Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 61 - Death and misery - Part Two

By pulsing Barriers in time with the Liche’s attacks, I was able to descend the mountain and scale the wall unscathed. However, the Asrusian army was taking heavy casualties. Over a third of the army had already been killed outright by the Liche’s barrage of Spells.

Making matters worse, the soldiers slain by the Liche’s Spells were rising as undead and preventing the Asrusians from rallying.

“Signal a full retreat!” I ordered, unwilling to allow the slaughter to continue. The soldiers had played their part. Demanding that they remain any longer would only raise the death toll needlessly higher without accomplishing anything in return.

Faine pulled the horn from his belt and blew several sharp peeling notes in rapid succession.

“FULL RETREAT!!!” Randle and Jayne roared at the closest soldiers, focusing their efforts on directing the commands toward surviving officers.

The command was picked up and carried by officers further down the pass.

All the while, Faine repeated the signal for the retreat.

Soldiers began disappearing into thin air as they teleported directly into an emergency receiving ground within my Demi-Plane. The banners had been left behind for reasons related to secrecy, but I was not above waiving those concerns if it meant saving hundreds or thousands of lives.

Throughout it all, Wisp had remained steadfast atop the wall.

The same could not be said for Marco. I could feel that he was somewhere within the general vicinity of the Liche, but I could see no sign of him.

More pressingly, the Thorn Heart had hunkered down and formed a protective hemispherical shield from its armoured plates but was in rough shape. Blackened and smouldering with emerald flames, it was clear that he had been specifically targeted by several of the Liche’s Spells. Despite being Resistant, the Thorn Heart was not outright invulnerable.

Ushu and Fesk had made several passes over the fortress, weathering glancing blows from the Liche’s lightning and scything arcs of Necrotic mana. Ushu’s Daemonic manifestation appeared to grant a certain degree of defence. However, it was also possible that his Toughness may simply be high enough to resist the Spells outright as I had once done.

For whatever reason, Clarice and Dhizi were playing things far more defensively than I would have anticipated. Strafing the ranks of the turned soldiers with neon pink flames, Dhizi had taken on a slightly different form entirely.

Where Ushu had taken on traits I had come to associate with Daemons, including three large domineering horns. Dhizi’s appearance reminded me somewhat of Sebet. She too had grown a pair of horns. However, despite a discrepancy in scale, they were a perfect match for Sebet’s. Dhizi’s scales had taken on a deep rosy-red lustre and her wings had turned near-entirely pitch black.

“Is it time?” Wisp asked calmly, a slight variance in his inflection revealing his eagerness.

“It is!” I replied tensely, pulsing another Barrier to block an incoming Spell.

“So be it!” Wisp snarled, suddenly adopting an aggressive stance with the blessed blade and taking to the air on ethereal silver wings of light.

“With me!” I commanded and leapt down off of the wall.

There was a distinct possibility that Wisp could defeat the Liche on his own. He was likely immune to just about every conceivable attack the Liche could throw at him, and he had a sword that was the bane of the undead. However, Wisp was no swordsman, and the Liche was similarly immune to his Abilities and Spells in turn.

After coming so close to being rid of the Liche forever, I was unwilling to leave anything to chance. Even if it meant putting my life on the line, I would see the destruction of the Liche with my own eyes.

I used Shape Stone to create a bridge over the trench and then removed it once we had crossed to the other side. There would soon be no one left within the mountain pass. However, the sudden appearance of the black knights had made it clear that the Liche was holding some of its forces in reserve. So leaving a ready-made path to the retreating soldiers would be a bad idea.

By the time my champions and I arrived at the breach in the outer fortress wall, the Liche had retreated into the fortress proper. No doubt with Wisp hot on its heels.

Scaling the rubble, we found Marco locked in a pitched battle against an encirclement of a hundred or so armoured undead.

Despite his superior speed, Strength and Agility, Marco was simply not equipped to fight against what quickly proved to be magically armoured opponents.

We could easily skirt the periphery of the battle and enter the fortress, leaving Marco behind. Especially if I used a certain Spell to render us invisible to the senses of the undead. However, Marco had all of Wisp’s advantages in fighting the Liche and several additional strengths.

For those reasons and more, I decided that leaving him behind would be incredibly foolish.

“MARCO!” I called out a warning before tossing Blackthorn through the air.

The armoured undead were too heavily protected for bladed weapons, but concussive force would carry through the armour and damage the bodies beneath.

Marco sprang up into the air like a coiled spring and snatched Blackthorn by the shaft. Spinning in the air, Marco delivered a vicious underhanded blow to the head of the nearest of the armoured undead.

The sheer force of the blow tore the head off of the armoured undead and sent it flying across the open grounds of the fortress.

Predictably, my sudden outburst had drawn attention from the gathered ranks of the undead. However, the spectacle and noise generated by Marco’s attack had seemingly left the undead confused or otherwise uncertain about who they should attack.

