The stairs continued to descend into darkness, the rough-cut stone slowly giving way to darkened slabs of metal.
“The fortress was built atop this dungeon,” Alistair explained. “The entire lower levels are like this. Walls, floors, everything. All made from the same strange metal.”
“If they called the fortress ancient,” Darian whispered. “Then this dungeon must be very, very old.”
The necromancer pulled at his collar and took a breath. “I didn’t spend much time down here during my stay at the fortress. But they were always excavating. Searching for something in the depths of the mountain.”
Yaz grunted. “This blackened material, its demon forged.”
“How can you tell?” Darian asked, pausing to assess the wound in his leg.
“They're experts at making things from metal. Always have been.” The orc tapped his knuckles against the wall. “No one else builds like them. And I don’t just mean the style.” His eyes narrowed. “Everything demons make is used to kill and destroy. This place will be no different.”
Darian reached down and stuck two fingers into the hole in his thigh. Strange how doing something like this only a few months ago would have sent me into shock. Now it’s almost normal. The tips of his nails tapped against the fragment, and he pinched it, and without much grace, pulled it out.
“That’s disgusting,” Alistair mumbled.
Darian brought the tiny bit of metal up to his face, turning the bloody thing this way and that.
“I’m lucky it didn’t manage to go too deep,” he said, flicking the bullet to the ground. “But we need to be carful next time we run across dwarves. These weapons are not to be taken lightly.”
Yaz snorted. “No weapon should be taken lightly.” He looked down at the bloody metal. “But I understand what you mean.”
“Need me to heal you?” The necromancer stepped closer, his free hand radiating dark magic.
Darian waved him away. “My passive healing will be enough. Save your magic for later.” He continued downward. “We’ll need it.”
***
Jorg looked the pile of rubble up and down.
“There is no way to reach them,” Lucia said. “We must press on.”
He knew she was right, but that didn’t make the situation sting any less. They were supposed to get in, do their business, then get out. But the longer this went on, the less likely that outcome seemed possible. Or was it possible in the first place? He glanced up at the fairy. Little thing was shaking, her tiny wings a frantic buzz. Then he looked back at Lucia and Almeda and wondered how in the hells he ended up here. You work in mysterious ways, my lord.
“The dungeon is our goal,” Almeda announced. “Let’s look for a way down.”
Always going down in this business. Why can’t the objective ever be high up in someplace nice? Jorg hefted his mace up and turned on his heels. At least becoming a vampire meant he no longer got tired. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t also appreciate the newfound strength flowing through his veins. Not that I could ever admit as much to the boy.
Things had been tense since he told Darian about his vision. But whether the boy believed it or not, it did not matter. Jorg would do as he was told and assist the boy in his endeavors. Even if those endeavors saw him in the middle of an undead fortress surrounded by fey.
I just hope the boy is alright. He glanced back at the collapsed hall, a strange feeling of dread threatening to take hold of him.
***
“Something has been bothering me,” Darian said, breaking the silence. “If this flame Aspirant is a prisoner, one who is important to the demon God’s plans, why keep him here?” He’d seen a map of the known world during his stay at the House of Innovation. The demon God’s lands were far, far to the east. If the Aspirant was important, why not bring him there? Especially since teleportation, while difficult, was possible.
“There must be a reason they are keeping him here, despite the area being less defended,” Darian continued. “But what is it?”
“Perhaps the Aspirant isn’t that important? Or perhaps the demon’s believed this place to be secure.” Alistair shook his head. “But these questions will soon matter little, for I’m sure our answer lies below.”
Darian nodded his agreement. The air had only grown colder the deeper they traveled. It reminded him of entering Victoria’s crypt. And not since then had he felt such an urge to turn back. But no matter where I go, someone will always be trying to kill me. His new life had been one fight after another, but it belonged to him. If helping Raphael could lead to a peaceful existence, then it was worth the risk.
Yaz came to a sudden stop, his massive arm held out to halt their advance. “Enemies ahead,” he said, his lips curling into a sinister grin.
“How can you tell?” Darian looked into the darkness before them, unable to see, hear or smell anything. “Are you using a skill?”
