As they approached the top of Moonrise Tower, the chilling presence Alex felt only grew stronger, familiar and malevolent—Shar’s influence.
"It seems Shar wants her revenge for what I did to her," Alex said, his voice low and steady.
Aylin said nothing, her focus locked on top the tower. Her wings shifted, gleaming under the light of the moon, as she prepared herself for what lay ahead.
When they finally ascended to the tower’s summit, the sight that greeted them was far worse than anything they had imagined. Ketheric stood in his skeletal form, a hollow, twisted mockery of life, completely alone atop the stone platform. The wind howled around them, but Ketheric remained still, as if the very air itself avoided touching him. The bloody symbol of the Absolute stretched across the entire platform, staining the stone beneath it. Yet, even this ominous sight was overshadowed by the unsettling transformation that had taken place.
The last time they faced him, he had been a servant of Myrkul, the god of death. But now, something far more sinister pulsed within him. A malignant aura radiated from Ketheric, suffocating the air with a thick, oppressive weight. His once-green necrotic flames had deepened into a malevolent shade of purple, so dark it seemed to devour the very light around it. His armor, once battered but recognizable, had become an abomination—so impossibly black that it absorbed the shadows around him, warping reality itself in his wake.
Tendrils of inky darkness writhed across his pristine white skull, seeping like poison into bone, Shar's influence unmistakable in the corruption. The tendrils were alive, crawling with an unsettling hunger, slowly tainting everything they touched. Ketheric’s hollow eyes no longer burned with just the cold, detached light of death but were now pits of endless night, suffused with an unspeakable power, promising not just death but complete annihilation of the soul. It was as if the shadows themselves whispered his name, carrying with them a promise of eternal oblivion. The transformation was more than physical; it was a manifestation of something ancient, something dark, something that had twisted even the god of death's grip over Ketheric’s soul.
There was no question: this was no longer the Ketheric they had once fought. Before them stood something far worse—a being touched by the Mistress of Night herself, his soul now an anchor for Shar's insidious will
"You finally arrive," Ketheric mocked, his voice dripping with contempt.
Alex’s eyes flickered with recognition and disdain. "So, you've bowed your head to the goddess who abandoned you," he replied, his tone sharp.
Ketheric chuckled darkly, his gauntleted fingers flexing around the haft of his flaming mace. "It was necessary," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "You and that Selûne spawn would’ve proven too much for me before. But now? I doubt either of you can kill me."
Without a word, Aylin descended from the sky, her silvery blade gleaming in the moonlight, leaving an ethereal trail as she aimed directly for Ketheric. Her strike was swift and true—but not swift enough.
"Too slow," Ketheric muttered, his voice a low, venomous growl that reverberated through the darkened sky. With a flick of his wrist, tendrils of writhing shadow shot out from his armor, serpentine and swift, coiling around Aylin in a heartbeat.
The inky darkness constricted her with unnatural strength, binding her like venomous snakes tightening their grip, threatening to crush the very life from her. His mace, now aflame with malevolent purple fire, rose high above his head, casting an eerie glow on the scene as he prepared to strike her down.
But before the blow could fall, Alex was there—faster than Ketheric could anticipate, his sword cutting through the air like a beacon of light.
Steel met steel with a thunderous crash, the sheer force of the impact sending shockwaves across the platform. Ketheric staggered back, though no real damage had been done; the dark tendrils clinging to Aylin remained intact, unyielding.
"You’re not the only one who’s gotten stronger, Ketheric," Alex growled, his voice carrying both fury and purpose. His eyes blazed with the soft, silver light of Eilistraee, the moon goddess’s power coursing through him. With swift, fluid motions, he severed the shadowy tendrils that bound Aylin, the dark energy hissing in protest as it dissipated into the night. Aylin gasped for breath, free at last.
In the next instant, Alex sent a telepathic message to her, his voice steady yet filled with urgency. "Channel your anger—don’t let it consume you."
'I will,' she replied, her voice clear in his mind, though it was laced with the same burning determination that now lit her eyes. She rose to her feet, her wings unfurling with a majestic sweep, feathers catching the pale moonlight as she took her place beside Alex. Together, they stood as one, prepared to face the terror before them.
"Listen carefully to my instructions," Alex said, his voice low but commanding, his gaze never wavering from Ketheric, who stood across from them, unmoved by their defiance. His skeletal form seemed to drink in the surrounding darkness, an immovable presence of death and despair.
Ketheric’s voice oozed arrogance, as if amused by their resistance. "You think you can stop me?" His skeletal hand clenched around the hilt of his mace, its purple flames licking the air with sickening heat.
