An obelisk of Ice rose to the height of six or seven men. Around it were the bodies of the Ice’s minions — goblins, orcs, and frost drakes.

Jeremy noted the absence of some of the larger creatures the Ice corrupted or spawned. It may have something to do with the distance and being cut off from the Ice.

The huge arctic crawler used its repository of Ice wisps, or whatever the hell they were, at an astounding rate — limiting its time away from the Ice to barely an hour. Perhaps smaller creatures consumed Ice at a lower rate, allowing them to travel further to raise the spires.

He saw the hag moving to the obelisk — giving her life to fuel the activation of the spire.

Jeremy shook his head. There should be more efficient ways than sacrificing one’s minions — but he also applauded how the Ice drilled blind loyalty and dedication into them.

The obelisk of Ice pulsed — the wave of force scattering the dozens of bodies around it in an almost perfect circle. Icy stalactites erupted from its base, driving themselves into the ground.

“I need to get to the obelisk,” Jeremy hollered amidst the thundering of hooves.

The vanguard was picking up speed, knowing that the arrival of the Ice would make their mounts useless — as well as strand them in enemy territory.

“Should be easy,” Anika answered. “There’s nothing guarding it. They’re all—”

The words caught in her throat as the dead minions of the Ice started to twitch and rise.

“This can’t be.”

Jeremy noted the concern in the woman’s voice. He didn’t share it. The rising creatures were nothing more than undead — not an equal to their living counterparts.

“They’re just undead,” he asserted. “They feel more like skeletons with their skin on than regular zombies.”

His experience with his own creations made him a bit of an expert in the field — but he wasn’t about to shout it out from the rooftops.

“Are you sure?” Anika stood up from her seat — glaring at Jeremy with wide eyes.

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Switch to daggers!” Anika shouted from atop the cart, signaling to the men to initiate their undead protocols.

Jeremy was quite irritated by the Ice’s undead. He couldn’t control them, and ordinary fire harmed them more than the hellfire his magic produced. Probably because very few people were sacrificed using actual hellfire.

He shrugged. At least he could use his scythe.

It would have been more convenient if Shelby was there. Getting eaten by an otherworldly creature was a common way for sacrifices to meet their end in the olden days — but he doubted Shelby would care to eat any of these creatures. They could also just dive beneath the earth and pop up right beside the spire.

She was probably still running around with the huge centipede. Jeremy imagined the snail leading the creature in circles — or maybe even underground. Arctic crawlers could burrow, which would make the chase more interesting.

The vanguard maneuvered into a spear-like formation. Jeremy’s cart was right in the middle of them — as if they were clearing a path for him to the rising spire.

They were slowing down to keep pace with the cart — and probably to preserve the horses. Jeremy could see patches of Ice creeping from the obelisk. The battlefield would be covered before they arrived.

“Shields out!” Captain Cicero roared through the din. “Get ready to dismount!”

Jeremy straightened from his seat. He wondered what would happen to the horses. Would they just stand there and wait? Would they have to search for them after the battle?

As if reading his mind, Anika spoke. “Don’t worry. Some of the men will guide the horses away. They’ll be fine.”

He smiled at her before shifting his eyes towards the spire. They would have to push through a horde of undead for him to reach it.

“Can’t you fly or do your spinning thing again?”

Jeremy shuddered at the thought. He barely survived the last one. He wasn’t planning on pushing his luck — nor did he have any idea of how to replicate what happened.

“It drained me,” he answered. Though it was more of an emotional thing than having anything to do with magic. “I doubt I could do it again.”

Anika gave him a concerned look. She touched his arm for a moment — before his life ward eventually made her instinctively recoil.

She was a strong woman. There were no shrieks or sudden movements. She merely withdrew her hand naturally — even smiling as she did so.

Jeremy stared at one of the cart’s other passengers — the ballista. Thoughts were running through his mind — dangerous thoughts — most of them implausible and absurd.

“What range does this have?” he gestured towards the ballista. “Can you tie a length of rope on one of those spear things? You know? Like a harpoon?”

Anika blankly stared at him — probably waiting to hear more of his plan.

“You’ll fire the spear at the spire — and I’ll just cross the rope.”

Anika rolled her eyes, thinking he was making a joke.

He wanted to explain how he would use his scythe to hold on to the rope. Then, use the blast of air to propel himself to the spire.

Jeremy paused.

Looking back at his previous attempt, he guessed that it would probably hurt — and there might be a chance that he would end up spinning again. Most of the ropes he had seen seemed to twist into a spiral. With his luck, he’ll probably end up spinning.

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“Nevermind,” he smiled.

The battle commenced after a short while. Cicero led the charge, still mounted on Stalwart. The horse seemed undeterred by the ice on its feet — barrelling into the ranks of undead and creating a gap for others to follow.

