Darian rushed to the surface, his body much faster than it was only minutes ago. Outside, the air was choked with the cries of the dying, their shouts and moans mixing with the smoke that rolled across the battlefield. Darian found Gorm leaning against a small shed, acid burns across his torso.
The Flesh Golem’s body had fallen apart. It now rested outside the crypt as a congealed mass of oozing flesh. Darian’s now heightened Perception let him smell each disgusting detail.
“Is it over?” Darian asked Gorm.
----------------------------------------
Enemies Defeated
[Skeletons Lv. 1-4] x16
[Bone Knight Lv.10] x2
[Undead Cleric Lv. 15]
Companion Contribution: 26
Class XP Gained: 211
Progress to Class Lv. 9 (271/450)
----------------------------------------
“I believe so,” the half-orc let his axe fall to the ground. “Jorg went to check on Fria and Zan.”
“I’ll join him,” Darian turned, but Gorm gripped him by the wrist.
“Will you go find Harper and Gustan? Gustan used to be a doctor. The goblins could use him here sooner rather than later.”
With Darian’s enhanced hearing, he could hear each of their desperate pleas, each of their final breaths. He attempted to shut out the wave of sights, sounds, and smells that assaulted him, but it was nearly too much to handle.
“I’ll get him,” Darian said, pulling his hand away.
He marched away from Gorm, goblins scurrying through the streets. Many had died in the assault, and many more lay on the ground breathing their last. Their blood was sour, and it wrinkled Darian’s nose. They ignored him as he passed, too preoccupied with gathering and tending to the wounded.
He spotted the chief at the south gate near an old well. It looked like he and a few of his men were trying to gather water to put out the fire that still raged in one of the buildings. Darian thought about helping him, but his head felt like it’d been split by an axe. The never-ending stream of information his upgraded Perception provided was pounding in his skull, and he was thankful when he passed into the darkness of the northern road.
Walking along the ancient stones, he overheard Harper’s voice. It was soft, rhythmic. Is she singing? The thought of her singing nearly made him smile, but then he smelled the blood.
Harper was sitting on the grass, Gustan’s head in her lap. She stroked the old Alchemist's cheek as she mumbled a song to herself, her left shoulder blackened, and her face smeared with blood.
“What…” Darian looked down, Gustan’s blank eyes staring back at him. “Happened?”
“Oliver,” she said. “Oliver Swink. He found us when he fled the town. If only I had been faster…”
The ground around Harper was soaked in Gustan’s blood, the nearby grass and earth scorched by what Darian guessed was an explosion. With his race level increased, Darian expected the scent of his blood to be overpowering. But whether it was his shock or something else, his thirst was under complete control.
“Was this man human?” Darian asked, though he already knew the answer.
“He is. Well, if you can call such a black-hearted bastard human.”
Darian knelt beside Harper, his chest heavy. “I let him get away,” he said, guilt tearing into him. “I had him cornered, but he walked right through the wall like it wasn’t there.”
Harper laughed, the sound desperate and pained. “It’s not your fault. Had I only known he was here…” She rubbed the dirt from Gustan’s face. “I’ve now lost four of my men to this damned forest. But I never thought I would lose him.”
Darian reached out, his hand resting on Harper’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know Gustan well, but the man had saved Fria’s life, and that made him a friend.
As Darian’s guilt and sadness became tinged with rage, a notification flashed into existence.
----------------------------------------
Quest Added: Failed Experiment
Objective: Kill and consume the blood of Oliver Swink
* Reward: +100 class XP
* Reward: +50 Race XP
* Reward: Unique skill absorbed [Phase]
----------------------------------------
He didn’t need a quest to want the man dead. This was just an added incentive. And I’ll probably face him again before too long. He looked down the road that wound its way further south. Somewhere at its end was the necromancer. She was the one who set all this in motion. She was the one who killed Fria’s father, Gustan, and all the others. And she would pay for it all.
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Quest Added: Preemptive Deicide
Objective: Kill Victoria Williams
* Reward: Triumph unlocked: Grave Bane
* Reward: +1 [Divine Essence]
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Even more reason to remove her head from her shoulders. Harper shivered, an icy wind griping her.
“Harper,” he said in a soft voice. “We need to go. You can’t stay out here.”
