NOVEL NEXT Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 61 - Death and misery - Part One
Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 61 - Death and misery - Part One
Thunder boomed ominously in the distance and a sudden rush of wind howled through the broken doorway and windows.
Ushu’s bellowing roar drowned out the distant thunder and set the Werrians on edge.
Numbly retreating outside, I ignored the swords of the Werrian soldiers and continued into the middle of the road.
The grey overcast sky had taken on a dark sickly bright emerald hue and I could sense an overwhelming concentration of mana to the far east.
With seemingly no regard for the Werrians whatsoever, Ushu landed just outside of the village limits, crushing a wide section of palisades with his tail as he fought to arrest his momentum. Eyeing us with one giant reptilian pupil, Ushu snarled impatiently, curling back his scaly lips and baring his huge teeth.
With little thought for how our sudden withdrawal would be interpreted, I hurriedly climbed up onto the platform and hooked the safety line through my harness.
The moment the final harness was secured, Ushu launched himself into a loping run, rapidly gaining speed before leaping up into the sky and becoming airborne. In stark contrast to his economical flying style that made extensive use of air currents and gliding to maintain his energy, Ushu was beating his wings hard, straining his wing muscles to their limits.
The difference in speed made it almost impossible to see anything without the special goggles. However, the view afforded from atop Ushu’s back made overlooking the source of imminent danger almost impossible.
A pillar of bright emerald light was flickering far off to the east and was so tall that it pierced the clouds.
Mournful howls and screams were carried on the wind, waxing and waning in intensity without rhyme or reason.
Within what must have been ten minutes or less since they departed from the Werrian Village, Ushu made a rushed and destructive landing upon the eastern mountain above the fortified pass. Deep claw marks were gouged into the mountainside which initiated several small rockslides.
Raising his horned head toward the sky, Ushu released a trumpeting roar while scanning the clouds.
After a few moments, a returning call came from Cooper in the southwest.
Dismounting the platform, I found the army in a state of manic activity. The entire force was on high alert. Runners were rushing to and fro, carrying written orders and field reports.
Untouched by the chaos, Wisp stood resolute atop the northernmost wall. Standing still as a statue, his focus was firmly fixed on the pillar of emerald light to the northeast.
As Cooper flew into view, she and Ushu exchanged several drawn-out exchanges before Cooper made a final chittering screech and began flying south.
Ushu had sent his daughter away from the coming danger, and I couldn’t blame him for it.
It was obvious that the pillar of emerald light was in some way related to the Liche. Furthermore, the sheer volume of mana being expended made it clear that our conflict was about to experience an escalation in a form that we might not be prepared to face.
Cooper’s departure had an immediately observable effect on the soldiers’ morale. Fighting alongside, or more accurately, behind, the pair of giant Dragons was something they had taken for granted. The survival of the soldiers had not been dependent on the Dragons, but it was an indisputable fact that the Dragons had made massive contributions that the individual soldiers could only dream of making.
The morale of the special weapon teams responsible for the deployment of the siege engines was less affected than the regular soldiers. However, they were far fewer in number and comparatively isolated. Meaning they could not be relied upon to stabilise the morale of the army. At least, not until the enemy initiated an attack and the siege engines could be brought to bear.
With so few lesser undead remaining, I decided to end the Empowered Dirge of Undeath. Without the Empowered Dirge of Undeath enhancing their mobility, the lesser undead that remained were reduced to a near catatonic state as the Empowered Ward reasserted its dominance over the surrounding area.
I spent the better part of an hour slowly recharging the Empowered Ward while waiting for news of any sightings of the Liche or its forces.
Without Nila and Cooper, long-distance scouting fell to Ushu, Fesk and his team.
Clarice had wanted to take part in the scouting as well, but Dhizi had adamantly refused to stray far from the mountain pass. No matter how much Clarice begged or cajoled her, Dhizi simply ignored her.
Gric and Sebet’s projections still had mana left and were doing their best to shore up the soldiers' flagging morale from behind the scenes.
On my way to seek out Wisp’s opinion on further preparations, I was intercepted by Marco.
“I want to fight!” Marco demanded, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the leather over his knuckles split and revealed his pale skin.
“Are you sure?” I asked warily, giving Marco the chance to retract his request and walk away.
“They!... They took my life! Killed me! Made me a monster!” Marco hissed in anger and despair, “After the things I’ve done!... The things they made me do!... My family will never accept me...” Tears of blood flashed in his eyes and soaked into the thick scarf that concealed the lower half of his face. “Revenge! For what they did to me-to my brother! That's all I have left!”
I could tell that Marco was spiralling and had a suspicion that my promised reward was, at least, partially to blame. Unlike most of the Asrusians and adventurers living inside of my Demi-Plane, Marco did not see his conversion into a monster as something to be desired. It was an understandable position to take considering people would be far more accepting and inviting toward an Orc than a Vampyr.
