Argus let the burning of the Sun pull him back to reality. The final words of the spell had dazed him, as it had for all those near.

A pain had surged through their minds, a sensation like a spike being hammered into their skulls. Even with the Sun's burning embrace, Argus didn't escape the pain, merely distracting himself from it.

Luckily, the zombies hanging off him like so many animal furs seemed just as affected, if not more. Many going limp as whatever remnant of their damaged mental faculties were brutally disrupted by the magic.

He threw the undead off him, stomping down on one's skull and turning his gaze to the four newly minted Wights. Their eyes emanating a vibrant glow. He was sure it was brighter than those he'd seen before.

He hadn't the time to study them in detail. Quickly turning and rushing over to his brother, who was being buried beneath a pile of zombies.

Thankfully, they were no longer trying to claw, bite, or stab at his prone form in their new daze. He pulled off the undead creatures that were dog-piled atop his brother. Concern cutting through the remnant of fog that clouded his mind.

He yanked his brother to his feet and shook him.

It had little effect, but the following slap and ring of metallic scales brought cognition and realization back to Asgar's eyes, as he focused on his brother.

Asgar winced, cradling his aching head. "What was that?"

Argus shook his head. "I don't know, but it affected them too. Take advantage of it!"

Asgar's eyes cleared all the more and he bent down to pluck his ax from the ground, stumbling and heaving on an empty and dry stomach as he did. His insides rioting from tension and exhaustion he'd continuously been putting his body too.

Argus whipped around, striking down at the stunned zombies as his brother stood, glancing at the wights, then turning back behind him, seeing the crumpled form of Sol, handaxe dropped beside him.

Beyond him, through the doorway, Asgar could spot the prone but stirring figure of Singard, as well as the prisoners and once enemy clerics.

A voice cut through his thoughts, a clumsier speech than it had been previously, but familiar.

The balding cleric, now sporting a pair of vibrant, glowing blue eyes, addressed the necromancer.

"Natsza, my master sends me back with a warning. You presume too much, and the ice grows thin. Watch where you slither."

"Did it work?" She said, eyes lighting up with delight. Either unphased or disregarding the warning that was delivered.

"Yes, but only with his aid, It was closer to resurrection then the making of a wight."

The wight turned and looked the Drakon brothers up and down. "He also sent along his compliments, good work."

"So, is that you in there, John?"

"Yes." The bald man, John, spoke.

"Do not think I have forgotten you allowing my death, nor will I forgive it. But by the grace of my lord, I am returned to do his work once more."

The necromancer who'd risen the talkative wight laughed mockingly.

"Undeath suits you, Johnny. You speak with far more confidence."

As they spoke. Argus sheathed his sword, picking up one of the spears that the zombies dropped, and flung it at the wight.

He weaved to the side, showing far more agility then the man had once been equipped with in life, and shooting the Drakon a look of smug contempt.

"I suppose I should thank you for that, Natsza. I feel so much... better than I used too."

With that said, his speech began a rhythmic pattern, calling out as the other three newly risen wights joined him in a chorus.

"I plead from thee, a token from your hoard."

Argus straightened, taking a shuddering step forward to charge before the chant finished, but found no strength to do so.

"Grant me now, a holy sword!"

Four ethereal sabers formed in the air. Still for a moment before suddenly lurching forward with a whistle of breaking wind at the two brothers.

Argus stepped in front of his brother, batting a blade away with his own sword and shifting his shield to block two more.

The third, however, danced around his shield, losing momentum as it did, before stabbing into his shoulder. It pulled itself free, spinning in the air and slashing downward at him.

An axehead knocked the sword aside as Asgar stepped in to protect his brother, blocking another sword with his shield that had been menacing him from the side and lunged at it when he exposed himself to defend his brother.

With a flurry of strikes, the sword began to attack the two simultaneously. But, the brothers protected themselves and each other with shields, occasionally intercepting one of the blades with their own weapons.

It was a losing battle. The blades had no wielders, and no riposte or parries from either brother could yield nor damage the swords.

Neither could they close the distance to the clerics who commanded them. And while Argus had been told by Sol that a Working like these blades could not last long. So too, would the brothers falter soon as exhaustion took hold.

Cuts formed across them as the rare strike made it through their joint defense. Magical blades scything through scales with blasts of sparks and shrieking metal.