We made the decision simple for them.

Conjuring Shiverfang into my hands, I led my champions in a charge against the armoured undead.

Channelling mana into Shiverfang, I swept the blade of the spear through several of the closest undead. The magical properties of the Artefact drained my mana to cleave through the armour, allowing Ophelia’s slayer enchantment to turn the undead within into ash.

Randle opted for a brute force approach, smashing his Blessed mace into the armoured undead with brutal vigour and intensity while allowing his armour to soak any retaliatory attacks.

Faine and Jayne were forced to be more cautious.

Taking hold of the blade of her sword, Jayne used the hilt and pommel like the head of a mace.

Similarly, Faine prioritised smacking at the undead with the stave of his spear and tripping as many others as he was able. Once the undead were rendered prone, Faine would attempt to thrust the tip of his spear through a gap in their armour. Unfortunately, even with that particular advantage, it was extremely difficult for Faine to land a strike on the actual body of the undead within.

Massed fighting while on a human scale was an entirely different experience than I had grown accustomed to. Unable to simply shove enemies out of my way without some form of runup or charge to build momentum, I had to quickly change my fighting style to avoid being mobbed.

Even so, the combined effect of Shiverfang and my rapid mana regeneration exploit allowed me to hew down the undead with near-absolute confidence. Until, of course, I depleted half of my mana and accumulated a minor level of Fatigue.

I quickly realised that the last of the Kobold auxiliaries must have retreated from the pass and left me without the necessary Synergy. Spending half of what mana remained on a Lesser Summoned Kobold, I gave it mental instructions to find a hiding place.

With my mana heavily depleted but quickly regenerating, I backed away from the fiercest fighting and focused on tripping the closest of the remaining undead.

Fewer than a hundred of the armoured undead remained. However, they maintained their attack with the dogged determination only mindless undead were truly capable of. Pushing forward without fear or hesitation, stepping over their fallen without remorse. Accepting a fatal blow so they could attempt a strike of their own, or so another undead could attempt a strike from the flank.

However, the single-mindedness made the undead incredibly predictable. It also allowed us to lure them into overextending over and over again, and the undead would fall for the same feints even after witnessing them more than a dozen times.

Even so, the nearly indestructible nature of magical armour made the undead absolute nightmares to fight by conventional means.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the Liche hadn’t deployed the magically armoured undead earlier. Sheer concentrated volleys might have thinned their numbers slightly, but they would have ultimately seized the northern wall with little difficulty. Especially if their attack had been made in tandem with the abominations who were sent out first.

Of course, if the Liche had joined the attack, to begin with, things likely would have turned out very differently.

I still didn’t understand why the Liche’s attack was undertaken so haphazardly. As tempted as I was to attribute the surprise of the Enhanced Dimensional Anchor in disrupting the Liche’s plans, it just didn’t make sense. The Liche could have made very simple changes at the last moment and altered the outcome entirely.

Cleaving through the neck of another armoured undead, I watched the armour collapse with grim satisfaction. I didn’t like the Werrians to begin with and detested the undead. So destroying what I assumed were the undead remnants of the Werrian army was quite a cathartic experience.

Despite having come to Marco’s aid, he bailed on the fight against the armoured undead the moment he was able to fight his way free.

I could have Commanded Marco to stay but decided against it.

I contented myself with recalling Blackthorn and hanging it from my belt.

While I was willing to allow Marco to pursue vengeance on his own terms, I was not willing to risk Blackthorn falling into the hands of the Liche.

Without Marco drawing the primary focus of the armoured undead, we lost the majority of our established momentum.

Ushu made another pass at the fortress, clawing and gouging at the roof and walls before leaping up and into the sky once more. At a guess, he appeared to be searching for the Liche. But I couldn’t be sure and was too hard-pressed by the armoured undead to consider the matter further.

“Jayne!” I pulled Blackthorn from my belt and waved it briefly before tossing it in her direction.

Freeing her right hand, Jayne caught Blackthorn by the handle and brought it crashing down on the helmet of the nearest undead.

Unlike the Blessed weapons, Blackthorn’s namesakes were capable of puncturing the magical armour of the undead if driven by sufficient force.

Jayne used the thorns touch to restore her own mana while executing prone undead. Free to use her mana liberally in exchange, Jayne interspersed her attacks with Thundering Strikes to disrupt the ragged formation of the undead and destroy those unlucky enough to be struck directly.

After five minutes of intense fighting, I drove Shiverfange through the chest of the final undead.

The undead turned to ash almost immediately. The empty armour slid off Shiverfang’s blade, clattering noisily against the cobbles beneath our feet.

Without needing to be asked, Jayne returned Blackthorn. “Damn if that weapon isn’t heavy,” she commented dryly while rolling her right shoulder and conjuring a small handful of dried meat strip rations.

