Not one sound crept into the spacious throne room. The light of a single candle atop a lattice of brass illuminated the thin layer of dust coating every surface. It had been over a week since any servant had taken a duster to the hall’s mounted shields and Elven pottery.

In the low light, Alistair Awldwin’s sunken features lent him the appearance of some grotesque statue. He sat upon Tonberg’s throne with his gaze fixed on the antechamber, as if expecting to hold court at any moment.

But there were no subjects left for him to rule. No ragged beggars nor merchants nor pompous nobles. Even his soldiers - decade-tempered retainers who would have gladly followed him into the jaws of a Dragon if need be - could no longer be considered ‘alive’ in any reasonable capacity.

He was a king. The crown upon his head attested to that. But what was a king without his kingdom? He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind, resolved to see the conclusion of his dream through to its bloody conclusion no matter the cost.

Turning a wrinkled hand, he gazed into the scarlet stone embedded in his palm. There was something about its lustre in the candlelight that captivated him. It was the true mark of his sovereignty - greater than any crown or title. It denoted him as one of the fated chosen.

Alistair’s eyes snapped shut as he settled into his throne. It was quiet enough for him to doze off.

Then, there was a sound that sent him bolting upright - the screech of sundered stone, leaking down from the balcony overlooking his noble perch. He didn’t have time to stand before another racket gripped the castle interior. Splints of wood crashed through the balusters above, portending the arrival of an enormous silhouette leaping through the dust-choked air.

The beast - equal parts human, leonine, and draconic - landed gracefully despite its size. It was the first visitor Alistair had welcomed since commanding his alchemists to usher in his final and most desperate strategy to retain the throne. Three rows of vampiric teeth studded a maw that could have swallowed the tiny king whole, but the creature refrained from pouncing upon him.

“I was expecting to see a line of grotesque soldiers rushing forward to defend you, Alistair.”

The beast spoke! And in a voice he recognised! But no - it was merely an illusion, for seconds later, the ashy strands of a woman’s hair rose above the Manticore’s sore-covered silhouette. His blood boiled at the sight of Lieze Sokalar, who appeared to have arrived quicker and more violently than he ever could have anticipated.

“I wonder - how many days have you spent rotting on that throne of yours?” She asked, “A king ought to be commanding his army from the front lines, don’t you think?”

Before the old priest could offer a rebuttal, his eyes caught sight of yet more assailants lurking in the shadows. From the gaping hole where once the doorway to the prince’s bedchambers sat, a line of hooded individuals emerged to disperse across the balcony. They were followed by staff-toting skeletons, each spreading out to allow every thrall a chance at Alistair’s life.

But they weren’t the last of his problems. The choking scent of death forced the king to wrinkle his nose as veritable mountains of flesh disintegrated what little remained of the ornate stonework leading into young Ricta’s personal chambers. Their bloated, turgid forms forced the balcony underneath them to buckle and collapse, sending their rubicund flesh plummeting down one floor before rolling to a harmless stop in the centre of the throne room.

“How strange…” Alistair’s voice came out choked. A result of isolation, “You couldn’t have entered the castle normally, or else the Lich would have followed. Is this the result of some fell magic on his part?”

“No, no, no…” Lieze shook her head, “I’m not here to exchange words. Overconfidence has been the folly of my own enemies on too many occasions. I think I’ll just be killing you right away, so please forgive my rudeness.”

She raised a hand into the air, giving the command for her Dark Casters on the balcony to begin their attack. Without delay, a blinding show of magical projectiles fell upon Alistair like a rain of sorcery. His wrinkled, robed body was consumed by fire and force. The pain he felt in the seconds leading up to his sudden demise was excruciating, but brief.

When all was said and done, nothing remained of either Alistair or his throne but a smouldering stump of blackened wood. Lieze breathed a sigh of relief knowing that her surprise attack turned out to be just as effective as she hoped it would be, leaping from the Manticore’s back and sprinting towards the remains with lucrative intent.

“That’s one thorn in our side plucked, at least…” She said, “All that remains now is to deal with Sokalar, then Tonberg will be ours.”

While Marché and Drayya descended to the ground floor with half-disappointed expressions, Lieze knelt down to shuffle through the pile of ash that constituted Alistair’s worldly remains, keeping an eye out for the gem which had almost certainly survived the attack.

“That was really it?” Drayya’s voice bounced from the walls, “I didn’t think it would be that easy…”

“With Sokalar’s imminent attack to be worrying about, it’s no wonder Alistair wasn’t in a position to retaliate.” Marché replied, “Not all kings are blessed with heroic deaths.”

“I don’t know…” She furrowed her brow, “I’ve got a bad feeling…”

Lieze wasn’t listening to either of them. She had a gemstone to be looking for. But no matter how thoroughly she shifted through Alistair’s remains, there was no such treasure to be found. She wondered for a moment if it could have been destroyed by her overzealous attack.

“Where is it?” She frowned, “Drayya flayed Morgan from head to toe, and her gemstone was still perfectly intact…”

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All at once, the inconsistencies of Lieze’s victory were pieced together in her mind.