“I’ll not leave him.” A tear worked its way down her grimy cheek.
“Let me carry him.” Darian rose.
Harper, with one last caress, lifted Gustan’s head and laid it gently on the grass. Then she got to her feet and backed away, wincing at her wounds.
Darian picked Gustan’s body up, surprised at how light it was. I’m sorry. Even though Harper told him it wasn’t his fault, there was a shame that now dogged his steps. A shame he now wished to carve out of Oliver’s flesh.
***
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The goblin chief threw the torch, the great funeral pyre blazing to life in an instant. He spoke low in a language Darian couldn’t understand, his fellow goblins each bowing their heads in prayer or respect. Gorm stood beside Harper, his body rigid. He’d burst into an angry rage when he found out what had happened. Then tears had come, and watching such a powerful man embrace his friend for the last time nearly sent Darian over the edge. But he had to hold it together, if not for his sake, then for the others.
Fria and Zan were with Carver in one of the smaller buildings. Fria was stable, but Zan wasn’t likely to survive the night. Jorg said there are some wounds so deep that even magical healing can’t fix them, at least not the kind he was capable of. They decided to give their remaining healing potions to Gorm. Fria’s foot and arm were broken and the potions they had wouldn’t be enough to get her upright. She was to stay in the town with the goblins until the necromancer was defeated.
Darian stepped back, the pyre burning brighter, the heat tingling his skin. The goblins had worked surprisingly fast. They added their dead to the pyre with brutal efficiency. But it wasn’t done out of malice. Even with the Nether Gate destroyed, the land they stood upon was rampant with necromantic power. Corpses left in the town for too long would become undead. And so they piled up their fallen brothers, and now prayed to the ashes.
Gustan’s body was in there somewhere. Harper wanted to bury him, but Gorm convinced her this was for the best. With the last gate destroyed and the necromancer’s army crushed, she might try to flee the forest. That was why Darian and Gorm were leaving soon. They wouldn’t give her more time to escape.
The chief wrapped up his speech, then turned and approached Darian.
“You still sure that’s where she’s hiding?” Darian asked, nodding toward the south road.
“I am,” the chief turned a sad yellow eye to his gathered warriors. “I lost forty of my tribe today and I cannot risk more falling. I’m afraid you will have to face her and the crypt alone.”
“Not quite alone,” Gorm said. The greater potion he drank had healed his arm enough he could use it again, but the flesh was still puffy, and he grunted as he lifted his axe.
“And my holy mission remains the same,” Jorg said, giving the goblins a disgusted glance. “The necromancer will burn in Argus’ holy fire.”
The Cleric Darian killed had apparently been a member of Jorg’s party. She was burning now with the rest, but Darian couldn’t bring himself to feel any sympathy for her, even if she had become an undead against her will.
“Let me say goodbye to Fria,” Darian said.
“Be swift, the necromancer may already be readying herself for a retreat,” Gorm said, returning to stare at the blazing fire.
Darian worked his way down the street, bones scattered everywhere he looked. The battle hadn’t been long, but so many had died, and for what? This necromancer has much to answer for. He approached the small building and worked the door open.
Harper was seated by Fria’s bed. She had disappeared after Gorm added Gustan’s body to the pyre. Zan was near them, laid atop a pile of musty blankets. The wolf still breathed, but it was shallow and wheezing. Carver was also in the room. The young huntsman leaned against the far wall but seemed to be distracted by his own thoughts.
“Leaving?” Fria said, sitting up.
“I am.” He stood in the middle of the room, worry nipping at him. “Are you sure you’ll be fine staying here?”
“The chief has offered to protect me until you return,” she said. “And honestly, what other choice do I have?”
Her foot and arm were bandaged, a wooden splint fashioned to her leg by Gorm. But without any potions or magic, she wouldn’t be able to move properly for weeks, maybe even longer.
“Never thought it would go like this,” she said. “But Darian, know that you don’t have to do this. This was our fight, not yours.”
“I told you I would help and so I will,” he said. “The necromancer must answer for what she’s done.” A coldness washed over him, and he welcomed it.
“Darian,” Harper said. “If you encounter Oliver again, do not let him touch you with his hands.”
“You know him, don’t you?”