The orc chuckled. “Skills? Can’t use em’. No, this is pure instinct.” He started forward, a savage smile parting his face. “Be ready, there’s a lot of them.”
***
Zander fell back into the forest, dwarves and undead hot on his heels. He had to slow down more than once to ensure they could follow him, but his ruse was about to end.
He entered into a wide glade, the ground carved apart by star-cast shadows. Shapes loomed within the foliage, but these were no stumps or logs.
He grinned.
“Finally tire of fleeing?” A dwarven warrior said, stepping past his fellows.
He wore armor of thick steel, and he carried an axe in one hand and a shield in the other.
“Impressive that you could keep up with me,” Zander said, stepping back. He reflexively raised both arms as he fell into his fighting stance, forgetting for a moment one of them was missing.
“Answer our questions,” the dwarven leader barked as his men pressed forward. “And your death will be swift.”
“I’ve never wished for a swift death,” Zander admitted. “No. If one is to kill me, they must be willing to bleed into the earth right alongside me.” He looked into the forest and nodded. “Besides, you lot will be dead in a few moments.”
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“What are you—” the dwarven warrior stumbled back, then fell.
“Commander!” one from the crowd cried, breaking their formation as he rushed to his leader’s side.
“As I said.” Zander smiled. “A few moments.”
A young dwarf broke from the others, his warhammer held high as he charged at Zander. But then the treekin emerged from the forest, wave after wave of them. They tore into the dwarves from all sides, their thorns tearing the screaming rabble apart.
The silence of the forest was then consumed all over by the shouts of orders and the cries of the dying.
“What sweet music,” Zander said, walking forward.
The dwarf commander was still alive, a shard of wood sticking up from his bloody throat. He tried to say something, but all that escaped him was a gurgle.
“Our retreat was a false one.” Zander placed his hoof on the man’s chest. “As I’m sure you’ve realized. Honestly, a competent commander would have noticed this much sooner.” He raised his leg, then crushed the dwarves’ chest. “Though this changes very little. We are still outnumbered.” He pulled back and wiped his gore drenched hoof on the grass.
“I can only hope the vampire is wrapping things up.” He marched past the treekin and looked onto the plain below. “You had better be worth it, Aspirant.”
***
Yaz had been right.
Darian turned the skeleton’s blade away, then hacked straight through its chest with his next blow. The archer behind it ate a flaming spear to the face, then was finished with a quick slash to the neck. Still pressing forward, Darian ducked an arrow before slamming his fist into an iron breastplate, caving it in and smashing the bones it was meant to protect.
Fire swirled past him, engulfing a row of skeletal warriors. And with his right side secured, Darian hacked forward, Sparkblade sending wave after wave of undead to their permanent end.
But then the wound in his leg cried out, and he stumbled. An axe came down from overhead, Darian’s sword clanging against the weapon just before it could reach him. With this strike blocked, Darian spun to the side, his back now pressed against the wall.
The entire chamber was dimly lit, a few sparce torches all that cut through the thick darkness. But it was enough for Darian to see just how outnumbered they were. He and Yaz could probably cut them all down eventually, but the necromancer was already on the back foot. And they had to be swift, or they risked being found by other foes.
He wanted to save it for if they battled the Lich lord himself, but he had little choice but to use it now. Gripping his blade tightly, he crashed through the skeletons until he reached the center of the chamber.
“Gather around me!” he called. For this to work, he needed all the undead to surround him.
Alistair came to his side immediately, using his staff to knock aside a rusty blade or two on his way. But Yaz didn’t seem to hear him. Or he just doesn’t care.
“What are you planning?” Alistair asked, his face flushed red.
“Surround us with a thin wall of skeletons,” he commanded. “Now!”
The necromancer did as he was told. Within moments the two of them were protect by a wall of skeletal warriors. They wouldn’t last long, but they didn’t need to.
“Over here you undead filth!” Darian cried.
“What in the hells are you up to?” Alistair gripped his staff to his chest and shrunk back.
Darian gritted his teeth. “Just a little more.” Alistair’s warriors were starting to buckle, skeletons pressing in so tightly against them that not even Lallet could squeeze through their number.