“You just aren’t used to the weight and balance,” Randle quipped, breathing heavily while eyeing the surrounding area for signs of more undead.

Jayne grunted something unintelligible before stuffing the meat strips into her mouth and washing them down with a long pull of what I assumed to be water.

“Your form is improving,” Faine commented appraisingly.

It took a few moments before I realised I was the target of his praise. I had no delusions regarding my capabilities. I was an eager novice, at best. However, Faine’s genuine and unsolicited praise gave me a boost in confidence.

In all honesty, it was actually much easier to flow through the stances and forms when the blade of the spear didn’t catch or become slowed by the target. However, Shiverfang’s abilities could be just as deadly to an ally as an enemy.

It was one of the primary reasons I preferred to keep it hidden away and under guard. In just about every respect, Shiverfang was my personal bane. It was the perfect counter to my own defensive Racial Abilities.

But I needed it.

There was no telling what forces the Liche had held back in reserve, and I couldn’t afford to hold back.

To that end, I gathered very nearly all of my mana and prepared to Summon a projection of Ophelia.

Objectively, I realised that I should have Summoned her the moment the Liche first appeared. There was a decent possibility that Ophelia might have been able to launch an attack and disrupt the Liche before it had time to cause so much destruction.

Yet another reminder that I was not cut out for war and the responsibility of command.

I felt a surge of pain rush through my nervous system as the Spell attempted and then failed to take form.

As the pain receded, I realised that I had been profoundly naive in thinking that the Liche wouldn’t have taken precautions of its own.

Except, I had already performed a Lesser Summon Spell already. This meant that whatever had prevented me from Summoning a projection might have specific requirements or criteria to function. However, I could still only guess what was responsible and how it worked.

The mana I had attempted to use in Summoning Ophelia was gone.

While waiting for my mana to regenerate, I explained what had happened. Hoping that one of my champions might have an answer.

“Maybe there is a Spell that is protecting the fortress?” Randle suggested uncertainly. “I haven’t heard of anything that behaves as you described, but this is hardly my area of expertise...”

Jayne nodded in agreement while keeping watch on the fortress.

“Or perhaps another Artefact? This fortress looks...important...almost palatial...” Faine sounded seriously concerned. He knelt down by one of the scattered suits of armour and inspected it.

“What are you thinking?” Randle asked worriedly, demonstrating that he knew his cousin far better than I did and had found cause for concern.

“I think...” Faine paused and looked up at the fortress, “I think this is the Werrian’s Imperial palace...”

Faine’s observation caught me momentarily off guard. However, after overcoming my shock, I realised that the walls of the inner fortress were far more ornate and decorative than a military fortress had any right to be.

In hindsight, the prolific adornment of gargoyles and other statues on the battlements should have been a tipoff. Everything reminded me of the Mournbrent grand cathedral. Focusing on aesthetics at the expense of pure military functionality.

“Which means it’s possible the Liche found an Artefact within the treasury...” I commented bitterly, convinced that the hypothetical Artefact was responsible for blocking my Summon Spell.

“Perhaps more than one...” Jayne agreed before brusquely clearing her throat, “Or maybe not. The royal family only had one Artefact, after all. So there is no guarantee that the Werrians would have had more than one!”

“That’s right!” Randle agreed with patriotic fervour. “Our kingdom may not have been as large, but our history is much richer and roots are far deeper than the damned Werrians! It’s possible they didn’t even have any Artefacts at all!”

Faine nodded emphatically in agreement.

It was an interesting experience to be reminded so bluntly of my champions’ allegiances. However, so little time had passed since they had taken their oaths that I figured it was to be expected. It would have been more suspicious and disappointing if they were capable of shifting their allegiances so completely within such a short time.

Loyalty was earned, not taken.

After recovering my mana, we approached the main entrance to the palatial fortress and found the gates and portcullis were both left open.

The flagstones within the fortress were stained with blood.

As we cautiously made our way through the main passageway, we encountered piles of ash-strewn about with abandoned weapons and armour.

The particles of ash in the air made it increasingly difficult to breathe. We were forced to stop and make damp masks to wear beneath our helmets. However, the increased obstruction made it difficult to breathe as well, just in a different way. It quickly proved impossible to wear both a mask and our full helms simultaneously.

Left with little choice, I conjured open helms as replacements.

The open face of the helm made it much easier to breathe and provided a wider field of view. Unfortunately, the open face of the helm also provided a significantly larger opening for receiving an enemy attack. However, given the choice between slowly suffocating to death by inhaling airborne ash, or risking increased injury to the face, I was inclined to choose the ambiguity of the latter over the near-certainty of the former.

Navigating our way through the fortress was an altogether unnerving experience. The oppressive silence caused every booted footfall on the bare sections of stone floor to ring through the empty hallways and chambers. All the while, faint sounds of battle echoed in the distance, and every so often the fortress would shake as Ushu continued his assault from the outside.

