Rain poured heavily in the alleyway. Daven Larsson hurried through with fear in his heart. His legs shook and his teeth were chattering. The sounds of battle were everywhere, with both Lumen soldier and marauder raider fighting and dying to each other. Rarely did the emissary find any allies. His clansmen had left him and most of the city guard was killed off. Daven was alone, cowering in the shadows being his only way of survival. Still, his hiding spots never did last long.
The serpent clansman could hear the shouts of the raiders, their laughs chilling to him. They were hunting him, possibly hoping to score an easy kill. The gold district was cursed in the way that there was little to no cover in alleys and streets. Daven hoped to reach the silver district, or at least the slums.
‘If only I could see in this damned darkness!’
The rain wasn’t helping either, since the constant downpour made it harder to see and even more dangerous to run through.
He kept running still, hoping to at least reach some sort of hiding spot or allies. Even some Lumen soldiers would be enough to ease him. Daven would soon leave the alleyway, his feet hurrying to keep him running through the street. However, he would make one fatal mistake. He was not careful enough to keep himself from slipping. The serpent clansman fell onto the street, splashing water everywhere. Daven tried to stand, but his shaking legs and arms made it impossible.
“There he is! Quite the runner, eh?” one marauder called out. Daven turned to the savage who had already had his ax out. The emissary quickly fiddled with his belt, trying to unsheathe his sword. The lead marauder watched with clear amusement, his grin growing. Once Daven finally got his sword out, the marauder simply kicked it out of his hands.
“I’ll admit. Fighters usually get my blood going,” the raider spoke as he stepped closer. “But the weaklings? Oh, they’re so much more fun to play with.” He laughed.
“Please… I can give you gold! Riches! Beer! Anything please!” Daven pleaded.
The marauder simply shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather have you.” His voice dripped with malice. Daven could only watch as the savage raised his ax. Right when he swung, the clansman closed his eyes. He flinched at the feeling of his own blood spraying onto his face, its warmth sickening him. Yet there was no pain. Daven furrowed his brow, his eyes slowly opening.
The marauder’s throat was faceting dark matter. His eyes widened and his hands reaching for the arrow in his neck. Daven stared in horror, his body seizing up at the sight.
“It’s him!” One of the other marauders called. They all turned to focus on the new threat, their shields and weapons rising.
“Night Spray!” Before they could prepare to attack or defend, a flurry of purple fireflies flew at them. The stench of flesh burning accompanied the sounds of screaming.
Suddenly, a man dressed in steel and fur came at them, his boot kicking one of their shields down. The man raised his sword, its edge glowing red.
“Power Strike!” His blade struck the bigger marauder’s torso, slicing through gambeson and gutting the belly underneath. The armored man turned and dodged a wild strike, his reflexes near perfect. Daven watched with morbid fascination as his savior gutted and killed every marauder. Every time one tried to sneak on him, they were struck with either a spell or arrow from afar.
Now that Daven looked on, he realized that there were more marauders than he initially realized. They were all occupied with hulking figures in the distance, which the clansman realized were orcs. Daven witnessed as orc and specters gathered up, striking down every marauder in the way. By the time every raider was dead, Daven was looking eye to eye with the man who saved him.
The stranger wore steel plate armor mixed with gambeson, his collar and shoulders lined with black fur. A white raven was painted upon his chest. At least, it was once white. Still, Daven couldn’t help but stare at the man’s face. While most of it was covered by the steel helm, Daven recognized him.
It was the Draugr himself, James Holter. His eyes glowed a bright blue, to the point where it looked like they flickered and flared like flames. James stared at Daven for a moment before he turned to the street. Daven watched as the draugr walked up the street, which led off even deeper into the city.
“Wait! You’re going to the center of the city!” Daven shouted. “There are even more marauders and Lumen soldiers there!” He had heard stories of the Draugr’s feats, but he knew better than to believe that this man and his small clan could even stand a chance against so many. Yet James kept walking, ignoring Daven’s warning. Orcs and soldiers with ravens on their chests passed by Daven, their weapons slick with blood. Even a necromancer joined them, his hands beckoning specters to follow.
