by Corey Soreff
Eucibous and Kuldric stood ready in battle stances, and Rorik vanished into the shadows.
"Are you done chatting now?" Sargath asked. "Prepare to die."
"Sargath has taken mortal form," said the God Vorthas. "We could simply go and kill him now."
Darnillus shook his head. "That would make us no better than him, my friend. The Gods are not meant to interfere personally. Sargath has broken that rule, and perhaps he will pay dearly for it, but not by our hand. Besides, if we killed him, it would upset the balance."
Realization dawned on Vorthas. "But if a mortal kills him, they take his place, the balance restored!"
Again Darnillus shook his head. "No, my friend. Not everyone is willing to take a seat of darkness. That could be a problem considering Sargath's prime opponents."
"Sargath has crossed the line, I hope he is slain." Anania chimed in. "He has broken the vows and tries to upset the balance. He does not deserve his seat. His replacement will be dealt with after the fact, but for now I wouldn't mind seeing Sargath bite the dust. It's a shame his predecessor isn't around, he was much more honorable...for an evil God."
"Agreed," Darnillus responded. "Let us hope the traitor is defeated. If necessary, we will offer his position to a high ranking dark magus."
"What do we do about the army of the dead?" Vorthas asked.
"A pity we didn't discover them when we discovered the main army," Darnillus remarked. "We are heavily outnumbered, but as usual most of the skill is on our side. A group of the arena combatants are en route to deal with the undead army. Eucibous's companions have vowed to deal with their commander and their dragons. If we can take out their leaders and the dragons, the armies will fall apart. May fate be kind to us."
"Amen," answered Anania.
"I look forward to seeing my new champion crush some corpses!" Vorthas laughed.
"Let us be ready to grant our champions their gifts upon request." Darnillus said. Then he looked at Anania. "Anania, I would ask that you see which group needs the most aid, and choose a new champion from among them. Your healing gifts could make all the difference."
"Perhaps my gifts could be of use?" Asked Noctune.
Darnillus nodded. "If you don't have any in mind, I would suggest you choose Lok of The Crimson Blade. He is to do battle with their General, who I'm sure Sargath has arranged to be championed as well."
"Done," Noctune answered. "Do we know who has claimed their General?"
"No," Darnillus replied. "Advise Lok to fight with caution." Darnillus looked around the table at the other deities of light. "All of you have permission to choose a champion. The Gods of light will be represented fully on the mortal plane! Try to choose according to which of your gifts will most aid each man against their current opponents."
Cheers arose around the table. "Seven champions of light in one battle! This will be one for the bards!" Yelled Ahloong, another of the Gods. "I call the swordsman, Jarec!" He laughed.
"Velion!" Yelled Procta.
"Rorik!" Bellowed Likos.
Laughs erupted around the table as Gods argued over who would claim who. Darnillus smiled.
Darnillus wasn't surprised that nobody tried to claim Eucibous, for he was not the only one that felt a God with the man already. He knew it wasn't one of his own. Eucibous was fighting against Sargath now as an ally, so he doubted it was one of theirs. Darnillus chuckled to himself. "Oh, Gurnac, my friend."
The elf prince Tiirnil approached Eucibous as the fight was about to break out. "Crimson one, why didn't you summon me?"
Eucibous turned to answer him. "You are to be King, and your father is a friend of mine. He'd kill me if something happened to you. Stand aside, and if you see a good opportunity take it. But do not be reckless."
"My father couldn't kill you," Tiirnil replied.
"It's a figure of speech," Eucibous laughed. Elves tended to take things literally.
"How would the future King look if he sat by while the world was saved, and the elves did nothing?" Tiirnil crossed his arms, looking like a stubborn child.
Eucibous sighed. "Ok. Be careful though. And whatever you do, do not let him get that staff." He eyed the prince's staff with concern. It was a powerful artifact handed down among the elves for countless generations, said to be forged by the Gods. Who knows what Sargath could do with it.
