by Kyle Johnson
He’d expected to feel the same thing from the barrier in front of him; after all, if Zoridos had spun the ward up above, surely this one would be of a similar quality. However, the weave Aranos encountered was coarse, poorly crafted, and obviously the work of someone with a lot of power but very little talent. It looks like someone tried to copy the ward around the city but didn’t know what they were doing, he thought silently. Sort of like a person trying to reproduce the Mona Lisa using a picture of it and fingerpaints. Heck, I could have done better than this! That meant that either Zoridos had let one of its minions craft this barrier, or…
Aranos’ eyes narrowed as he realized what this probably meant, and he stored the information away for future reference. It didn’t matter right now, except to make his job that much simpler. Instead of having to waste precious minutes searching for a flaw in the spell-form he could exploit, Aranos was able to dive into the pattern of the barrier easily. It was a simple enough Spell, although it took a ton of power; it gathered necrotic energy and channeled it into a multi-layered cross-weaving that would suck the life from anything trying to cross it – or empower any undead that did the same. At the same time, though, it would blind the life-sensing Ability of any undead to anything on the other side; the three of them could probably stand right outside the wall and not attract any attention.
It’s really not that different from what I was originally trying to do with my Death’s Ward Spell, Aranos realized. It’s a brute-force approach, using sheer power and not a lot of finesse. That works because whoever crafted this had a butt-load of energy to work with, but it’s ridiculously inefficient. What they should have done…
He shook his head as he realized that he was thinking about offering his enemies spellcasting advice. He put that thought aside and gently took hold of the strands of the Spell. The weave was so loose and poorly done that shifting it was a simple matter; he could literally slide the strands past one another without a great deal of effort. A few minutes later, he had opened a passage wide enough for Saphielle and him to pass through individually; Silma, being immune to necrotic damage, didn’t need any assistance, a fact of which she was happy to remind him. He left the last couple of layers of the barrier intact so that the undead within wouldn’t detect them. As far as he could tell, nothing he’d done had disrupted the barrier in a way that Zoridos could detect. If he was wrong, he’d certainly know within the next minute or so.
We are entering the Treehome, Oathbinder, Geltheriel’s voice sounded in his mind. Aranos checked his map; as he’d hoped, it had updated as Geltheriel traveled thanks to their linked rings, and he could see the path the party had taken. It had wound through a fair bit of the southern part of the city; Martina had been busy in her explorations, apparently. The party hadn’t stayed underground the whole way; they’d left the passages below and entered the main part of the city several times, probably to avoid undead, and had finally come out some distance from the Treehome. Aranos had guessed that might be the case; while his presence showed that there were certainly passages under the Treehome, he doubted there were any tunnels exiting near it, just as no tunnels led directly to the Library. That would have been a defensive nightmare if an enemy had infiltrated the city at any point.
He caught Saphielle’s attention and sent her a quick set of hand signals. Party inside. Saphielle nodded, understanding; sending the message to Silma was, of course, much simpler. He continued to watch the group’s progress on his map. They were moving through what Martina had guessed were servants’ passages, narrow corridors that linked every part of the palace but didn’t go through the main areas. The Ranger had spotted signs of undead there but couldn’t tell how old they were, since her Tracking Skill wasn’t close to the level of Aranos’. From how the party wound though the corridors, though, passing by what looked like straighter passages to their goal, Aranos assumed there were groups of the creatures moving around back there.
Eventually, the dot on his map settled down just outside a large space and remained still for several minutes, and Aranos’ heart hammered in his chest. This was where things could go wrong; if he’d misjudged Zoridos’ response, if there were more undead in the Treehome than he’d guessed, or if Zoridos spotted his absence, things could go south very quickly.
We are about to engage, Geltheriel’s voice said calmly. We will require some minutes to be sure we have fully drawn the creatures’ attention before you begin.
I know, Aranos sent back. Good luck, and don’t take chances you don’t have to.
We will do what we must, Oathbinder, just as you will. May the gods smile upon us all.
