Fria was against the wall, her eyes closed, blood smeared across the ground from where she’d rolled. The explosion must have thrown her back, sent her and bits of stone across the room. Sweet nectar still flowed from the gash across her stomach, the smell growing more intoxicating as Darian approached. He was only half aware of the undead who poured through the shattered doorway, his eyes focused on Fria. His gut twisted as he looked at her, one part worry, one part hunger.
His boot clanged against something metal. A sword. His sword. He snatched it up as the skeletons advanced, a few of them breaking away from the main horde to gather around Fria. She doesn’t belong to you. Her blood was the only thing on his mind now, the sweet scent pulling him in. He’d been angry about something only moments ago, but what was it? I’ve never been this hungry. His stomach growled, or was that him?
One swing from his flame enchanted sword was enough to send the first skeleton to the ground with a cracked spine. His next strike took another’s head off, his third attack busting open a skull. Get out of my way. The girl’s blood pooled beside her, a pale hand twitching as it reached up to halt the flow. Her eyes flickered open, a flash of fear in them as she saw the undead horde. Yet more fear spasmed across her face as she saw Darian, his fangs out, his mouth opening for a bite.
Stop. He pulled back with a snarl. What am I doing? He’d smelt her blood before, managed to hold back then. But something was different. And it wasn’t just the amount of blood. Something inside him yearned for it even deeper than before. He needed it. Just a little. Just a little and I’ll be done. He dropped to one knee and the girl scooted back, the wall greeting her. She brought a hand up to push him away, but he flicked it to the side. He gripped her other hand, her fingers slick with blood. This close he could almost taste it, and he licked his lips in anticipation.
Flame erupted beside him, skeletons falling back from the spreading fire. Darian hissed and backed away, primal fear coursing through him.
“I can help,” came a voice followed by the rattling of chains.
Darian blinked. The man was short, with thick arms and a balding head. He wore torn and dirty clothes, a purple bruise taking up half his face. Chains drug behind him, the ends sizzling from acid. “I can help,” he repeated.
The man who threw me the alchemist's fire. Then he remembered everything. The cave, the armory, the battle with Valmier. Fria! He turned frantically, finding her against the wall, blood spreading around her. He reached down for her but stopped, his hunger once again consuming him.
“How?” Darian asked, facing the flames. They were the only thing keeping his mind off devouring her.
Golden light flashed behind Darian, but he dared not look. One more glance was all it would take. He couldn’t stop his thirst.
“I’m an alchemist and a doctor,” the man said. “I can brew a potion with the ingredients in that room, but you’ll have to hold them back.”
There had to be nearly a dozen of them now, with more coming up the stairs. And Darian was still wounded. His face burned, Valmier’s flame spear and lighting having seared his flesh. And his body was covered in scratches and cuts, some of the wounds still bleeding. I need blood. His arms felt heavy, weak. And even if he was at full strength, this would be a tough fight.
But blood would heal him. If I just drink some of it. His feet started to turn, but he grit his teeth and froze, his whole body straining, fighting against his hunger.
“Take her into the other room Now.”
“But I—”
“Now!” Darian groaned, his insides twisting. “You can’t fight what you are.” Gershank’s words once again replayed in his mind. But he couldn’t let a monster like that be right. He held himself in place as the alchemist carried Fria across the room.
Once he heard the door close, he moved to protect it. The center of the room still blazed with alchemical fire, but it was quickly fading. And over the simmering flames Darian watched the skeletons gather. Three rows of them filled the room now, some armored, others with bows. A few black robed mages stood in the back, their skeletal hands glowing as they prepared their spells.
Feeling disgusted at himself, Darian lowered his stance. The fire sputtered out and the undead rattled forward, swords, arrows, and spells all aiming to take his life. But he wouldn’t let them.
He crashed into the first row, teeth barred, sword striking out. Bones shattered under his strikes, but they moved to surround him. Rolling under an arrow, Darian spun, the tip of his blade carving a flaming red arc through the air. A blast of ice smashed into his shoulder, and he stumbled, a sword slashing across his back the next second, his armor blunting the cut. He turned and smashed the skeleton’s face in with the pommel of his sword. But each he cut down was soon replaced, and Darian was forced back, body growing weaker.