The prince smiled with excitement. Then he looked over at Kuldric and flashed him a grin. "Let's put our fight behind us, eh?"
Kuldric nodded. "Let's take down a God." He stared at Sargath, fingering his hammer.
"Kuldric, do not get overconfident." Eucibous said. "Sargath is very powerful. I know you don't remember this, but you lost our fight because you got overconfident. Remember that victory is not ours until Sargath and Seth'nerak are dead."
Kuldric nodded, dreaming of glory.
An explosion of power almost knocked everyone off their feet, reminding them that a life or death battle was at hand. Sargath was gone.
Eucibous scanned the area for the God's aura, but Sargath was predictably good at hiding his presence. Then he felt it. Eucibous's head snapped to his left as he looked at the remaining warriors he had not asked for help. Sargath stood before them.
"I will not ask more than once, mortals. Join me in this war, or die now." Sargath said as he met each of their glances.
Kilan the ranger snapped an arrow to his bowstring in the blink of an eye, and let loose without hesitation. Elves did not take kindly to the forces of darkness.
The arrow was incinerated before it could touch the God, burned to nothing by the God's surrounding aura.
Sargath's reaction was just as swift. Without any difficulty, he raised his hand and summoned his power to gather within the elf. "Combust."
The elf's screams lasted a few moments as flames from within consumed his organs, then spread to his skin. Within seconds he was no more than a pile of ash.
Ugthar the orc dropped to a knee and bowed his head. "I am yours to command, my Lord."
Then Ugthar's eyes went wide in shock as he burst into flames as well, from the same spell. But this time Sargath had not cast anything.
Sargath turned and saw Eucibous with his hand raised, a smile on his face. "It would appear that they are doomed no matter who they join, eh Sargath?"
Sargath roared. "You mock me?" He didn't care about the orc, he cared more that Eucibous had killed the orc with the same spell, a difficult one to cast. It was as if he was saying "Nice spell, I know that one too."
Sir Brennan charged forward. "Darnillus!" He yelled. His sword raised in the air, he prepared to swing at the God with all his might, in service to his God.
Before he could swing, Sargath's hand had impaled his chest. The sword dropped to the ground, and Brennan's legs shook. Then he collapsed as Sargath removed his hand, ripping the knight's heart out. The corpse had an odd look of serenity, content with his manner of death.
The God smiled and crushed the man's heart, blood oozing through his fingers.
That took care of the remaining combatants. Sir Argan, Bravan Stonefist, and Elindril were still being treated for their injuries.
Sargath shook his head, looking at the remains of the dead fighters. Where is that incompetent fool?
The battered Ginin sprang to action.
Chapter Seventeen
Undead Army, Undead King
Ceric stood tall, looking like a beacon of hope in a vast pool of despair. One thousand knights behind him, he faced an undead army of an estimated five thousand with thoughts of glory running through his mind. They had taken the General and the King from his reach, but now he had another chance to be a hero. Since Lok had taken command of the main forces, Ceric gladly volunteered when the undead army appeared on the battlefield. He felt a warmth spread within him, and he knew that the championing was complete. He was now the champion of Anania, as she had promised. A God by his side, Ceric had never felt so proud. His chest out, eyes focused, he prepared to do battle with an army o
f the dead. His pulled his silver helm over his blonde hair, and drew his blade.
"Attack!" He yelled.
One thousand knights charged forward. They were outnumbered, but they were better trained, and could actually think for themselves.
The front lines smashed their shields into the messy lines of the enemy, knocking them off balance, then slashed forward with their blades immediately after. The enemy's front line fell within moments. They repeated this tactic several times, then pulled back. Archers from the back lines fired, and arrows rained down upon the undead. Most of the monsters hit by arrows seemed unaffected, however, and only the ones taking a shot to the head went down. Zombies pressed forward with arrows sticking out of their stomachs and arms.