Alistair was dead, but she hadn’t been rewarded with any experience. She had been tasked with a quest specifically to kill him, but she hadn’t seen head nor tail of the system’s incessant notifications. Furthermore, the Dark Casters responsible for his death, while great in number, were only capable of low-level evocation spells. They weren’t the types of attacks that could disintegrate a man into ash.

“...Something’s not right.” She said, “Drayya! Marché!”

But her instincts flared up much too late to be of any use. When she swivelled her head to face the members of her cult lingering in the throne room, her vision was overtaken by a sudden flash of azure light from the direction of the antechamber.

“What-” Drayya’s eyes widened as she, too, turned to face the disturbance, “...Shit!”

With little time to react, the girl reached forward to take hold of Marché’s wrist before sprinting towards a pillar supporting the balcony. Lieze herself dove towards an alcove behind the grand staircase behind the throne, whereas the remainder of her cult scrambled to find cover of their own.

A cacophony of shattering glass flooded the air with noise. Magical projectiles - far too many to count - materialised beyond the antechamber perimeter, forming an impenetrable wall of sorcery. An instant later, they broke off from the stiff formation, barrelling through the chamber and ricocheting from every surface.

The weaker thralls occupying the ground floor didn’t stand a chance. Their bodies were peppered with hundreds of miniscule holes, causing blood and organ tissue to trace along the path of the projectiles flying through their bodies. While the Rot Behemoths, Briarknights, and Manticore were resilient enough to escape death, it was impossible for them to avoid serious injuries.

Lieze, too, couldn’t escape from the spell. Despite pressing herself against an alcove beneath the staircase, a few stray bolts of magic managed to ricochet into her body. Searing pain burned her chest and abdomen. She gritted her teeth with enough force to shatter them.

Lieze’s HP - 91 / 320

[Supreme Regeneration] Activated Remaining Heavenly Favours - 2

Her mind moved faster than her body could keep up with. Black tendrils moved to replace the traumatic injuries, further corrupting her body but providing a crucial boost to Lieze’s vitality.

“I need to make a move!” She thought, “The real Alistair is standing in the antechamber! The one we killed was a fake!”

There was no time for hesitation. If Alistair used that enigmatic spell once more, he would eliminate her entire cult - assuming he hadn’t already killed most of them.

[Summon Supreme Flesh Golem] Activated Remaining Heavenly Favours - 1

It was her first time making use of the Blackbriar’s exclusive favours. Its description didn’t mention a maximum range or placement restrictions, and Lieze took that to mean that she could summon the Flesh Golem wherever she pleased, so long as she could see it with her own two eyes.

Peeking her head out from the alcove, she focused on an empty space in the throne room nearabouts where the Manticore was recoiling from Alistair’s spell. A series of intermingling, rune-studded circles expanded on the ground, growing to encompass far greater of an area than Lieze intended.

“What in the Briar’s name is that!?” Drayya’s screeching voice was a comfort to her - it told her the girl was still well enough to speak, at the very least.

Lieze was able to command the Manticore to leap out of the way just in time to avoid the summoning circle as its interior was flooded with purest darkness. Black, woody limbs crept from the abyss, adhering themselves to the floor like the tentacles of an octopus, causing cracks to appear in the immaculate stonework.

“Wyrm’s fire…” From the antechamber doorway, the true Alistair could only observe the event in paralyzed shock, “What maddening trick is this?”

From the circle’s inky depths, a mound of pulsating flesh rose. As a being animated purely by sorcery, the Golem had no need for facial features. Its face was an impenetrable block of muscle and sinew. Its body continued to emerge from the summoning circle until its crimson scalp touched the ceiling. Moonlight was forced through the cracks in the castle’s architecture as great boulders of rubble were dislodged by the creature’s sheer size.

Lieze wasn’t about to sit back and allow the opportunity to pass her by, however. While Alistair was stricken with fear at the sight of the Flesh Golem, she sprinted out from the alcove towards the pillar hiding Drayya and Marché, flinging herself to the side in order to dodge a house-sized hand slamming onto the floor. Screams were already dominating the throne room - from her own followers, mostly.

Drayya stepped forward to lift her by the shoulders, giving Lieze a good shake in the process.

“What have you done!?” She yelled, pointing towards the mountain of flesh, “What is that!?”

“A Flesh Golem.” Lieze paused, “Obviously. What else could it be?”

“We’re going to be flattened! Argh…” Drayya doubled over, using Lieze’s shoulder for support, “And I’ve got a few holes in places where they shouldn’t be…”

Lieze glanced over her head to see Marché in a similar state - alive, but hardly in a state to fight.

“You!” She turned her head to the Manticore, which seemed to be shying away from the emerging Flesh Golem, “Get over here!”

Like a scolded pup, the abomination rushed over with a whimper. Lieze glanced over the antechamber to see that Alistair had already departed. At her command, the Manticore lowered its head to the ground.

“Alright.” Lieze patted Drayya’s shoulder, “Get on. Marché!”

“Wha- get on!?” Drayya repeated, “Surely you’re not-”

“Stop arguing with me and climb!”

“What…” Marché clenched his eyes, “What about the others?”

“They can lead our thralls from the ground!” Lieze answered, “Now hurry up! There’s no time to waste!”