Even the Thralls would be more popular than Marco once his true nature was discovered or revealed. So what did Marco have to look forward to?
After what had been done to his younger brother, Tobi, Marco no doubt expected their parents to reject him outright. He was terrified of guilt by association.
Rejoining his family had been something to keep him going while following my orders. However, without my orders to guide his actions and dictate his life, Marco had become responsible for his own decisions, and his own life, again. Hopes, and dreams for a future that could never be attained, fell apart. Leaving nothing, nothing but revenge and a desire for the termination of his existence.
No doubt interpreting my silence as some form of refusal, Marco narrowed his eyes dangerously, “Consider this my request! Payment for using me as an expendable tool!” He snarled and stomped off toward the northern wall before I could make a reply.
“Should we do something?” Jayne asked quietly.
“No,” I shook my head and sighed, “Another specialist will be to our advantage when the time comes to fight the Liche directly. The anti-life aura alone makes fighting the Liche a race against attrition for anyone who lacks an abnormally high Toughness or inherent immunity.” I wasn’t against making the most of the situation, but a part of me was angry at myself for not even making a token effort to talk Marco out of it.
With Marco determinedly stalking in Wisp’s direction, I decided to Summon a projection of Wisp instead.
Wisp's suggestions on potential preparations essentially boiled down to determining what degree of personal risk I was willing to accept. Empowered Spells cost my HP, which left me more vulnerable with each casting. Which in turn required downtime to restore that HP to offset the risk of being caught in a relatively vulnerable state.
The slayer enchantment would theoretically work in tandem with an Empowered Bane Spell cast on a weapon, making its initial damage much higher while also applying the slayer Curse. Furthermore, there was a reasonably high chance that the slayer Curse wouldn’t work on the Liche, or that it might be far less effective. In such a scenario, having the Bane property would ensure that the attack still dealt damage that made the potential risks worthwhile.
To that end, I cast the Empowered Bane Spell seven times. Once for my weapon, and each of the three blessed weapons of my champions, once for Ophelia’s blessed sword held by wisp, and last of all on a shortsword that I had delivered to Marco.
Unwilling to risk lowering my Hp below four-fifths of its maximum value, I took a short break to recover my HP between each casting. Because of this, close to an hour had passed before I was ready to move on to my step in preparation.
Marco’s report from the Vampyr nest had revealed that more powerful undead could see through the Cloak of Undeath Spell. The spell was meant to conceal the target of the Spell from all the senses of the undead, including their passive sense that homed in on the living.
Wisp was not entirely sure what the Empowered version of the Cloak of Undeath Spell would accomplish. However, he expressed the opinion that he strongly suspected it would extend the Spell's benefits to other allies within a certain range.
With the benefits being entirely dependent on the effects of the Empowered element of the Spell, I cast an Empowered Cloak of Undeath Spell on a volunteer. Accompanied by other volunteers, the first soldier travelled south with orders to deliberately antagonise the undead and determine the limits of the Spell.
While reviewing my Grimoire of Flesh just to make sure I hadn’t overlooked a potentially useful Spell, I noticed that there were two new Spells in the qualified list. Spatial Breach and Dimensional Anchor.
I could only assume that the Spatial Breach Spell was what the Liche had used to attempt to rescue her Vampyr commander. Similarly, the Dimensional Anchor might suggest that the Spell was somehow less stable than the other forms of teleportation I was currently aware of. A breach certainly sounded more violent than a rift, but that also might just be a matter of semantics. It was also somewhat strange that Spatial Breach was a Spell and other means of teleportation weren’t.
“Well, this is to be expected of the Great One!” Sebet gushed unashamedly, “Such unique and powerful Spells are truly best suited to those that are uniquely powerful!”
Gric narrowed his eyes at Sebet and grunted with displeasure, “If you know their purpose, you are required to tell the Tyrant!” He commanded coldly.
“Of course!” Sebet agreed innocently, “I would never dare to fail in my assigned responsibilities!”
Gric snorted derisively and rolled his eyes.
“Enough,” I ordered firmly and motioned for Sebet to continue, “What do they do? And do you know how they would be affected by being Empowered?”
“I know a little,” Sebet admitted readily, “However, I would strongly urge caution in taking this information as the complete truth...” She shrugged helplessly and scratched behind her right ear, “My former master’s servants were in the habit of making grandiose boasts to inflate other opinions on their prowess...”
That seemed true enough based on what I had observed of Sebet’s behaviour. Sucking up to your superiors, and boasting to your peers, all while gaslighting or demeaning your subordinates seemed like Devil-like behaviour as well.
