Aranthor and Lucien lunge forward in sound-breaking charges. Their blades collide with a blast of light and darkness, splitting the place between day and night. Their towering auras clash like opposing storms on the desert sands.
The black blade hums louder. Its touch corrupts Lucien's sword, bleeding its black into the Paladin's blade. They disengage and come back at each other, their weapons clashing in a display of force. Each blow or parry sends ripple through the Ether. The intensity of that unnatural aura forces many to crouch and hide, fearing to be struck by a thread.
Lucien's blade shines brighter; the next impact propels Aranthor through dunes, creating distance. Lucien extends his left hand towards the night sky and closes his fist, sending Ether far above.
The stars shine brighter. They descend like flares, forming head-sized projectiles, trailing cosmic dust behind them. Passing the clouds, they arc towards Aranthor and Ethan. Ethan breaks into a run; countless projectiles crash behind him in blinding explosions.
'Even now he tries to kill me,' Ethan mulls over.
Aranthor weaves through the descending attacks, soon clashing with Lucien, who's unaffected by them. Aranthor bursts backward, creating a gap, and swings his blade at the air. A wave of shadows emerges from it, swallowing the sand as it grows and widens.
Wings made of metallic, golden feathers manifest on Lucien's back, propelling him above the tsunamis of darkness. The survivors of the labyrinth run away, struggling to move in the sand. The wave falls on some, ending fifty meters away from Aranthor before sinking into the ground.
Those who lie slain by his attack rise, their skin turning black and slick. Shell-like armor grows from their bodies, encompassing their frame in something akin to plate armor. Leathery wings showing blood vessels sprout from their back, ripping what's left of their clothes.
Lucien thunders, "Ever the first to sacrifice your own kind in pursuit of your ambition."
"These mongrels are not my kind," Aranthor retorts. He draws in Ether, extending his left hand towards Lucien. His blade hums louder, and the beasts answer with their own rhythm. They fly into the sky, rushing Lucien with bared fangs and claws.
"This is the sole mercy I grant you," Lucien growls, his voice seething with finality. He raises his left hand, summoning a cone of radiant fire. It swallows their winged forms, casting them into oblivion with but a touch.
Arrays of spells appear in a sphere around Lucien. It bursts with fire, its heat radiating to Ethan, turning the little water present in the desert to steam.
'Whomever wins will come after me,' Ethan thinks. He summons Dark Fate and stabs the tip into his forearm, transmuting part of his Ether to dark Ether. If he only gets one shot at his enemy, he'll need to weaken them as much as possible.
Aranthor's spherical array vanishes, and its flames with it. Lucien stands in its core, shielded by a sphere of light, untouched by the flames. He dives at Aranthor, their blades clashing once again as they create a sand fog with every step.
Ethan's gaze falls on a glinting pile of items in front of the portal. He looks to the side, where the loot window endures.
Labyrinth of death (B)
Ability book: Soulsight (C)
Characteristic point (x5)
Deathvein crystal (B)
Death Ether crystal (x5)
Gravecall (Scythe)
Gold coin (x200)
Soulkeeper ring (B)
Spell book: Blight
--- Extra rewards ---
Ability book: Wraith's touch (C)
Ability book: Banshee's howl (C)
Characteristic point (x5)
Deathvein crystal (A)
Dungeon stone: Starfell kingdom castle (A)
Spell book: True death
'Great,' Ethan thinks. He opens his status and affects four points to strength, four to constitution, and two to perception. Switching to Russ' status, who shared the rewards, he uses five points on his strength and five on his constitution.
Ethan looks down at his shadow. Russ' eyes open in it, staring back with concern. Ethan glances back towards the lights that surrounded the death Ether wall. Vehicles approach from their position, raising a sandstorm behind them. 'We could run off through the portal. But we won't have any other way back. And by the time we want to come back, some army will surround it. We could take our chances in the desert, but I think they are both faster than us.'
"How have I longed for this thrill," Lucien booms. He summons a shield, pushing Aranthor away, and draws in Ether. Light coalesces around his blade, brightening his already blinding edge. Swinging, he propels a wave that cuts the desert. Aranthor mimics Lucien's move, creating a dark wave of his own.
