“What do we do?!” Royd asks, leaning his bulky frame against the left door, hearing and feeling the violent slams of the mindless army on the other side.
“Use your weapons to bar the door! Hurry!” Veros orders, placing his sword through the doors' iron handles like a barricade while simultaneously pushing against the increasing force of the undead.
Royd follows suit with his axe, as does Erik and Zyra with the swords at their waists that they never had the chance to use. As soon as Atticus can volunteer his own weapon to help with the barricade, Zyra, who is helping with pushing the door, points behind him with an alarmed, frightened expression.
“Behind you!” She screams, straining her neck to ensure her voice is the only thing anyone could hear, particularly over the sound of feral screeches and powerful gusts.
The knight turns and sees the corpses of Selick and Hayne, fully reanimated, shambling toward him and close enough to nearly reach him. The closest is the decomposed Hayne, who limply throws his bony body forward. Atticus reacts quickly enough to seize the cadaver by the throat, but as he just placed his sword through the double doors' handles, he's currently weaponless as the corpse tries to flail at him with the second one approaching.
“Atticus! Here!” Kellar, with his back still pressed against the door, holds out one of his daggers, hilt forward.
The knight grabs the weapon from his teammate's hand and stabs the end of it directly into the heavily rotted advisor's eye so deeply, the dagger's handguard is just about touching the front of his skull. He pulls it back out, the blade now drenched in dark blood and specks of brain matter, and the corpse falls over limply. Selick's weak remains immediately closes the distance afterward with a lunge of his own. Atticus catches the deceased monk by stepping forward and plunging the dagger into its neck, letting it fall forward into his arms before twisting the dagger out and letting the foul mass hit the floor.
With the two hostile undead in the room eliminated, the knight falls back to pressing up against the right door, next to Zyra. The relentless pounding and pushing from the horde on the opposite side continues to persist and grow stronger as the seconds pass.
“What in the gods' names do we do?!” Erik yells, pushing the door with all of his weight.
Veros tries to look around the room from any route of escape, but finds no hint of one. “We can't escape! This room is a dead end!” He worryingly announces with a defeated shake of his head. The only other thing in the congregation hall that even resembles a way out is the broken dome above, but, obviously, reaching it isn't an immediate possibility.
“So what are our options here, then?!” Kellar replies, hoping for anyone to conjure any plan that can save them.
“We need to stop him!” The veteran answers while staring at Westshire, who is still on the platform, manipulating the black crystal. “We need to stop him and destroy the crystal! Or we die!”
“But... how the hell...” The rogue barely utters, any semblance of hope quickly draining from his face as he continues to lean his back against the door and clutch his wounded arm.
Erik, desperate to do something other than stand and barricade the entrance, momentarily pushes himself off of it and nocks an arrow into his bowstring. He lifts it, takes aim at the Archduke – specifically at his head – and looses the arrow. Unfortunately, its caught by the overpowering force of the miasma beam before it comes anywhere close to the demented ruler, and is carried up and through the broken glass dome overhead.
“Short-sighted imbecile.” Westshire hurls an insult as the archer slumps back against the threshold to resume holding it closed, completely deflated by the utter failure of his last-ditch attempt to stop the insane Archduke.
The six Mistwalkers can only quietly weigh their options and watch as the fog spews from the crystal into the air at an incomprehensible speed. If this continues, not only will they all perish, but the mist outside will spread faster than it had been, and overtake the southern barrier sooner rather than later.
Atticus casts his gaze down, trying to find the will to focus and tune out the horrific noise of the thuds and growls coming from the other side of the tall wooden doors. He looks at his left wrist, where the four-stone pyromancy bracelet still rests. He had wanted to avoid using it, as he didn't wish to put more of a strain on his mind due to his lack of practice. He turns his head to Zyra, who has her two-stone bracelet still clasped around her right wrist. Same as the others, she's urgently pushing back against the small army trying to force their way in.
“Zyra!” The knight calls out. “Give me your bracelet!”
“What?!” The mage responds, perplexed. “Why?!”
“I have a plan! Trust me!”
A blank look of confusion and apprehension washes over the pyromancer's face, but she complies anyway and removes her bracelet and hands it to Atticus. He kneels down and places her bracelet on the floor and suddenly uses the pommel of Kellar's dagger to bash it, cracking it.
“What are you doing?!” Zyra yells, shocked at the sight.
However, he doesn't answer. Instead, he bashes it again, this time successfully shattering it, causing the two arcane stones to pop out.
“I'm sorry!” He finally looks up and responds. “I'll get you a new one later!”
He picks up the first stone with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and gradually places it over one of the two empty slots on his own bracelet. The stone doesn't set in with Atticus's help; instead, it's practically sucked into the slot when about a centimeter above it. The knight picks up the second stone and allows it to set into the second vacant slot. With this, all six slots on the bracelet are filled, and Atticus is effectively in control of a six-stone bracelet.