Sebet’s right eyebrow twitched. “Great One, you were correct in your assumption that the Spatial Breach Spell is a more violent means of translocation. Extremities that are not fully contained within the dimensions of the Spell are said to be left behind when the Spell terminates. Of course, the extremities of potential pursuers could just as easily be taken along for a ride.” She indulged in a long pause while making a show of gathering her thoughts, “In fact, I overheard several boasts involving the use of this Spell as a weapon. Maiming or slaying their enemies through the careful or fortuitous placement of the breach.” Sebet nodded with a satisfied smile on her lips, “Assuming the Spell works as described, such an outcome would be more than possible.”
“Wait a sec,” I interjected and held up my hand, “How big, exactly, can a breach be?”
In her natural form, Sebet was far taller than an average Human Like just about every Species, the higher Sebet Evolved, the larger she became. So it stood to reason that her former superiors would have been anywhere between two to nine feet tall and sporting who knew what appendages.
“Uh, I am not sure,” Sebet replied while smiling apologetically, “Perhaps it is determined by the amount of mana? Some Spells are like that,” she suggested helpfully.
“Can this Spell pierce the effects of a Nascent Demi-Plane?” Gric asked warily, catching me somewhat off guard with the unexpected question.
“Probably,” Sebet replied with middling confidence, “It is a Spell specifically designed for intruding into places the caster is not meant to be. Naturally, those places would have some form of protection that would need to be overcome.”
“You’re saying that this could have provided the means for the Liche to invade Sanctuary?” My skin grew cold as I realised I had asked the wrong question. “Was this Spell how the Liche invaded Sanctuary,” I corrected stiffly.
Sebet was quiet for a few moments and then nodded, “It seems quite likely. However, I don’t think the Liche could invade again without significantly increasing its mana reserves and spending a considerable amount of time.”
“Why?” I demanded impatiently, agitated by the potentially renewed risk to the safety of my family and subjects.
“The invasion of a Plane, which includes Demi-Planes such as your own, Great one, is no easy feat,” Sebet stated with absolute confidence, “In the simplest of terms, and to the best of my somewhat limited scope of knowledge, the larger the Plane, the more powerful its authority becomes. Circumventing Planar authority is like defying gravity. It’s doable, but requires a certain degree of strength and expenditure of energy.”
“Which means our expansion is probably one of the primary reasons why the Liche was unable to initiate another invasion,” I commented bitterly. I had been hoping that the Demi-Plane would provide some form of absolute protection from external threats. Learning that was not the case was a bitter pill to swallow.
“We will need to increase our rate of annexation!” Gric declared angrily, earning ready agreement from everyone present.
“Indeed!” Sebet agreed wholeheartedly, “And I believe that our enemy has provided us with a powerful tool to be turned toward such an endeavour!” Sebet’s already wide smile grew wider still, “A champion would need only to visit a location once for the Great One to then send his legions to enact glorious conquest!”
“I...I’m sorry I don’t understand,” Randle admitted bluntly, “How is that any better than our current plans?” He looked to his cousins for answers.
“It differs in one key respect,” Jayne replied with a smirk, “His Majesty will be able to send through the banners to wherever we have been, without the need to leave Sanctuary. Then, when we are done, we can return the exact same way!”
“We could seize multiple floors from the same Labyrinth at the same time!” Faine added with an approving nod.
“We just need to destroy this Liche first...” Randle commented dourly but with stubborn determination.
Randle’s comment summed up our position rather well. I could make all the plans for the future I wanted. However, none of them would mean anything unless I was able to destroy the Liche once and for all.
Sebet’s description of the Spatial Breach Spell and its potential was enough to convince me it was worth a place in my Grimoire of Flesh. It probably wouldn’t be of much use in fighting the Liche directly. However, it would provide an emergency means of retreat if I still had the mana required to cast it.
“Unfortunately, it is somewhat countered by the other Spell...” Sebet apologised with exaggerated contrition, bowing at the waist and pressing both palms together to beg for forgiveness, “Dimensional Anchor prevents enemies from teleporting out of the area and draws in enemies trying to teleport into the surrounding area. It would make escaping with Spatial Breach quite difficult...”
“We would need both Spells to be certain,” Gric countered neutrally, “However, I would suggest taking the Spatial Anchor for another reason.”
“Making sure the Liche does not escape?” I knew Gric well enough to know where he was coming from and I was inclined to agree with his assessment.
Gric nodded, his refined Elven features set in a stern expression, “Even if it is performed by one of your champions, preventing the Liche’s escape should be a high priority.”
Dimensional Anchor would occupy the last of the currently available positions in my Grimoire of Flesh. Persuaded by the need for some form of contingency to prevent the Liche’s escape, I added Dimensional Anchor to my list of Spells.
Assuming that an Empowered Dimensional Anchor would be stronger than a regular version of the Spell, I figured it would be best to prepare the Spell while I still had my full HP.
To prepare for the possibility that the Liche might attempt a surprise attack with Spatial Breach, I decided that I would need to centre the Dimensional Anchor a decent distance from the northernmost wall. This would prevent the Liche from immediately damning every soldier present and allow the siege weapon teams to zero in on a prepared position.