Something lit up beneath the rubble. One of Valmier’s swords. Darian blocked an overhead swing and kicked, sending the skeleton to crash against those behind it. He hacked out a leg and leaned down, fingers gripping the crumbling stone. Lifting, he threw the hunk of debris into the horde and snatched up the electrified blade.
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Item Obtained: Radarian’s Left Claw
Weight: 6 pounds
* Damage: 24 + (1/4) Dexterity Modification (Physical)
* Damage: 12 + (1/4) Arcane Modification (Magical/Electricity)
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He took Valmier’s sword in his left hand and set to carving through the undead. Each strike came with the flash of heat or the arc of lightning. Bone exploded, turned to powder or sent flying through the air as splinters. Feeling the skill wear off, Darian reactivated [Bulwark] as he pressed forward. Wielding the two blades felt unnatural to him, and his weakened body made using them difficult. But he wasn’t’ using them as swords anymore. They were hunks of steel that crushed and smashed, each swing splitting the wave of undead.
With both blades up, Darian knocked one blow wide and then hacked his way toward the archers and mages. One sent a shard of ice at his head, but he spun and pressed one of the beast’s allies between him and the spell. It shattered against the skeleton’s skull, and Darian took the creature’s legs out with a slash from Sparkblade. He ducked under a spell and advanced, swords smashing aside all who stood in his way.
Then the creatures parted, the trio of mages unleashing a wave of biting frost. It bore into Darian’s flesh, slowing him. But he set his stance and aimed for the mage in the middle. Activating [Dash Strike], he burst through the air, both swords held high.
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Each sword took one of the skeleton’s arms off at the shoulder, and Darian kicked it in the chest, shattering it. Then he spun, weaved around another spell and took the next mage’s head off. The last tried to flee behind its lesser comrades, but Darian batted them aside and killed it with two crunching blows to the chest. That left the archers.
With fewer obstacles, their arrows flew through the air with increased accuracy. If Darian was at full strength, he could knock them from the air or dodge them. But he was too slow, and more than once an arrow narrowly missed him. Using the remaining crowd to his advantage, Darian weaved through them, using their bodies as a shield. As he closed the distance, the remaining skeleton warriors tried forming a barrier. With them in the way, he couldn’t quite make it.
Feeling desperation as his body began to slow even more, Darian put all his remaining strength in his legs. He jumped, vaulting over the row of warriors. The skeleton archers behind them aimed, their arrows ready to fly. Not being sure if it would work, Darian activated [Dash Strike] while midair.
He flew down, his blades missing but his shoulder smashing the archer into the wall. He cut in down and ducked as a hail of arrows passed over him. But the creatures were slow to nock new arrows, and Darian ran along the back wall, his blades bursting them apart. As the last fell, he turned to face the remaining skeletons, a sea of bones now consuming the room.
They collided, swords and shields coming at him from all sides. One strike slipped past his guard, but it was too weak, slid down his mail shirt harmlessly. But he was still losing blood from his other wounds, each moment his strength continuing to fade. Darian dropped Valmier’s sword and gripped a shield. [Shocking Grasp] spread through the metal, the skeleton stunned long enough for Darian to behead it. The rest of the skeletons went down a similar way, Darian's touch spells melting their defenses.
Then, with a final burst of strength, Darian hacked down the last skeleton. He fell to one knee, his vision blurry, his body begging for blood. A mountain of bone lay scattered around him, the oval room now a graveyard. He tried to stand, but his body was drained. He slumped, legs buckling. Sticking his sword into the ground, he managed to force himself up. That’s when he heard the voices.
A man appeared in the shattered doorway. He was young but grim-faced, a short sword in his hand. He wore dark leather, the white symbol of a skeleton’s grasping hand painted on the center.
“What’s this?” he said stepping into the room. More men followed, three like him, their eyes wide as they took in the carnage.
The last man to enter was tall and wore black robes, his face covered by a skeletal mask. The crystal tip of his staff hummed with arcane power, purple light flickering from it as he walked.
Humans. It was the most people Darian had seen since arriving in this world. He wanted to feel comforted by their presence, but all he felt was a deep hunger and a gnawing worry.
“Who are you? What happened here?” the tall man with the mask asked. His voice was soft but commanded authority.