Daven only watched on in disbelief. How could Holter fight like this? When everything was so desperately lost? He didn’t even have a stake in this city. Daven gritted his teeth. The warrior in him told him to join, to fight with the Draugr. Vindis was his city. His home. Yet the man couldn’t force himself to budge. He could only retreat into the shadows, cowering from the threat of death.
----------------------------------------
Harald grunted as he felt another marauder stab at his torso, the bastard’s sword striking steel. The veteran turned to the raider and quickly dispatched him, his own sword gutting the man’s belly in an instant. Right when he did so, another two marauders rushed and attacked him. While they only struck steel and gambeson, Harald couldn’t afford to give them a chance to get that fatal stab.
“Flame Burst!” He shouted, his words of power reverberating throughout his body. In an instant, a spiral of flames burst forth. The marauders around were burnt to a crisp, their screams and shrieks filling the night sky.
Harald continued forward, his sword raising and striking down the ones who were still alive. Despite his casting however, more marauders moved in to fight. The veteran clenched his jaw, his body burning once more with rage. He had only three castings left. He needed to make the next one count.
‘Give me strength, goddess!’
Harald prayed as he decapitated another of the bastards. More came at him, surrounding the veteran. Swords and axes struck at his armor and helmet, some of them even piercing flesh and cutting through his gambeson. Harald felt his rage boil over, his muscles screaming as he cast one last spell. This one ought to do it.
“Azlene’s Wrath: Embers of Hel!” Harald’s body was pushed to the limit as the flames that emitted from his sword and body turned into a bright blue. The heat was so much that it even evaporated the rain around the veteran. It was more than effective. Harald struck forward with his casting, his blue flames scorching and cutting through marauders like nothing. He swung three times, every swing killing and burning men around him. At the end, Harald was the only one standing.
Corpses laid around him, flickering and emitting smoke. The stench of burnt flesh permeated the air, disgusting Harald. Yet, he was used to it. Harald took in breaths of the rainy air, trying to cool himself down. The rain helped a little, but it was better than nothing.
‘The harbor… need to get to the harbor and–’
“I see you’ve saved me the trouble of fighting those savages off,” a voice called out.
Harald turned to the sudden voice. While he couldn’t see clearly, he could still make out the silhouette of an armored man. He was around his own height, the top half of his face obscured by a Lumen-made helm. Judging from his gray beard, Harald could tell this man was around his own age. His armor was a mix of plate and gambeson, enchantment runes peppering the edges of the steel. Everything about him screamed Lumen, yet Harald could see no wax seal. He did, however, spot the faded symbol of Delphine on his chest.
“An apostle,” Harald recognized aloud. Something still didn’t feel right. There was an unsettling aura around this man. Despite the armor and symbols, he looked out of place. Like he didn’t belong.
“You must be Harald Stroud,” the apostle called out. “William’s predecessor.” He looked over at the dead body of the former herald. “Unsurprisingly, you turned out to betray your own.”
“Who the hel are you?” Harald asked. He resisted the urge to cough his lungs out.
“I guess it doesn’t matter whether I tell you who I am,” the stranger muttered. He took a couple of steps towards Harald, his bloodied longsword dragging along the flooding platform. The apostle used his free hand to raise the visor on his helm, revealing his tired and cold dark eyes and graying beard. “I am Arthur Clarke, apostle to Delphine.”
“You’re an Earthling,” Harald realized. This man before him had the same uncomfortable aura about him, the same as James. It was unmistakable. Harald’s comment was enough to make Arthur narrow his gaze. The apostle closed his visor and took a step forward.
“I see. So you’re with him.” His voice was instantly hostile, his aggressive stance showing the veteran that there was no reasoning with him.
Harald silently cursed to himself as he took a step back, his thoughts trying to find a way out of this. The veteran was at his rope’s end. He had only two castings left, and his body was overheating. Another heat spell would most certainly cook him from the inside. Trying to run away was folly. Harald could barely walk, let alone run. This left him with only one option.