The siege munitions might not do exceptional damage to the Liche, but they would hopefully cull off any of the other undead brought along for the ride.
As much as it was to test Ochram’s assurances regarding an Empowered Shape Stone Spell, I decided to form the focus for the Dimensional Anchor into a stocky stone altar. On a whim, I engraved a nautical anchor onto the underside of the altar. No one would see it anyway and it brought a smile to my face, even if only for a moment.
The light grey stone taken from the mountain absorbed my blood like a sponge and took on a dark crimson hue. The original naturally occurring gradient in the stone gave it a bizarre pattern that made me think of waves in an ocean of blood.
Conjuring a mundane mace from Sanctuary’s treasury, I ordered Randle to use it to strike the stone altar with all of his strength.
Wielding the mace with both hands, Randle brought the head of the mace crashing down on the surface of the altar. The wooden shaft of the mace splintered from the force of the impact and the head of the mace was sent flying, narrowly missing a passing soldier.
“Perhaps a magical mace?” Randle suggested somewhat awkwardly while avoiding looking at his two snickering cousins.
I nodded and conjured a relatively high-tier magical mace.
Unlike the first mace, the magical mace was made entirely of steel.
“Try this one,” I handed the mace to Randle and waited.
Randle took a firm stance and raised the mace above his head, “Here goes...”
The soldiers in the immediate area fled from the path taken by the head of the previous mace.
The head of the magical mace crashed down on the altar with a deafening clang before falling from Randle’s hands. “Oof!” Randle shook his gauntletted fingers and hissed in pain.
The altar remained unmarked.
Picking up and inspecting the magical mace revealed that it too appeared to be undamaged.
The fact that the simple stone altar had been able to resist an attack from a magical weapon wielded by someone with high Strength and an extensive array of Synergies was impressive.
Unlike every other Empowered Spell I had cast up until this point, Shape Stone only consumed one point of HP. This suggested that its HP cost was probably influenced by scale. So if I cast an Empowered Shape Stone Spell on a larger object it would cost more HP.
Unwilling to cast the Empowered Anchor Spell while within the limits of the fortified pass, I dragged the altar behind me on a crude sled. While I moved the altar, my champions intercepted and destroyed any undead that drew close.
The proposed location for the altar was roughly five hundred feet from the northernmost wall that sealed off the mountain pass. It would leave the anchor firmly within the range of ballistae and catapults, but outside the range of the trebuchets and more than half of the defensive positions of the bowmen.
The staggered layering of defences would hopefully provide enough destructive power to cull off or severely weaken any of the stronger undead before they had a chance to get close.
With the anchor firmly planted out in the open, I gathered my mana and cut the inside of my mouth in preparation for the Empowered Anchor Spell. Unlike my other Spells that took effect immediately, the Anchor Spell drained my mana for several minutes before taking effect. Of greater concern was the twenty HP it had also drained in the process.
I felt quite anaemic and fatigued by the loss of blood and was aware that morale would have taken another hit if I was seen staggering or leaning heavily on my champions for support. So I had to temporarily cease my mana regeneration exploit just so I could return under my power. All the while wolfing down food as fast as I was able to restore my missing HP.
Waiting for Sebet or Gric to complete tests on the Dimensional Anchor would have been the safer play to make. However, there was no guarantee that we had the time to spare. Furthermore, the costs made it clear that the Spell needed to be established well in advance or run the risk of leaving myself exposed to the same enemy I intended to entrap.
“HOLD! HOLD!” The cries of Sergeants echoed up and down the wall, their straining shouts competing against the groans of siege engines.
I turned toward the distant anchor just in time to witness a small group of cloaked figures disappear beneath a hail of javelins, boulders and displaced dirt.
“I think those were Confederates...” Faine commented in bewilderment.
“They must have tried to use a teleportation wand...” Jayne made a show of scanning the mountains while slowly shaking her head and snorting incredulously, “Were they trying to escape one of our patrols and were caught by the anchor by happenstance?”
“If they were trying to escape at all,” Randle added grimly, “For all we know, the range on this anchor could go for miles around. We may have snared a team carrying dispatches-”
“Or perhaps a high-ranking officer,” Faine agreed while staring at the mass of expended projectiles, “Although I doubt there is enough left of them to tell for sure.”
“Technically, they are our enemies,” I commented neutrally while doing my best not to overthink things and risk losing myself to the possibilities, “Whoever they are, or were, I suppose...” Spells and Abilities were incredibly definitive in that sense.
“You don’t think it could have been Duke Seminov’s scouts?” Jayne asked quietly, lowering her voice so the soldiers stationed on the wall nearby would not overhear. “The Duke’s self-proclaimed representative seemed especially keen on learning more about our capabilities...”
I shook my head dismissively, “It doesn’t matter. Read the description for the Spell. It only targets enemies.”