Undeterred, Alex tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the hum of divine energy growing stronger. "We’ll see about that," he replied, his tone steady .
'Did the new power affect the general’s mind? He was less talkative the last time I fought him,' Alex thought, eyeing Ketheric with a mix of suspicion and resolve. Whatever had taken hold of the undead lord, it was warping him in ways far beyond mere necromancy.
The air was thick with tension, crackling with anticipation as the two forces faced off, poised on the edge of an earth-shattering battle. The tower's summit was a crucible, and the pale moon cast a cold, silver light over the three figures locked in a deadly standoff. Alex could feel the weight of the gods pressing down on him—Eilistraee’s whispers guiding his every movement, every breath. Around them, the wind howled like a chorus of restless spirits, and the platform beneath their feet seemed to vibrate with the raw energy gathering between the combatants.
Ketheric struck first, faster than any mortal eye could follow. A tidal wave of necrotic energy exploded from his body, swirling outward in a storm of dark magic. The shadows writhed and curled around him, as his mace blazed with the unholy light of Shar’s corruption. He swung with devastating force, his intent clear—to obliterate Alex and Aylin in one crushing blow.
Alex met the attack head-on. His sword shimmered with radiant moonlight as he brought it up to intercept Ketheric’s swing. The two weapons collided with an ear-splitting crash, sending a shockwave rippling through the tower, shaking the stones beneath their feet. Sparks flew in every direction as the force of the clash momentarily stalled the dark lord’s advance.
Then, Aylin moved.
With grace and speed , she soared into the air, her wings outstretched as she circled above the battlefield. Her eyes glowed with divine fury, her sword igniting in a blaze of silver fire. She descended like a comet, trailing light and flame as she hurtled toward Ketheric’s exposed flank.
Ketheric barely had time to react. He raised a shield of dark energy just in time to block her strike, but the impact was tremendous. Aylin’s blade crashed against the barrier with such force that it cracked, splintering under the pressure. Tendrils of purple energy sputtered and sparked as the dark lord staggered back.
Alex seized the opportunity. He spun low, his blade cutting through the dark mist that clung to Ketheric like a second skin. The strike connected, carving deep into the blackened armor. Ketheric howled in rage, swinging his mace wildly in retaliation, but Alex was too quick. He danced away, his movements fluid and graceful, guided by the light of the moon.
"Is this all Shar gave you?" Alex taunted, his voice calm. He could feel the oppressive auras of both Myrkul and Shar, the combined force of death and darkness weighing heavily on his shoulders.
"You know nothing of the power I now wield!" Ketheric roared, his voice filled with unholy fury. He slammed his mace into the ground, and a pulse of shadow exploded outward, distorting the air around them. The very tower trembled under the force of the blow.
From the cracks in the stone beneath their feet, shadowy figures began to emerge—twisted, ghostly apparitions with hollow, glowing eyes. These were not mere spirits, but the souls of the damned, enslaved by Myrkul’s will and twisted by Shar’s dark influence.
"Face them, if you dare!" Ketheric’s laughter echoed across the summit, dripping with malice as the wraiths surrounded Alex and Aylin.
Aylin did not falter. With a roar of defiance, she charged forward, her sword cleaving through the wraiths with righteous fury. Her wings left trails of silver light in her wake as she moved like a celestial storm, each strike sending the tormented spirits screaming back into the void. Her connection to Selûne was palpable, her every movement a testament to the goddess’s power.
Alex fought by her side, his strikes precise and deadly. The wraiths lunged at him, but he moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, his sword a blur of moonlight as it cut them down one by one. His bond with Eilistraee made him faster, stronger—his blade singing with divine energy as it danced through the air. Each spirit he vanquished felt like a small victory, but he knew the real battle was yet to come.
Ketheric was far from done.
With a low snarl, he raised his skeletal hands to the sky, summoning a vortex of shadow and flame that churned above the tower like a portal to the abyss. The blackened clouds appeared and swirled, streaked with arcs of malevolent purple fire, their light casting twisted shadows over the battlefield. His voice boomed with unnatural power, as if amplified by the very gods he served.
"I have the power of two deities flowing through me!" Ketheric’s words echoed, filled with arrogance and unyielding fury as the vortex expanded, spiraling into a towering inferno of darkness.
A blast of black fire shot from the heart of the storm, and Aylin barely dodged it, her wings beating furiously against the hot, oppressive winds. She grit her teeth, straining to stay airborne, her feathers singed by the necrotic flames that licked at her . Another pulse of destructive energy slammed into the ground where Alex stood, and he leapt back just in time, his heart pounding in his chest as the stone beneath him shattered from the blast.