Aranos sent another signal to Saphielle and crouched, waiting quietly. His mind was racing, wondering what was happening, but his party status screen showed that while the tanks were taking damage, it was nothing serious and they were being healed just fine. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths.
There was nothing to do now but to wait.
Phil’s sword flared with brilliant orange flames, shearing the arm off a slavering jangshie as he slammed his shield into the creature’s chest, knocking it back into the swarm of creatures behind it. As he did, an arrow arched over him and struck the chest of one of the towering vyrkas. The arrow exploded with a ripple of energy, and the air in front of the vyrka twisted and distorted, looking as if Phil was seeing it through a spinning lens. The undead within thirty feet of the creature flew from their feet and slammed into it, crushing one another in a pile of rotted flesh. A crossbow bolt sped past and struck the mass of bodies, erupting in a wash of flame that cooked most of the creatures and seared the rot larvae jarred loose from the crushed vyrka.
“Good combo!” Hector shouted as his axe chopped through the knee of a looming ravant, dropping to down to where McBane’s twin swords could shred its vulnerable internal organs. “I like those arrows!”
“We only have so many, though, so we’ll save them for good moments like that,” Martina called back as another, normal arrow flew past Phil.
“Good call,” the Spellsword agreed as he blocked a blow from a huge, skeletal fist and responded by thrusting his blade into the ravant’s liver. At least, he thought it was its liver; anatomy hadn’t been his strong sort. “We might be at this for a while, so conserve where you can!”
“Kill them all!” Phil heard the dry, dusty voice of the lich-king rasp above the din of battle. “Kill them and bring the Sorcerer to me! I will devour their souls!” The creature’s words rolled across the party, and Phil felt icy fingers of fear crawling along his spine. There was no way they could beat Zoridos; it would do just what it said, it would eat their souls, somehow. Would they even respawn after that? They should run, now…
Phil steeled himself and shook off the mental attack. “Stand fast!” he roared, slamming his shield into the draeg before him, sending the icy creature flying backward. “We’ve got this, Ascendants!” The other party members seemed to tense as his words hit them, and he sensed as much as saw them all resist the lich’s attempt to panic them.
Deep inside him, the spark of energy blossomed into a white tendril of fire. Phil felt a warmth in his chest, melting the last vestiges of the lich’s icy assault, and he renewed his attack on the undead in front of him.
“Thanks for that,” Hector said in a low voice as he swept his shield upward, catching a ghul under the chin and knocking its skull backward with a crack. “I was about to break, there. Whatever you did, keep it up.”
Phil nodded; he didn’t know how he’d rallied the others, but he was glad he’d been able to. If they’d routed, the undead could have picked them off one by one. So long as they held, though, they’d be fine. They were in a good position, they couldn’t be flanked, and they had plenty of magical support behind them. They could hold here as long as Zoridos itself wasn’t taking a hand – and just as Aranos had predicted, the lich was taking nothing more than a support role, mostly trying to hit the party with random debuffs. It was content to let its minions
do all the work, and the Ascendants could handle its minions just fine…
“Rhys!” Longfellow shouted from behind Phil, just as an explosion of fire and lightning erupted in the middle of the party. Phil didn’t dare turn around, but his eyes widened as he saw Meridian’s LP bar drop to zero in an instant, her image graying out as she was sent to respawn. “What the bloody hell?”
“One observes that perhaps this will encourage you all to retreat,” Phil heard the Druid’s voice, angrier and more desperate than he’d ever heard it. “The Liberator has abandoned us, and…”
The Druid’s words cut off as Phil spun and slammed his shield into the elf’s face. Rhys fell backward, his eyes clearly stunned, and Phil rushed at him, slamming the flat of his blade onto the top of the Druid’s head. Geltheriel darted past him, filling the hole he’d left as Rhys dropped to the ground, unconscious. Phil stood over the fallen Druid, his chest heaving and his eyes blazing fire.
