“Sashro, keep your eyes to the back!”

A dagger flew through the air. It twirled as if it was born specifically for this moment. One chance for the thrower to make his name immortal. A small creature like a goblin with a hairier body grinned with two tusks reaching up to his eyes.

Suddenly, the blade stopped in the air. A faint black and purple aura sparkled around the blade—a chipped and rather disrespected tool. Sashro and two of his mages, each a humanoid, had taken to a defensive stance for their king.

It was one of these nameless mages beneath his cloak that used the spell “Telekinesis.” A rather impressive spell. Perhaps the mage would have grown to be a fascinating mind and wielder of the arcane arts—a splendid student beneath the watchful, black-burning eye of Sashro.

However, as he reversed the blade, two things occurred. One, the blade flew at a speed turning dagger to solid disk of metal. It rolled through the air until it plunged into the small creature’s skull. This force threw him off his feet; lifeless and bloodied. Secondly, another creature had loosed an arrow. This poorly fashioned missile landed in the neck of the young mage. The hood’s fabric was pinched to the flesh as the attack pierced the artery. Blood immediately began to pour from the wound and soak into the dark cloth.

Knowledge without application results in the same end as the ignorant.

With a gurgle, the man fell to the ground. His companion, the other mage hidden beneath a robe, moved to him. “Protect the king!” Sashro’s demand halted the young mage. He could hear the entirety of that command. One life had been lost. The skillset of the apprentice mage was not one that could revive the dead—a specialized magic that even the most skilled could not hastily use while in the heat of battle. The safer path for those that were still alive was to band together and focus on the threats.

The threats to the king, most of all.

The mage returned to his place at Sashro’s side. Both followed their king with their backs to him, yet they faced different directions to lessen the field of danger. Their king did not truly need this level of protection. These simple attacks would not kill him, but the mere action of allowing him to be carved up or sliced from behind would be a dishonor to their stations. So, the two mages cast their spells and protective enchantments.

Sashro did deliver the killing blow with a thin bolt of lightning to the archer that had killed his apprentice. With precise aim through the blackened eye, he aimed the bolt directly into the archer’s neck. The force fried the flesh and split the layers below. He’d only put enough energy into the attack to cause an enormous amount of pain in such a lowly creature. The shadowed figure fell from his position atop a building. Into the street, the writhing archer plummeted two stories directly onto his face. He twitched a few times before becoming still.

“Gem!” Christoph, the lord of this great city, marched down one of many webbing streets to find the causes of this sudden battle. What wonders occured within his mind? Humanity welcomed the ichor embrace of undeath and the scorched Heavens of the dragonkin. There was an objective at the end of this path, and he moved with unfaltering determination. “Come out and face me! Come face the king!”

The city had erupted as if they’d excited the volcano beneath. Those that were loyal, or at the very least… fearful, remained in their homes, cowered within buildings, escaped toward perceived safety, or took up arms against the traitors. It had become chaos. Neighbor killing neighbor. Violence began to boil the city locked beneath the mountain.

The traitors had begun to lash out. Exits had begun to be sealed. They’d believed themselves readying for their departure. One thing they hadn’t counted on was the sudden battle between Gem and Bartleboth. Somewhere within the first level of Tartarus, two expecting themselves to be the new king had added fuel to the fire. What had begun as a debate turned into a brawl. A brawl had devolved into attempted murder. This attempted murder turned into an all-out panic. Panic, like a virus, spread as madness through the city.

“Gohdin!” A few creatures that had banded together in hopes of running wild in the outside world moved into the street.

Christoph had been walking down a road about ten meters across. This road had several buildings close together. Taverns, smiths, trade shops, apartments and the like. Most of the road was emptied except for the occasional body and the devilish shadows cast by those distant spouts of roaring lava. Christoph slowed only slightly as the pack of miscreants attempted to blockade the road.

“Ormal, I suggest you move,” the goblin hopped to the side of his master. He’d done his best to keep his head down as the battle grew. More of the traitors were spreading out over the level of Perdition. It was his job to lead his master to Gem’s usual place, and he intended on living.

“Yes, ma master.” Ormal shuffled over, but he continued to keep pace.

Without a lord’s usual ideals pertaining to lashing out at his own populace, the dragonkin’s wild eyes locked on to the individuals at the center of the blockade. There were seven of them in total. Two goblins, three beast-like persons, a minotaur, and one being that seemed to be a collection of insect legs coming from a central, black orb. The minotaur and one goblin stood out front with their weapons at the ready. What a glorious day for them to behead their king!

Except, that is not what happened.

Their foolish dreams were met with a foolish end.

The visage of their mighty king expanded as he took his stance, his eyes flickered with crimson, and his mouth howled the words to his spell. In his eyes, they stood as barbarians of fur-covered armor upon a darkened hill. The fury of memory flooded the streets with arcane power.

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“Frost Ray!” Christoph reached out one hand and launched the one spell he felt more than comfortable with. They’re in my way! I have to stop this! Keep them contained!

