image [https://i.imgur.com/eY2gF5l.png]
The weight of despair settled upon Grismala's shoulders as she gazed out from the battlements, witnessing the vast demonic armies assembled before her. Their organized ranks and raised banners sent shivers down her spine, a grim reminder of the overwhelming force they faced. The horns that echoed through the air signaled the impending wave of their attack, led by the fearsome Demon God and Alpos, his loyal servant.
Turning her attention back to their dwindling forces, Grismala counted the remaining bowmen, a mere three thousand in number, and the two thousand steadfast dwarven axemen by their side. It was a fraction of what they once had, while the enemy forces seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. The Godlike demonic magic wielded by their master continued to summon more armies of darkness into their ranks, tipping the scales further against them.
In the face of such odds, the realization struck Grismala with a painful truth. Tasildor, their beloved city, was on the brink of falling. Was this truly the end of the elven presence on this continent, the very land they vowed to protect? Lost in her thoughts, Grismala turned abruptly as an officer of their forces approached her, his face etched with urgency. "What is it, lieutenant?"
"My Queen, I bring news of Lady Gray," he revealed, his words stirring a glimmer of curiosity within Grismala.
Lady Gray? What role does she have to play in this unfolding tragedy? "Speak," Grismala urged, her voice barely concealing her impatience.
"Lady Gray has sent a convoy to escort you and our citizens out of the city. They will ensure safe passage through the elven crossing to the south," the lieutenant explained, his words offering a sliver of hope in the darkness.
"How can we head south? The demon army encroaches from that direction," Grismala questioned, her mind racing to find a solution.
"My Queen, the convoy will travel north, and from there, we shall board the trade ships under Lady Gray's command. They will ferry us south, away from the clutches of the invading forces," he clarified, the plan starting to take shape.
In the midst of this dire situation, a glimmer of hope flickered within Grismala. Yet, before embracing it fully, she turned to the lieutenant, seeking his true sentiments. "What are your thoughts on this, lieutenant?" she asked, her voice gentle yet filled with an underlying urgency.
"My Queen, I am but a humble servant, not one to offer opinions on matters of such magnitude," he replied, his voice laced with humility.
"Cast aside your position for a moment, and share with me your true feelings," Grismala pressed, yearning for an unfiltered perspective.
"My Queen, if I may speak freely," he began, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "I do not wish to die. None of us do. The Arch Angels themselves abandoned the sacred tree, deeming it a lost cause. If they have forsaken it, why should we sacrifice our lives in its defense?"
Our elven magic will wane if the tree falls, but I suppose the other two trees remain. And as long as they do, we will maintain some sense of power.
With her mind made up, Grismala gave her orders. "Evacuate the citizens who cannot fight. We will make a stand here, defending our land and our people. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my queen."
As Grismala surveyed the scene, observing the soldiers preparing for the impending battle, a temporary silence hung over the battlefield. But the calm would soon be shattered, replaced by the chaos and violence of war.
Her gaze shifted towards the towering figure of the Demon God, his power visibly diminished. With her heightened magical senses, she estimated that he possessed roughly three million mana, an astonishing amount that surpassed her own capabilities. Doubts crept into her mind, whispering the possibility of their imminent defeat. Perhaps Tasildor was destined to fall, and their resistance was nothing but a futile march towards death.
Their forces were exhausted, their ammunition running scarce, and even Tasildor's protective barriers showed signs of weakening against the relentless assault of the infernal siege weapons. The toll of the battle became apparent as she scanned the troops, realizing the extent of the casualties they had suffered.
Descending from the walls, Grismala made her way towards the infirmary to assess the situation. The scene that greeted her was grim, with soldiers succumbing to their wounds at an alarming rate, leaving their ranks depleted. An officer within the infirmary saluted her as she entered. "Hail, your majesty."
"Stand at ease," she replied, her gaze somberly sweeping over the rows of beds occupied by fallen soldiers. "What has transpired here?"
The officer's voice was filled with uncertainty as he responded, "I do not know, your highness. Our men began succumbing to a mysterious affliction, only to rise again as undead. We had no choice but to put them down permanently. Our priests are diligently investigating the cause, but answers have proven elusive thus far."
Grismala contemplated the implications of this newfound horror. Could it be a result of the enemy's twisted magic? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. "Risen as undead?" she inquired; her voice tinged with concern.
"Yes," the officer affirmed, leading her to one of the bodies laid upon a bed. "This was one of the earliest encounters. His eyes, devoid of life, exhibited a coldness that chilled us to the bone. He was unlike any mindless undead we've encountered before—a relentless and formidable opponent. With each foe he struck down, more undead arose to join his ranks. It was only through the combined efforts of our priests that we managed to bring him down. But the cause behind this phenomenon remains a mystery to us."