The tower groaned and trembled under the weight of Ketheric’s mounting power, cracks snaking through its foundation as it seemed to succumb to the dark energies swirling above.
"We can’t let him keep channeling!" Aylin’s voice rang out, fierce but edged with urgency. They both knew that if they didn’t act soon, the tower, would be consumed by the dark lord’s growing power.
Alex’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the vortex. There had to be a way to break through. His mind raced as he dodged another pulse of flame, the heat searing his armor. His instincts screamed for action, but he knew that brute force alone would not be enough.
Trust in the light. Trust in her. The voice of Eilistraee whispered in his mind, a soft yet firm reassurance that cut through the chaos. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the divine presence of the moon goddess strengthen within him. The moonlight above seemed to grow brighter, purer, its glow almost tangible as it bathed him in silver radiance.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
His grip tightened around his sword, the blade beginning to hum with energy. He could feel it building in his chest, a surge of divine power, as if Eilistraee herself had placed her hand upon his heart. The light of the moon swelled, becoming nearly blinding, as if the very goddess was watching, guiding his every breath, his every movement.
'Aylin, move away!' he commanded telepathically, his voice echoing in her mind like a bell.
Without hesitation, Aylin broke from the airspace around Ketheric, soaring higher just as Alex raised his sword to the heavens. The blade gleamed with celestial energy, glowing brighter and brighter, until it became difficult to look at, as though the very essence of the moon had been captured in the steel.
"Olath velkyn lueth lodias d'luth!" Alex shouted, his voice filled with purpose and power. As he brought his sword down, a massive wave of silvery energy erupted from the blade parting everything in its path, cutting through the vortex of flames and shadows surrounding Ketheric. The force of the attack tore through the darkness, parting it like a curtain and sending ripples of light across the battlefield. For a moment, the night was consumed by the brightness of the moon, the oppressive darkness recoiling in shock.
Ketheric was exposed.
Aylin moved in a blur of motion, streaking toward Ketheric like a comet, her wings ablaze with silvery flames as she dove toward him from the sky. At the same moment, Alex charged forward on the ground, his sword gleaming with the moon’s light, transformed into a weapon of pure, divine energy. The two of them were perfectly synchronized, their movements swift and precise as they closed in on Ketheric from both sides.
Ketheric, sensing the danger, let out a guttural snarl and unleashed a torrent of dark energy in all directions. The ground shook violently, cracks spidering outward as the necrotic energy surged toward them. But it was too late. The divine light of Eilistraee and Selûne burned brighter than the shadows, cutting through the darkness like a blade through silk.
Aylin's sword pierced Ketheric’s chest, the silvery flames exploding outward from the point of impact, while Alex’s blade struck true from the other side, cleaving through the dark armor that had once seemed invincible. The combined force of their strike sent shockwaves rippling through the tower, shaking the very stones beneath them.
For an instant, everything was engulfed in light and shadow, a blinding explosion of divine energy colliding with the malevolent forces of Shar and Myrkul. The ground trembled, the wind roared, and the air was thick with the sound of clashing forces far beyond mortal comprehension.
And then, a wicked laugh echoed across the tower, chilling the very air.
"This is the end," Ketheric declared, his voice dripping with malevolent triumph. With a sweep of his hand, a wave of absolute darkness descended, swallowing the world around them. The light was snuffed out in an instant, replaced by an all-consuming void that devoured everything.
Alex blinked, but his sight was useless here. The blackness was so thick, so oppressive, that it seemed to suffocate him, pressing in on his lungs and gnawing at the edges of his mind. His thoughts were scattered, his breath shallow, and the darkness felt alive, clawing at his very soul. He could feel Aylin’s presence nearby, her radiant energy a flickering candle in this abyss. He rushed toward her, but the weight of the shadows dragged at his feet, slowing him down, whispering insidious thoughts into his ears.
If this was how he felt, he couldn’t imagine what Aylin was enduring. I have to reach her. I have to— But then he stopped.
"Minthara," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence.
There, in the thick of the darkness, stood the drow paladin, Minthara. She was a broken, fragile thing, hunched in a fetal position, her form gaunt and frail as if drained of life itself. Her once-strong presence was diminished to a shadow, her body trembling as if on the verge of collapse. She looked thinner, weaker , a ghost of the warrior she once was.
Alex approached her cautiously, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. When his hand touched her cold skin, Minthara sucked in a sharp breath, like a drowning woman pulled from the depths. Her eyes flickered open, dull and hollow, yet somehow filled with recognition.