A second of dazzling lights, runes of arcane languages, flew around the hand of the dragonkin. His bloodlust was only overshadowed by his dominating presence. Even at that distance, these traitors knew they looked down the street into the very eyes of Death.

Suddenly, the street filled with a burst of chilled air. Loose items across the ground or nearer the buildings shifted or even toppled at the sudden change. The drastic shift in temperature created an even stronger funnel for the wrath-fueled spell to pick up speed. As those closest to the alleys or side streets removed their arms from their faces, they saw just how devastating the low-level spell could be at the hands of their king.

The goblin and minotaur were both frozen solid. The blast had encased them in clear, crystal-like formations that spread back behind them as if they’d grown blueish spines like some monstrous porcupine from the artic. Frozen patches formed all around the area; though, the thin ice did begin to melt rather quickly.

Two of the animalistic men had sustained damage from the spell. One held a frozen arm up as best he could, but the weight of it forced him to hunch. The other had lost a leg to the blast. He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, and the frost claimed every nerve and muscle in the limb.

The rest scattered. Like the vermin they were, they hurried themselves into the darkest corners in hopes that Death would pass them by. Even the collection of insect legs scampered away, up one building, and ran as fast as his numerous legs could carry him.

“Ma Lord, shall we chase ‘em?” Ormal spoke with a more relaxed voice. He’d seen his master’s power and knew his safety was secured.

“Leave them. They know their place,” the dragonkin continued his march forward with no ice formed on his own flesh. What am I saying? This was a fragile blip in his own subconscious, yet it was quickly dashed against the tainted lands of undeath and incinerated within the burning skies of the dragons. The battle, boys against invading monsters, flickers between dark streets of stone and grassy fields in moonlight. “Bring me Gem, and I shall end this.”

“Madness!” Sashro shouted behind his king as a purple circle spun around both of his hands. This spell had three tiers of spinning circles. Runes twisted and flashed before they locked in the air. The magic circles disappeared as a group began to form behind them. They had a chimera with them; a creature with a body mixed between a lion and a goat with a snake for a tail. This creature, an intelligent beast, had been tempted into betrayal… magic would remind him of his place.

Sashro’s magical energy entered through the eyes and nose of the chimera. It was still forty or so meters away with a small group. They all continued to move forward as if they’d take down the king. They’d seen the wizard’s spell activate but no affect immediately take place. This only bolstered their confidence.

Sashro smirked and followed his master as the magic took hold.

Screams erupted from the group. The younger wizard beside Sashro held back his disgust as the chimera’s demeanor changed in an instant—a mind snapping beneath the weight of condensed decades or centuries. Madness gripped the mind, and all became the enemy. Teeth sunk into flesh, limbs were torn, the snake tail strangled, and those mighty paws bashed anything that moved. This forced the others to strike the chimera. Blood from both sides was spilled for the gain of nothing.

“Keep moving.” Christoph growled as he moved past the two frozen figures in the street. Their eyes were wide behind the layers of ice. Their horrors shown perfectly as if they’d been carved out of a stone that felt every movement of the chisel.

“Just a bit further, ma Lord.” Ormal moved a bit ahead to check around some of the streets or into the alleys.

Though Christoph hurried himself with no care of the surrounding danger, he did watch the goblin as he hurried from side to side. There would occasionally be a threat waiting or someone hiding from the battle. Innocent civilians were left alone. Those that fought for the king did their best to hold the streets for his passing—though many hadn’t even seen him, they could feel him.

So, the city split as an ocean before the mightiest of the divine. Those that had witnessed their friends die at his hands lost all interest in the fight. Those that remained loyal opened the way with respect. Whatever fools remained met their ends. There was no room for diplomacy as they threatened to leave The Spire.

“Gem!” Christoph moved his hand toward another building where two goblins had bows drawn. “Frost Ray!” Another blast of icy wind sped through the street and up the wall. The hiss of the spell rang out as the blue light rose over the roof. Two goblins were suspended in the ice like bugs trapped in amber.

The king didn’t use more than this one spell. He didn’t need to in reality. The majority of these traitors were lower leveled fights, rangers, or some mixture of odd traits. Anyone that would push his abilities was standing behind his risen banner. This prison break was a rabbit fighting a bear… both trapped in a small cage.

“Gem!” The roar of the king split more of the battling forces. Many dropped their weapons and fled. Perhaps, in their minds, they could return to the community without punishment.

It was about halfway through his march, with several frozen bodies behind him, that his voice carried through the streets enough that the fighting factions around Gem and Bartleboth heard the uproar. The dragonkin’s voice ricocheted off each wall and stone. It shook the alley and all that stood within it.

Just as the brawl had infected the city with minor squabbles and growing riots, the voice of the king returned all sanity to those present.

Fear began to grip them, but most of all… it took hold of the two that had unknowingly swapped bodies. With the glittering gem, now exhausted for the time, in the goblin’s back pouch, the homunculus slime and the goblin struggled to regain themselves.

Death was coming, and his wrath would bring more pain than either of them could handle.