“I’m guessing… I don’t have another choice than to fight?” Harald asked.
“You killed my way out. What do you think?” Arthur asked as he raised his longsword.
The veteran couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not going down easy,” he spat.
“Let’s put that to the test.” Without another word, the apostle rushed ahead with a wide swing. Harald hefted his own blade, his throat going hoarse as he cast a spell.
“Holy Light!”
A bright flash emitted from the veteran’s free hand. The casting was good as both a disorienting distraction and a healing spell. Harald could feel his body grow cool and his muscles regain some strength. Right now, he should have had the upper hand. However, Harald soon learned what he was up against.
Instead of stopping or covering his eyes, Arthur had kept advancing towards the veteran. Harald could see through the visor that his eyes were simply closed. Harald barely blocked the wide swing, his sword’s runes brightening as they fended off the longsword.
Arthur pulled back quickly, his hand grabbing at his sword’s length. He thrusted it forth like a battering ram towards Harald. The veteran dodged it, his sword lunging towards the apostle.
Arthur shifted and used his arm to shove the attack away, his steel brace deflecting it. The enchanted runes on both the bracer and sword burned brightly from the strike, sending a magical feedback that pushed both fighters back. Harald wasted no time in recovering, his sword pointing towards Arthur once more. He lunged forward, aiming to pierce the bastard in the chest.
“Ember Strike!”
He put in all his strength into this casting, its flames turning into a bright blue as they headed towards a stunned Arthur.
It would all be for naught, however. Harald had exerted himself past his limit. The veteran staggered from the heat, his vision blacking out for a second. A second that would prove lethal.
Arthur exploited Harald, using this moment of weakness to his advantage. The ember strike only scraped the apostle’s side, its flames cutting through steel but hitting nothing but air. Harald tried to redirect, to salvage his situation. However, he had already lost.
Steel pierced flesh and blood stained the veteran’s armor. Harald couldn’t do anything as Arthur drove his longsword into the veteran’s abdomen. Harald coughed blood, the copper taste overwhelming to the old man. He tried to say something but could only cough even more.
Harald dropped his sword, his body already going limp against Arthur’s blade. The apostle placed his gauntlet on the veteran’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. Arthur unceremoniously ripped the blade out of the other man’s body before dropping Harald onto the flooded ground.
“You fought well for a retired herald,” Arthur muttered. “In another life, you would’ve served your goddess proud.”
“Go… fuck yourself,” Harald coughed in response, his teeth clenching together as he fought through the pain. Arthur stepped onto the veteran’s chest, preventing him from getting up. He raised his longsword, positioning the tip above Harald’s forehead.
“I’ll give you a proper end. Do you have any last words?”
Harald stared at the apostle above him. He wanted to tell the bastard to go to hel. To insult and berate him. Yet he couldn’t. There was no point. Insulting the Outlander would be a waste of breath. Harald could feel how blood flowed from his wound, his body’s warmth slowly dissipating. The cold embrace of death was creeping up.
Harald couldn’t help but laugh at the pain. Every guffaw from his lips drew more blood from his lungs, causing even more excruciating pain. Yet the veteran chuckled, his gaze focusing on the clouded sky. The blood moons partially shone through, reflecting their reddish glow on him.
“It was bound to happen,” he muttered, his mind going back to Astera and William. To Dahlia and James. To his students and friends. He knew it would end at some point. Harald turned to look Arthur in the eye, his lungs forcing out the last few breaths he would have.
“When the time comes, when James finally kills you, I’ll be waiting for you in Helheim.”
Arthur faltered at the veteran’s words. He stared down at the veteran, a small uncharacteristic smile appearing on his lips. The apostle then gave him a short, forced chuckle.
“What a waste of breath.”
With that, the apostle from another world forced the longsword into Harald Stroud’s skull, engulfing the veteran’s world in darkness.
