Arin’s face got stern. He walked towards the grieving Cazaqui, grabbed it by neck, pulled it up and looked at its eyes, “Yes, I did! So what?”. He strengthened his grip, choking him further, “You want pity? Would you pity me, if that snake had eaten me alive? Whatever be the World, it has always been built over pile of bodies of weak killed by the strong!”. Arin threw the Cazaqui on ground. “If I am not strong, I too will lie down as another stepping stone, for the Stronger to climb up; just like you are lying down now!”
The Cuitlaquilin stood up. Took out a gilded dagger, grabbed it firm with both hands, and pounced on Arin. Arin just stepped aside, and it fell hard on its face. Arin smiled and put his left foot on its skull, keeping it pressed against the damp floor. “So, what would you do now? You wretched vermin?”
“I will do nothing”, it grumbled, “whatever happens to you from now on, will be done by my Great Lord! You will die under wrath of Nahun the Mighty”. Arin chuckled, “Newsflash! I am already dead!” and pressed his foot harder. With a crunching sound, the rat’s skull cracked under his foot.
Arin was a bit surprised. Why he is not having any notifications suddenly? It was too quiet! Something felt odd. Earlier he had assumed that he gets notification only when the ongoing crisis ends. He wondered, whether it meant that the ongoing crisis had not resolved yet and there were more troubles awaiting him, like more ‘boss’ enemy! Or, whether he actually had entered a dungeon and needed to exit to the ‘normal’ level of sewer! Or, was it that some other things were there for him to explore. Arin wished, if there was any objective table or Quest Marker for him, like in actual games!
Arin asked one risen Cuitlaquilin to search the dead Cazaqui of its belonging. Only an amulet and a precious ornate Dagger was there. On it’s hilt a Snake was curved; the eyes were made of Ruby. The Amulet was of similar design as what he had obtained from other ratmen he had killed previously. But the metal was of Good Quality. Arin had expected to absorb the dark energy from it. But, to his surprise, no more there was any trace of Dark Energy in it. As if, with the demise of Nahun’s Acolyte, as well as, the followers and the great priest, his influence had also dwindled or ceased to exist in this part of area. Arin wondered, if that was the case, then why was Nerthazir’s influence was still strong there, - after destruction of the temple and the priests and all. There were so many mysteries whose answers Arin still had to find.
Arin tried to pick the tablet to carry with him. But he found that it was firmly attached to the ground. Therefore, Arin and his entourage moved on to explore other parts of the secret chamber. There were mostly makeshift quarters of all the guards. Nothing of much importance or value were there. However, after looking here and there, he ended up in front of another big door.
The door seemed closely shut, like no one had opened it for eons. Even the Cazaqui and its minions must had avoided it, it seemed. As Arin was stuck in dilemma on whether to open it or not, or even how to open it; he heard a thumping sound. As if someone was pushing or punching something very heavy.
And it was coming from behind the door. Arin tried to listen better, and identify the source and nature of the sound better, by putting his ear against the door. But, to his great astonishment, the door opened as soon as Arin touched it. As if it was only waiting for Arin’s touch to get opened.
Arin entered the big hall, to find a big sarcophagus. Something was buried or trapped in it. Whatever was inside the sarcophagus, was trying hard to get out, and that’s why it was making such sound.
Arin thought for a moment, and tried to open the lid. The heavy stone slab of lid flipped like it was made of cardboard. A heavy green mist came out as an explosion of a failed experiment and filled the entire room. And in front of Arin, appeared a Lich. The Lich stood as an imposing figure, shrouded in a tattered robe that once bore the sacred symbols of his divine order. Now, those symbols had been warped and distorted with time, mirroring his fall from grace. His skeletal frame was wrapped in fragments of desiccated flesh, further giving him a ghastly, almost mummified appearance. His eye sockets were hollow, dark like abyss. But suddenly they started glowing with a baleful, unnatural light, casting an eerie aura around him.