The attacks clash, skidding to the side of each other. Aranthor's blade catches a running man, severing his body in its length. Lucien flies above Aranthor, following his first wave with countless others. Their force sends shockwaves through the sand, creating craters where it touches the ground. Lucien soars higher; he descends, his blade poised for a thrust.
Aranthor meets Lucien's descent head-on, his blade swelling with darkness as he feeds it Ether. The desert howls in protest to the clash of their swords. The winds they cast unmake the dunes, revealing and moving rocks.
Lucien breaks the engagement by twisting in midair, using his wings to thrust himself to the side. He extends his left hand to the sky and soars high. Another wave of falling stars comes at Aranthor, ignoring Ethan this time.
The king swings his blade in hastening slashes that propel blades of darkness, each striking a falling flare. Their distant clash illuminates the night in countless, blinding explosions.
The falling stars struck on the side change course instead of being destroyed. Some fall on the bystanders, pulverizing the unlucky few.
Under the cover of the blinding lights, Ethan breaks into a run. He moves to the portal and brushes over every item of the loot pile, transferring them into his Inventory.
Three descending flares move more vividly. Ethan can sense each of Lucien's projectiles, but not these three. At the edge of the clash, they coil around Aranthor's blades, and, far from him, dig into the sand.
Lucien's spell intensifies; the descending stars grow in number but lose in precision. Aranthor's distant slashes adapt as he weaves them closer to each other, focusing his attention on the near beam of light.
The three digging flares spring from behind Aranthor. One strikes him in the back, the others unable to reach him as he vanishes. He reappears in the air, behind Lucien, and strikes downward. Though parried, the blow craters the flying Paladin into the ground.
Taken by gravity, Aranthor descends. He unleashes a tempest of black blades in his fall, keeping Lucien where he is. Nearly reaching his target, he summons his gravity spell on the ground. His speed explodes, and he strikes Lucien with a blow that collapses his guard and takes his left shoulder.
They weave through the desert, Aranthor pressing his advantage with quick blows aimed at Lucien's left side. Lucien's flesh reforms, his arm regrowing from the stump. Yet, spots of his skin and hair fall from him, turning to dust.
Ethan catches a glance of Aranthor's exposed back, his muscles made bare by Lucien's spell. Bits of flesh flutter at the edge of the wound, falling as he tears them in his sudden movements.
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Lucien regrown offhand drips with golden flames. A deep, rising hum appears from him, its intensity heightening as waves of Ether rush to his palm. His sword beams once again; the next clash of blades propels Aranthor back dozens of meters. Lucien raises his left hand, and a beam of radian fire conquers the night.
Aranthor extends his left hand, and a white scorching ray emerges from it. Their spells clash with each other, the confrontation closer to Aranthor than Lucien. The ground quakes. Heat and energy spiral outward, turning sand to glass.
Sweat streams down Lucien's brow, evaporating to steam as it leaves his skin. His blade brightens, widens, and lengthens; he pours as much Ether into it as into his radiant beam. Sparks of white lightning jump from his weapon, striking the sand and disintegrating it.
Aranthor digs his heels deep in the sand, his left arm trembling. He summons a glass bead between his right fingers, filled with swirling red whisps. He throws it in his mouth and bites down; his flames turn blue, focusing into a tighter beam. They pierce through Lucien's attack, eating away at his spell and threatening to swallow him.
Aranthor teleports behind Lucien and swings at his back. Lucien, expecting his opponent to strike as he still deals with the spell, spins around. The blue fire swallows Lucien's frame.
Lucien, burned alive, strikes with his empowered blade. It collides with Aranthor's black sword in a blinding explosion of light and Ether. Aranthor's form drags through the desert, parting dunes in its path. He stands up, his right arm hanging limp at his side, holding a blade snapped at the third. Skin, from his right hand to shoulder, disintegrates, exposing torn muscles.
Lucien flies into the skies. His shirt and back burned away, but his muscles and flesh regrow far beyond even the accelerated capabilities of the human body.