“What are you doing?!” Zyra asks, clearly perturbed at the mere idea of him using the item.
“I'm going to destroy the black crystal!” Atticus replies matter-of-factly.
“Do you even know the spell to do that?!”
He nods confidently. “I do! Remember when I said I stole my old teacher's bracelet because I wanted to cast stronger spells?! That's one of the ones I studied! I still remember it!”
“But... But you're out of practice! You almost collapsed when casting a four-stone spell! This could kill you before you even complete the cast!” The mage, despite the dire situation she and her comrades are in, tries to convince him to not go, as she knows the potential consequences.
“I have to try! It's our only option! Stay here and hold the doors shut!”
The knight pushes away from the tall doors, and begins to fight the overbearing gusts created by the black crystal. The chairs around the table finally begin to tip over and slide across the surface of the tiles underfoot and knock into Atticus's legs as he inches his way to the western staircase leading to the platform above.
As he struggles to fight against the wind, the horde of undead on the other side of the door are slowly beginning to overpower the force of the five other Mistwalkers trying to push back. The double doors spread apart, with the gap between them steadily growing wider, placing an increasing strain on the weapons threaded through the handles. Foul, decomposed fingers and hands are beginning to poke through the gap, even several feet above as the feral group have begun to climb over one another. Their repulsive groans and shrieks grow louder and more aggressive.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Atticus eventually reaches the bottom-most steps of the staircase leading up to the platform and grasps the stone railing as he lifts his feet and scales it. The wind created by the crystal grows significantly stronger with every foot closer he becomes, threatening to carry him off his balance and throw him back to the ground level. He manages to reach the first landing on the way up, and turns to right to ascend several more steps.
“What do you hope to possibly accomplish, Threcian?” Westshire, standing unaffected on the platform, proceeds to taunt the knight as he endeavors to merely pick up his feet and plant them on the next step. “Don't you understand the discovery I've made? Can't you comprehend the power I've learned to manipulate? No one before me has been able to control a black crystal, but now I have one in the palm of my hands, and I can use it ensure that all living beings can continue to exist, even after death – a secret that not even the Gods know!”
After a significant amount of struggling, Atticus reaches the top of the final staircase, stepping onto the landing overseeing the rest of the hall below. However, with no more railings to assist him with his footing, he continues to fight the overpowering winds on his own as he walks to the center of the platform, throwing his weight forward every time he attempts to advance.
Below, at the congregation hall's entrance, the double doors continue to slowly spread open at the incredible force of the relentless horde from the foyer. The gap between the doors has grown wide enough for entire arms to reach in and flail wildly in a mindless effort to attack the Mistwalkers. The weapons placed through the handles as make-shift barricades are starting bend under the immense weight of the countless undead pushing forward. The five adventurers strain every muscle in their body trying to push back, but their efforts are starting to grow more and more futile. Their faces are red with stress, and droplets of sweat moisten their foreheads.
“Atticus!” Veros, with nothing else to do, calls out despairingly. “Hurry!”
The knight closes the distance between himself and the rampaging black crystal. He extends his left arm forward and spreads his fingers as he reaches for it. When he comes enough to touch it, he curls his middle and fourth finger while keeping his pinky, thumb, and index fingers extended. He turns his hand counterclockwise slightly so the extended appendages make a triangle.
“What are you...” Westshire utters, uncertain of what Atticus is attempting to do. He looks at the knight's wrist and sees the six-stone bracelet. The Archduke suddenly grows fearful and stops controlling the crystal to seize Atticus by the arm. “No!” The psychotic ruler yells as he tries to wrestle the knight's hand away.
Now simultaneously trying to overcome the powerful wind and also physical resistance of Westshire attempting to push him off, Atticus finds himself in an extremely tough position. He can't even begin his cast until the Archduke is incapacitated or indisposed. Luckily, he still clutches Kellar's dagger in his right hand. Without a moment's hesitation, using a normal forward grip, the knight quickly stabs the pointed end of the sharp blade into the lunatic's right eye and pulls it back out in one fluid motion.
“Aaagh!” Westshire screams in excruciating agony. Normally, such a strike would kill a man – even undead – but it doesn't do as such to the Archduke who is simply too corrupted in both body and mind. Fortunately, it's still enough for him to reel back and clutch his wound, falling to his knees next to the regal throne. An obscene amount of darkened blood slides down his face and begins to pool up underneath him.
With his greatest distraction gone, Atticus resumes his cast and adopts the hand gesture he had before being interrupted. Still resisting the storm-like gusts, he inches his hand forward enough to finally be able to touch the surface of the crystal with the very tip of his index finger. Though his eyes are narrowed due to the irritation of the wind, he stares at the ominous dark rock with burning determination and focus, and tries to channel his concentration as he takes deep breaths.
However, time is of the essence as Westshire's injury is quickly healing at an unprecedented rate. He still has his hand over his tender wound, heaving painful breaths and teethy hisses, but the bleeding has already stopped, and his right eye in the midst of repairing itself back to a fully functional state.
