Whooomp

A massive sound tore through the air, accompanied by a bright flash.

Reshid felt his ears pop, disoriented for a moment. Then he looked around, checking on the others. The wall that they sheltered behind leaned inward awkwardly, ready to topple on them, but they were unhurt. That voice had sounded familiar. A sinking feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach.

“Move!” ordered Lieutenant Meuren. The soldiers and revenants charged around the wall on the far side, toward where the light had originated. They came up short at the sight that greeted them.

Out in the street, the situation had changed. The lich’s slow progress was blocked by a new arrival—a man whose skin glowed visibly, even in daylight.

Reshid let out a breath. Shit. It was Geoffrey, and he looked significantly more dangerous than when he’d last seen him, running away into the woods after Idrin had burned him just yesterday. Speaking of which, he looked completely fine—unhurt despite the damage to his uniform.

How could it possibly be him? They’d left the pompous ass down below, after all. And since when could he do that?

The lich stood on the opposite side of the street, his back to a wall and looking for the first time like not everything was going to his liking. His teeth were bared in a snarl and his eyes darted back and forth between the mob of priests he had been fighting before and the flashy newcomer.

Geoffrey stood at the head of a mob of people—regular people who had, apparently, decided to follow the mysterious glowing man around into a warzone. They didn’t know exactly what happened in the Temple of Vaclar, but they knew enough. A man had emerged from the temple, glowing with the light of the god of justice. The world, once again, had a paladin—a warrior of light who spoke with Vaclar’s own voice.

A few looked like they were beginning to reevaluate that decision, but most stared at Geoffrey rapturously. Many were on the ground, having been knocked back by the nova of light, but they didn’t look injured. The same couldn’t be said for Antonius and his ilk. Two vampires lay on the ground, dead, and the lich himself stood with his back to a wall on the far side of the street.

For a breath, nothing seemed to happen. Then, a massive blur shot out of nowhere and barreled into the newcomer. It happened too quickly to see exactly what happened, but Reshid heard it when the monster hit Geoffrey. The man flashed even more brightly, blinding all those watching—then both were on the ground. Straining with apparent effort, Geoffrey rolled the insectoid werecreature off of himself and stood up, dusting off his uniform, which hadn’t been in great condition to begin with.

He looked uninjured. The werecreature didn’t look injured either, it just looked dead, like a puppet with its strings cut.

“You and your kind have festered in the darkness long enough!” He announced theatrically, gesturing grandly at the surrounding city. “Here, in the light of the gods, your mongrel creatures have no power! Now, you will join them.”

The priests took this as their cue, resuming their attacks. At the same time, Lieutenant Meuren fired her rifle, and revenants began to fling elemental attacks. Those who couldn’t fight at range raced to close the distance.

It didn’t work.

Just like before, Antonius blocked, deflected and avoided the attacks with little effort. With a grunt of effort he slammed his staff on the ground, causing the entire street to shake as if in an earthquake. Some of the damaged buildings nearby crumbled, and the dust and debris filledl the street. A few of the soldiers and revenants lost their footing, but the remainder kept advancing toward the lich.

They didn’t make it in time to make a difference.

Geoffrey strode forward and drew his officer’s short sword, unharmed—though he limped slightly on his right leg. Swords were mostly ceremonial weapons, used to show rank rather than to fight with. Geoffrey’s shone as though it was made of liquid light, so brightly that Geoffrey had to lower it a bit and squint to see past it. He held it like someone who knew how to use it.

That moment of hesitation gave the undead trogg lich enough time to react, bringing his staff around to strike at the newly minted paladin. At the same time, fire erupted from the ground in a massive wave, spreading outward from the caster like an explosion in slow motion. Geoffrey stepped to the side, parrying the heavy wood as he calmly stepped through the flames. His hair was blown to the side as if in a strong wind. Then, he transitioned into a perfect lunge, driving the blade through the lich’s midsection.