Darian leaned on his sword, eyes drooping, all his strength focused on keeping himself upright.
“Answer me.” The other men formed a half circle around Darian, keeping their distance.
The shortest of the bunch, a young man with dirty blonde hair, crept forward. “You tell him who you are, or we start carving.”
Darian grimaced.
“Where is Valmier?” the masked man asked.
Hearing the name sent a flash of heat through Darian’s chest. He nodded at the corner where the hole was.
“Dead?” Darian nodded again. “Who killed him?”
“Me,” Darian said, doing his best to stop wobbling. “I killed him.”
The masked man's shoulders tensed. "Gadrin, search the rubble for proof." He peered over Darian's shoulder. "Klein, check that room and seize anyone you find. He couldn't have done this alone."
Darian grit his teeth and took a half step forward, doing his best to block them. I can't let them hurt Fria. Not after what I almost did. Worse, he worried what the smell of fresh blood beyond would do to him. "I...I can't let you pass." The words were hollow, Darian's voice weak.
One of the men laughed. “You? I don’t know about that.” The short man darted forward, his boot catching Darian in the chest. He sprawled out, his wounds burning.
One of the men moved past Darian as he attempted to rise.
"Door's locked," he said.
The short man leaned over Darian and patted him over. "No keys on this one."
The leader sighed. "Durin, use your axe and acid to break the door down."
“On it,” a big man said, an axe in his hands.
“Stop,” Darian said, clawing to his feet. Another kick sent him back down.
“Shut it red-eyes,” the short man turned to his leader. “What should we do with this one? Looks near dead already, whatever he is.”
Darian coughed, blood splattering the stone.
“We will keep him alive for now. If the deal falls through, Julius may have use for it. He will want answers."
Darian looked up into the man’s eyes, trying to appeal to his humanity. “Stop, please." He didn't know if he was asking them to stop because he feared what they would do, or if he feared what he would have to do to them if they didn't listen. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
Someone from behind Darian pressed a boot onto his back, and he flattened onto the ground.
“We had a deal with Valmier, and if he’s dead, my master will be very displeased.” Darian could hear the masked man draw closer, his staff tapping the ground. “But my master will ultimately decide what to do with you. But if all else fails, at least your corpse will be of use." He tapped his staff on the ground, the crystal flashing. "Pray you find him in a good mood."
Heat flared in Darian's chest, his hunger growing with so many humans this close.
The short man suddenly seized Darian by the face. "What are you, anyways? Never seen your kind before. But you've got nice skin, well the bits that ain't burned. Might fetch a good price back home."
"Unhand him, Sarrel," their masked leader said. "I will not ask you again."
Sarrel let go of Darian's face and backed away.
"Someone's definitely on the other side," the man with the axe said. "Can hear them shuffling about."
The leader tapped his staff on the ground. "Take them prisoner if you can, but kill them if they prove too much trouble. We're already weighed down enough as it is. I won't risk a knife in the back."
No. Would Fria even be able to walk? What would they do to her? "We haven’t done anything to you."
“You might have ruined a very lucrative deal, and that’s enough.” The masked man nodded, turning his attention to the locked door.
Another man went for the door. “Stop,” Darian said, his plea ignored. The door clanged, metal on metal, something sizzling after. They'll kill her. "Please," he begged. "I won't let you."
He tried to rise, but a boot pressed him to the floor. He looked up again, desperately searching for a single sympathetic eye in the whole group. He found none.
Something deep inside Darian crumbled. Something he’d been fighting against this entire time. He tried to reason with them, to speak to them person to person. But he wasn’t human anymore. Hadn’t been for a while. But it was more than that. The hunger, the delicious scent of Fria's blood. It never left him. Not during the battle, not even when he was forced to the ground. It disgusted him, but all he wanted to do now was bleed these men dry, if only to sate his thirst. “You can’t fight what you are.” He was so tired of fighting it. His stomach grumbled, his throat ran dry. I won’t fight what you said anymore, Gershank. I’m too tired to resist any longer. He stared into the eyes of the men before him. So much malice, and for what? His body grew cold, something primal taking control.
If they weren’t going to listen to him, then he wasn’t going to pretend they were anything other than food.