fought.
That was all there was to say. A half-Elf lay, crying out, unable to make a sound over the pain. Her skin was rotting away from her hands upwards. A [Necromancer] stared up at the sky, pinned by a spear cast through his stomach, pinning him to the floor. His bleeding had slowed. Become sluggish.
A voice cried out as a hand reached to slowly grind Yvlons body into a wall, pressing her until stone crackedor she did. It was broken. Azkerash did not want to hear it.
Stop. I did it. I slew the Putrid One. I made him suffer as he died twice. He screamed, pitifully. Stop. Stop. Why do you not touch me?
Ksmvr stabbed the monster with his weapons. He fired crossbows. He tried to block it. Tolveilouka ignored him. Nothe mouth moved.
Because this hurts you.
It turned away. Yvlon had stopped screaming. She hung, limply, as he held her by one arm, her metal arms rotting at the touch, not able to hold off the infection.
This was their end. The Necromancer watched. His dreams of heroism turned against him.
Their last words.
Ksmvr. Run.
Ceria stared at her skin, falling away, her body consumed by rot.
Yvlon spat blood and defiance into Tolveiloukas face. She gritted her teeth as it reached out for her shoulder, her arm held in one hand to pull.
Go ahead and take it. I liked my old one more.
Ksmvr was weeping. The young man murmured as he stared up at the sky.
tried. I really did.
He touched the spear buried in his stomach; his hands were too weak to pull at it.
That was all they said. Yvlon screamed as her first arm broke. Metal snapped. Tolveiloukathe Chosen of the Putrid Onewas laughing. Relishing this little revenge.
Stop.
Azkerash whispered, but no one could hear him. Tolveilouka reached for the other arm as Yvlon spasmed, corruption racing up the rest of her body. A voice muttered in the silence.
Is it finally done? Is it over at last? It is. Hes gone.
The leering, bloated face, froze. The hand holding Yvlon dropped and Ksmvr dove to catch her. Azkerash looked up.
That was not Cerias voice. The voice was deeper, cracked, husky.
The woman rose, pushing herself to her hands and knees. Her head had fallen from her shoulders; she put it on, slowly.
The [Paladin] rose. Tolveilouka whirled to face her. His face contorted in rage.
You! You did this.
The Dullahans head rose. Her eyes widened. She was dizzy, disconcerted. Her eyes found the fallen half-Elf. Her sword. Then they rose to touch the spreading stain on her cheek.
Her features slackened; grew composed. The woman rose to her feet. She looked around. Atthe bones on the floor.
The great servant.
The fallen adventurers.
She took it all in, in a moment. Then she looked up at the towering figure. When she spoke, the [Paladin]s voice was soft. Calm. Sad, yet triumphant.
I did not. Would that I had the power, I would have done so long ago. Yet it was a true end. I felt him go, traitor. Servant of death.
She touched at her cheek. The mark of death was still spreading, turning her skin from bronze to rotting black. Her death.
Time had resumed for her. Not the Putrid One. He would never get up, ever again. The woman looked past the monstrosity as it writhed, unable to even put words to its rage. Disbelief.
Who are these four?
The Horns were dying. The abomination looked at the [Paladin] and reared up. Ksmvr, kneeling, looked up. He could not weep. He could not even properly cry. He whispered.
Please. Help her?
His body was being infected by the same contagion covering Yvlon. The woman looked at him.
She had no idea what he was. She had never seen his kind. Her eyes widened. Yet not in fear.
All she saw was an adventurer.
The woman looked for her sword. She drew it, and lifted it over her head in one motion as Tolveilouka screamed, dropping down towards her.
The [Paladin] spoke.
[The Light Be Blessing Upon Us All]/[For So Long As I Stand Evil Shall Quail]/[Your Wounds Shall Close].
And there was light. It shot upwards in a beam of radiance. Ksmvr looked up, and the plague touching him vanished. He heard the horror shriek and recoil.
The light.
-
It shot from the Village of the Dead. A beam of true sunlight. Beautiful, piercing the illusion within. Destroying the enchantment.
It rose higher. The adventurers trying to stem the flow of blood from cuts that would not heal looked up as it bathed them.
Eldertuin gasped as he felt the mortal cutclose. Faster than any potion, more gently. As if he was being filled from within by sunlight.
Cries from the adventurers. Cut limbs did not heal. Yet blood slowed. Even those who looked dead
Jelaqua gasped. She looked up as heads rose. People exclaimed.