He betrayed us! He killed Meridian! Phil’s mind was a wash of anger, and the fire in his blade raged and took on a darker, blacker hue as he stood over the Druid. Why? Why would he do that?
Martina drew the mace from her belt. “I’ll finish him,” she said grimly. “You get back on the line.”
Phil stared at the fallen elf, a man he’d worked with, one he’d thought of as a companion if not a friend. Rhys hadn’t been the most likeable person, but he’d been solid, steadfast, and he’d done his duty to the party so many times. As Phil stared at the elf, he recalled Aranos’ words.
I trust you, he’d told Rhys. Aranos knew things, understood things, and he’d trusted Rhys. Phil could do no less.
“Tie him up,” he instructed. “Gag him and blindfold him; use his own clothing if you have to. We’ll let Aranos deal with him after this is over.”
“I hate to tell you this, mate, but this is over,” Longfellow said sadly, loosing another crossbow bolt. “We’ve got no healers, and we’re not even close to done with the undead. We need to retreat, try another day.”
Phil chewed the Archer’s words, but as he did, a certainty filled him. “No, we hold,” he said firmly, gripping his sword, fire rising in his chest. “We promised Aranos we would, and we’ll stick to that. We hold, here.”
“Phil, he’s right,” Hector called back. “No healers and a horde of undead…”
“WE HOLD!” Phil roared as his sword burst into a blaze of brilliant, white fire. He spun and charged at the line of undead, slashing with his sword. The white flames parted undead flesh with ease, carving through bone and rotted meat like swinging through air. “WE HOLD, HERE!”
“We hold!” Geltheriel echoed, her shadowy blade slashing beside Phil’s, raining death among the undead. Hector merely roared his battle cry and renewed his attack, his doubts seemingly forgotten.
The undead quailed and fell back as Phil pushed forward. Light bathed them, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from him; his hands and face were glowing with a brilliant, white light that the undead seemed to fear. He took a step forward and the light grew brighter; the front ranks of the creatures collapsed soundlessly to the ground and were still.
“Paladin!” Zoridos’ voice rang out as the creature suddenly appeared before them, green fire dancing in its eyes and swirling along its one remaining hand. “You dare face me in my stronghold? I will wring your life from you, but not before I torture your companions, slowly, and turn them into my slaves!”
“Sorry, not gonna happen,” Phil said quietly, all of his doubts gone. They would hold – HE would hold. He’d made a promise, and he would see it through, no matter what. “We stand together, and we fall together – but we’ll take you with us.”
The lich tilted its head back, and mocking laughter rang around the room. “Slay me?” it asked disbelievingly. “I cannot be killed, fool! Nothing you can do can…”
The creature’s head snapped down, and its eyes blazed furiously. “What have you done?” it shrieked, forcing everyone but Phil and Geltheriel to cover their ears. “You – the Sorcerer! The Sorcerer!” The lich raised its hands, and suddenly it swirled into a cloud of dust and vanished.
“Let Aranos know it’s coming,” Phil said grimly to Geltheriel, who nodded her head.
“What do we do now?” Hector asked, staring at the cowering undead.
“I told you: we hold,” Phil replied, hefting his sword. “We’re not done here, yet.”
He strode forward, and his world filled with white fire.
Golden globes of fire flew from Aranos’ fingertips, slamming into the ranks of undead charging toward them, shattering bone and searing dead flesh. Three of the child-like callicants weaved past his attack with supernatural Agility, rushing toward him, but an armored figure appeared in their path, slashing with a spear that burned with silver flames. The callicants recoiled as Saphielle’s weapon swept through them, tearing their rubbery flesh. Silma flickered into view behind the creatures, tearing at them with teeth that glowed brilliantly, and in a moment, the callicants lay still.
Aranos ignored this; he knew that Saphielle and Silma would hold the creatures back. His job was to kill them, as quickly and efficiently as he could. He held up his left hand, and a beam of brilliant, white light shot from it, scorching the undead as it touched their Corrupt flesh. His Life Barrage faded as seven globes of white-hot fire shot from his right hand, landing among the undead and erupting in a wave of radiant flames.
