Loud footsteps and bassy voices echoing from the staircase prompted High Matron Etyl and I to meld into the comforting embrace of the shadows and watch the four draugr scatter around the room to play dead, aided in all senses through the means of this strange device. It was as if I were standing right there, crouched low to the ground, staring at Amun's back while he approached the entrance, pivoted just at the door, and transitioned to walk up the wall and sit patiently above the threshold.
Within moments, a small figure could be seen snaking across the ground, dipping and swaying their hooded head with the utmost caution until they finally moved behind a pillar and stood to the laughable height of a meter, then turned to wave their companions in.
The party entered bearing torches raised high enough to lick the Elven Devil above the door with their flames but none seemed wise enough to turn their eyes up as they entered. Humans. Elves. Dwarves. They were so high and mighty they could never look up. Not until it was too late. That was a running joke amongst our kind that Amun seemed to be aware of, noted by the silent grin that spread across his face before the perspective shifted, giving me a clear view of the invading party. Somehow without being seen.
Besides the halfling rogue, they all were devoted to some deity. Directly behind the half of a man was a heavily armored figure boasting an overcompensating sword and a holy symbol of metallic eight dragon heads; a paladin of Bahamut, standing back-to-back against a skittish cleric of the same pantheon. Two fighters were posted in a similar formation near the entrance. Both were shrouded in the inked markings of the Marulean God of War, with shields, but one with sword and the other with spear.
The true prize, however, was centered between the two pairs—a clerical surface elf, devoted to Caelarin. Born from the Queen Demon Spider herself, The High Matron's bloodlust poured into the air, manifesting as a haunting cacophony of a million tugged strings that scritched and scratched at the little elf girl's mind. I was used to the grating sound. By the sounds of her feet sliding trepidatiously across the ice, I assumed she was not. She knew one of Lilith's Matrons was near. Thus she, and by extension the party, remained blind to the Elven Devil lying in wait with the maleficent calmness of a Darkworld predator.
My second field of view shifted once again. This time, it rose to watch Amun mirror their steps from the ceiling, an amused smile spread across his face as the rogue stuffed his pockets with the gold and trinkets left lying around. Then it shifted to Zaraxus' throne to stare at the party as a whole before focusing on three sets of eyes glowing with divine light.
"So many undead. Powerful undead. Draugr. All of them. Except that one." The cleric of Bahamut shuddered, pointing at the skeleton of metal bones. "I've never seen such a thing."
"A fiend is among us." Grunted the paladin after scanning his glowing eyes about the room. "A devil."
"Wait!" The surface elf whined. "B- by Caelarin's word, a Drow Matron is about, and a Unicorn Slayer to boot. But… I also sense a… Fae?"
I found myself staring at a mirror as the words repeated soundlessly off both my and High Matron Etyl's lips. 'Fae?' she signed, inflicting as much confusion as I would have through the snapping motions of her fingers. Only, they continued, snapping and flicking a soundless prayer to her vile Goddess.
Her eyes widened in shock as much as they glared crimson with the power of a divine detection spell. But then the former faded, revealing a visage of utter shock to an otherwise empty crowd. 'He is… everything. Fae. Fiend. Divine. Wicked. Undead, and yet alive. He is mana itself!' She signed ever faster. But a shrieking voice interrupted any more signals.
"There! It's him!"
My eyes snapped to the cleric, pointing to the ceiling like a child while Amun pounced. He was on the ground before their heads canted upward, crouching while the cleric yammered on about their target being the source of the conflicting signatures. A volley of divine spells and javelins crashed or bounced off the ceiling an instant later. But an eon seemed to pass before their eyes fell; and when they did, this enchantment forced me to stand in their place to witness it.
Time slowed to a crawl at that moment. More so, it seemed our senses melded, mine and the Cleric. I found myself looking down at a brown-skinned drow returning an amiable smile to my abject horror. Yet, I stared into the midnight-black sclera of his eyes. They were unblinking, those eyes, birthing a curiosity that forced me to stare deeper into the draconic pupils set inside pure white irises. In return, those eyes read upon my essence- my soul- like a book.
It was a comedy, I learned, as the twin rows of fiendish teeth pulled apart to laugh at the building despair of the clerical elf as she shouted. "What are you!?"
Though the crash of a second volley superseded her cry of desperation, this enchantment made it feel as if she had screamed in my ear. It even overpowered the sound of the brambles she sprouted beneath her foe, thorny, disgusting fibers that wrapped around Amun's legs, and shuddered at the feeling of his foul blood pouring over them.
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Despite detesting the contact, the brambles held him in place all the same, allowing the halfling rogue's dagger to sink into Amun's kidney without resistance. The success of the stealthy attack caused mana to pool into the wound as the blade was withdrawn, sealing the wound with vibrant energy for but a moment before it sheared, ripped, tore, and carved a much deeper and wider wound than the small blade would permit possible.
The fighters followed, slashing into Amun's front thricely before stabbing him through with his sword, shield bashing, and leaping away, opening up the space for Bahamut's cleric to raise her hands and shout some nonsense about the light of justice. Still reeling, Amun paid her little mind, instead focusing a curious eye on the Paladin's bastard sword and the remaining fighter's spear, glowing with divine light, even as they ran him through.