Grismala nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. It was clear that they faced a grave threat, one that required swift action and a thorough understanding if they were to stand a chance of overcoming it.
A cold sense of dread gripped her as the doors to the infirmary swung open. They turned their heads, only to behold a figure clad in magnificent robes, a pentagram pendant adorning his neck. It was Vorner, the name etched in her memory like a scar.
"Vorner... I should have known this was your doing," Grismala exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of anger and disgust.
A twisted smile curled on Vorner's lips. "Ah, you remember me. How delightful."
"How could I forget, you treacherous fiend," she spat, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him.
Vorner's tone turned sinister. "I haven't come here to exchange pleasantries."
In a swift and disconcerting motion, Vorner dissipated into a mist, only to reappear behind them. In one merciless strike, he drove a dagger deep into the officer's back, silencing him forever.
"Since our last encounter, I have delved into the depths of infernal scripture, unlocking the powers of the Lord of Damnation," Vorner gloated, his voice laced with malevolence. "With this knowledge, I can turn your soldiers into loyal followers of darkness. Tell me, how does it feel to see the archangels you once revered abandon you?"
Grismala's fury surged, propelling her to draw her elvish blade, poised for retaliation. "Silence, you wretch!" she hissed, her grip tightening around the hilt.
But Vorner, as if dancing with shadows, vanished into another mist, his voice carrying through the air. "Hiding in the shadows, Vorner?"
Immediately, Grismala's senses heightened, alert to Vorner's presence. She spun around swiftly, her blade poised to strike, only for him to dissipate before her eyes. "That infernal scripture has taught you to hide, not to fight with honor," she retorted, her voice laced with disdain. "You, once a noble priest of the holy kingdom, have become a mockery of our God."
Vorner's sneering laughter filled the room. "Your God is fragile, weak. The angels you serve are close-minded. I see a future with the Demon God that I could never envision with yours."
"A future of death and destruction is all that awaits with him," Grismala countered, her resolve unyielding.
"Death is a mercy," Vorner spoke, stepping out of the shadows in front of her.
"A mercy? Have you gone mad? The moment he achieves his conquest he will kill you with the rest."
"He will not do such a thing, for I will ascend to powers beyond your imagination. Now, witness the power of the infernal scripture bestowed upon me by my supreme master! Chitin Nova!"
image [https://i.imgur.com/7fgH3qs.png]
Sixth Tier Spell: Chitin Nova
Effects: Releases a wave of insects from the caster's hands, as the ravenous insects consume all in their path in a straight line before disappearing.
Requirements: Mastery of Necromancy
Mana Cost: 300 Mana
image [https://i.imgur.com/lhqCDcB.png]
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"Flame Wall!" Grismala countered, summoning forth a formidable wall of flames, scorching the insects upon impact.
"Are you planning to bore me with your feebleness?" Grismala spoke, her voice dripping with intimidation. "Do you truly believe you can defeat me? The Queen of the Elves, a master of 9th-tier spells, with your measly insects? You dare to disrespect me."
A wicked grin played across Vorner's face as he retorted, "Then allow me to show you just a fraction of my true power." He conjured a pentagram-like magic circle, from which emerged a sinister black flame.
Grismala's heart sank as recognition dawned upon her. "No... it cannot be," she muttered, a sense of dread washing over her.
"These are the very flames that the Demon God himself wields," Vorner declared, his voice filled with malicious triumph. "The flames of Hell itself, capable of consuming the very soul. Shall I release them here?"
"You wouldn't dare!"
If he releases that, Tasildor itself might fall!
Vorner suddenly dropped to his knees, a look of shock etched upon his face. Grismala, too, felt a bewildering sensation wash over her. "Huh?" she mumbled, taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.
"No... even after all this, I can't control the spell? What in the hell?" Vorner muttered in disbelief.
Vorner had failed. Yet the black flames still lingered, defying their conjurer. Suspended in the air, they seemed to wait for something to interact with them.
Thinking swiftly, Grismala utilized her mastery of air magic to manipulate the flames, pushing them toward Vorner.
Weakened and caught off guard, Vorner was unable to dodge the flames. They made contact with his arm, immediately engulfing it in a ferocious blaze. With a desperate motion, Vorner resorted to an air cutter spell, severing his arm to halt the spread of the fire. Blood spurted from the wound, marking his only course of action moving forward.