----------------------------------------
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Arthur took a breath of relief as he sheathed his sword. He was lucky to catch the former herald off guard. If he was in any better shape, there was no telling how long this fight would’ve lasted. There was no doubt in his mind that this man was much more skilled and dangerous than William. It was clear to Arthur why that man had lost his own heraldry and life to this aged veteran.
The apostle turned his gaze towards the center, where the battle was culminating. He had focused on getting to the iron district in a desperate attempt to save William and secure a safe way out of this cursed city once everything was settled. That exit plan was now dead in the dirt. Arthur would have to instead rely on a longship to get out of here. That is, if Eilif hasn’t left with it yet. The Outlander doubted it. That bounty hunter wasn’t a coward when it came to battles such as this.
The same went for James Holter and Deimos. They were surely making their way through the city, ready to fight each other and come out victorious. All Arthur had to do was to pick them off during the heat of it all, to strike them down before they reacted. Even if he was far, he still had time, time to go to the center and finish it all. The rest of his Lumen Knights should be waiting for him near the valdora district, ready to follow him into the battle.
“Let’s get this done,” he muttered before he formed multiple runes through his hands. “Shadow Step. Nimble Feet.”
Arthur Clarke made his way to the center, cutting through alleys and shortcuts. This night was about to be over.
----------------------------------------
Helen couldn’t help but feel cornered. The marauder Gustus shouldn’t have been a problem, yet the veteran struggled to finish her fight. It was her damn left arm, which sent waves of pain whenever she moved it. That berserker Lars was to blame for it. Despite her shield, Lars’ warhammer had done some serious damage. There was a good chance that it was broken.
Another sword strike swung towards her. Helen dodged it and thrusted her spear at Gustus, who blocked it with his shield. The veteran stepped back; her focus quickly shifting to Lars. The berserker was busy wrapping up his mangled hand, his warhammer on the ground next to Lilith. Helen had to finish her fight with Gustus quickly. Even if Lilith was disposed of, it didn’t mean Lars wouldn’t try to finish her off.
Helen turned to Gustus, who was attempting to form up a proper defense with his shield. “You learned well, eh?” Helen shouted as she tried for a stab. The marauder before her blocked it, his shield shaking as her spearhead scratched against hide and wood. The veteran quickly pulled back and sidestepped. Another strike, this time for Gustus’ sword arm. The marauder reacted with prose, his sword shifting to block the spearhead. As a result, Helen’s attack merely glanced off the blade.
“I’m right to guess Ivana showed you that?” Helen asked. “Is she still licking at Deimos’ boot?!” With a shout, the veteran trusted her weapon once more.
Success. The spear grazed her opponent’s shoulder, ripping through exposed cloth and drawing blood. Gustus stepped back from Helen, his sword slashing as if to shoo her away.
“Ivana told us about you, you know? The Valkyrie from Azurvale,” Gustus said, “A marauder that some men feared in the north. Havor and you were one step away from becoming elites before that incident in Yorktown.”
Helen growled. “As if you know anything, whelp. If you truly knew me, you would be wise to surrender this fight.” The veteran made her stance, her spear’s blunt end tucked into her armpit. This was bad enough of a situation. If Ivana had really told Gustus about her reputation, then she surely taught him how to counter spear attacks. The veteran would have to be cautious about this fight.
Gustus seemed to think about his situation. He even faltered his stance before he finally shook his head. “The marauders are all I have left. I’ll be damned before I subject myself to the shame you brought upon yourself,” Gustus called out.
Helen grimaced, but kept her composure. She took another glance at Lars, only to see the man finish up with his bandages. Horror filled her chest as she watched the berserker make his way to Lilith’s body. Helen attempted to intervene, but Gustus got in her way. He raised his shield, almost bashing the veteran’s spear away.
“Dammit!” Helen shouted in anger.
She could do nothing. It was only a matter of time before Lars reached the redhead and–
Something caught Helen’s eye. At first, she had begun to believe she was hallucinating or was tricked by the downpour of rain. Yet she soon found out that she was witnessing something real. Lilith was crawling, or something close to it. Her body wiggled and forced itself forward, heading towards Lars. No, she was heading towards the contents of the bag that fell to the ground. Helen wasn’t sure what she was after until she spotted the bright red mushroom in front of her.