Unwilling to drag out our stay within the fortress, I spent a quarter of my mana to render the four of us invisible to the mindless undead.

There was still the possibility of tripping hidden traps, but I decided that Marco or the mindless undead would have triggered most traps we would otherwise encounter.

Moving quickly through the fortress, I witnessed the devastation wrought by the Liche’s occupation. Blackened dried blood crusted the walls and floors seemingly at random. The streaks and spatters on the floor suggested that those slain by the Liche’s forces had not remained immobile for long.

Passing through the main hall, we slipped past a dozen pale-skinned undead in bloody tattered clothing. The situation of the undead was strange. They were each manacled to the leftmost wall and bore several signs of having been savaged by Zombies or other carnivorous undead.

Trying not to dwell on the depravities of the Liche, we pressed onward and continued following in Marco's wake.

No longer concerned with fighting any of the mindless undead, we made good time and I could sense that we were steadily gaining on Marco.

The situation we encountered in the main hall proved to be far from unique. Nearly half of the apartments we passed by had one or more corpses or undead manacled to the walls and wearing the bloody torn remains of fine clothing.

Ascending a final set of stairs we found ourselves standing beneath the open sky and surrounded by crumbling walls and the broken remains of the roof.

Emerald flashes of light bled over the top of the rubble and Marco’s cries of rage and the clash of steel sang through the air.

“Hang back,” I warned before carefully scaling a pile of nearby rubble. I had no intentions of joining the battle directly unless it was strictly necessary. However, to make that decision, I needed to witness the battle with my own eyes.

Unsure of what I had expected to find, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed by the scene unfolding before me.

Marco was trying, and largely failing, to engage the Liche in melee with his claws. However, the Liche was easily blocking Marco’s attacks with a long thin staff. Each time the Liche blocked one of Marco’s attacks, the small crystal at the top of the staff would flash with emerald light and blast Marco backward several feet.

As best as I could tell, the mana signature felt incredibly similar to Thundering Strikes but was slightly different.

Despite the aristocratic ball gown worn by the Liche, it had no problems matching Marco’s speed and Agility. However, the jerkiness of the Liche’s movements suggested that the speed and reflexes might be the result of a Spell. The Liche didn’t seem nearly as acclimated to the speed of the engagement as Marco. So despite being faster, the Liche wasn’t able to gain the upper hand.

After knocking Marco away, the Liche would throw arcs of lightning from her free hand but fail to land any direct hits due to Marco’s enhanced Vampyric speed.

Neither party spoke a word, communicating only through cries of rage and snarls of frustration as they each failed to gain the upper hand over the other.

After overcoming my initial surprise, I noticed Wisp standing calmly atop a pile of rubble near the edge of the rooftop.

Realising he had been spotted, the cowl of Wisp’s robes turned in my direction.

Disappearing in a cloud of shadow, Wisp reappeared at my side. “I am waiting for the Liche’s supply of mana to wane,” Wisp stated bluntly, perhaps worried that I was doubting his loyalty or capabilities. “I must also confess...I wanted to give Marco a chance at his vengeance...” His dry rasping voice carried a melancholic tone I had not heard before.

I had never pried or even inquired after Wisp’s personal history, afraid of the potentially distasteful or foul events I would uncover. However, I now realised that I had been incredibly shortsighted, cowardly, and largely self-serving.

Wisp was a monster, that much I knew for certain. However, he was also a Variant. A Variant undead.

It occurred to me that I had never questioned that particularly aberrant detail. So far as I was aware, there were two methods for the creation of Variants. The first was through sexual reproduction, and the second was through random creation by the Labyrinths.

I had simply assumed that since undead lacked the functioning sexual organs to reproduce through regular means, that Wisp had to have been created by the Mournbrent Labyrinth.

But what if he had once been something else?

Higher-level adventurers used monster Slaves to add combat power or form expandable frontline support. Which meant that it was possible that Wisp was not originally from the Mournbrent Labyrinth at all. He may have been killed or otherwise abandoned and left for dead, only to rise as an undead.

I recalled how determined Wisp had been in his desire to ‘purify’ himself within Mournbrent’s grand cathedral and its consecrated grounds. An act that caused him an immense degree of pain and very likely may have held a high chance of destroying him outright if he failed.

Why would someone willingly subject themself to such torment and risk of destruction unless their current state of being was somehow worse than not existing at all?

Wisp was not a good person, but he wasn’t needlessly cruel either. He was obedient and made himself helpful when requested. All the same, he killed without remorse or hesitation and demonstrated no outward feelings of loss over the deaths of allies and enemies alike.

How much of that detachment is a part of his personality? And how much is due to his existence as an undead?

As I continued watching Marco's duel with the Liche, I couldn’t settle on an answer.

Ushu had ceased his attacks on the fortress but continued circling the rooftop from a distance. Similarly, Dhizi had begun patrolling further out and Nadine appeared to have joined Clarice on Dhizi’s saddle.