Whether it was because they perceive themselves to be my enemy, or I considered them as such, was unclear. However, it ultimately didn’t make much of a difference. If someone considered me to be their enemy, then it would be to my benefit for Spells and Abilities to take measures against them.
Similarly, if I already considered someone an enemy, I would have reasons for holding that belief and would want Spells and Abilities to take measures against them. Or at the least, exclude my enemies from receiving any potential benefits.
The deaths themselves would have once bothered me to a far greater degree, but I couldn’t afford to allow it. Defeating the Liche and ending the rampage of the undead required sacrifices.
If those sacrifices were borne by my enemies, the servants of those responsible for unleashing the undead in the first place, it was a far better price than almost every alternative I could think of.
“M-Erm, my Lord,” Jayne directed my attention away from the northern front and toward the Thorn Heart’s cave.
The Thorn Heart was already slowly ambling down the slope of the mountain before I realised why Jayne had pointed out his presence.
At some time between our last meeting and the present, the Thorn Heart had appropriated a motley collection of large ragged sheets of cloth, barrels with missing or broken staves or hoops, loose planks and a singularly large cast iron cooking pot.
In almost every respect, the distant shambling form of discarded and ‘borrowed’ materials resembled what the Thorn Heart intended. However, in a much more practical respect, the Thorn Heart looked like a child or folk hero playing as a soldier in an illustrated children’s storybook.
Descending the wall, I slowly made my way over. The sheer strangeness of the sight had gathered a sizable number of soldiers, making the final leg of my approach take somewhat longer.
Enamoured by all the attention, it took making direct contact with the Thorn Heart to acquire its undivided attention.
Once we achieved a decent distance from the soldiers, I conjured a generic magical helmet and offered it to the Thorn Heart.
The Thorn Heart eagerly accepted the helmet and I could sense its mana circulating as it lifted the helmet toward the mass that served as its head.
Despite the Thorn Heart’s best efforts, the helmet remained unchanged.
After trying several other pieces of armour, I suspected that the Thorn Heart’s anatomy was likely too different for the magic items to conform to.
“It seems...sad?” Randle commented with appreciable uncertainty as he stared up at the Thorn Heart attempting to balance the helmet on one of its large thorns.
The Thorn Heart’s Necrotic Resistance was going to be integral to fighting the Liche. By extension, the Thorn Heart’s protection and survival was an incredibly high priority.
Similar to the circumstances shared while in my true form, armour wouldn’t provide much additional protection for the Thorn Heart without coming at the expense of mobility, visibility, encumberment and other considerations. However, the Thorn Heart’s bizarre anatomy and Racial Abilities were also capable of offsetting those same considerations, provided they were suitably accounted for.
Releasing a deep sigh, I gathered a full third of my mana and concentrated.
The Thorn Heart didn’t need conventional armour to weather enemy attacks. The Thorn Heart just needed barriers it could bring to bear as needed.
Despite my intentions, the final results of my labour held an entirely familiar collective form.
“Is that?...” Faine’s voice wavered as he glanced at his cousins for support and confirmation.
“Stone armour...” Randle choked incredulously.
“Looks like it to me...” Jayne confirmed with a hint of confusion, “But what I don’t underst-oh...OH!”
Before Jayne had the opportunity to fully explain herself, I bit the inside of my cheek and willed my blood to seek out and bind with the spine and hook-covered stone plates laid out before me on the mountainside.
By the time I was finished, I had reduced my total HP by half.
With the uncanny dexterity and fluidity of an octopus, the Thorn Heart pooled its body beneath the dark crimson plates. Vines and roots twisted and knotted themselves through the crude hooks and rings on the rear surfaces as the plates migrated around the Thorn Heart’s body.
Individually, the stone plates each strongly resembled the rounded kite shields carried by the Asrusian soldiers. However, the Thorn Heart wasted no time in shifting the locations and overlapping matrix of the plates to imitate a rough approximation of conventional plate armour.
By the time I had recovered my HP, the Thorn Heart was already testing the limits of its newly confined form. Although initially clumsy and prone to temporary collapse when overextending himself, the Thorn Heart quickly proved itself capable of adapting at a truly astonishing rate.
“Why does it choose to look like us?” Jayne asked curiously, “Moving as we do can’t be as efficient as other alternatives...Right?”
“I don’t know,” Faine replied warily while watching the Thorn Heart make another lumbering pass across the uneven and debris-scattered plane of the mountainside, “I don’t think it’s trying to look like us at all...”
I felt the silent gaze of all three champions shift from the Thorn Heart and onto myself.
“You’re right...” Randle commented quietly, “It reminds me of Dani when she was little-”
“I remember,” Faine interjected with a nostalgic chuckle, “She would stomp around the courtyard in front of all the servants.”
“Inspecting the troops,” Jayne corrected, slowly shaking her head and snickering faintly in amusement.
Despite the levity of their words, I could feel a mounting tension in the air.