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Arin suddenly felt that the air grew cold and heavy around him. Wisps of dark energy started swirling around his bony fingers, which were adorned with rings of power and ancient runes.
He looked at Arin, and suddenly stepped back. Although flew back would be more accurate for he was not walking but rather floating on the floor. The lich, with immense grace, bowed to Arin. And to Arin’s surprise, he observed all those risen ratmen were bowing to him, perfectly mirroring the gesture and posture of the Lich.
Then he spoke to Arin, with voice resonating with the hollow echo of the grave, which would sent chills down the spines of any mortal who dared to listen. “I knew my Lord would not abandon me, and the moments of my shame, our shame would be forgiven and I would be blessed with a second life to serve the Dread Father”. Arin did not reply, for he knew, sometimes speaking less or nothing is far better than opening mouth and blabbering like fool. “If I had eyes, I would cry blood witnessing the glory of Champion of our Lord. My eternal imprisonment ended when you called me to ‘Rise’. Now order me Sovereign. How should the lowly servant can be of service to His Majesty?”
“You may rise” Arin waved at him. “As you command, Sire”, the Lich followed his gesture and stood up. “Now give me your introduction, as well as what had happened to you” Arin asked, “As you may see, I am still at the Dark”. Arin did not want to pretend, for he felt this lich could understand if he was faking, and the outcome could be foul.
“I can sense it my Lord” the Lich bowed again with utmost respect, “you seem to have risen in this body not for long, as it seems you have not unlocked your chains or started utilizing your power. So let me have the Honor to be of service!”
Arin was getting a bit annoyed with this unnecessary long speech, and he raised his eyebrow. The Lich probably got the hint, and promptly corrected himself, “I am Zulkarnash, the High Priest of Dread Father. This was once an important Temple City dedicated the Lord Ner’thazir. And I was the the overlord of the central Ziggurat and lord of the City.”
Arin nodded. Zulkarnash indeed was a haunting reminder of the mortal priest he once was, now twisted into an immortal herald of darkness and death.
He continued, “When the vile Gods were destroying the City along with the Ziggurat, my Lord spoke to me. I followed the Dread Father’s command and sealed myself in this tomb and trapped it with Dread Father’s blessing, and awaited return of the Hem’netjer, who would free me from this imprisonment once again!”
“Return?” Arin asked, “Do you mean there was another before me?”
“Yes, that was the reason”, Zulkarnash spoke cryptically, “but I think that is something to discuss when we are out of this.”
“Yes” Arin nodded, “Right you are”
“But before that my Sire”, Zulkarnash waved his hand, “You should have this, as it seems you lack a proper item for you.” A long staff appeared out of thin Air in his bony hands. “Please accept it my lord and pour a bit Necromantic Energy in it!”
Arin received it and followed his guidance. To both of their surprise, the mundane appearing staff started floating in air, emanating bright blight green luminescence; and took form of a majestic, awe-inspiring staff.
“Staff of Eternal Night!” Zulkarnash murmured with awestruck voice.
It was indeed an awe-inspiring artifact, exuding both grandeur and dread. Now it was appearing to be crafted from ancient, mythical darkened wood which seemed to absorb light.
At the top of the staff, a large, flawless crystal of deep obsidian was held in place by skeletal claws; seemingly carved from bone yet imbued with an otherworldly sheen. The crystal was pulsating faintly with a sinister energy, casting shadows that were dancing eerily in its vicinity. Encircling the obsidian were intricate runes and glyphs, glowing with a malevolent blue hue, the symbols of ancient necromantic power and forgotten rites.
As it completed its transformation and took its final shape, it dropped in Arin’s hand. As soon as Arin held in in his hand, a psionic pulse exploded around Arin, the wave spread all around, echoing through the empty chambers and sewers.
Zulkarnash dropped on floor and prostrated to Arin, “All hail to Hem’netzer”, and it echoed, as if the entire Netherworld chanted in unison to glory of Arin.