Zavet and Iscariot’s fight took on a brutal, physical fight. Neither relied on spells; both understood necromancy would instead heal the other. Iscariot lunged with extended claws and his tail, lashing out with a bestial force. Zavet countered with Rumpwhip in one hand and his dagger in the other, moving with practiced agility and precision with every strike. The two circled, each testing the other’s weaknesses.
“So, are you going to go against her or not?” Zavet demanded between strikes; his voice strained but sharp.
Iscariot responded only with silence, his attacks intensifying as he pressed forward. Zavet’s patience thinned as he deflected another swipe. “Are you with her?” he demanded, voice steady but insistent. “Or has she taken you over?”
Iscariot’s gaze remained unyielding, his silence heavy. The battle surged around them, their blows echoing through the ballroom as the fight stretched on.
Zavet made a daring choice. Mid-combat, he closed his eyes briefly and reached out, attempting something he had never done before: he forced his mind into Iscariot’s, willing himself to bridge their thoughts. The moment their minds touched, Zavet felt an overwhelming presence within Iscariot, a powerful force that felt old, almost cosmic. It was a strength far beyond anything Zavet had encountered, surpassing even the formidable magic of the bronze elves. This power is vast and inviting, its influence was seductive. It whispered of peace and boundless strength, offering visions of what could be his if he surrendered to it.
But beneath this allure, Zavet detected something else: a flicker of distress, like a small, frightened flame barely surviving in a storm. Straining to hear, he recognized a voice, faint and childlike, crying out in anguish. “Zavet!” The cry was muffled, suppressed under the weight of the dominant power. Struggling to hold onto this thread, Zavet recognized the cry as Iscariot’s true self, buried and frightened.
Determined, Zavet reached out to his mentors, Mah’nethotep and Ta’fair, with his mind. “I need help,” he thought desperately, sending his plea outward. “She has him trapped somewhere in his mind.”
In response, Ta’fair’s presence shimmered beside him in this dreamscape, her aura as radiant as an early morning dawn. She looked around, her face filled with intrigue and resolve. “Is this connection you’ve created something new?” she asked, glancing at Zavet curiously.
Zavet turned to her, his expression tense with concentration. “It’s similar to how Iscariot and I first sensed each other’s existence,” he explained, his thoughts resonating in the shared mindscape.
Ta’fair studied the world around them, a realm built from memories and fragments of the their world. The landscape was dark and desolate, illuminated by an eerie, cold light. The sky above seemed void, dotted with shards of rock and frozen remnants drifting through the emptiness, a graveyard of a once-living place. “This,” Ta’fair murmured, her gaze turning thoughtful, “is the remnant of a dead moon… is it the world Neth created?”
Zavet shook his head, glancing around as he felt the faint cries of the young lizard man within the void. “No… I believe this is the mind of Iscariot himself.”
A spark of understanding glinted in Ta’fair’s eyes as she scanned the raw, formless energy swirling around them. A triumphant smile crossed her lips as realization struck. “It’s raw magic, the primal essence we use to create worlds. I can shape it. I’ll use this energy to cast a spell to brake Wispens’ hold on him.”
At her words, the power within Iscariot recoiled as if burned, withdrawing deeper into the mindscape. The presence began to twist and shape itself, coalescing into something more defined. From the void, a magnificent female dragon emerged, her scales shimmering like dark stardust, eyes burning with a fierce, knowing intelligence. This was Wispens in her proper form, her mighty claws closing around the trembling form of a young lizardman, the core of Iscariot’s soul held captive in her grip.
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Zavet and Ta’fair faced Wispens, the overwhelming force of her power pressing against them like a tidal wave. But with the raw magic around them, Ta’fair began weaving her spell, pulling from the primal energies of the dead moon to banish Wispens from Iscariot’s mind.
Mah’nethotep materialized next to Ta’fair. He looked at zavet. “This is our fight. We will try to save his mind. But you need to leave. It's going to get bad here.” Zavet took that as an order and pulled his mind back.
Iscariot was still fighting as though nothing had happened. Then, suddenly, his body was flung through the air as Zavet kicked him in the chest. But the hit was not strong enough to do that. It must have been The bronze elves fighting the dragon Wispen inside his mind. He took the opportunity to Run.
Zavet sprinted back to find Runner locked in a desperate struggle against their remaining enemies. Without hesitation, Zavet summoned a burst of shadow magic, vanishing momentarily and reappearing at Runner’s side. With a swift, deadly strike, he took down Vlad, his blade piercing his defenses. Lina, not far away, drove her blades through Edmund, ending him with precision, while Hoat relentlessly hacked apart Krunk’s undead body, severing limb after limb until nothing remained.
That left only Behir, now facing all four of them. A slow smile crept across Zavet’s face as he realized he could potentially wield the same mental dominance over her that Iscariot had attempted. With a deep breath, he reached out with his mind, pushing against her mental defenses. The effort was immense; Behir resisted fiercely, and she turned the tables within seconds, trapping him inside her mind.
A dark, echoing laughter filled the void. Her voice, cold and mocking, resonated around him. “You are not as powerful as the Master’s will,” she sneered, her words dripping with disdain. “Did you think you could simply reach in here and control me?”
Zavet returned her grin, unfazed. “Actually, no,” he replied with a surprisingly calm smirk. “I figured that if you made the mistake of forming a physical presence here, I could kill it.”
Behir’s expression faltered, confusion flickering across her face. But before she could react, Zavet lunged forward with his dagger. The blade pierced her chest, sinking deep as Behir gasped in shock.
“You all love monologues, don’t you? Love bragging about your plans…” Zavet twisted the dagger, his voice low and amused. “Well, your creator taught me how to fight every one of you. And now, I’ll take your power.”
He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound, as the dagger began to siphon her soul, drawing her essence into itself. Behir’s form wavered, her strength draining as her laughter dissolved into a pained scream. The power flowed into Zavet’s dagger, a potent, shimmering energy, leaving nothing of Behir but the faintest whisper in the void.
They rushed to Yvonne, but it was too late. The ritual had drained almost all of her life force. Zavet shook his head. “The moons are going to fall. We only have weeks.” he took the black vase from the ritual area.
As they carried Yvonne out of the palace, they emerged into the courtyard, where Merlot was rushing toward them with reinforcements, all freshly resurrected at the nearest hall.
“The other Lords are attacking the keeps,” he warned. “Lina, rally your forces. Zavet, come with me.”
As the dust from the previous battle settled, Elendor stepped forward, his diamond construct moving with mechanical precision beside him. Without a word, he gently took Yvonne from Lina and Runner. “I’ll take her somewhere safe,” Elendor said, his tone as sharp as ever. “I have one more teleportation left today. I’ll use it to get her far from here.”
Merlot, his brow furrowed in concern, gave a firm nod. “Good thinking, Elendor. Get her out of this chaos.”
Without delay, the court wizard, his glittering construct, and Yvonne vanished, leaving a brief shimmer. Zavet watched them disappear before turning back to Merlot. He could sense the urgency lingering in the air, even as the battle outside raged.
“Do you need me for something, Your Majesty?” Zavet asked, his voice steady despite the tension building in his chest.
Merlot glanced at him, his eyes reflecting the flames of the battlefield. “Ulrich is missing, and my strongest fighters barely hold the line against the undead at the embassy. Lina told me how you killed two undead lords during the keep’s reclamation. That’s exactly what we need now, Zavet.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “Emmerich, the Lord of Death Knights, is attacking Razlond’s Keep. We can’t let him overrun it.”
Zavet’s jaw tightened. “Understood.” Without hesitation, he fell in beside Merlot.