"Get too close to the sun, and you shall surely burn," Grismala warned, her voice firm.
Struggling to maintain his footing, Vorner seared his wound shut, the pain fueling his rage. He turned to face Grismala, his eyes brimming with a toxic blend of hatred and malice, his gaze fixated on her form.
"What has become of you, Vorner..." Grismala muttered, a tinge of sadness coloring her words.
"Spare me your pity! I have no need for it!" Vorner spat, his voice dripping with venom.
With his only remaining arm, he made a swift slash through the air in a tantrum, unleashing a powerful ripple of airwaves. Grismala swiftly evaded the attack, her reflexes honed through years of battle.
Once again, Vorner shrouded himself in darkness, vanishing from sight. Grismala remained alert, knowing he would attempt to strike from an unexpected angle. And just as anticipated, he reappeared, only to be beside the lifeless body of the officer, his powers twisting the energies around him.
A green energy beam surged from his fingertips, infusing the corpse with dark animation. The lifeless form stirred, fueled by necromantic energy. Its eyes glowed with a sinister green hue, emitting an unsettling growl as it charged toward Grismala with unnerving speed.
She narrowly evaded the undead creature's onslaught, her agility pushed to its limits. But in that brief moment of distraction, Vorner seized the opportunity to escape. Chanting an incantation, he invoked his teleportation magic, disappearing from the scene in a flash.
"Come at me, you fiend," Grismala challenged, gesturing for the abomination to attack.
This specialized undead creature was unlike any she had encountered before—an abominable. It possessed an unnerving ability to move swiftly and think independently, exhibiting a level of autonomy that defied the usual nature of the undead.
As the abomination closed in on her, it seized another sword, snatching it from the bedside of a fallen soldier. Its anger was solely directed at her, completely disregarding the presence of the living soldiers nearby. Undead creatures were known for harboring a deep-rooted hatred toward the living, but this abomination seemed solely fixated on ending her life.
With an intense fervor, the undead charged towards her, wielding both swords with lethal intent. The clash of steel resounded through the infirmary as their blades collided, sparks erupting from the impact.
Grismala fought with all her strength and skill, parrying and deflecting the abomination's relentless onslaught. Each strike reverberated through her arms, the force threatening to overwhelm her. But she refused to yield. They danced on the edge of life and death, their swords interlocking in a fierce struggle. Sweat dripped down her brow as she strained against the abomination's relentless assault. Every fiber of her being was focused on repelling its attacks, her instincts guiding her defensive maneuvers.
With a powerful surge of energy, Grismala managed to break free from the deadlock, swiftly disengaging their blades. Seizing the opportunity, she retaliated, launching a flurry of precise strikes aimed at exploiting the abomination's weaknesses.
Yet, the undead creature's relentless tenacity and unnatural agility continued to astound her. It maneuvered, barely evading her strikes and countering with deadly precision.
As the clash of blades continued, Grismala pushed herself further, drawing upon every ounce of strength and magic within her. She knew that victory in this battle would send a resounding message, a symbol of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.
With determination burning in her eyes, she locked gazes with the abomination, refusing to back down. She would stand her ground, defending her people until the very end, for she was the queen of the elves, and the fires of resilience burned fiercely within her heart.
With a swift motion, the abomination threw in a kick, its bones breaking and restructuring themselves to attack in such a way.
Caught completely off guard, Grismala was hit by the swift and powerful kick, its impact striking her directly in the abdomen. The force of the blow sent her reeling backward, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of her. Were it not for the protective enchantment of the "Body of the Elven Queen" spell that surrounded her, the damage inflicted by that attack would have been far more severe.
Gathering her waning strength, Grismala summoned the depths of her magical prowess. With a resolute focus, she channeled her energy into a spell of immense power. The incantation flowed from her lips like a melodic invocation, resonating with the radiance of the sun itself.
"Maximize Magic, Sunlight Radiance!"
image [https://i.imgur.com/lhqCDcB.png]
Seventh Tier Spell: Sunlight Radiance
Effects: Summons forth a blinding ray of light from the hands of the caster, healing those of positive alignment and damaging undead entities within its range of fire.
Requirements: Mastery of Holy Arts
Cost: 130 Mana
image [https://i.imgur.com/Qj0qq7o.png]
In an instant, the air around Grismala shimmered with a brilliant golden glow. Rays of warm sunlight erupted from her outstretched hands, enveloping the infirmary in a dazzling display of ethereal radiance. The intense light emanated a palpable energy, suffusing the space with a surge of vitality and power.