At the same time, the priests and soldiers were flung back by the expanding wave of fire. The civilians behind Geoffrey were hit the hardest. Burning bodies lay sprawled on the ground, some moving while others lay still. Screams erupted from all around.

Reshid felt the heat, but healed himself almost instantly. He knew how to handle this. The others, though… Frantically, he looked around. He needed to help the survivors. Where were his friends? Where was his son? There was too much going on, too much noise, and the screams…

Orem, as it turned out, was fine. His soldiers were standing behind the priests, and one of them, apparently standing near the middle of the group, had managed to block the lich’s attack and protected everyone behind her. Her hands were still raised high, invoking her god. In front of her stood an almost-invisible barrier of shimmering light. A priestess of Vaclar.

Letting out a relieved breath, Reshid thought to look for his friends, only to turn back and see the lich reach out and grab Geoffrey by the throat. The earth rose up to close around the man’s feet and his entire body was engulfed in flame.

Geoffrey drew his sword of light out of the lich with a twist and swung at the arm that was holding him. Antonius’ expression twisted as the weapon hacked into his arm, but he didn’t let go. The paladin gurgled, eyes bulging, but also didn’t let up. The fire didn’t harm him at all, but the lich’s grip on his throat seemed to be getting to him.

Reshid still couldn’t see his friends. Where had they gone? Were they alright? People were screaming, crawling away even as others tried to charge in to attack the lich. It was absolute chaos.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He would be happy to watch them kill each other. It might solve a lot of problems and it would be easy, he realized. But he couldn’t. The fight itself was causing too much collateral damage, endangering all of them as well as thousands of innocent people here in the city. They were killing his friends.

The struggle suddenly shifted as Geoffrey hit something important and the lich’s grip slackened, arm falling to dangle uselessly at his side. Without losing a beat, Antonius dropped his staff and swung with his remaining hand. The claws of a trogg were blunt when compared to those of a cat or a bird of prey, but they were still claws. With a powerful, desperate swing, the undead sorcerer tore out the man’s throat.

Geoffrey dropped, gurgling.

With a growl, the sorcerer turned back toward the priests.

He needed to help, needed to do something.

He needed to see that lich dead. Antonius was clearly the biggest threat. He created monsters, and was clearly intent on destroying everyone who stood in his way. Worse, he had Hasan and the entire village in his power. Geoffrey hated and feared the Deep Paths. No matter how mad he might be though, it seemed unlikely that the gods and their guardians would present the kind of threat to them down below that the lich did.

His mind made up, Reshid sprinted toward the fight. It was stupid, he knew. Suicidal, really. But that wasn’t what struck him the moment he began to move. It was the strangeness of it all. Not the lich, or the battle, or the fact that he was planning to use magic to fight an undead sorcerer from the Deep Paths. It was just such a surreal feeling—running.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run all out. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had attempted a jog. It was the sort of thing that you just got too old for at some point. At the time, he hadn’t thought about it. Now, though, it was all he could think about. He knew that he’d gotten younger—at least physically—but actually feeling it like this was something else.

Skidding to a stop, he grabbed Geoffrey and laid a hand over his throat. The lich had surely noticed him, but didn’t strike out at him. The area around the sorcerer was still burning, after all. Anyone stupid enough to approach would die.

The burning heat made Reshid want to flinch back, but he had experienced worse in the last few days. Visualizing and shaping it to do what he wanted, he carefully let his essence flow into the paladin.

Geoffrey’s eyes snapped open, focusing on Reshid. He heard a shout, and something struck him in the chest—for a disorienting moment, he was flying through the air. Then he hit the ground.

–----

Pain shot through Reshid’s chest as he drew in a gasping breath and his ribs crackled with a hideous sound. Seconds later, the pain subsided as the broken bones fused. He opened his eyes and sat up to find himself lying in the rubble of a fallen house, uphill from the battle on the street below.

It was over.