The ease of their battle seemed to shock the paladin the most, given the way they backpedaled with more haste than the fighter next to them. Yet their reactions were otherwise the same. Uncertainty. Fear. Disbelief. Disgust. All of the above and more shifted their visages while they watched the brambles dissipate, freeing Amun to sink to his feet and cough up a pool of blood while the life drained from his eldritch eyes. Some covered their mouths and coughed as if the stench was unbearable. The rogue even began frantically swiping at the blood on his arm. None were prepared for the turning tide.
When the necrotic fires of ki rose from the underworld to knock six times against this reality, I was prepared and held firm. Thus I intently watched the foul energy spread across the floor, echoing another six knocks before cascading back to the center to knock six more times and open that dreaded maw of reaching hands.
Bahamut's paladin reacted first, turning about as if they had been blinded while Caelarin's cleric shouted repeatedly for someone to answer her, despite the fighter's desperate shouting to kill the advancing drow as they fumbled with their weapons.
The ground cracked as Amun advanced, closing the distance to Bahamut's paladin near the rear with a basic punch that caved in the proud symbol etched into their steel chest plate. They tumbled to their knees with a feminine cry while Amun danced around to catch up to her rear, swinging his foot into her helmeted temple before he followed through with a spine-shattering axe kick for good measure. The resulting crack was deafening enough to demand stillness in every corner of the room. Save one place.
The newly felled corpse began convulsing the moment Amun lifted his foot from the mangled armor, yet Amun hardly waited. Skipping with the Wind, he leaped up and kicked off a pillar in a blur of motion, propelling himself down to land in the center of the other four hexed combatants. While the lonely rogue fumbled with his wits against the grasping hands, Amun's fists blazed with the activation of Furious Blows as he rose to his full height, gracing Caelarin's cleric with six armor-denting impacts against her left side in rapid succession. She was writhing and on her way down by the third nearly gut-wrenching blow, clearing enough space for blades and shields to slash and bash Amun repeatedly.
Amun, however, paid them little mind, closing the opening Bahamut's cleric thought he'd been given to heal Caelarin's cleric; as he found the eldritch being's leg shooting back to shatter his kneecap as he raced forward. Amun then stepped forward and pivoted to slam his now-skinless fists into the falling cleric's helm, cracking his head back and releasing his mace to tumble overhead; once and then twice before a skinless hand plucked it out of the air and flung it powerfully into the downed cleric's abdomen, crumpling him a dull thunk.
By then, the rogue had regained his wits and fought against the reaching hands to turn towards the sounds of muffled screams. In triumphing, he first saw those dreadful eyes staring into his soul before his eyes flicked to the fiendish drow's hands, clutched tightly around the two remaining fighter's faces. The comparatively massive humans kicked their feet helplessly and poked and prodded Amun with short swords and daggers. All to no avail. Their movements grew labored and their bodies soon grew too weak to hold their weapons while Amun lifted them as high as possible as if to show the halfling his grievous wounds healing over. A pitiful gasp escaped the rogue's lips before he forced his little eyes to turn madly. They scanned the room for the exit with the utmost desperation. Only for the withering bodies of his comrades to reveal the door beyond his foe. It was louder than the destruction of a glass city, the sound of the rogue's spirit shattering to dust.
The dull thud of knees against ice accented the sharp clamor of weapons and armor clattering against the floor. An acrid smell followed, spreading across the room from a source that coincided with the sudden wet spot on the rogue's pants. If there were any sounds of dripping fluids, however, they were muted by the cracks and pops of shifting bones and joints. Sounds that inevitably brought the weeping rogue's eyes back to the shifting mass of flesh and bone that was Amun.
Much to his horror and our surprise, Amun began convulsing along with the corpses. Albeit to a much lesser degree. His face remained placid while every fiber of his musculature writhed and spasmed violently. His back arched in pain, yet he remained standing on his feet until the fighters were naught but dry husks of flesh and bone.
The corpses fell to spasm like the rest. Amun fell with them. Down to his knee, where he silently endured the pain of his physiology being pushed past his natural limits to reach the supernatural realm.
I could not begin to imagine what it was like to have my body destroy and repair itself a dozen times per second to make up for the absurd strength I forced it to wield. But like seemingly everything, Amun took it with little issue.
When he rose a few seconds later, he was perhaps a few centimeters taller and wider. But when he looked down and smiled at the lone rogue, he seemed all the more menacing. Enough to put a grin on my and the High Matron's face. However, the intense stillness that should have been was ruined by a cacophony of convulsing corpses who, one by one, burst into ethereal blue-green flames and jumped to their feet.
With guttural huffs, they started tearing at their chests with wild abandon. Breastplates and helmets were torn away viciously and carelessly tossed around the room to be forgotten. Even some of their clothes were. Not that undead cared for such things. And so, with exposed genitalia and all, they poured their combined malice onto the lone rogue while the wickedly grinning living lich guided them away from the door, permeating a deathly whisper through the cavern that held one, soul-grating word.
"Run."