The stalemate between the Liche and Marco took a sudden turn as a bolt of lightning forked down from the sky and struck Marco as he attempted to dodge the lightning cast from the Liche’s hand.

Sent into uncontrollable spasms, Marco’s leather armour, his clothing, and his skin smouldered as the Liche continued channelling the lightning from her left hand.

Screaming in rage, Marco could do nothing as his nervous system betrayed him. Completely at the Liche’s mercy, it would only be a matter of time before he would be destroyed.

Wisp bowed the cowl of his hood briefly before releasing a quiet breathless sigh.

Disappearing in a burst of shadow, Wisp suddenly reappeared behind the Liche in its blind spot, thrusting Ophelia’s Blessed blade at the small of the Liche’s back.

Perhaps sensing Wisp’s mana, the Liche spun about with impossible speed and knocked the flat of the blade aside with its staff.

Undeterred, Wisp repeated the manoeuvre and appeared behind the Liche again, this time using the momentum generated from the Liche’s deflection to perform a sweeping strike.

Again, the Liche spun about, the ruffles of the large gown twirling with dizzying speed as the staff was struck against the sword for a second time.

Several dozen attacks were then made in rapid succession and successfully repelled before Wisp broke the rhythm of their engagement. However, rather than appearing behind the Liche, Wisp reappeared ten feet in front of the Liche instead.

As lightning began to crackle in the Liche’s left hand, the cowl of Wisp’s robe cocked slightly to one side. “You do not know, do you?” He asked in his dry rasping voice, a measure of unexpected sympathy in his tone.

Wisp’s comment appeared to have caught the Liche off guard and it hesitated, the feral anger in her expression taking on a small degree of confusion.

“It was me,” Wisp commented, his posture and tone reminiscent of a funeral director offering neutral condolences to a grieving family. “I am Wisp.”

The Liche’s eyes grew wide and it visibly staggered as if Wisp had struck it a mortal blow.

“I struck the blow that killed her,” Wisp continued in a commiserating tone, “I killed Liz.”

The Liche’s dishevelled hair covered its face as it hung its head. Bare pale shoulders shaking, and fists trembling, the Liche remained silent.

“Despite her crimes, I did not intend for her to suffer,” Wisp’s tone remained neutral but respectful. “However, she and indeed, both of you, cannot be permitted to exist. The path you have chosen is unaccept-”

“SHUT UP!” The Liche snarled, “YOU THINK I FUCKING CARE WHAT YOU WANT?!” The Liche raised its head and glared at Wisp with unmitigated hatred.

“No, I don’t expect you do,” Wisp replied casually and lifted the Blessed blade in preparation for combat.

“RAAAAAAGH!!!” The Liche screamed and released a torrent of lightning from her left hand just as a powerful bolt of lightning lanced down from the sky.

Before either Spell could connect, Wisp disappeared.

Expecting Wisp to appear in its blind spot, the Liche spun about and swung its staff but struck nothing but empty air.

Wisp appeared a half second later and severed the Liche’s left arm just below the elbow with Ophelia’s amber glowing blade. Before the Liche could retaliate, Wisp disappeared once more.

Shrieking in pain and anger, the Liche swung its staff about in a blind rage. The force and speed of the swings distorted the air and I could feel the breeze on my face despite my distant vantage point.

All the while, the Liche’s amputated arm crumbled to ash and was cast to the wind.

“SHOW YOURSELF!!!” The Liche demanded shrilly, “FIGHT ME YOU FUCKING COWARD!!!” As the glowing green eyes of the Liche scanned the rooftop, I felt its attention settle in my direction.

Releasing a Barrier on reflex, I was just in time to intercept a torrent of toxic emerald light. Despite the colour difference, I recognised it as the Life Drain Spell I had learned from Wisp.

No doubt desperate, it was unlikely the Liche would end its attempts to heal itself after a single failure.

Pulsing another Barrier, I leapt up and over the rubble and began charging toward the Liche.

A second Life Drain Spell spattered against my expanding Barrier. However, unlike the first Life Drain Spell, the second quickly proved to be a sustained effort. This required me to continue funnelling mana into the Barrier or risk being hit by the Spell.

Now locked in a contest of mana capacity while I closed the distance between us, I conjured several magical javelins and threw them at the Liche one after another in rapid succession. I had no real expectations of hitting the Liche, but I needed to distract the Liche and provide an opportunity for Wisp to land another strike.

True to my expectations, the Liche easily avoided all but the final javelin. The last would have struck the Liche in its right shoulder but was disintegrated by a lance of bright green light. Unfortunately, none of my attacks seemed to distract the Liche in the slightest. However, the Liche suddenly staggered as something struck it in the back.

With no sign of Wisp, and Marco still twitching on the floor, I could only stare in surprise as the Liche was struck five more times in rapid succession. Ceasing its Life Drain Spell, the Liche threw itself hard to one side.