The light. He opened his eyes and stared up at them. The man licked his lips, but it was salt-water. Great tears of it. He stirred.
I thought I died.
That was all Seborn said as Moore cradled him. The half-Giant looked down, and then up.
-
Death faded. Azkerash felt pain. He shielded his face, and this was just a distant image.
The abomination was cowering in a corner. The [Paladin] stood, holding her blade aloft. Yetit was a Skill.
The light was already fading. She cast aside her sword. Looked around.
The Horns got up. Pisces, staring at the smooth skin of his stomach, the hole in his robes. Ceria, looking at her arms and seeing only her skeletal hand, not the ruined flesh. Yvlonat her ruined arm. She shrugged.
Thank you.
Ksmvr spoke to the woman. She smiled. Butruefully. Her hand rose to her cheek once more.
The sickness in her face had not stopped, only slowed. She looked at the Gold-ranks, and spoke, quietly.
You must run. He will pursue you until the ends of the earth. I do not know howbut you freed me. Thank you.
The Horns looked at her. She turned. Tolveilouka was already rising, his ruined flesh, destroyed by the light, regenerating. He was making a roaring sound, growing louder.
But you
Ceria trailed off. Death was spreading across the Dullahan womans features and they all knew what that meant. She had known back then. The [Paladin] looked at her.
Go. Justjust tell me one thing. Did they remember? Our sacrifice? My teams? The Radiance of Canopies? From Baleros?
The Horns looked at her wordlessly, in this Village of Deathwhich was a tomb so old everyone had forgotten what lay beyond. A death-zone without a proper name.
The [Paladin] bowed her head. She smiled, a copy of the Drakes expression.
Go. Blessings be with you.
They ran. The Dullahan took off her head, holding it as she sank to one knee. In perfect repose. She glanced up.
You will not outlive my master another minute, woman.
Tolveilouka. He towered over her, dark wrath on his features. She did not bother reaching for a weapon. The [Paladin] just nodded.
I know. It is done either way, monster.
-
The Horns of Hammerad ran down the street. They knew it was pointless.
Well never outrun it.
Ceria gasped. She felt it. That thingthe [Paladin] was seconds from death. Even if she fought, the servant would be on them in a flash. It was too fast. Too powerful. They couldnt even slow it down.
I will stay. I will stay. You run. The Horns must live
Ksmvr tried to shove Yvlon onto Pisces shoulder. Ceria spun. She grabbed Ksmvr, and looked into his eyes as the [Skirmisher] tried to turn back.
If you stay, we stay. Get it right. Never say that again.
He looked at her. She should have told him that from the start. Ksmvr began to run without another word.
Yvlon said nothing either, though she was stumbling, mumbling. A jagged stump of metal was all that remained of her right arm. She looked at Pisces, who was supporting her with Ksmvr. He wasspeaking.
Take us to safety. Please. Show us the way.
To whom? She listened, half-fading in and out of consciousness. Behind them, a voice roared. It was coming. Yvlon heard Pisces entreaty again.
Please.
She tried to lift her hand.
-
The Necromancer had nothing. Azkerash had made it past many defenders, halting when he had beheld the Revenants, the true danger here.
The greatest servant of the Putrid One? If he had a link with Pisces as he had with his other puppetsperhaps. Perhaps.
Even then, he was not sure. Now? At a remove, with nothing to aid them, no agents left? The Necromancer had used his great artifacts. If only he had oneone scroll! One
He looked through Pisces eyes as the woman mumbled, her golden hair trailing. The Necromancer saw Pisces look down at her remaining hand and what it held.
The golden law of adventurers in a raid. Azkerashs breath caught.
Steal everything.
One of the scrolls from the altar was grasped in Yvlons hand. Pisces moved a hand to grab at it. It couldnt be? Azkerash did not dare to hope.
But what kind of scroll would a [Necromancer] keep close to hand? Might be in the process of using when he was attacked in his sanctuary?
The glowing letters burned Pisces vision. Magic of a kind written in an era long lost. Even then, it was so rare. So perfect.
[Greater Teleport].
-
In that moment, Pisces felt hope.
In that moment, it was dashed.
The Necromancer of Terandria spoke in his mind even as Pisces slowed. As the cathedral exploded and something came, destroying streets as it heaved itself along, screaming vengeance.
It requires a target. Coordinates.
So send them! Pisces saw Ceria pointing, creating walls of ice. Ksmvr dragging at Yvlon, who had fainted. He unfurled the scroll.
Take us. Please!
Azkerash sat in his castle. He looked at the other three. His voice was quiet as he replied.