She nodded. “He is an old acquaintance of mine from back in Vizzera.” She rubbed her hands together, her right shoulder bandaged, but Darian could smell the charred skin beneath. “A disgraced Vizzeran nobleman, Tarcius Tenactus, is responsible for Oliver. The man was obsessed with creating what he called an ‘artificial god’. He experimented on many women and children, fusing noble bloodlines together to create what he believed would be a perfect being. This led to the failed experiment that is Oliver Swink, a bastard but one who has the unique skills of four different bloodlines.”
“You said not to let him touch me. Why exactly?”
“Out of his skills, Knowledge Transfer is the deadliest. It allows the user to absorb the memories and experiences of objects they touch, but this can work in reverse. If Oliver touches someone, he can overload their brain with his own memories. By flooding someone’s mind with too much information, they either die or succumb to insanity. Being touched by him will end with you dead in either case.” She leaned back, her wooden chair creaking. “Phase allows him to pass through solid objects, but only for three seconds at a time. Restore reverses time on his body by five seconds, healing any wounds he sustained in the five seconds before he activated the skill. He has a fourth unique skill, but he never showed it to me. It’s either very situational, or his trump card.”
“I nearly killed him once. He won’t survive a second encounter. But thank you for the information.” Darian shifted on his heels, the thought of ripping that man’s throat out filling his mind. His blood had been the best thing Darian had ever smelled, and he would taste it before the night was through.
“Please see that you do.” Harper rose, teeth gritted as she pushed through the pain. “I must talk with Gorm before he leaves. Excuse me.” She moved past Darian and out into the night.
Carver moved off the wall, his face rigid and serious. “And I’m going with you.”
“You should stay here. Boy,” Jorg said, entering the room. “You’ve done well to make it this far, but the fight ahead will be an ugly one.”
“I ran,” Carver said. “When they ambushed us. I can’t return to my village wearing such shame. I will fight. I have to.”
“I say let him come,” Darian said, turning to face the Justicar.
“The boy isn’t a soldier or an adventurer,” Jorg argued. “He should stay behind.”
“I’m old enough to be a man,” Carver cut in. “That means I can make my own choices. And I’m not asking for permission.”
“Carver,” Fria mumbled. “Are you sure about this? Your father—”
“My father won’t suffer a coward. I can’t go back to him until I’ve made amends.”
Despite saying he wasn’t looking for permission, Carver’s desperate eyes shifted over to Darian.
“I think he could be useful,” Darian said. “And I’ve fought with him before. I know his aim is true.”
“Indeed,” Jorg said, stroking his beard. “But we can’t afford to protect him. Not with what we must do.”
“I can protect myself, Jorg.” Carver straightened his back. “Argus has taken the two of us to this point and he will see us the rest of the way.”
Jorg sighed, but relented. “Alright boy.”
“You should probably be on your way,” Fria said.
“Agreed. Let us fetch the half bree—” Jorg coughed. “Let us fetch Gorm and be off.”
Carver followed Jorg, leaving Darian and Fria alone.
“Be careful,” she said.
“I’ll be back by tomorrow night, don’t you worry.” He walked over to Zan and squatted.
The wolf's eyes flickered open, and he tried to raise his head. "Easy buddy," Darian said, running his hand along the wolf's face. "Just focus on resting." The others doubted he would survive, but Zan was strong. If any of them could survive such a beating, it was the wolf before him.
Darian rose and gave Fria and Zan a parting look.
"Make sure you come back to us," Fria said.
Darian turned for the door, anxiety welling up inside him. “I will, I promise," he said, his conviction restored. "No matter what happens.”
Exiting the building, he found the others gathered outside.
“Ready?” Gorm said. “How’s the shoulder?"
Darian worked it. Gorm had to pop it back into place for him once he calmed down, and it felt even weaker than it did prior to the battle. But he would have to manage.
“It’s good enough,” Darian said.
Harper stepped forward. “I expect to see you both back here tomorrow night.” She walked around Darian, then turned, some of her old confidence restored. “Gorm, be sure to retrieve the artifact. And Darian,” she smiled. “Well, just do what you do best. Especially if you find Oliver.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” She looked over the group. “Now go and teach this necromancer some manners.”
Gorm grinned, Carver gulped, and Jorg whispered a prayer to Argus. Then together they walked south, the necromancer’s crypt their final destination.