Soldiers followed their captain. They used their shields to widen the gap — focusing on pushing through the undead instead of destroying them.

Jeremy gave Anika a nod as soldiers came to escort him to the spire. The trip was a short one — with the soldiers half-carrying him to their destination.

He expected to see a circle of soldiers to protect him — instead the soldiers pushed further in their attempt to contain the undead creatures beyond the spire.

Three soldiers were left to guard him.

Before Jeremy could cry a warning, one of them unhooked an axe and swung at the pulsing obelisk. The weapon struck and the guard spasmed before collapsing.

Jermy approached the soldier, Thrusting the barbed end of his staff into his shoulder to make sure he survived.

After more spasming and twitching, the soldier finally regained consciousness.

The wizard waved him over to one side to show him how it was done.

The spire was a conduit to some unknown power — no human could possibly withstand its touch.

Then again, he was a conduit of power himself — so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Jeremy placed his hands on the Ice. The cold was painful — about a quarter of the pain of holding his staff. The Ice’s energy was entering his body, threatening to overwhelm it into submission.

The wizard went to work, opening his own conduit and flooding the frozen obelisk with infernal mana.

The two forces battled — settling into an equilibrium that gave no ground to the other.

Jeremy? Jeremy? Why are you doing this?

A voice was calling to him. It was both familiar and unknown — as if it was a part of a memory that was erased from his mind. His soul called out in answer — yearning to connect with the voice once more.

“Alicia? Alicia is that you?” Jeremy stammered — his voice full of longing, guilt, and despair. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the forest. How was I to know that you wouldn’t be able to get back.”

Jeremy—

“Sure, you were blind,” the wizard continued, “and you only had one leg. But I never considered you a cripple! Alicia, you were the strongest person I knew!”

Jeremy listened for a reply and heard only silence.

“I cried for three whole days after hearing you got eaten by wolves. They found one of your legs in a ditch, and another hanging from a tree. Wait! You only had one leg! Whose leg did the others find?”

You!

“There,” Jeremy dusted off his hands to clear it of rime. “All done.”

He could feel a strong presence behind the voice. It was intelligent and powerful. Sadly, it opted for manipulation — tugging at his heartstrings using some unknown connection. So many demons had tried that over the two decades of his existence.

Actually, just six — but they were enough to make him realize when he was being charmed or beguiled.

It was a good attempt though. He gave it a six out of ten.

The demons had a lot to draw from — having seen most of his entire life. The latest presence only managed to glean his surface thoughts — which were purposefully there for a reason.

The slightest contact with his mind would reveal his name, a false memory of him riding horses when he was little, and his penchant for citrus drinks. Months of daily twelve-minute meditation sessions put them there whenever he was conscious — mostly to give him a semblance of normalcy to people with empathic knacks.

His tirade of nonsense was meant to stall and ultimately befuddle the presence behind the Ice — and it seemed to be successful.

Charming and manipulating people were for beginners. Confusing and frustrating them were the real way to go.

He was real good at that — sometimes too good.

The people he knew were more often confused and frustrated at him rather than charmed — even when he wasn’t trying to influence them.

Jeremy shrugged. He was probably what they called a natural.

The sounds of battle died soon after. Without the spire to sustain them, the undead creatures eventually collapsed.

The wizard could hear cheering — but he was lost in the intricacies of the slowly melting obelisk.

Jeremy traced every matrix, rune, and glyph. He could probably make one of them! An infernal version of the frozen spire!

Sure, a small accident could open the floodgates of hell — several hells, for that matter — but he was confident he could create sufficient redundancies to ensure such a thing didn’t happen.

Jeremy imagined planting his own spire.

It would change the land — blighting the ground and scorching it free of jerms.

That would probably be a problem. Sebas always reminded him that there were good jerms, and plants needed them to grow.

Maybe not scorch the ground then.

It would fortify the people around it. Twisting them into caricatures of themselves. Making them more aggressive and pliable.

Not so good either.

He was beginning to think making an infernal spire didn’t have that many advantages.

Oh, wait!

He could make a limited spire. One that only provided power to certain people instead of everyone within range. Everyone affected would have to be tested periodically for infernal influence and corruption — but he could have an army of high-powered mages with close to limitless amounts of mana.

They could only stay in one place — but Jeremy wasn’t planning on getting involved with the kingdom’s business.

He could also use a spire to power his undead as the Ice did. No more unnecessary use of godstone batteries that needed periodical recharging or replacement — his undead would be hell-powered, and he could raise a veritable horde.

He could make more spires if he wanted to make things more convenient — but something in the back of his mind told him that doing so would be catastrophic.

People were unpredictable — they would find a way to screw things up.

Jeremy remembered how his pure and innocent Lifesavers™ attained their ghastly reputation. There were things people would do that were just unthinkable!

Building infernal spires would be disastrous — that was a given.

Now, if he could only find enough wolfram to build one.