The scent of cooked flesh began to fill the air, for, while the cuts were made, when they did, a pulse from Argus's Oath would cauterize the wound.

Saving their life's blood from pouring out into the earth, but paining them as it did.

Worse still, the undead zombies were rising once more.

Not all of them, as many were made inanimate by egregious damage to their bodies. And were far beyond reanimation from their extensive wounds. But a handful still stood again and slowly formed a line in front of the clerics. Cutting off any chance of the brothers interrupting their spells.

The brothers began to retreat, fighting even still, hoping to put their backs to a wall so that they would not be encircled by the flying blades any longer.

The swords, reflected away, flew back to their masters, hanging above their shoulders as the new wights moved , the zombies moving forward like pawns on a chessboard.

The fifth wight that they had been initially fighting hobbled to its four new brethren, walking in front of them; turning and approaching the brothers once more, leading the pack of zombies armed with spears, or just their hands.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The paladins found themselves back up into a wall once more, shields readied, but shoulders sagging.

Another moment's pause before the barrage began again, this time supported by the hobbled wight and the half dozen remaining zombies following right behind them.

The swords danced off their shields, circling and striking as they struggled to find purchase.

Asgar took up the defense, knocking the blades away with shield and ax as Argus pushed forward, attempting to close in on the leading wight commanding the zombies, who were made more of a threat by the wight's presence.

The hobbled wight met Argus, swinging its hammer at him as he ducked beneath it, lunging forward with a stab and running the wight through.

It pushed itself further down the blade as smoke rose from the wound and struck downward with the hammer.

Argus released the blade's handle, blocking the strike of the hammer with his shield, and wincing as the force of the blow traveled up his shield arm. Before lashing out with his claws and cutting at the wrist of the wight's remaining arm, severing flesh as the hand went limp, dropping the hammer.

Asgar slapped a sword flying downward towards his brother with his ax and circled forward as his brother ducked back, kicking the wight back a dozen paces and causing it to tumble backward head over heels.

The zombies charged forward, but Argus gripped one with his weaponless hand by the head, before yanking it into the air and throwing it. Catching one of the flying blades and burying it beneath the zombie's corpse, which fell to the ground, dragging the conjured weapon with it.

Asgar felt a spike of pain travel up his already damaged leg, as one of the spectral blades tore through the meat of his thigh, and carried on dancing over the heads of the zombies crowding him.

Asgar unleashed a furious cry, and with a tremendous sweeping blow, began scything through the zombies around him.

A pair of blades rammed themselves into his back, and he screamed all the more as he threw the mutilated corpses about, laying the remaining half dozen low in pieces.

One of the blades did not fly away, using whatever force propelled it through the air to burrow deeper into Asgar's back.

Argus blocked the third sword as the second circled back. Before wrenching the one free from his brothers back and flinging it away.

It turned and danced in the air, pointing itself back at the two and speeding at them once more.

Argus pulled his brother aside, who screamed once more as his Oath cauterized Asgar's new wounds.

With a wrenching sound and a vague pop, the fourth sword pried itself free from the zombie's corpse it had been trapped under.

But despite this, Argus's began to chuckle.

The swords, hanging in the air, beginning to fade, shimmering in and out of reality.

Even Asgar gave a pained smile as the swords flew at them once more, knocking the blades away.

A smile that faltered, then returned with a vengeance when the single-armed- now no longer functional from the damage done to it by Argus's claws, wight stood.

The swords twisted mid-air and struck forward once more, but before they hit.

pop

three more similar pops followed, as the swords vanish, air rushing back to fill the space they had held.

Asgar and Argus straightened, panting as the five wights and the necromancer regarded them.

Argus reached down and slowly pulled the orcish wights Warhammer from the ground, the metal hammerhead of the weapon beginning to glow with heat as he clasped its handle.

John, the balding cleric, and now wight, spat to the side. Turning to the necromancer and speaking in a demanding tone. "Natsza, make more undead."

The woman didn't shift to look back at him, only looking at the brothers with a mix of irritation and admiration.

"Can't, Johnny boy. I’ve tapped myself out, making you four."

He snarled. "The summon more!"

her expression hardened, and this time she did turn to him. "Do not pretend to command me, I am the mistress of the dead here, and you are very much my domain."