“Zeus,” Minthara whispered, her voice barely a rasp, broken and full of pain. Despite how different Alex looked, her eyes held onto hope, her frail form clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.
"You’ve come to save me," she whispered, her voice trembling as she wrapped her thin arms around him, holding him tight, as if letting go would mean disappearing into the void forever.
Alex gently returned the embrace, his heart aching for her. Her body felt so light, so fragile, as though she might break at the slightest pressure. His arms tightened around her in a protective gesture, though he knew not even his strength could shield her from whatever torment she had endured. For just a moment, there was peace, a fragile stillness in the void.
And then, the world shifted again.
The darkness warped, twisting around them, and when Alex opened his eyes, they were standing in a graveyard. Tombstones stretched endlessly in every direction, cracked and weathered by time, the sky above as dark as the void itself. The air smelled of decay, heavy and thick. All around them, an army of shadows began to stir—undead creatures of every shape and form, ghouls, wraiths, skeletal warriors—rising from the ground in endless numbers, their hollow eyes glowing with cold malice.
Amidst the chaos, Aylin was locked in a brutal battle, her wings still glowing faintly with divine light, but her movements were sluggish, each swing of her blade slower than the last as the relentless assault pressed in on her from all sides.
Alex’s heart sank. He tightened his hold on Minthara—but when he looked down, she was gone.
"This must be Myrkul’s domain," Alex muttered, his voice low, the reality of the situation sinking in. They weren’t on the material plane anymore—this was the Shadowfell, a dark reflection of their world, where the dead and lost wandered eternally, a place where hope went to die.
The air felt thick, suffocating. It was as if the very essence of despair was pressing down on them, gnawing at their spirits. The shadows around them moved like living things, hungry, relentless, and the cold seeped deep into their bones. Alex could feel it—the pull of the Shadowfell, trying to strip away the light that still clung to his soul.
Without wasting another second, Alex charged toward Aylin. Her strikes were slowing, growing weaker with each passing moment, her once brilliant light dimming under the suffocating pressure of the realm. The radiant glow of her wings had faded, the silver feathers now dulled, and her breath came in ragged gasps. The undead swarmed around her, their hollow eyes glowing with malicious intent, eager to claim her as another lost soul.
Determined, Alex slammed his sword into the rotten ground beneath their feet. A pulse of silvery light erupted from the earth, forming a protective barrier around them, pushing back the encroaching darkness and undead. It was a temporary reprieve, but it was enough.
“Ketheric tricked us,” Aylin growled, struggling to catch her breath as her strength slowly returned within the barrier’s protective glow. “He dragged us into the Shadowfell.”
Her voice was strained, filled with frustration and rage. She wasn’t used to being so vulnerable. The realm was draining her, weakening her connection to Selûne. Every second here felt like an eternity, like drowning in a sea of shadows.
Alex didn’t respond immediately. More undead were pounding against it, their skeletal hands clawing at the shimmering shield. "Give me a few moments," he said through his eyes scanning the battlefield. “I’ll get us out of here.”
But escape wouldn’t come easily. A massive undead golem, towering over them like a grotesque monument to death, lumbered forward. Its body was twisted, decayed flesh barely holding together its monstrous frame. Two enormous blades, dripping with dark energy, dragged behind it, leaving a trail of blackened rot in the dirt. With a thunderous roar, the golem raised one of the blades high and brought it down on the barrier.
CLANG.
The force of the impact reverberated through Alex’s bones, the shield flickering dangerously. Without hesitation, Alex summoned a sword of pure divine energy, its light a stark contrast to the darkness around them, and with a single, precise slash, he cleaved through the golem. It crumbled into ash before him, but more undead were rising to take its place.
"As if I would let you escape that easily," Ketheric’s voice boomed through the realm, dark and twisted, resonating with the very air itself. A pulse of necrotic and shadowy energy followed, crashing down upon them like a tidal wave.
The explosion hit with devastating force.
Alex barely had time to react, his arm instinctively shifting into a shield, but the blast sent him and Aylin flying in opposite directions. Pain exploded through his body as he slammed into the ground, the impact stealing the air from his lungs. He lifted his head, his eyes locked onto Ketheric once more.
The dark lord stood tall, his form looming over the battlefield like a titan of death. His twisted body radiated with the dark powers of Shar and Myrkul, his eyes glowing with malevolent forces. The undead that Aylin had just slain mended themselves, pulling their broken forms back together, and resumed their assault with renewed frenzy.
Alex pushed himself to his feet, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. His gaze burned into Ketheric, a raw, seething anger building within him. He wasn’t going to let this end here.