Several arrows skittered against the floor and mounds of rubble. Following the trajectory of the arrows, my gaze settled on a small group of soldiers clustered on the eastern mountainside.

Screaming in fury the Liche blasted the eastern mountain with bolts of lightning. However, as the afterimages of the lightning faded, it became clear that the Liche had only guessed at the position of the soldiers and had subsequently missed them entirely.

I vaguely recalled the squad of soldiers that I had sent south with the express purpose of testing the Empowered Veil of Undeath Spell but was surprised that they had disobeyed the order to retreat. That they had given up the opportunity to return home and instead inserted themselves in a confrontation that could see them dead before they even realised what had happened.

Preparing to cast another barrage of Spells, the Liche staggered and very nearly collapsed as the boundary of my expanding barrier passed over its body. With confirmation that the speed and reaction time from earlier had been provided by a Spell, I redoubled my effort in closing the distance between us.

I was rapidly running out of mana. However, one more solid strike might very well end the conflict and I was already committed.

Holding Shiverfang tight with both hands, I lined myself up against the Liche and mentally braced myself to deliver the final blow.

With each step closer I took, a new alert appeared informing me that I had successfully resisted the Liche’s aura. All the same, I could feel a deep chill sinking into my flesh and settling into my bones. Keenly aware that if we were to fight for an extended period, my movements would only grow slower and more clumsy. I was entirely committed to ending the battle as quickly as possible.

For all of its rage, the Liche stared at me in surprise. No doubt confused that I would willingly enter its aura of death and entropy. However, its surprise was quickly replaced by bitter determination.

Opening its jaw open impossibly wide, the Liche disgorged a swarm of flying carrion insects in my direction.

Without a second set of armoured eyelids or my full helm’s visor to protect my eyes, I had no choice but to very nearly fully close my eyelids, leaving only the narrowest crack so I could continue to track the Liche.

Almost out of mana, I grit my teeth and ignored the swarm as its countless tiny bodies impacted against my armour and face.

A host of new alerts sprang up in my peripheral vision, warning me that I had successfully resisted poison and disease.

Even so, I could feel the mandibles of the insects gnawing, biting and otherwise probing at the exposed skin of my face.

The Liche’s determination faltered and it took a half step backward while raising its staff to protect itself.

I felt a surge in tainted mana from the Liche, but nothing happened.

The Liche’s emerald glowing eyes grew wide in shock as it realised the significance of the maintained Barrier. Realised that it was trapped and had only its staff with which to defend itself.

Fitting a vertical slash from above and to my right, I waited until the Liche took the bait before turning the slash into a thrust.

Without its Spells to enhance its strength, speed, or reflexes, the Liche reacted too slowly to deflect the attack in time.

Shiverfang’s blade passed into the right side of the Liche’s chest with effortless ease, cutting through flesh and bone as if it was air. Without friction to anchor Shiverfang’s blade, the Liche’s attempt at deflecting the blow afforded me an opportune angle to further compromise its ability to defend itself.

Straining my muscles back into motion, I reignited my initial momentum and heaved, knocking the Liche’s staff down and to my left. I then shifted my stance and pivoted hard to my left.

Shiverfang’s blade sheared through the Liche’s rib cage, out of its chest cavity, and through its right wrist.

As the Liche’s right hand and staff fell toward the floor, I began moving my body into the next stance that would allow me to deliver a slashing strike from the left side to the right. If successful, there was a distinct possibility that the Liche could be cleaved in half at the waist. However, I was forced to abort the attack as my mana reached critically low levels and I felt a sudden surge of weariness.

Staggering backward instinctively attempting to buy space between myself and the imminent danger, by the time I realised my mistake, it was almost too late.

The Liche’s eyes flashed malevolently as it gathered its mana and pointed the stump of its right hand toward my face.

The swirling lance of emerald energy raced toward me, closing the gap between us with impossible speed.

Blood was still rushing in my ears and with my hearing quite heavily impaired by my helmet and coif, I heard cries of alarm from somewhere behind me but couldn’t make out the words.

At the last possible moment, Wisp reappeared in the direct path of the Liche’s Spell.

The Spell washed over Wisp’s body but was almost immediately enveloped by the coiling shadows that formed his robes. The shadows devoured and absorbed the Liche’s mana, soaking it in greedily like a ravenous sponge.

“It is over,” Wisp declared calmly, ending the Liche’s Spell with a swing of Ophelia’s Blessed blade.

Looking past Wisp and toward the Liche, I could see that he was right.

In less than a handful of seconds, the Liche’s body had severely deteriorated. Deep cracks and fissures were slowly creeping across its pale skin and dislodging clumps of ashen flesh.

“There is no shame in this defeat,” Wisp commented in his earlier strangely supportive tone. “After all, it was inevitable...”