They will never walk from my castle alive. I could not allow it.
Pisces stopped, the spell scroll in his hands. There was only one place the Necromancer had coordinates to. Only a place of perfect safety, where he might escape. And that was only his lair. He might tolerate an apprentice. Not others. Not with his secret.
Bitter. It tasted so bitter. The Necromancer meant every word. Or so Pisces believed.
Yvlon was blearily looking up. Ceria was running back, seeing the shape bulge higher. Ksmvr was looking to the young man who had stopped in the street.
He faced the cathedral, where the Putrid One had been laid to rest. He spoke to the sky. His words were longing and bitter. He reached up, holding the shining scroll aloft in entreaty. Calling to him.
To them.
You are more than a [Necromancer]. More than undead. You are something more than just death and bile, arent you? Please. What is there for me to believe in down this lonely road, then? You were a hero to someone, werent you? Give me something tobelieve in. Please.
Neither one replied. The young man asked for glory. He asked for beauty and meaning and hope. Had they both lost any trace of it?
Was there any glory, any goodness in death? Or was this how it ended?
Azkerash sat there. Then his head rose. His eyes opened wide.
Use the scroll.
Pisces unfurled the artifact. Tolveilouka charged forwards, howling, realizing what they were doing. The Horns of Hammerad looked at Pisces.
We might die.
That was all he said. Ceria reached out. She grabbed his arm. Yvlon felt Ksmvr connect her to Pisces other arm.
Only might? Then do it.
Which one said that? They were smiling. Laughing. Pisces unfurled the scroll. He focused on the burning coordinates, the understanding in his mind.
A rotting hand swung down, promising death by consumption. It never reached the four.
In a flash of light, they vanished. Azkerash cried out, already casting spells. Standing on his feet. The Putrid Ones servant roared, and then sank to the streets in grief.
The adventurers fled, as the Horns of Hammerad vanished. Vanishedusing a scroll of ancient power. Among the dead and wounded, this bitter, dark day.
Towhere?
-
They flew across the world in a moment, past the shores of Izril, faster than ghosts, like four falling, glorious, broken stars. The spell tore at them, and Ceria felt her grip weakening.
Dont let go! Dont l
Pisces screamed at her. They reached out, linking hands. Ksmvr was holding on to Yvlon as she gritted her teeth.
The spell bore them away. Not towards the Necromancers castle, but somewhereelse.
The only other place he might ever flee, in desperation. At the end of all things.
The one land where glory in death remained.
Khelt.
A [Message] beat them there, to Chandrar. As fast as thought itself. A frantic entreaty, explanation, from a source he had never thought to be so brazen, so careless.
Fetohep of Khelt halted on the grasslands of Jecrass, still watching the scrying orb, the folly of the undead. His preserved visage rose. His golden eyes flashed with alarm. He raised a hand.
This idea? He saw the reason. The folly. The undead king bellowed at the sky, terrifying his mortal followers.
No, you arrogant fool. You think there are no defenses? Not Khelt! Not
He reached out to catch them. But he was leagues upon leagues from his homeland. Too late.
The Horns of Hammerad, rushing through spacehit the barrier. It flung them, ricocheting them in ways they couldnt understand.
All Ceria heard was screaming. Their voices.
Dont let go! D
Pisces grip weakened. He saw her connectedthen torn away.
Ksmvr lost his grip at the same moment, thrown by the impact. Pisces howled as his friends vanished.
The last two, hurtling together, were Ksmvr and Yvlon. He clung to her with all three arms, but the magic was ripping them away, unable to sustain two so close together.
I wont let go. I wont
He told her. Yvlon Byres just grinned. Her arm, holding the three of his, tightened.
Dont worry.
Then the magic flung them apart. Ksmvr tumbled through the void.
Four magical comets landed across Chandrar. Four bodies, four adventurers thrown apart. Falling, striking the ground into unconsciousness. Wounded, exhausted.
Alive.
-
The Horns never returned. So many adventurers lay dead.
So many survived.
A bloody, bleak group gathered together. The living had beaten the dead? Notheyd escaped. That was all they could say.
So they failed. They failed. This was all a waste of time.
Someone muttered. All their grief, all their effortthe bitter reproach was cut short.
No.
That voice came from Halrac. Halrac, who stood, holding his teammates with one armtouching themto make sure they were alive. His eyes were filled with silent loss. Yet he spoke now, facing the others.
They did what they promised.