"You’re not the only one who can wield the darkness," Alex growled, his voice carrying an unnatural weight, deepened by the power now coursing through him. The shadows seemed to listen, swirling around him as if drawn to his presence.
Phalar Aluve, the sacred blade of Eilistraee, appeared at his side, but something had changed. The radiant light it once held dimmed, swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Shadows coiled around the blade, wrapping it in tendrils of void, twisting it into something new—something darker.
As Alex gripped the sword, his appearance began to change. The white armor he wore, once a beacon of hope and purity, turned black as midnight. The gleaming silver was replaced with dark steel, and the radiant aura that had marked him as a champion of Eilistraee was gone, replaced by swirling shadows that curled from his form like smoke. His eyes, once filled with the light of the moon, now gleamed with the darkness of the Shadowfell itself.
The transformation was stark—he had become a vessel of darkness.
But instead of weakening him, the darkness made him stronger. The oppressive weight of the Shadowfell no longer drained him; it fueled him, merging with his essence. The shadows that had once threatened to consume him now obeyed his will, bending to his command.
Ketheric’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the shift in Alex. The necrotic flames of Myrkul flared around him as he charged, his vile energy cutting through the air. But Alex moved faster. His form blurred, sidestepping the attack with a grace born of the shadows themselves. Ketheric swung again, but this time, Alex retaliated.
From Alex’s chest, a dark orb emerged, pulsing with an ancient, hungry energy. It glowed with a void that seemed to draw in everything around it—not just the shadows, but the very essence of the realm. The darkness from the Shadowfell was being siphoned into it, and with it, Ketheric’s power.
Ketheric staggered back, eyes wide in disbelief. "You!" he hissed, his voice trembling with a hint of fear. He could feel it—the unholy energy that had sustained him was being ripped away, consumed by the void within Alex.
Without warning, a massive tendril of darkness shot out from beside Alex, lashing out like a whip. It struck Ketheric with brutal force, sending him flying across the battlefield. .
But Alex didn’t stop to relish the moment. He turned, racing to Aylin’s side. She was breathing heavily, blood streaking her face, her once brilliant armor dented and cracked. Her wings trembled, barely able to hold their form. The darkness of the realm was hindering her regeneration.
'Aylin,' he spoke through their telepathic link, his voice soft but filled with urgency. 'It’s me, Alex.'
She blinked, her eyes locking onto his. There was surprise in her gaze, but also weariness. She had fought with everything she had, and now she was running on fumes. She slashed through another undead with her blade, but even that strike lacked its usual precision.
"What in the full moon happened to you?" she asked breathlessly, casting a wary glance at his shadowed form. The man before her looked nothing like the champion she had fought beside. The radiant light was gone, replaced by an aura of darkness that even she couldn’t ignore.
"I switched teams," Alex said. He raised his hand, and the shadows around them swirled, enveloping them both. In an instant, they vanished, reappearing a few dozen meters away, just far enough from the nearest undead to catch a moment’s breath.
Aylin’s chest heaved as she struggled to regain her strength, her wings drooping at her sides. Alex, now cloaked in darkness, stood protectively beside her, his blade gleaming with the same void that had swallowed his light.
"How?" she murmured, looking at him not with fear, but with deep concern. She could sense that he was still himself, but there was something else now—something darker, something she didn’t fully understand.
"I’m still me," Alex assured her, his voice soft but resolute. "But this—this is what I need to win."
Aylin’s gaze hardened, understanding dawning in her eyes. She nodded, straightening her posture despite the pain wracking her body. Her wings flexed behind her, battered but unbroken. "Then let’s make sure we do."
'Stay back . Strike when I tell.' Alex said .
Alex turned back toward Ketheric, the shadows around him shifting, growing more aggressive, more alive. He could feel the darkness surging through him, a raw, untamed power that responded to his every command. This is how I win, he thought, as he phased out of existence.
In the blink of an eye, Alex appeared next to Ketheric. For a moment, the dark lord barely had time to react before Alex’s body exploded outward in a storm of shadow. Tendrils of darkness shot out from his form, lashing through the battlefield, piercing through the undead in every direction. Ketheric was thrown back, his arm severed by the sheer force of the attack.
The tendrils retracted, and the undead that had been pierced dissolved into ash, their essence absorbed into Alex’s body. The power flooded him, filling him with a dark strength that only grew with each undead consumed.
Aylin watched from a distance, her breath catching in her throat. She known Alex was strong, but this… this was something else entirely. The man before her was no longer just a champion of Eilistraee . He had become something far more dangerous, far more powerful.
"What is he?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
The answer hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.