The knights gathered into a triangle formation, and pierced the lines of the enemy. Mindless zombies fell left and right. A zombie was about half as skilled as the fighter was when they were alive, and these didn't seem like they were very skilled to begin with. But they were numerous, and many knights were pulled down and feasted upon. Men tried to ignore the screams of their friends and comrades as they concentrated on holding the formation.
As they forced their way to the center of the enemy army, they began to realize exactly how outnumbered they were. As far as they could see there were enemies. Then hope came in the form of flying corpses. All around them, undead were tossed into the air or hacked to pieces. They weren't sure who was helping them, but their morale increased tenfold and they pressed forward with fervor.
Looking like Gods themselves, the newcomers fought alone in different locations throughout the undead army. Strategy would have suggested they stay together and cover one another's backs. But confident were these brave warriors. They had decided to fight on their own, spread out, to confuse and disrupt the enemy forces from within.
If the brain-dead zombies weren't dumb enough already, Jorge had completely shut down their ability to fight with reason. His signature spell of darkness enveloped a large portion of the creatures, forcing them to fight blindly. He flung a dozen thick chains in all directions, clinging to scores of the undead. Activating his combination spell, an electric surge flowed through the chains. Any of the rotting corpses that had been struck convulsed and fell to the dirt, smoking. Without a moment of hesitation, he recalled the chains and began the combo again. Hundreds fell to the impressive battlemage within a minute.
Nearby, the warlock Velion enjoyed similar success. Standing in the midst of the undead, he watched as five gorgens tore through their ranks. Velion grinned with satisfaction. Countless years it took for me to be able to compel one Gorgen. Then comes Procta, and five obey my will with ease! His hard work was not for nothing, however, for it took great skill to summon them to begin with. The God Procta's gift only assisted in the compulsion.
One of the Gorgen's briefly turned back to snarl at Velion, and Velion recognized it as the demon he had summoned during the tournament. Sneering at it, Velion snapped his fingers. A shock erupted within the high ranking demon, and he quickly returned to ripping apart zombies. The gorgens formed a circle around the warlock, destroying any undead who ventured near. Velion felt unstoppable.
Bursting into the rear of the enemy ranks came Thundrin, shouting praise to Vorthas as his warhammer shattered skulls and limbs. He preferred to battle with his hammer alone, but occasionally when he became to surrounded he used the gift of his patron. Negating all magic within a short distance, the zombie's souls would disconnect from the corpses leaving nothing but empty vessels on the ground. Then with room to maneuver, he'd continue to battle with glee. The sound of cracking bones blended together with the sounds of his battle cry, and the undead approached their death, not knowing what it is to fear such fury.
On the right flank came the monk, Dennas. Unlike the fury of Thundrin, Dennas fought with calm. Meditating, he stood amidst the enemy, his lightning fast reflexes destroying any mindless zombies that came near. His chi could be seen orbiting around him, so powerful was his aura. Dropping into a horse stance, he changed from defense to offense. His strikes were blurs, dozens of swift straight punches striking forward in sequence, striking no target. Within a moment, a hurricane swept throughout the enemies before him, tossing them violently into the air. Following this attack, the monk turned to face the horde that was approaching him from behind, snapping his foot forward. Another burst of wind shot forth, and any of the zombies caught in its wake were torn to pieces. Clasping his hands together, he fell back into meditation; Praying to his God, he waited for enemies to approach once again.
Morale was high among the knights battling the undead horde, bolstered by their newfound allies that seemed to be wiping out half of their enemies. It appeared as if they would win this battle within the hour, then they could assist their comrades in the main forces. Then all of their hope was shattered within moments, when he arrived.
Ceric made a fist with his gauntlet, excitement building within him as an unexpected enemy made an appearance. Within seconds of the arrival of the undead's commander, one hundred knights were cut to ribbons. A tenth of their forces wiped out in a few heartbeats, and the knights wondered if their new allies could still save them.