Looking toward the distant anchor, I felt a sudden surge of expectation and danger.
The Liche was coming.
Within less than a fraction of a second, the barren land north of the wall was enveloped within an impenetrable hemisphere of darkness. Before the soldiers atop the wall had the chance to register what was happening, they were blasted by a sudden shift in atmospheric pressure.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the darkness receded and the towering remains of a Werrian fortress were left in its wake.
An inhuman shriek rose from the bowels of the fortress and was joined by a chorus of mournful wails.
Ephemeral spirits rose from within the fortress and raced through the air and toward the Asrusian soldiers standing upon the wall. Reaching toward the soldiers with hate burning in their eyes, the spirits released mournful keening wails that echoed through the mountain pass.
“Rest...” Wisp’s dry rasping voice cut through the wailing of the spirits, imposing an absolute silence in its wake.
As if drawn by an impossibly strong current, the spirits flooded toward Wisp and the silver lantern held aloft in his left hand.
“Shed your burdens and find the peace that was denied to you in life...” The lantern in Wisp’s hand flashed with silver light and the spirits faded into formless mist.
The silence was banished as low gurgling moans echoed off of the walls of the fortress. Shambling misshapen monstrosities spilled out from the broken gateways of the fortress and surged toward the northern wall blocking the pass.
Seemingly immune to the effects of the Empowered Ward, the malformed hordes of undead charged with single-minded abandon, surging up and over those who came before them and being climbed over by those who came after.
“LOOSE!!! LOOSE DAMN YOU!!!” The ragged cry broke the Asrusian soldiers from their stupor, jumpstarting the entire army into sudden and violent motion.
Scattered volleys fell upon the undead hordes, turning putrid pale flesh to ash. However, despite all their deformities, the undead from within the fortress proved uncannily resilient against the slayer's enchantment. Where a single arrow would have felled a Vampyr, several were needed to destroy one such abomination.
Making matters worse, armoured undead archers loosed volleys of their own from atop the fortress battlements, pressuring the Asrusians to seek cover or risk being struck down.
Asrusian siege engines groaned to life and sent boulders crashing into the walls of the displaced Werrian fortress. However, the undead standing atop their walls felt no fear and ignored the shaking and shuddering of the walls beneath their feet.
With the Asrusians forced into taking cover, the expendable undead foot soldiers surged up and over the wall.
Overrun and incapable of falling back, isolated pockets of Asrusian soldiers fought desperately to hold their positions against the unrelenting tide of undead and impede their progress over the wall.
The reserve formation of Asrusian infantry stationed behind the wall faltered under the intense onslaught but quickly rallied.
“Go!” I ordered the Thorn Heart forward, motioning toward the embattled Asrusian reserves.
The Thorn Heart wasted no time in following the command, descending the mountainside in great leaping bounds. Wasting no effort on ceremony, the Thorn Heart ploughed into the ranks of the undead like an enraged ape, flailing his arms and bludgeoning the undead with the armoured plates on his arms.
Meanwhile, undead caught underfoot quickly became infested as the Thorn Heart’s roots burrowed into their sallow sickly flesh. The infested undead were rapidly rendered immobile as roots and thorny vines ravaged their body from within and without. After only a handful of moments, the first of the infested undead began turning upon their former allies, tackling them bodily to the ground and infesting them in turn.
Despite the initially desperate fighting of the Asrusian soldiers, the finite numbers of the undead hordes proved incapable of sustaining their initial momentum and had already begun losing ground.
An Asrusian counterattack took the fight back to the wall and would have pushed further if they had the means to do so.
Infested undead threw themselves off of the wall and into the ranks of the oncoming undead with suicidal abandon, further sabotaging the attempts by the undead in retaking the wall.
Conjuring a magical bow, I used Thundering Strikes to begin a counterattack of my own against the armoured undead archers.
The combined effects of the slayer enchantment, assorted Synergies, and Thundering Strikes made every hit a lethal blow. The difficulty came in adjusting for the relative elevation and strong winds. I was a decent marksman when shooting at stationary targets, but I had almost no experience at all with accounting for environmental variances.
Minute by minute and inch by bloody inch, the forces of the undead were driven back and destroyed.
As the ground forces of the undead thinned out, the Asrusian bowmen refocused their efforts against the armoured archers.
Refusing to give ground or seek cover, the plate and mail armour of the undead archers tumbled over the battlements as their contents were destroyed and turned to ash.
Boulders launched from behind the walls of the fortress came with decreasing frequency as the Asrusian siege engine operators zeroed in on the positions of their undead counterparts.
From the beginning, the Asrusians had fought with admirable cohesion and precision. Seizing the initiative and control over the battle at every available opportunity.
In stark comparison, the undead had been nothing but a mindless mass of violently flailing limbs. There had been no strategy or coordination to anything they had done at all.