Geoffrey was striking a pose like a mythical hero from a children’s story, holding up a severed head in one hand, and his shining sword in the other. He looked like he was about to give a speech, but most of the crowd wasn’t watching.

The lich’s attacks left many of the priests, soldiers and revenants dead or injured, but many had found ways to protect themselves or avoid the worst of the flames. The crowd of regular citizens that had been following him, on the other hand, had neither the protection of any gods or essential magics, nor the good sense to get out of the way. Hundreds of charred bodies lay in the street, moans echoing all around.

The paladin wasn’t deterred.

“Good people of Duskhaven—my people!” He called out, “You have been betrayed!”

Reshid groaned. He could guess what would come next. Getting up, he began to pick his way through the rubble to rejoin the others.

“Our ruler, merchant prince Frederik, has conspired with the enemies of the gods against you and against the gods themselves. Seeking forbidden powers, he went even to the Deepest Dark, consorting with unholy sorcerers and monsters!” He swept his arm around theatrically, pointing at the nearby revenants. The knot of priests looked at each other uncertainly, but a few of the priests of Derevan raised their weapons, and most of the others followed suit.

“I have delivered judgment against both him and his unholy allies,” He looked around, spearing Reshid with his glowing gaze, “even as one tried to use its foul magics to corrupt my very body!”

“Stand down, lieutenant!” another voice called. “These revenants are here on special exemption to assist us in our operation against the lich. I authorized their presence here myself.”

It was Orem. He outranked Geoffrey, technically. While the man was apparently also a Guardian and a paladin, Reshid knew that neither of those titles came with any legal or military authority.

It could have worked, if it had been anyone but Geoffrey.

“Do you see? Our own city guard has been subverted!” he went on, now pointing at Orem. “Our houses lie in ruins and the remains of our citizens litter the streets, but the good Captain here thinks only to protect those responsible for all this bloodshed!”

“That’s enough!” Orem barked, advancing on the preaching paladin. “Put that sword away and help clean this up. The revenants will be sent back down through the crypt before sunset, so you and your priests can rest easy. We’ll talk about your insubordination later.”

Geoffrey lunged forward and rammed his sword through Orem’s chest.

“My insubordination?” he roared with sudden rage, spittle flying. “I am the hand of Vaclar and I will turn my hand against all who oppose his divine law!”

He turned toward the priests, leaving his sword lodged in Orem’s chest as he slowly crumpled to the ground. Reshid couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He had only just found him. They hadn’t even really talked.

Ducking low, he tried to approach to heal Orem—maybe he was still alive—but someone grabbed him and pulled him back.

He struggled, but more hands seized him and he found himself being pulled back. It was Charlie and Lonnie. Both were talking, but Reshid didn’t hear.

His son was dying.

He let out a shout, pushing against them, but it was no use. They pulled him back into the crowd of revenants, who were beginning to shuffle back nervously.

Dimly he heard Geoffrey continue to rile up support, accusing them of working with the lich and Frederik to undermine the temples and the gods themselves. Bragging about Vaclar’s recognition of his faith. His speech built up to a crescendo until his words finally cut through the fog clouding Reshid’s mind.

“Vaclar, I call your judgment down upon our city. May every dark corner be illuminated by your light and all evil be scoured from it!”

At that, the glow around Geoffrey brightened considerably, but he wasn’t the only one. The other priests of Vaclar standing nearby also began to glow and then to shine brightly. Seconds later, the paladin erupted into a pillar of burning white light as bright as the sun. Reshid felt like something was trying to pull him apart, to rip his very soul out of his body. His essence was disappearing, being used up to hold his body and soul together like the roots of a tree tethered it to the ground during a storm.

Though the attack couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. By the time it stopped, he felt wrung out, exhausted to the point of incapacitation.

His last thought before the darkness claimed him was that he’d saved the life of Orem’s murderer. He never even had the chance to talk to his son, to find out what kind of life he’d lived for all those years.

It couldn’t end this way. He couldn’t let it.