Ceric drew his blade and strode forward into the carnage, ignoring the weaklings among the enemy. His eyes focused on his goal, he headed straight for the enemy commander. Whenever a foolish zombie approached, he cut them down without slowing his advance. Along the way he used his new gifts to heal any wounded knights, returning them to the battle. He squeezed his sword's handle, the veins in his hands bulging. Glory would be his.
Jorge had never feared a man. He was certainly not about to fear a zombie. He watched as the enemy commander tore a path through both knights and zombies alike, headed straight towards him. With incredible speed limbs were cut from torsos, and heads from shoulders. Not one man was able to defend himself before being cut down.
As his foe continued his deadly dance and came closer, Jorge launched an offensive. A curtain of darkness fell around him, dropping over the enemy commander as well. Envisioning where the enemy commander was when he had cast the spell, he shot forth his marking spell. The light stuck to the enemy commander like a beacon. A beacon that was getting closer, very fast. Jorge hopped backward a step and hastily threw forward all of his chains. He was running out of time, his opponent was impossibly quick.
The beacon vanished before the chains could make contact.
Confused, Jorge spun around. The moment he turned, a scimitar ripped open his throat. Mouth gaping, Jorge plunged to the ground, becoming just another corpse on the battlefield. Drow could see quite well in the dark.
Standing over his body, Kol'thakal the drow King licked the blood off of his scimitars, then scanned the battlefield for his next target. I will not fail this time, my soul depends on it.
Still showing no impairments from the hole in his chest, Ginin was executing combination after combination at every point of Sargath's body. Sargath just stood there smiling, every attack being stopped completely by the Godwill. The God raised his right hand and backhanded Ginin across the face, sending him rolling through the dirt. The assassin got up immediately, however. Dashing forward, he threw some shurikens at the God. But he didn't throw them directly at him, he threw them around him. The shurikens passed by Sargath, then Ginin gripped and pulled unseen wires that were attached to the deadly weapons. The shurikens came flying back around the God on the opposite sides, spinning around him several times. They were supposed to trap him, the shurikens hooking into his skin when they ran out of wire, rendering him immobile. But the shurikens, like everything else, were simply repelled. The barely visible wires fell to the ground harmlessly and Sargath simply stepped over them.
"Surviving my spell through the chest was impressive. But I wonder, can you survive with your head off your shoulders?" Sargath asked. "Let us find out." He swung out his flat right hand, aiming to cut off Ginin's head without the need of a weapon.
Before the hand
connected, the God winced as a gigantic blade scratched his midsection. He immediately halted his attack and focused on Eucibous, who stood nearby holding his blade with a smile. The large sword given to him by the Gods pulsed with energy. The immense magical power within the weapon combined with the decrease in Sargath's defense led to the penetration of the seemingly perfect shield.
"So, controlling the Godwill is a little harder while attacking, eh Sargath?" Eucibous's confident smile dug into the God's pride.
A small amount of blood trickled from the scratch. But the severity of the wound didn't matter, it was only a test to begin with. Now Eucibous knew how to break his guard. Sargath growled, and eyed the heavy sword that Eucibous carried with ease. He knew that sword.
"Every time you attack, I will cut you. I don't care if I need to scratch you a thousand times. You will die, Sargath." Eucibous said with certainty.
"I'll kill all your friends, you will have no decoys. Then I'll kill you." Sargath returned. "Or do you think you can get to each of them in time before I destroy them? I think not, or you would have saved the others."
"Kill whoever you want. You'll still die." Eucibous answered.
"Insolent mortal!" Sargath yelled. Then he vanished.
Eucibous scanned the arena for the God's aura, hoping to catch it the moment he appeared. If he didn't, someone would die.
Sargath appeared a short distance away, right behind the elven prince.
"Shit!" Eucibous cursed, then used his own superhuman speed to attempt to get there in time. Eucibous was incredibly fast, but Sargath was fast too, and already at his target.