The Liche’s snarl turned into a scowl and then a bitter frown. “It was the attack on that village...The one with the monsters...The one with the Ogre...”

“Indeed,” Wisp replied neutrally. “The moment you crossed the line, this outcome became inevitable. Just be thankful for the mercies given to you, for others would not be nearly as just nor as kind.”

“Mercy? Kindness?...” The Liche wheezed incredulously, collapsing to its knees and sending a cloud of ash billowing out from beneath its gown.

“There are worse fates than death...” Wisp replied ominously, the finality and absolute certainty of his tone sending chills down my spine.

The Liche continued to stare at Wisp for a while longer before glancing toward Marco who had begun dragging himself to his feet. “I...I didn't choose to be this...this thing...” The Liche hissed bitterly, “To be a monster...I just did what I had to...I made the best of the shitty lemons life gave me!”

“You could have been different, made different choices,” I countered angrily, morally repulsed by the feeble self-justifications for committing wholesale slaughter.

“What would you know?” The Liche sneered contemptuously, “With how shitty this world is, we were doing you all a favour! We would have ended all these stupid wars for good! So what if a few cities of people die?! PEOPLE DIE! It’s what they do! What’s a handful of deaths compared to-”

“MILLIONS OF INNOCENT PEOPLE!!!” I roared, pushing past Wisp and glowering at the Liche, “YOU FUCKING BUTCHERED MILLIONS!!!”

Despite its badly eroded features, the Liche seemed taken aback. As if somehow it hadn’t fully considered the actual scale of destruction it had caused. “No...” The Liche shook its head, dislodging several clumps of hair and sending them cascading to the floor. “That’s not...No...We just...I just...” Its voice trailed off into permanent silence as its lower face and jaw crumbled away.

Staggering toward the Liche, still twitching and spasming, Marco balled his fist and drove it through the Liche’s head.

Already heavily compromised by the debilitating effects of Ophelia’s slayer enchantment, the Liche’s head exploded in a cloud of ash.

Whatever had been holding the Liche together dissipated and the rest of its body collapsed.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!” Marco howled in rage and frustration, kicking at stomping at the pile of ashes until they were scattered to the wind.

Picking up the Liche’s staff, I immediately recognised it as an Artefact. Another Key to the Labyrinths. Combined with the Liche’s own words, it confirmed my suspicions that the Liche had been another Awakened. However, the exchange between Wisp and the Liche had opened my eyes to the possibility that there had been a second Awakened working with the Liche.

Thinking back on my battles against the Liche’s forces, I could only think of one individual who stood out from the others.

The short Vampyr.

There had been something about the Vampyr, its clothes, its hair, facial piercings, none of them were unique to earth, but collectively...It was possible.

If the Vampyr had been the other Awakened, then it was already destroyed. Wisp had seen to that.

With my thoughts still lingering on the fate of the Vampyr, my eyes were drawn to a small golden pendant and a sapphire brooch that had been dislodged from the Liche’s remains by Marco’s vicious kicking.

To my immense surprise, the sapphire brooch was another Artefact and Key to the Labyrinths.

Securing the brooch inside one of my belt pouches, I picked up the pendant and examined it. It was entirely non-magical and looked like it was only gold-plated. The sort of small pendant that would have cost less than twenty dollars back on earth.

The two faces of the pendant each bore a single capital letter from the English alphabet, with A on one side, and L on the other. Each letter was positioned off-centre in such a way that spinning the pendant created the illusion of both letters being side by side.

“I am prepared to make your judgement final,” Wisp commented neutrally, raising the silver lantern slightly to reveal a host of small shimmering spheres of light trapped within. In stark contrast to the vortex formed by the other lights, a pair, each far larger than the others, slowly circled the inside of the lantern side by side as they orbited one another.

Any mercy I may have been inclined to feel, any shred of doubt or hesitation had been purged after hearing the Liche’s self-justifications and denial. “Do it,” I ordered.

Wisp nodded and raised the silver lantern to the opening of his cowl. The pair of lights were drawn out of the lantern and disappeared into the shadows of the Wisp’s robes. Consumed by darkness and destroyed as Wisp absorbed their essence to fuel his Evolution.

“It is done,” Wisp confirmed dryly, “They are no more.”

“What about the others?” I asked somewhat numbly, my emotions warring between a profound sense of relief, loss, anger, and exhaustion.

“I cannot release them here,” Wisp replied pensively, “However, with your permission, I wish to attempt to purify them on consecrated grounds. If successful, I intend to release them and return them so they may find peace.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” I pressed, refusing to look away from or ignore what I was party to.

“Oblivion will be a kindness,” Wisp stated bluntly.

My earlier ruminations on Wisp’s origins left me inclined to agree with his assessment. “You have my permission,” I sighed tiredly as I turned my attention toward Marco.

Marco had fallen still and was staring blankly up at the sky.

The sickly emerald light was gone and the clouds were slowly melting away.