The [Veteran Scout] bent. Slowly, outside the Village of the Dead, he reached down to what remained of the last monster. He sifted apart dust and lifted something.
Slowly, he pulled the bag of holding out of the pile remains. The adventurers stared at it. Thenthe armor. And the blade.
The gleaming sword slowly came up in Brigandas hands as she stared at it, wide-eyed. Weapons taken from the greatest swordsman of his era.
Last of allKeldrass bent down, and picked up the familiar artifact. He had spotted it at the start. It was familiar. The Drake had never used it, but he had worn it. Poetic that he owned it. Slowly, he lifted it up and breathed the words.
The Helm of Fire.
The adventurers looked at each other in silence. Thenyes, then.
It was over.
-
The people of the world watched the raid end with mixed feelings. Grief. Desolation, as the friends of the Horns realized more were gone.
Greed, seeing the artifacts claimed. Hope there might be more in the now-weakened village.
Fear of the undead, rekindled not least what might remain.
Fury at the Courier, the thief.
So many emotions. A handful of artifacts, dead bodies. That was all that remained from the raid, surely? All that effort for nothing?
In another world, perhaps. Here?
This is what they heard:
Revi Cotton, weeping for the Horns, stitches torn. For Geni and the others.
[Summoner Level 33!]
[Skill Vessel of Oneself obtained!]
[Skill Summoning: Pass Wounds obtained!]
[Skill Summoning: Call the Great Ancestors obtained!]
Typhenous, lying on the wagon, his old bones still hurting from being broken and healed, but smiling bitterly and gently as he watched his team draw breath.
[Rogue Mage Level 28!]
[Skill Invisible Cast obtained!]
[Knifefighter Level 23!]
[Skill Flash Lunge obtained!]
[Conditions Met: Survivor Underworld Survivor Class!]
[Underworld Survivor Level 20!]
[Skill Street Invisibility obtained!]
[Skill Greater Endurance obtained!]
Briganda, weeping as she ran towards Cade, shaken. Holding him tight and remembering the moment she had died but for grace.
[Shield Maiden Level 34!]
[Skill Magicguard Block obtained!]
[Skill Mothers Flight obtained!]
The grim [Scout], sitting with head bowed, adding them to the list.
[Conditions Met: Veteran Scout Bowman of Loss Class!]
[Class Consolidation: Marksman removed.]
[Class Consolidation: Fletcher removed.]
[Bowman of Loss Level 36!]
[Skill Arrow of Regret obtained!]
[Skill My Pain Is My Strength obtained!]
[Skill Craft: Arrows of Will obtained!]
[Skill They Walk With Me obtained.]
Jelaqua Ivirith, speaking to the worried Dullahan with a laugh, pretending to be fine. Shaken, but weeping with her own gratitude for the light triumphant which had saved them.
[Conditions Met: Steel Tempest Steelforged Whirlwind Class!]
[Class Consolidation: Mercenary removed.]
[Class Consolidation: Bounty Hunter removed.]
[Steelforged Whirlwind Level 34!]
[Skill Weapon: Extended Range (5 Feet) obtained!]
[Skill Weapon: Moment of the Half Giant obtained!]
[Lover Level 6!]
[Conditional Skill Lovers Lucky Charm obtained!]
The half-Giant, adrenaline wearing off, covered in blood. Healed not at all by the blood he had spilled.
[Conditions Met: Green Mage Bloodearth Mage Class.]
[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]
[Bloodearth Mage Level 27!]
[Skill Crimson Earth Mana obtained!]
[Spell Bloodseeds (Birevine, Toricel Shieldplant, Sendipe Bush) obtained!]
[Skill Enhanced Strength obtained!]
[Skill Iron Skin obtained!]
Ulinde, who lay, teary-eyed next to the others, having seen a true adventurers fate and life up close. And had not found her idols wanting.
[Spellslinger Level 28!]
[Spell Empower Spell obtained!]
[Spell Copycat obtained!]
And last of all, the Drowned Man, hero quickly forgotten. Who had not forgotten his salvation either. He stared up at the sky as he lay there. Changed. Wondering.
[Depth Rogue Level 35!]
[Skill Leap of Death obtained!]
[Skill Lesser Resistance (Blades) obtained!]
[Faith Seeker Class obtained!]
[Faith Seeker Level 2!]
[Skill Divine Intuition (Weak) obtained!]
[Skill Iron Will obtained!]
Others. Among the adventurers, all of whom heard the voice, the [Prince], tossing and turning, unable to hide his regrets despite all he had done, the commendations and pride of his kingdom.