“Neus...” Atticus slowly begins reciting an incantation, still pressing his finger against the crystal. “Arcanus...” He forces out the words in a slow, labored pace, as if each syllable piles another tremendous weight on his chest. He takes a deep breath and pauses to regather his focus once more before uttering the last word. “Excira...”
The six stones in his bracelet flair up with a vibrant red glow, and suddenly the tip of his finger is drawn to the crystal like a magnet, and he's unable to pull himself back. An overwhelming and painful amount of energy is felt surging through his hand – not from it, but into it. He leers at the rock and tries to maintain composure as he attempts to hold the cast long enough for the process to be complete.
“No...” Westshire, his wound already totally healed, manages to bring himself back up to his feet with the assistance of the sturdy throne next to him. “I won't let you ruin this. I won't let you take away the greatest discovery known to man.” He condemns the knight as he reaches to the back of the majestic chair and retrieves a sheathed longsword that had been kept out of view.
Its a very finely crafted weapon clearly meant for royalty, featuring a handguard made from silver, a smooth wooden hilt, and a pommel that has a sapphire embedded into it. He grips the handle firmly and discards the scabbard, revealing a beautiful, razor sharp double-edged blade that's been so thoroughly polished, it's as reflective as a mirror. With his wound and subsequent healing process seemingly taking some energy out of him, the Archduke unsteadily fights the gusts to try and stop Atticus a second time.
Meanwhile, the doors into the room are still being pried open by the angry undead horde. Some are able to even slip their heads through the widening gap between the doors. The five Mistwalkers continue to overexert themselves until every muscle in their body burns like fire. They're on the brink of collapse, and it's only a matter of seconds until the feral reanimated cadavers begin to slip in and overwhelm them.
“Fuck... Fuck...” Kellar curses under his frantic breaths, pressing his back against the left door, still clutching his injured shoulder.
“Not like this...” Veros heaves an exhausted, frightened whisper. “Not when we're so damn close...”
Royd, the most brawny of the group, is no different in forcing his weight against the door. In his desperation, he throws his head back and looks up through the broken glass dome overhead, where clear view of the miasma's eruption apex can be seen. However, something is amiss. His face grows pale and his eyes widen with fear – fear of something unexplainable, of something more monstrous than the ravenous horde that awaits the group on the opposite side of the doors.
“Gods...” Royd utters in a timid voice only barely distinguishable. “What is that thing?” He asks, staring up at the broken roof with terror-stricken eyes that don't blink.
“What?” Veros, who is closest to the woodcutter, responds in confusion. He notices his comrade's upward gaze and follows it. Then, he too becomes silent in horrified awe.
At the top of the erupting mist's stream, which passes the peak of Mount Armas, a massive greenish-grey tentacle merges from the opaque, spreading cloud. To be so gigantic in the sky, and to seem so close, it must be at least a half-mile long. Worse still, it seems to continue shaking more and more out of the hidden portal behind the dense cloud. It slithers grotesquely, and its skin looks wet. It isn't attached to a face or any other discernible body part. It's simply a gargantuan appendage slowly descending from the sky. One by one, the other three Mistwalkers at the door soon notice their comrades' preoccupation with whatever's above them, and turn their heads upward all the same.
The blood drains from their faces and words fail them all as they stare at the unholy creature in the sky, despite the whirling pool of questions that spin around their mind. What is that thing? Where is it coming from? How can the black crystal summon such a monstrosity? The terrifying entity strikes such a deep unease into their hearts, it almost completely distracts from the ferocious undead mere inches away from. All they can do is gaze at its repulsive figure and hope that, if this is truly their end, they meet their fate before they're cursed with the sight of its whole self and what it may do to the land once it's out.
Meanwhile, after several seconds of maintaining the spell, the black crystal and Atticus's bracelet begin to emit a bright white light, which grows more luminous as more time passes. However, the knight is already feeling the negative effects of continuously casting such powerful magic. Blood starts to fall from his nose, and he begins to lose control over his eyes, which begin to roll upward uncontrollably, and his eyelids flutter against his will. He periodically tries to wrestle them back under control by closing and opening them forcefully, but it doesn't help for long.
After fighting the strong winds for a moment, Archduke Westshire finally comes within arms' reach of the knight, wearing a hateful scowl.
“Stop!” He screams in a commanding, authoritative voice. “I won't let you take away my gift to the world!”
The crystal and stones gradually become brighter and brighter, but Westshire takes his sword and raises it over his head, despite his unsteady footing, intent on cutting off Atticus's arm entirely to stop him from completing the spell.
“You will accept the fate I give you!” The Archduke screams as he begins to swing his blade downward, but the motion is cut short by the crystals and bracelet growing blindingly bright, completely overtaking the entire room, washing every inch of the space in pure, unblemished white. Atticus, Westshire, the other Mistwalkers, and the horde that was about to successfully force their way in – all are devoured by the ceaseless light, and everything falls silent.