Runner was the first to spot the grove as the others trailed behind on horseback. The wind howled in his ears, but he focused only on the sight ahead. His heart pounded with urgency as they closed in on Zavet’s ancestral home, but what greeted him was far worse than he had feared.
As he approached, he saw Iscariot, bloodied and beaten, yet still holding Zavet by the throat. The little lizardman was weaving magic into Zavet, threads of sickly green energy pouring from the sky and trying to anchor themselves into the lizardman’s limp body. Zavet’s eyes were vacant, his body slack, and Runner could see that whatever spell Iscariot was casting was meant to seize hold of Zavet's soul.
Without a second thought, Runner did what he did best: he ran. Throwing all caution aside, he sprinted toward the heart of the chaos, the grove blurring around him. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to think it through, but he couldn’t let Zavet be taken by whatever foul magic Iscariot was conjuring.
“Iscariot!” Runner shouted, his voice hoarse with rage as he leaped through the air, sword drawn. He collided with the necromancer, forcing Iscariot to drop Zavet to the ground. The impact was powerful enough to knock the breath from Runner’s chest, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Zavet away from him.
Iscariot staggered, clutching his side where fresh claw marks began to tear open as if some unseen force was attacking him. He stumbled, his eyes wild with fury, but before he could retaliate, more wounds opened across his chest and face. Runner could see it happening, but it wasn’t normal. The air around Iscariot seemed to warp, like some invisible force clawing at his flesh. He was losing, and the realization struck Runner like lightning.
"He’s vulnerable!" Runner shouted to no one in particular. It spurred him on the hope that they could finally end this.
Iscariot growled, his deep voice reverberating through the grove, and flung out his hands to cast a spell, but the unseen assault grew more vicious. More gashes appeared, slicing through his robes, drawing screams of agony from him. It was as if something, or someone, was fighting alongside Runner. Iscariot, on the verge of collapse, dropped to one knee.
Before Runner could strike the final blow, the rest of the Necro Guild and Krimlond stormed into the grove. Thebe led the charge, and Talich and the others followed, their hands crackling with magical energy. They descended on Iscariot as one, a tide of magical power overwhelming him. He fought back, but it was clear he was on the brink of death.
“This is it,” Runner muttered, his hands shaking with adrenaline.
But before they could deliver the final strike, Iscariot's body flickered, then vanished in a swirl of necromantic energy. He had teleported away, escaping the death that was so close.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
Runner collapsed to his knees, panting, and the rush of battle left him exhausted. His heart sank as his eyes darted to Zavet, who lay still on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and his once vibrant black scales were dull and lifeless.
Thebe was the first to reach him. She dropped to her knees beside Zavet, her hands trembling as she placed them over his chest. Dark necromantic energy flowed from her hands into his body, but nothing happened. Zavet’s eyes flickered briefly, a faint green glow pulsing in them, fading just as quickly.
"No... no..." Runner whispered, his voice barely a breath as he staggered to his feet and stumbled toward his fallen friend. The weight of what had just happened crushed him. "Zavet..."
Thebe’s face contorted with fear and frustration as she tried again, pouring more magic into him. “Come on, Zavet. Wake up. You have to wake up,” she whispered, her voice tense.
Runner’s knees gave out, and he collapsed beside Zavet, gripping his friend’s cold hand. His mind raced, unable to process what was happening. So much had already gone wrong, he couldn’t lose Zavet, too. He wouldn’t survive that.
Hoat, standing nearby, crossed his arms and said, “Just let him rez. He’ll come back. It’s how the heroes do.”
But Thebe’s voice cut through, sharp and panicked. “His soul is not in his body,” she said, trembling. “He won’t resurrect.”
The weight of her words hit them all like a hammer. Zavet’s body was still here, but his soul... was gone.
Thebe closed her eyes, focused all her will and power, and reached the unseen realm. “Zavet,” she called softly, her voice filled with raw emotion. Come back to us. Please.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the distant rustling of the leaves. The grove felt eerily silent, as if the world was holding its breath.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Zavet’s voice echoed faintly in the void. “Thebe?”
His eyes fluttered open, dim but alive, and his chest rose with a shallow breath.
Runner, overwhelmed with relief, let out a choked sob and fell backward, staring up at the sky. “Thank the gods….” he whispered, his heart finally calming as tears filled his eyes. He was close to losing one of his best friends, but Zavet returned.
Thebe exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she brushed a tear from her cheek. “We thought we lost you,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.
Runner sat up, wiping his face as he chuckled weakly, looking at Zavet. “You know how to give a scare, don’t you?” He smiled through his exhaustion.
Zavet slowly sat up, his body still weak but alive, and as his gaze met Runner’s, the lizardman nodded. “I can kill him,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a newfound determination, a whisper of power behind it, the power of the well still echoing within him.
As the group departed from the grove, the weight of what had just transpired lingered in the air. Zavet, however, chose to stay behind, his mind still clouded by the events. He stood motionless, staring at where Iscariot had stood, where his family had fallen. The others mounted their horses, and with a final glance, Runner reluctantly followed them, casting one last look at his friend before riding off.