"You gave any command over me to Virion! I am his voice now! Do as I command!"

"Kneel and shut up, and before anyone else starts, you shut up too and don’t move."

There were no sounds besides the words she spoke, nor did either brother sense any power in them. And yet when she spoke, the cleric dropped to his knees and was silent.

The rage and confusion on his face spoke volumes, however.

"I gave him command over my own, but I am still your mistress so long as he allows it." She kneeled down, eyeing the man. "Do not irritate me, John."

She then turned her head skyward. "By all means, Virion. Allow him to stand if you wish."

The wight stirred but didn't stand, and Natsza smiled all the more, before turning back to face the brothers.

Asgar's ax slammed into her face blade first, followed by a spear piercing her throat thrown by Argus.

The two brothers charged forward, not bothering to hear any more of Natsza's words.

Asgar slammed bodily into the orcish wight, thrusting his talons into its eyes and wrenching upwards. The biting into the now exposed neck and tearing like a dog at it.

The wight struggled, smashing its fist into Asgar. Who responded by yanking the head farther back while he pulled his head and the mouth full of rotting flesh away.

Old muscle gave with a sickening wrench and wet tearing noise, as my strength and savagery, Asgar ripped the wights head off.

He dropped the head to the ground, spitting out the disgusting flesh and drawing his brother's sword from its belly.

Argus charged across space, grinning wildly when he saw the cleric wights were unmoving, their orders to stay still unchanged.

He slowed to a trot, approached the balding wight, and repeatedly struck down its head with the orc wight's hammer until the eyes lost their glow.

He turned, stumbled, then moved to the next. Intending to do as much damage before the necromancer could make a move.

Asgar limbed to his brother's side, and with Argus's sword, he began working on a fourth wight.

Both turned to the fifth and last wight together, and with a faintly glowing sword, Asgar decapitated it.

—-

Natsza hissed in rage and slammed her mighty tail against the earth. "How dare they!"

The Naga wreaked havoc on her lair before stilling and eyeing the tunnel that led to the sacrificial chamber.

She was tempted to go down there herself with her contingent of undead and righting the mistake. But thought better of it. she had a suspicion on what their Oaths were, and doing so might simply make them more powerful. Soon they’d have the prisoners released, and she didn’t have the undead on hand to deal with that.

If it had just been the prisoners, But she'd seen the Aura's the paladins had wielded and knew that if they were supported by all those humans. They might just win the fight, and then that infernal cleric would certainly burn the bodies.

Instead, she took up an enchanted stone and sent an alert to her doppelganger co-worker. She might as well get some use out of him before she got rid of him, maybe, if she were lucky, they'd kill each other.

—-

The brothers quickly moved over to the corpse of Natsza, or at least the body she'd been inhabiting and found it motionless.

Asgar still pulled his ax free and after shifting the spear, he brought it down on the corpse's throat several times.

With that action, he immediately fell into a crouch and vomited. The taste of foul flesh and the exertion of the day catching up to him.

Argus nearly fell as well, but resisted the urge, for he doubted he'd be able to stand again if he did. Instead, he rushed to the prone form of Sol.

Argus turned Sol over onto his back, then shook him. "Sol, arise."

Sol's eyes took a moment to open, but the heat of Argus's oath began to pool through him and brought him back to a state of consciousness.

"Are we still alive?"

"Yes, we need to get out of here before more trouble comes."

"You killed them all?"

"Yes."

"By Soltris's- can anything stop a Drakon paladin?"

Argus smirked, the small part dragon part of him basking in pride. Before grimacing. "I'm not sure I'll be able to walk once the battle rush wears off, you need to get the humans up and free."

"Right." Sol stood, went to stand, groaning, and stumbling as he did.

He stumbled over the open cell alongside Argus, and together they woke up the prisoners there, who themselves were not well, but in far better shape than either of them was.

Singard, who was in a state comparable to the three due extensive bloodloss he'd been forced to experience, took another of his cellmates aside.

"Marcus, get the rest loose. Double-time then, yeah?"

The man, a red-skinned human with a tail, nodded. And taking the keys from the unconscious clerics began going to the other cell doors and opening them.

Argus nodded to Singard, standing to help Marcus, before stumbling and falling to a knee.

He struggled a moment longer, trying to stand, but felt strength flee from him, and then darkness.