‘No fucking–’
Helen watched as Lilith chomped on the mushroom, the red-haired woman chewing it quickly before Lars could realize what had happened. Lilith’s body stiffened, and her muscles visibly went taut. The young woman slowly stood back up, but not before her teeth gripped onto one of her fallen axes. Helen knew very little of berserker mushrooms, but she had seen enough in the Outsider Wars to know of their deadly capabilities.
Lilith’s eyes seemed to blaze in the night, her breaths coming out like fumes. Lars stepped back even, his expression that of complete surprise. Yet it was quickly replaced by a smile.
The shirtless marauder raised his useless right hand at her, his voice booming out in the rain, “I’m going to have the time of my life crushing your skull in!”
----------------------------------------
“Flame Cleanse!”
Dahlia winced as her spell cauterized the arrow wound. She did her best to say still as the rest of the cleansing flames engulfed her body. After half a minute, the spell finished its job. The shaman sighed in relief. She felt better now that the poison was out of her system.
“Dammit!” one gnome cursed out in the chamber, her foot kicking at the totem. Dahlia forced herself to stand.
“What is it?” She called out to the gnomes. The totem had been erected not too long ago, with the female gnome and Wheaton working on connecting it to the ley lines.
“The ley lines cannot be reached,” the female gnome pointed at the totem’s gray runes, “Nathan and the others should have fixed this by now!”
“We need to give them time!” Wheaton argued. “They’re probably still working on reactivating them!”
The female gnome grabbed at her hair, her fingers pulling strands out. “Oh, gods… We’re in the middle of a battlefield. We’re going to die, aren’t we?” She fell back on the ground, her body curling up. “Just like Vinn, we’re going to die…”
Wheaton moved to comfort her, his voice soft and inaudible as he spoke. Rockford stood nearby, his expression grim and his gaze downcast. Even the last couple of guardsmen looked defeated, as they rested near the wall. Elaine was standing near Dahlia, the bard watching the scene in despair. The shaman turned to her, her focus moving to the bard’s bloodstained hands.
Elaine looked like hel. It was clear that this was her first exposure to actual battle. Dahlia couldn’t help but feel guilt for allowing the bard to come. The shaman forced herself to look out the entrance to the tower. The courtyard was still a landscape of fighting and death. Marauders were overwhelming the Lumen soldiers and city guards, both of whom were still fighting each other. It was clear who the winner was going to be if this kept going.
Dahlia bit her thumb, an old nervous tick coming back in full force. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Come on Seamus… What are you doing?” She bit down even more, enough to break skin and draw blood. More fighting, more death. City guards taking arrows to their eyes and throats. Soldiers decapitating marauders.
Suddenly, a horn sounded out. Dahlia flinched at the noise, her gaze quickly moving to the source. She blinked, unsure if she was seeing things. What she was witnessing was quickly confirmed by the surrounding forces. There was a wall of incoming mist from the eastern side of the courtyard. Marauders and soldiers all turned to the anomaly, the fighting in the courtyard almost coming to a standstill.
The horn sounded out again and this time; it was accompanied by the sound of something slamming. It was like a thunder crack of noise, every slam almost synchronized. The sound continued with a symphony of voices.
The shouts were of brutes, ones that Dahlia did not expect to hear.
‘Is that…?’
Almost as if he was summoned, Dahlia could see him. Two pinpricks of blue burned through the mist, the glow reflecting off of steel and fur. He had his shield raised, along with the behemoths that stood at his side. Soon enough, James broke through the mist, the war chant continuing as the rest of his forces came through. Specters, resurrected corpses, and orcs all stood at his side, their shields and weapons raised.
James raised his sword towards the courtyard, his mouth opening to shout. While Dahlia couldn’t hear him through the rain and chanting, she could very well guess what he said. Orcs and undead charged forth, clashing with the soldiers and marauders. James himself ran into the fray, his sword flashing at the nearest marauder.