Aranthor extends his right fingers, dropping his broken blade. It melts into the sands, creating a shadowed lake amongst the desert. Tendrils spring from the ground, hurling at Lucien with spike-like tips. They coil around each other, making their paths unreadable without Prescience.
Lucien dives down, deflecting the tentacles he can, being struck and pierced by those he cannot. His wounds heal in seconds, yet other parts of his body, like his skin and hair, disintegrate further, turning to flowing sand.
Lucien's thrust breaks Aranthor's defense; he stabs him through the guts, his blade of light piercing to the other side. Aranthor grabs Lucien by the neck and summons his fire column's array. It bursts forth, illuminating the night with white and blue hues. Lucien form is taken by the jet of fire, burning away his clothes, skin, and flesh.
The fire dies down, and Seraphel's light leaves Lucien's burned corpse. Despite his scorched state, he grasps his heart as he collapses to the ground.
Aranthor pulls the blade of light out of his stomach before it vanishes in his hand. Blood seeps out of his body, his muscles contracting to limit the flow. He kicks Lucien to turn his body and make him look at the sky. "One of many," Aranthor mutters. Black tendrils rise from the ground, reforming his full blade as he angles it above the Paladin.
Another wave of Ether manifests from thin air. This surge of power stuns Aranthor for a second, making him avert his eyes as he arches and stumbles backward. Ethan contracts his muscles to burst forward, but he senses something moving in the Ether, between him and his target.
Lucien vanishes into mist. Appearing on the ground, a set of small prints moves away from the position. River holds her breath, refusing to draw in Ether. But she must be panicking to have overlooked the obviousness of her tracks.
Engines roar, rushing towards them. Ten Jeeps and APCs reach their part of the desert, illuminating Aranthor with spotlights. "Hands up, knees on the ground!" a loudspeaker yells in broken English.
Ethan sighs at the soldiers' boldness born of only stupidity. Those vehicles come from the late Soviet era. And, judging by the speaker's accent, he's in the presence of Middle Eastern forces. He could have played European of American soldiers, posing as a mere survivor before escaping. But with these unknown forces, he cannot assume anything. He hopes that Tombstone can do something to extract him, or he'll have to steal a vehicle and escape through the desert. But for now, the winner of the duel lingers; he refocuses on Aranthor, readying his hex.
Aranthor glances at the armored convoy and disappears. The sand lagging to respond to his sudden move, he dashes to face the convoy, his blade posed at the side. The vehicles brake in an arc around him, unloading soldiers. They aim rifles, machine guns, and cannons at him, yelling to obey and surrender.
Ethan triggers Predator's sight to count the soldiers, hoping to get some useful intel as they speak over the radio.
"You were given the boon of Ether, and yet I see none of you using it. You would rather crawl under your unworthy masters' protections. You think yourselves untouchable in your machines, but that time has ended," Aranthor says. He stabs his blade into the ground, extending his able arm. "Let me show you."
Sigils carve themselves in the sands, forming a circle of spells that envelops all the vehicles. They open fire; the bullets crater against his skin or skid past it. The 14.5mm of the single BTR-80 strikes him harder, crushing his muscles and cracking ribs. A column of white fire, fivefold the one Ethan suffered, engulfs them, turning their forms to smoke and slag.
"You have my thanks, mongrels," Aranthor says, his back turned to them. "Thanks to you both and his pathetic god, I returned. I had to relinquish my powers millennials ago to preserve my body; they are mine once again. For this, I will make you their first witnesses in this new age. Powers like you could never dream of achieving."
His aura, the invisible wave that pulsates the threads of Ether, grows, rising higher than Ethan can sense. Its effects on the Ether become more agitated, creating pockets of violence that lash out on the survivors. They recoil, fear taking hold of their expressions. Five threads lash at a man from five different directions, five echoes of his aura, and disintegrate him. His ashes float away, filling the air with more rotten stench of burned flesh.
Aranthor turns to them, detachment filling his gaze. Despite his wounds – the stab in his guts, the burns of molten sand, his skinned back, and his limp arm – he moves unhindered. He utters a single word only Ethan understands. Yet everyone obeys. "Kneel."