If the Enhanced Anchor hadn’t drawn the Liche’s Dimensional Breach off course, I would have doubted there had been any plan at all.
A small host of black armoured knights rushed out from the gateway of the fortress and charged into the ranks of the Briarlings. Cloaked in writhing shadows, the knights cut through the Briarlings effortlessly, leaving nothing but withered corpses and blackened broken vines in their wake.
Drawing a fresh arrow, I charged it with as much mana as it would hold and loosed it into the leader of the formation of black armoured knights.
At the last possible moment, my arrow was snatched out of the air by a sinewy tendril of shadow. However, the petrification imparted by the tendril’s touch triggered the Thundering Strike which tore apart the shadows and sent the knight crashing backward into its fellows.
With unsettling unity, the knights’ collective attention shifted from the thinning ranks of the Briarlings and toward me instead.
The momentary distraction was all the Thorn Heart needed.
Snatching the battered lead knight up in his thorny fists, the Thorn Heart heaved its arms in opposite directions and tore the knight in two.
Black gore spilled out of the mangled knight’s armour and spattered onto the ground.
Despite being torn in two, the black knight continued to struggle, battering its sword and fist ineffectually against the Thorn Heart’s stone armour while releasing a keening wail.
A deafening roar drowned out the undead’s screams as Ushu launched himself off of the eastern mountain and pounced upon the gathered undead knights. Talons crackling with Daemonic energy, Ushu dashed the knights apart with effortless ease.
Dark tendrils of shadow attempted to intercept and block Ushu’s strikes but collapsed into formless smoke upon contact, leaving the knights entirely at Ushu’s mercy.
Instead of retreating, the Thorn Heart changed targets. Casting aside the still struggling remains of the lead knight, the Thorn Heart charged the badly battered outermost wall of the Werrian fortress. Tackling the wall like an American linebacker, the vines of the Thorn Heart’s arms swelled in size and burrowed deep into the stone and mortar.
A series of loud cracking sounds echoed through the pass as great fissures spread across the fortress wall. Chunks of loose masonry tumbled freely and clattered harmlessly off of the Thorn Heart’s armour as thick thorny vines tore the wall apart from within.
A stray swipe from Ushu’s tail shattered the compromised section of the wall and sent the pieces crashing against and revealing the walls of the fortress beyond.
As the dust settled, the fallen wall revealed something else.
Standing atop the battlements of the main fortress was a solitary figure wreathed in sickly emerald light.
“LOOSE!” An Asrusian officer roared.
A hail of boulders, javelins and arrows sped through the air and the breach.
A giant ghostly neon green hand appeared before the figure and blocked the incoming attacks with effortless ease while sustaining no signs of damage whatsoever.
Sickly emerald green lightning flashed from the sky and crashed into three teams of Asrusian bowmen. When the afterimages faded, scorched and blackened husks were all that remained.
The battle against the Liche had begun.
***** Jamie ~ Werrian Empire ~ Displaced Werrian Empire Capital *****
Blinded by the lightning strike, Jamie fell hard against the mountainside as someone shoved him from behind.
“GET DOWN!” Sergeant Balor roared with an unmistakable and simultaneously alien ring of fear in his otherwise deep and dependable voice.
Jamie felt a sudden chill sweep through his body. Instead of fading away, the chill only seemed to intensify with every passing moment.
Blinking away the afterimages burnt into his eyes, Jamie resisted the urge to cry out in alarm as two more arcs of lightning crashed into the opposite side of the pass. Staggering to his feet, Jamie fumbled for an arrow while searching for a target.
“DOWN!” Sergeant Balor roared again, this time appearing in Jamie’s leftmost peripheral vision as he bodily tackled Jamie to the ground.
A split instant after hitting the ground, Jamie watched in horror as a scything crescent of unearthly emerald light howled through the air and passed through Sergeant Balor’s body.
Sergeant Balor’s eyes flickered with the same emerald light and then his body grew limp, slumping over Jamie protectively even in death.
Jamie stared into his Sergeant’s dead lifeless eyes and tried not to scream in horror as what used to be Sergeant Balor stared back at him and began reaching for Jamie’s throat.
Punching at the thing’s helmet and kicking at it as best as he could, Jamie scrambled backward as fast as he was able without revealing himself above the protection of the low wall. “H-help...” Jamie choked out fearfully, too frightened to even consider taking his eyes off of the undead for even a moment.
A moaning growl from behind gave Jamie his first and only warning regarding the fate of his squad mates.
Giving the undead a vicious kick to the helm, Jamie rolled hard to his left and narrowly avoided being impaled by the head of a spear and the blade of a shortsword.
Scrambling to his feet, Jamie found himself facing off against all ten of his former squad mates.
Cries of alarm from further up the mountain let Jamie know that he wasn’t the only one fending off the reanimated remains of his fallen squad mates. It also let him know that he shouldn’t expect any help either.