Dahlia couldn’t help but feel her lost hope returning. He was here, and he was buying them time. She looked back at her group, almost beaming with renewed vigor.
“James is here! We’re going to win! We’re going to–”
“Dahlia!”
The shaman tensed up at Elaine’s warning shout. She quickly turned, only to see a Lumen soldier coming at the entrance. She had been so focused on James that she neglected to look out for any incoming hostiles.
The soldier before her swung his blade down at the shaman. Dahlia barely dodged it, her feet scampering away from the entrance. She grabbed at the pommel of her sword, unsheathing it in a hurry. More soldiers pushed through the entrance, almost all of them armed with swords and spears.
“Rush forth! Secure the tower before their reinforcements arrive!” One of them shouted out. Judging from the robes he was wearing, Dahlia guessed he was a cleric for the soldiers.
“Everyone! Swords up!” Dahlia shouted as she clashed blades with one soldier. “Hold them off!” The remaining guards and thieves quickly moved to follow her orders, their weapons clashing with the line of soldiers rushing in. The shaman couldn’t get an accurate number on them, but she guessed there were around five to six of the bastards. While they weren’t as armored or as numerous as the soldiers that were with Lumen Knight Gryff, they were still going to be problematic. Especially with that damned cleric supporting them from the rear.
‘I need to focus on their healer! If I can take him out, we might stand a chance!’
“Elaine! Provide support!” Dahlia called back to the bard. She quickly back stepped and struck at her opponent, remembering what Harald had taught her back during training. Her blade struck against the soldier’s steel breastplate, the sword’s edge not enough to cut through. Still, it knocked him back a few steps and leave him open. Dahlia rushed forward, using this chance to stab at his exposed neck.
“Push!”
The cleric’s words echoed in the room, his casting accompanied by a gust of wind that shoved Dahlia back. She stumbled back a few meters, nearly losing her balance all together. She barely managed to block a counter attack from her opponent.
“Elaine! Cast buffs!” Dahlia yelled. No response. “Elaine?!” The shaman deflected a slash, her eyes quickly risking a glance at the bard. Elaine was currently cowarding by the staircase, her knees buckling as she watched the battle before her. She was clearly terrified out of her mind, watching the carnage unfold.
“Elaine!!” Dahlia’s shout finally got through to the bard, snapping the young woman out of her trance. Elaine stared at her in surprise, her mouth opening to say something. Dahlia wouldn’t hear her, as something cold and biting entered her right shoulder.
The soldier had used this chance to finally land a strike on Dahlia, his sword piercing through the exposed gap between her breastplate and pauldron. Dahlia gritted her teeth in pain as she was forced back. Her opponent pulled back and struck once more, this time aiming for her neck area.
Dahlia quickly moved her left hand in the way, taking the strike through her palm. The sword pierced her hand fully, nearly reaching her neck. The shaman felt tears well in her eyes from the agony of the injury, yet she didn’t falter. Using all her strength, she forced her right arm to move. Her sword ran through the soldier’s throat, the wound faceting dark blood all over both fighters.
“Arcane Bolt!”
The cleric shouted another casting. Dahlia half expected the spell to be directed towards her. Instead, she witnessed a nearby thief’s head exploding, her corpse falling to the ground with a heavy thump. She stared at the sight, her gaze soon moving to the cleric responsible. He was forming runes with his hands, muttering healing spells to his allies as they pushed on.
Only two raven guards remained now. They were trying their best to hold off the soldiers from the totem, but it was clear that they were on their last legs. Dahlia struggled to get the dead soldier out of the way, if only to cast a spell that could help. She tried to pull her left hand back, to get it unstuck from that bastard’s sword. She instead made the wound worse, causing even more bleeding.
“F-Fuck!” Dahlia cursed. If she rushed it, she would eventually rip her hand in half. She couldn’t afford that, not when she needed it to cast her advanced spells.
“Look at me and be dazzled! Orpheus’ Display!”