[Prince of Sands Level 29!]
[Skill He Fought With All His Pride obtained!]
The Minotaur, gazing at his stump of a hand, head bowed, unable to know how the Horns had met their end.
[Conditions Met: Twinblade Linebreaker Maimed Twinblade Class.]
[Maimed Twinblade Level 37!]
[Skill
Levil, burying Makki and Bram together.
[Conditions Met: Fire Mage Inferno Mage Class!]
[Inferno Mage Level 25!]
[Skill
Too many levels and Skills to count. The Drake who cried and could not sleep.
[Conditions Met: Heiress Relickeeper Heiress Class!]
[Relickeeper Heiress Level 22!]
[Skill Artifacts: Uncover Potential obtained!]
[Skill Golden Investment obtained!]
To seek the gauntlets obsidian forged,
Go to the deep, midnight gorge
Where Drakes hubris met forts of stone
And sank to depths unmatched, alone.
Last of all. Four adventurers, who lay in separate places. Still reaching out for one another. Ceria Springwalker, their leader.
[Arctic Cryomancer Level 35!]
[Skill Aura: Distant Manipulation obtained!]
[Spell Battlefield of the Frozen World obtained!]
[Spell Summon Lesser Frost Elemental obtained!]
The wounded woman, her metal flesh tarnished. Breathing in and out, face still intent, set. Reaching for a hand far gone from hers.
[Silversteel Armsmistress Level 37!]
[Skill Berserkers Rage obtained!]
[Skill Impact Punch obtained!]
[Skill Armform: Telescoping Flesh obtained!]
[Condition Plaguesteel (Minor) Received.]
The Antinium, trying to hold on. Crying out that he could not until unconsciousness took him.
[Skirmisher Level 28 obtained!]
[Skill Piercing Strikes obtained!]
[Skill Swift Rearmament obtained!]
[Weapon Art Aggregate Volley obtained!]
[Teammate Level 5!]
[Skill Sense Affection (Platonic) obtained!]
[Skill Stronger Together obtained!]
And lastly, the young man lying in the sands. Who had seen the end, those far down his path.
[Conditions Met: Necromancer Ossific Necromancer Class!]
[Conditions Met: Ossific Necromancer Deathbane Necromancer Class!]
[Deathbane Necromancer Level 38!]
[Skill Constant Foe (Undead) obtained!]
[Skill Authority of Death (Lesser) obtained!]
[Spell Undead Shattertouch obtained!]
[Spell Ritual of the Lord of Bones obtained!]
[Skill Drain Death Mana obtained!]
[Mage Level 22!]
[Skill Improved Mana Circulation obtained!]
[Fencer Level 6 obt]
[Class Gain Cancelled.]
They lay across Chandrar, fates unknown to all. Each one was found. One of the Horns lay face-down as a figure called a halt to the caravan. They leaned over their horse, pointing as others went to inspect the figure.
Well, what have we here?
They recognized the adventurer at once. Nevertheless, they ordered chains brought. A reason could be found later. The guards andslaveswent to obey. Smiling at their good fortune, the leader clapped their hands.
They were a [Slaver] of Roshal.
Authors Note: I am done. I am dead.
This has been 6 straight days of writing, since I now try to pre-write some stuff. A few notes: the audiobook is out for Book 3 of The Wandering Inn! Give it a listen and congratulations to the winner of the frying pan!
SecondI have another shot scheduled for May 4th, so I might have to take a week off after that? Or an update? Ill see, but I dont want to use up my 1-week break so soon. However, I am told the second vaccine sucks.
I dont have much else to say. I really hoped you enjoyed this long, long arc. Which was very tiring to write. Thats all for me. Thanks for reading.
Cerias andCutlery Yvlonby Cortz!
Doom Yvlon, Cooking with Pebblesnatch, Bird Chess and more by /peekay
Azkerash by Zelanters!
/zelante
- Home
- Genre
- Fantasy
- Romance
- Romantic
- Modern Romance
- CEO
- Urban
- Action
- Billionaire
- Modern Life
- Historical Romance
- Game
- Xianxia
- Sci-fi
- Adult
- Historical
- Drama
- Urban Life
- Fantasy Romance
- Comedy
- Harem
- Farming
- Adventure
- Military
- Son-In-Law
- Wuxia
- Games
- Josei
- Ecchi
- School Life
- Mystery
- Completed
- Top
- Power Ranking
- Trending Ranking
- New novel
- Latest Release
- History
- All Novel