Drawing his shortsword, Jamie lunged at the closest undead. Aiming for the open face of the helmet and the familiar face beneath, he felt a conflicted sense of relief when the divine blessing incinerated the undead and turned it to ash.
With every member of the punitive expeditionary force equipped with magical armour, Jamie had little choice but to give ground as the undead surged toward him.
Struck from behind, Jamie fought hard against the urge to panic as he glanced over his shoulder and found several more undead closing in behind him.
“I NEED SOME HELP!” Jamie called out desperately, hoping that someone, anyone, would be able to hear him and was in a position to render aid.
Shoving back against the undead, Jamie tried to push his way clear to the stairs. Unfortunately, one of the newly arrived undead managed to grab a hold of Jamie’s left arm just long enough to turn him about just as he reached the top of the stairs.
Off balance and unable to arrest his momentum, Jamie cried out in alarm as he pitched forward and began falling down the stairs. Tumbling down the stairs, through sheer chance alone, Jamie managed to avoid serious injury and keep a hold of his short sword.
Staggering dizzily to his feet, Jamie lost several precious seconds as he stared blankly back up the stairs and at the stumbling approach of the undead.
Gathering his wits, Jamie hurriedly sheathed his shortsword and redeemed several hundred quest reward points for a magical bow and a brace of arrows.
Fumbling with the cord binding the brace of arrows, Jamie fought hard to maintain his nerve as the undead began stalking down the stairs.
Gathering his mana for a Penetrating Shot, Jamie drew and aimed his arrow at the abdomen of the leading undead. Unable to stop himself from shaking and shivering, he prayed that the arrow would fly true and penetrate the joining seam.
Loosing the arrow, Jamie’s heart skipped a beat as the arrow flew wide, glancing off of the armour of his intended target. However, whether it was by pure chance or divine intervention, the deflected arrow struck one of the other undead in the shin.
The wounded undead staggered for just a moment before collapsing into ash and scattering its armour across the steps.
The near-mindless undead that came after tripped and stumbled over the armour causing them to knock down those in front and collectively tumble down the stairs.
Realising his danger, Jamie cursed and hurriedly staggered backward so he would not be within arm’s reach of the undead after their shortcut down the stairs.
Redeeming more points, Jamie threw several flasks of oil onto the stone walkway, scattering broken glass and cooking oil between himself and the dozen or so undead. He doubted the oil would readily catch alight but was optimistic that the slippery substance would buy him more time to thin the ranks of the undead before forcing him to retreat again.
Reaching for another arrow, Jamie cursed upon noticing the brace of arrows he had left behind and the empty state of his quiver.
If Sergeant Balor had still been alive, he would have given Jamie an earful over it.
Bringing up the quest point redemption panel again, Jamie purchased a second smaller brace of arrows and hurriedly slotted them into his quiver. All the while desperately trying to strike a balance between ignoring the approach of the undead and keeping track of their relative position.
As Jamie had hoped, the undead proved too clumsy to traverse the oily stone path without toppling over one another. Unfortunately, they had no problems whatsoever with crawling instead.
Slowly pacing backward, Jamie gathered his dwindling supply of mana and loosed several more Penetrating Shots. He destroyed three more of the undead before almost running out of mana entirely.
Shaking violently, Jamie staggered away along the path as fast as his aching legs could carry him. Teeth chattering he tried not to succumb to despair upon discovering that the limited supply of mana potions provided by the quest had already been claimed by other soldiers.
Almost out of mana, battered, and half frozen, it was all Jamie could do to keep putting one foot in front of another.
Panting heavily, Jamie could hear the undead gaining on him and knew he would not escape.
Reaching for one final arrow, Jamie turned to face his pursuers. His eyes widened in shock upon realising that the numbers of the undead had grown. If it weren’t for the desperate cries and clash of steel carried on the wind, Jamie would have believed himself to be the last living person on the mountain.
Jamie very nearly fell to his knees as the mountain shuddered beneath his feet.
“DOWN!!!” A woman’s voice cried from somewhere above and behind him.
Too exhausted to disobey, Jamie numbly fell to his knees.
If this was his end, so be it. He had done the best he could. Even if he survived, Jamie doubted he would be able to live with the guilt.
There was a sharp powerful intake of air that made it hard for Jamie to breathe.
A torrent of bright pink liquid fire streamed down from higher up the mountain, incinerating and dissolving the advancing undead, armour and all.
Unable to rise to his feet, it was all Jamie could manage to look at the smouldering remains of his squad. He was all that remained, and despite the timely rescue, Jamie sincerely doubted he would survive the battle. With no strength left to fight, no mana to use his Abilities, and a pervasive chill ever intensifying in his bones, Jamie could feel his death creeping closer with every passing moment.
“So be it...” Jamie croaked defiantly.
He had done his part and fought as best as he was able. No one could have asked more of him and found him wanting. Jamie was certain of it.