Elaine’s shout echoed with magical power, her words accompanied by the musical notes of her lute. Dahlia felt her gaze forcibly move to the bard, her will compelled by the magical casting. Elaine was strumming away, her fingers glowing blue as they struck notes. The shaman could see from her peripheral how everyone in the room turned around, their gazes locked onto Elaine.
“I can’t move!”
“What magic is this?!”
They all were shouting and panicking, clearly unaware that Elaine had cast a mind spell. The bard before Dahlia gave her a look, one that told the shaman what was coming. Dahlia quickly closed her eyes, tightly shutting them just as the bard sang out once more.
“Shine bright and blind those who dare look at me, Flare!”
Even with her eyes shut, Dahlia could see the blinding light that came from the spell. Everyone shouted out in confusion, giving the shaman her cue to act now. Dahlia opened her eyes and turned her gaze away from Elaine, who had fallen to the ground out of exhaustion. The bard’s fall meant that the mind spell was quick to wear off, but she had done what needed to be done.
Dahlia focused on the cleric at the rear, who, thankfully, was blinded by the flare spell. She raised her working hand at the robed man, her fingers forming one simple rune.
“Ignition!”
Magical weight accompanied the shaman’s shout, her reserves draining slowly. She focused as hard as she could, watching as the rune slowly materialized on the cleric’s robes. The range for her spell was limited, so the shaman needed to bolster it. Still, it didn’t mean it was going to be quick. The Ignition spell was agonizingly slow, the rune taking its time to fully form onto the troubling cleric. Dahlia could only hope that Elaine could keep the flare spell up long enough.
As Dahlia focused, she could hear the telltale sound of steps coming from her left. Her heart dropped at the sight of a soldier running towards her, his eyes closed as he brandished his sword.
‘He figured out my general direction just from the sound of my voice!’
Dahlia debated in that split second about whether she should give up on her Ignition spell and focus on defending herself.
‘No! It’s either that spellcaster dies or we all do!’
She kept her focus, mentally preparing herself to take the hit head on. Dahlia gritted her teeth as the soldier reached striking distance.
shink!
The shaman blinked. Hot blood speckled all over her face and mouth, leaving a steel taste on her lips. Despite the sudden spray of blood, she did not feel pain. Before she could process what happened, her Ignition rune completed. The cleric before her burst into flames, his screams echoing throughout the room.
The other soldiers around the cleric stared at the sight of the burning man, who screamed in agony as he tried to put the flames out. Their formation broke almost immediately. They all looked to the shaman, their faces turning from confusion to complete panic.
“Shadow Bind!”
Dahlia watched as black mist suddenly rushed into the building, the magical smoke binding all of them. They all struggled, but none could break out.
“Thank you for taking out that cursed cleric,” a sinister voice called out behind Dahlia. The shaman turned around to see the necromancer, Malik. He was at the entrance of the tower, his hands forming the Shadow Bind runes. He gave Dahlia a deranged smile, his focus on her.
‘No… not me.’
Dahlia turned around and looked at the man she had thought had stabbed her. Instead, he was slumped in place, with his weapon on the ground. There was a sword in his gut, the owner of it being the zombified corpse of a Lumen soldier. Or what had been a Lumen soldier. Flesh hung off its face and arm, its armor half burnt while the other half looked pristine.
The blood on the shaman’s face was not of her own, but of the dead man in front of her.
“No need to thank me. I was just following orders,” Malik called out as he stepped past Dahlia. He stood next to Dahlia’s attacker, his hands forming runes. “Resurrect,” he muttered. Purple tendrils of magic emerged from his fingers, stabbing into the corpse.
“What are you doing?” Dahlia asked, her voice wavering between horror and shock.
“Collecting what’s now mine,” Malik chuckled.The corpse twitched in response to the magic, its eyes and mouths glowing a bright purple as a result. The necromancer watched with glee as the once dead man groaned and rose.
Without missing a beat, Malik gestured to the entrance of the tower. Dahlia watched on as more undead slumbered into the tower. They all ranged between Lumen soldiers and marauders, their eyes glowing a dull purple.
Dahlia could only watch as the necromancer sicced his undead army onto the restrained soldiers.