One by one, they place a knee to the ground, bowing their heads while gritting their teeth. The Aetherian command is undefiable. Anders stabs his glaive in the sand, struggling to keep himself up for one more second than everyone else.
Aranthor steps towards Ethan, his gaze on River, who still maintains her Veil. He unsummons his dark blade and extends his arms, breathing in the night air.
His words echo not through the air but through Ether itself. "Behold, mongrels, and tremble before the one true sovereign, the unparalleled ruler of realms, the conqueror of worlds, the one and only King." Light bends around him as Ether flows into his body, creating a void as far as Ethan can sense. "Eternal Sovereign."
Blinding light covers him, forming a nighttime sun that illuminates the world around them. It recedes only enough for Ethan to see Aranthor's form – a white knight bathed in light, a glowing cape flowing in a non-existent wind. A spectral crown shimmers above his head, absorbing every strand of Ether coming back to them, leaving none for Ethan.
"Witness the one who transcended mortality," he roars, his voice shaking the world. Ribbons of light manifest in his hand, forming a silvery long sword coated in translucent flames. He steps forward, each of his strides bending Ethan's perception of space.
'Move!' Ethan screams in his mind. His body ignores his commands and stays immobile, kneeling before Aranthor.
"Behold the perfection of might," Aranthor proclaims, his eyes glowing with fierce fire. He swings his sword in a flawless arc; the weapon moves with blinding speed. It calls forth a blade of Ether that follows in its wake, growing with each instant. The air seems to part in reverence as the sword cuts through it.
Ethan's mind reels as the sword approaches, unstoppable and inevitable. Desperate, Ethan calls forth his life force, filling his mind with his father's murderer's image. He wills his mouth to pronounce a single word, not in English, not in Eldorian, but in Aetherian. "Move!"
Ethan's Ether rushes into his throat, the word unleashing it upon his surroundings. Aranthor takes a step forward as Ethan bends to the side. The blade curves upward, sending the wave of Ether not to decapitate everyone but into the air. It parts the clouds, snuffing out the columns of smoke rising from the molten vehicles.
"What?" Aranthor stammers. A wave of Ether pierces through Ethan, and a window appears in front of the king. His jaw hangs, and he stumbles back, his mouth stuttering unspoken words. His aura breaks into a frenetic tempest; his crown vanishes along his armor, and he falls to one knee. He coughs out blood, his own Ether thrashing against his flesh and burning it. Aranthor's unleashed aura slams into Ethan, burning his heart and lungs. "I don't believe it. You lie! You made that up to distress me. …What am I saying? You couldn't have known."
Ethan bursts backward, searing daggers piercing his chest, stabbing his heart. Aranthor's crown dispelled, the threads of Ether return. Struggling to move, Ethan restores his reserves to trigger Strengthening.
Aranthor's frenetic aura whips at cowering people, turning chunks of their bodies to charred dust. They scream, holding their scorched limbs, crying in agony.
"Do you know what I sacrificed?" Aranthor booms. He giggles – a sound of pure, unbridled madness. His body moves like a puppet, his muscles unable to coordinate with one another as he twists around. "I did as they asked; I purge the world of the gods. And now?! Now they give it, and more than I had, to Kaliathra's puppet."
Ethan steps back, Aranthor's aura pushing him away. He extends threads of Ether, forming a net to shield himself from the tempest. Summoning Phantom Reaver, he coats the blade in flames.
"It doesn't matter," Aranthor mutters. He extends his left hand, and his black blade appears once more. "Ho Ninshar, I require your company for this fight, so you may revel in the despair of the will of the world. … I'll claim your life and resume my work. May they be on my side or not."
Vines sprout from the sand, trapping Aranthor's weakened body in their thorns. Frost coalesces in the air around Anders' glaive as he steps forward. Aranthor's blade bleeds on the vines, the touch of its black ichor melting them.
'It's not a fight you can join; you are too weak,' Ethan thinks, glancing at Anders. His consciousness edges towards slumber, his painful heart struggling to sustain him.