“Either you do something now, or we’re about to drown in a tide of bones.”
Darian grinned. “You worry too much.”
[Grave Bane]
The triumph he gained for killing Victoria exploded from his body, the skill reducing the surrounding undead to ash. It didn’t quite reach all of them, but Yaz’s blade cut down the few that remained, plunging the massive chamber into silence.
----------------------------------------
Enemies Defeated
Skeletons Lv. 1 – 8 (x76)
Class XP gained: 322
Class Lv. 12 Reached!
Progress to class Lv. 13 (71/1000)
----------------------------------------
That means I have two class levels to assign now. Darian, despite not feeling physically tired, found the nearest wall and slumped against it.
“What in the hells was that?” Alistair asked, staring at the thick piles of ash that now dotted the chamber. “I’ve never seen a spell like that, not even from a cleric.”
“It’s special,” Darian explained. “And I can only use it once per day. Figured now would be the best time.”
Yaz came marching up, his face plastered with disappointment. “I was just starting to have fun.”
Darian moved off the wall and peered into the darkness. “I’m sure you’ll have more opportunities to let loose.” He walked forward, the chamber splitting as three tunnels snaked into the blackness beyond.
“They are most likely keeping the Aspirant in the west cells,” Alistair said, pointing down the central tunnel.
Darian was about to ask what made him sure when he heard a sound coming down the tunnel.
“Something’s coming,” he said, closing his eyes to focus. “Another skeleton by the sounds of the steps. It’s alone.”
“A lone undead isn’t much of a challenge,” Yaz said. “I’ll make short work of it.” He walked down the tunnel before Darian could say anything.
“Your leg,” Alistair pressed. “It’s weeping. Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“Heal me then, if will stop your worrying.” Darian stuck his leg out. “Honestly, you kind of remind me of my—”
The tunnel ahead flashed white, then Yaz came flying through the air. He hit the ground and rolled, his sword flying away to clatter against the wall.
“No,” Alistair said, dropping his staff. “Not here.”
Darian didn’t have time to ask what the necromancer was saying before a bolt of energy blasted him on the shoulder.
It sent him tumbling back, but as the magic flowed through his body, he realized it was negative energy. Thanks, I guess. He hopped to his feet, ready to charge forward.
The skeleton emerged from the tunnel, tall and proud, wearing robes of black and gold. He carried a staff made of bone in one hand and a short sickle in the other. A dull purple gem sat at the staff’s end, held in place by a skeletal fingers. Looking at it tugged at Darian’s mind, whispers invading his thoughts.
Alistair fell to his knees.
“Lost lamb,” it rasped, its voice radiating power as it towered over Alistair. “Returned to face your fate? No, a coward like you could never.” The skeleton’s dark robbed head snapped to Darian, purple fire blazing in its empty sockets. “Peculiar creature you are.” It made a sound like it was sniffing the air. “An undead? Truly how curious.” It pointed the staff at Darian, the purple gem at its tip flashing to life. “On your knees.”
Darian’s legs moved on their own, bending, then crashing to the metal floor below. What is this? He stabbed his blade into the ground and pushed, but no amount of effort would get his legs to move.
“Who are you?” Darian asked through gritted teeth.
The skeleton laughed.
“I am Calhaven, leader of the Lich Cult and lord of the undead.” The gem flashed once more, and Darian’s thoughts began to slip into the void. “And you will be my new puppet.”
“I am no one’s puppet,” he shot back.
“Really? Because I can see your strings, little marionette. Strings that are held by another.”
Darian looked into the monster’s blazing eyes. “I know what you’re getting at,” he said, feeling control slowly return to him. “But I did not live my old life bedridden and afraid, just to let someone take control of my new one.” He stumbled to his feet.
“Interesting. The Soul of Damnation cannot fully control you.” Shadows spread from the lich’s feet. “But after I give your strings a few tugs, you’ll be mine.”
Darian summoned his bat and wolves, the creatures snarling to life around him. “You can try, but I am no one’s slave. No one’s puppet.”
The lich chuckled, the sound dead and dry. Then he backed away, bone and flesh golems forming around him. “Come puppet, and let us finish your final act.”