The abomination recoiled, momentarily blinded and disoriented by the sudden onslaught of radiant energy. Its movements faltered, granting Grismala a precious opening to regain her composure and press forward.
As the soldiers rushed into the infirmary, drawn by the sounds of the intense struggle within, Grismala immediately directed them to stand back, their safety taking precedence over everything else. The mere touch of the abomination had the potential to infect them, turning them into wretched undead creatures. She couldn't allow that to happen to her loyal soldiers.
Grasping her elven blade, Grismala propelled herself forward with an astonishing burst of speed. Closing the gap between them in a blur, she drove her sword forcefully into the chest of the undead abomination, piercing through its decaying flesh.
But in a twisted and unholy motion, the undead being clutched onto her blade, its bony fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt as if seeking solace. Its despair-filled eyes flickered with remnants of its former self, a glimmer of consciousness battling against the darkness that consumed it. A ghastly moan escaped its decaying mouth, its voice choked with anguish and the lingering echoes of necromantic energies.
"Foooorgiiiievvv meeee my Quoooeeeen...."
A single tear drop fell from its eye, a poignant reminder of the humanity that still lingered within its tormented form. The undead being strained against its cursed existence, longing for absolution and release from the horrors it had become.
Grismala's heart wrenched with a mix of compassion and terror. This creature was not merely an ordinary undead—it existed in a liminal state, caught between life and death. She was faced with an agonizing dilemma. Striking it down would mean killing one of her own soldiers but allowing it to continue would risk the lives of countless others.
Reacting swiftly, Grismala stepped back, putting distance between herself and the desperate lunge of the undead abomination. The other soldiers watched in equal parts horror and disbelief, their faces mirroring the terror that gripped their souls. This grotesque creature before them was unlike anything they had encountered—a chilling testament to the depths of darkness and the unimaginable abominations it could birth.
"Maghhhh QOOOEEEN!"
The abomination's garbled plea echoed through the infirmary, its voice a distorted blend of agony and desperation. The weight of its words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the choices that lay before Grismala as the queen.
"Despair awaits... You..." The abomination's voice slithered through the air, its words dripping with malevolence. To her horror, it began to feast upon the lifeless body of one of the fallen soldiers lying in the infirmary.
Grief and determination mingled within her, knowing that she had no choice but to confront this twisted creature before her. With a heavy heart, she gathered her resolve and called upon the power of Tasildor, the mighty tree of life that stood as a guardian of their realm.
"Tasildor... Oh, mighty tree of life... I beseech thee... take hold of this child of nature, twisted by the demons who seek to harm us, and return him to the earth he came from."
In response to her plea, the very ground beneath them trembled. Roots burst forth with a force that shattered the rocks beneath their feet, extending towards the abomination with unyielding strength. They wrapped themselves around its arms and legs, immobilizing the creature and rendering its struggles futile.
With an unwavering grip, the roots hauled the abomination downwards, its futile resistance evident in the lingering glow of its necromantic eyes. The roots acted as conduits, siphoning the malevolence and darkness that plagued the corpse, purifying it with each passing moment. The undead creature fought against its inevitable fate, but the roots held it firmly, refusing to release their grip.
As the roots brought peace to the tormented soul, dissipating the remnants of its evil, a resounding sense of relief washed over Grismala. The soldiers erupted into cheers, celebrating her victory over the abomination. But her mind was consumed by a lingering question—how much of the infernal scripture had Vorner truly decoded? His ability to conjure flames akin to the hellish fires of the Demon God left her deeply unsettled. Had she underestimated his dark powers?
The resounding horns of the army of darkness pierced the air, abruptly silencing the cheers of victory. The dreaded moment had arrived—the demonic legions were officially on the march. Urgency flooded through her as she swiftly exited the infirmary, the soldiers following closely behind. With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, they ascended to the battlements to witness the looming sight before them.
From their elevated vantage point, Grismala gazed down upon the ranks of their enemies. The sight was both awe-inspiring and disheartening. Demonic legions stretched as far as the eye could see, an army of Impions, adorned with their capable armor, and to the skies, a swarm of locusts, much larger and foul than any before them, at the Demon God's command. The demonic army, an amalgamation of horrors, marched in perfect unison, their war cries mixed with the buzzing sound of the chitinous insects echoing through the air.
Fiery banners bearing the sigils of darkness fluttered in the wind. The battlefield below, once silent in anticipation, now teemed with an eerie liveliness. The unholy legions prepared their weapons, adjusted their armor, and readied themselves for the inevitable clash. Grismala's heart sank as she beheld the sheer magnitude of their forces, their numbers seemingly endless.