He gestured as one of the lanohtars began calling up a ball of dark, gray energy, and a stroke of lightning ripped from the ball of energy hanging overhead, slamming into the undead knight. While the creature was immune to the stunning effects of Aranos’ Ball Lightning Spell, it wasn’t immune to the impact of a massive bolt of electricity striking its metal armor, and it was knocked off its feet, its casting ruined. Before it could rise, Silma appeared before it, her weight bearing it to the ground as her teeth found the spot below its helmet and above its breastplate. She tore at its throat, ignoring the savage blows it struck that rang off her metallic armor. She flickered and vanished, and the creature started to rise, but Saphielle’s spear punched below its chin and tore through its brain. It shuddered once and was still.
Half of the undead had fallen already, and the rest were staggering. Aranos’ Spells had scorched and burned their flesh, and his Radiance of Life sapped their Strength every few seconds. Only the two remaining lanohtars seemed relatively unscathed; one, holding a large, black mace and shield, was rushing toward Aranos, while the halberd-wielder stood back in the center of the room, unmoving. It’s not letting itself be drawn away from what it’s protecting, Aranos realized. Even if that means all of its minions are killed.
Aranos raised his hand and fired a Kinetic Bullet cloned into three at the charging lanohtar, which tried to raise its shield to block the projectiles. The bullets leaped from Aranos’ hand with a sharp crack and slammed into the knight’s breastplate, punching through and leaving three holes clustered around the center of its chest. The creature lurched as the bullets burst inside its chest cavity, ripping into its heart and organs, then flew backward as Saphielle seemed to almost fly across the room and slam into it. It crashed into the wall with a clang of metal and fell heavily to the floor, but it rose to its feet and charged at the Avenger, its mace falling heavily on her shield. The elf responded with a thrust from her spear that forced the creature to step back, then smashed her shield into it once more. The lanohtar kept its feet this time but slid backward several feet from the force of the Warrior’s blow.
Aranos returned his attention to the staggering ranks of lesser undead. He called Elemental mana to his hands and cast tiny balls of ice and flame that swirled into hail-sized chunks. The Fire and Ice Spell ripped and burned the undead, shredding their flesh and tearing through the last few vyrkas and ravants still standing. A pair of nurhuins glided along the floor toward the Sorcerer, but a beam of light shot from his hand and scorched the pair, causing them to swirl away into a black m
ist.
Look out! Silma’s voice rang in Aranos’ mind, and he jumped backward, launching himself into the air as the halberd-wielding lanohtar’s blade crashed down where the Sorcerer had been standing. Aranos fired a pair of Kinetic Bullets at the creature, punching holes in its helmet and knocking it back a step, but the undead knight shrugged off the twin impacts and held up its weapon.
“You were foolish to come here, Sorcerer,” the creature hissed as black flames raced up its weapon and bathed the blade in fire. “My master was waiting for you, and he left his greatest underling to guard this place.”
Aranos didn’t bother replying but fired a blast of life energy directly at the lanohtar. The creature held up its halberd, blocking the beam of golden light, which was absorbed into the black flames. Aranos grimaced as he saw the flames grow more intense; the weapon seemed to feed on the life energy. Well, that can’t be good.
He darted back as the lanohtar shot forward, raising a wall of stone in front of it as he did. He heard the crash as the undead knight struck the barrier, but a moment later the black blade swept through the stone, bisecting it cleanly down the center. The wall wavered and faded, and the black flames swirled even more strongly. Strike that; the weapon eats magic. Definitely not good.
The lanohtar raised its halberd but dropped to its knees as Silma appeared behind it, slamming into its back and savaging the open spaces at the back of its knees. The creature swept its blade back at Silma, but the nimble fenrin leaped back, dodging out of the way. The flames from the halberd darted forth, though, following the wolf and slamming into her. Silma yelped as the fire scorched her face, but a moment later the flames winked out as her charm disjoined the magical attack.