Just by looking at Marco, I knew what his intentions were. Despite my appreciation for all he had been through, I owed Tobi a debt.

“Take him with you,” I ordered, shifting Marco into Wisp’s party and giving him control over Marco. “He needs time to reconsider and fully appreciate his options...”

Wisp nodded in understanding and made his way over to Marco.

Shady appeared from behind a pile of rubble shortly afterwards and slunk his way over to Marco's side, pressing his head into Marco’s listless hands and rubbing against his legs like a giant housecat.

Still desperately short on mana, I sat myself down on a pile of nearby rubble and considered how I would repay the debt I owed to the families of those I had led to their doom. Destroying the Liche had been necessary, but that did not absolve me of the consequences.

I refused to become like them.

***** Marquis Daniforth ~ Werrian Empire ~ Displaced Werrian Empire Capital *****

Keenly aware of the sudden turn in the weather, Marquis Daniforth eyed the figures gathered atop the displaced fortress from his vantage atop a nearby mountain. Despite the extreme distance between them, the Marquis had no difficulties in making out every detail thanks to his highly Evolved senses.

With the destruction of the runaways confirmed, the Marquis felt a slowly building compulsion to return to his master within the halls of the Pale Court. Marquis Daniforth had originally intended to dispatch the runaways himself, but the intervention by an army of livestock had piqued his interest and he had decided to observe.

Expecting the assembled livestock to fail miserably, the Marquis had been incredibly surprised when the livestock had defeated the forces of the runaways with only a handful of losses. That alone had been thoroughly disconcerting.

The seemingly minimal support of the Angels had proven devastatingly effective and was a serious cause for concern.

The Pale King himself was fully capable of quashing such interference, but the creation of such powerful relics had long since been forbidden. Several ancient treaties had outlawed the practice and stipulated the price for those found in breach.

The fact that the relic had been created without repercussions was proof that the Angels had not kept to their word. More than that. For the Angels to move so brazenly in the open, was tantamount to a declaration of war.

A war the Pale Court was not prepared to face.

Millennia of endless intrigue had left the Pale Court fractured and rife with infighting. The Pale King’s indulgence in such matters for his amusement was his right. However, it left them at serious risk of a concerted attack from the Angels or their Devil servants.

Making matters worse, the involvement of the middling undead suggested a potential alliance between the Angels and a member of the Pale Court. It all but guaranteed that a surprise attack would signal the beginning of the conflict.

Withdrawing a scroll from his doublet, the Marquis sent a small pulse of mana into the velum to activate the Spell within. Collecting and carefully structuring his thoughts, the Marquis projected them to his master within the Pale Court.

The compulsion to return remained, but its strength waned while the Marquis’ master digested the assembled report.

Despite having served his master for the better part of three centuries, the Marquis knew better than to make assumptions regarding his master’s motives and desires. So it came as little surprise when the compulsion returned to its former intensity, demanding he return immediately.

Eyeing the Devil-Bound Dragon and Wyvern warily, the Marquis slowly and stealthily worked his way down the south side of the mountain. He would have preferred to simply teleport, but the traitors and Angels had deployed some sort of trap, and the Marquis had no intentions of falling victim to it.

Taking great care to avoid the briar bushes, the Marquis felt a profound sense of relief after reaching the barren soil of the ground below. While he was not afraid of fighting the briar monster directly, the Marquis would be forced to reveal his position to defend himself without incurring serious injury.

He had witnessed firsthand the destruction the briar monster could unleash and had no desire to find himself upon the receiving end of an ambush.

At that moment, an unfamiliar sensation erupted in the Marquis' chest, stopping him in his tracks and drawing his gaze down toward his chest.

Staring in bewilderment, the Marquis slowly reached for the thick wooden shaft lodged in his ribcage.

His eyes widened further still as a second wooden shaft appeared in his abdomen, and a third drove through his right thigh.

Pain tore through the Marquis’ body as he was set ablaze from the inside.

Struggling to tear the thick wooden shaft from his chest, the Marquis howled as a crimson steel blade appeared protruding from his stomach.

Somehow pinned in place, the Marquis struggled frantically as he tried to escape. Each passing moment was agony and he could feel his strength rapidly fading away.

Desperately fumbling at his doublet, the Marquis could only watch in horror as his pale elegant fingers blackened and hardened like charcoal.

“No! NO!!!” The Marquis shrieked, unwilling to accept that he was going to die.

Wildly flailing his arms in an attempt at striking one of his invisible assailants, the Marquis' vision suddenly spun into a dizzying spiral. He briefly found himself staring at his own body and the rapidly fading blade of a large two-handed sword passing by just to the right of his now bare and bloody neck.

Before the Marquis had time to realise what had happened, everything rapidly faded away.

Staring into the yawning void the Marquis silently whimpered as it embraced and utterly consumed the final remnants of his mind.