“Look out!” called out Gladius as a zombie lunged at Fletcher’s back. Gladius drew a dagger from his ankle and whipped it straight into the zombie’s spine knocking it flat.
“Thanks!” Fletcher replied with a sigh of relief. Gladius acknowledged with a nod.
The graveyard was teeming with undead now; the earth was littered with open pits and exposed graves. It didn’t seem to matter where or how the zombies were struck, they continued forth undaunted, shambling at a snail’s pace. The gurgling and moaning got louder and louder as the zombies anticipated their next meal—the two heroes.
The dark elves’ corpses were still being picked and chewed at by the frenzied zombies, their faces red with blood.
“Our weapons aren’t working, we need iron!” Gladius declared between decapitating and kicking away zombies.
“Then we transmute!” replied Fletcher, eager to try out the augmentations Astralode had given them for such an occasion. He had inscribed symbols of metallic transmutation on their quiver and sheath.
The white light of a transmutation poured out of Fletcher’s quiver as the etching on it activated. His arrows reformed themselves into sanctified iron in an instant. Gladius did likewise, returning his sword to its sheath, transmuting it to iron before wielding it once more.
In one fell swoop Gladius halved the nearest zombie; it sizzled and bubbled as it fell, melting into the ground leaving only browned bones.
“Much better!” grinned Gladius as he defeated another. Fletcher’s arrows struck the undead enemies in their chests exploding them into lifeless piles of bones.
Before long, the graveyard was empty, littered only with the browned bones of the fallen undead. The victorious heroes hunched as they caught their breath, smiles of relief on their faces.
“We still haven’t seen any sign of The Wickerman,” Gladius panted, his concern matched only by his fatigue.
“Over there!” Fletcher pointed back to Darkwoods Outpost, thick smoke rose above the clearing, clouding over the moon. Dull screams echoed through the night sky.
“We have to break down this gate and get back there!” Gladius nodded to Fletcher who instantly knew the plan. The two of them charged the gate crashing into it and sending it flying off its rusted hinges. They sped off into the woods finally emerging in the clearing around the outpost.
Crimson flames lit up the night sky.
Seeing the flames, memories The Capital under siege by Greed’s armies returned to Gladius in a flash.
He was once again standing amongst the carnage in The Capital watching the terrible events once more. Trolls and goblins ran around joyously with torches igniting one building after another. Others were fighting with the city guards, overpowering them with their immense clubs and maces.
Greed’s siege engines had broken through the walls. Legions of abominations of every kind poured into the city. Greed watched from his throne elevated by four ogre load-bearers.
A look of sadistic amusement colored Greed’s face, lit up by the roaring flames. His demonic visage was awash in the delight of the brutality surrounding him. The night was illuminated by the flames and its ambience was the screams of women and children echoing everywhere. Those screams still haunted Gladius in his waking hours.
Greed’s Consul: Affluence was ordering the various loyalists to show no mercy, women and children were being killed en mass and once the last of the city guards fell only the scattered soldiers of the ally cities remained.
The small militia detachments of Myst City, Sunrise City, and Plateau City were too few in number to curb the invasion of Greed’s legions.
One particular loyalist of Greed was a necromancer, Seth; his familiars were butchering the innocent around him.
Gladius watched as the younger version of him sliced and diced the vile familiars of Seth, and engaged the necromancer in armed combat.
Seth looked very similar to Umbra, though far older, but they shared much of the same features. His powers were very different. There was definitely a connection between him and Umbra, reason enough that Gladius was still suspicious of Umbra.
As the younger Gladius swung his sword wildly at Seth, he grew increasingly fatigued. Seth was sapping his strength with his foul magic. Every blow the sorcerer landed weakened Gladius further. Eventually Gladius caved to his knees, he didn’t stand a chance, and his face was littered with scars from Seth’s dagger. Blood dripped over his eyes making it even harder to fight this impossible battle.
Gladius collapsed onto his back, utterly defeated as he awaited the necromancer Seth to deal the final blow. His eyes closed, he waited.
“Assemble!” a voice rang out followed by a horn blast, Gladius watched as Seth walked away flashing a saddened glance at him as he left. That gaze lingered with him; it wasn’t a look of malice, but one of regret and shame.
The last thing he remembered was being carried out by some retreating Myst City soldiers as he was losing consciousness. The battle was over for him and he would be bed-ridden for months to follow.
No. He thought. That was no battle, it was a massacre!
“Are you coming boss?” echoed Fletcher’s voice hazily.
Gladius snapped back to reality to see Fletcher staring at him with a concerned look on his face.
“We have to get back to Darkwoods Outpost!” he insisted. “Err… Are you okay, boss?” Fletcher added.
“Of course, let’s go!” Gladius agreed, dismissively.
TWENTY EIGHT
Umbra and Marin continued onwards. They descended the final mountain path and came into view of the hellish wasteland of The Lava Fields.
The air around them was fouled by the rising smoke of numerous geysers around them. The floor was dusted, dry magma. Nothing seemed to grow, everything looked scorched.
Some of the cracks were exposed, revealing rivers of fire flowing like veins under the seemingly dead landscape. Their view ahead was rippled from the rising heat.
“Just over the peaks on the far side,” Marin instructed, breaking the silence.
Umbra’s cloak had been removed and slung over his shoulder, leaving only his simple grey clothes, discolored with sweat and dust. His hair was damp from fatigue and stuck to his forehead.
“We should probably keep moving. Once that slayer is free she will hunt us down. We should get as much distance from her as possible…” he looked back at Marin. She was glowing with a silvery-blue aura and stood in the center of a hydromantic array.
Umbra eyeballed her, about to speak when she raised a finger to her mouth to shush him. Then with her arms outstretched, the array began to spin faster and faster. Steam rose up from the ground and enshrouded her, whirling with the array. The large cloud rose up to conceal her until it finally dissipated, revealing Marin hunched over and panting, gripping her staff like a feeble old lady.
Umbra looked at her feet to notice a dozen vials of water, still glowing from their conjuring.
He ran to grab her as she collapsed and raised a bottle to her parched lips, while stroking her hair affectionately. Once the cool water passed her lips, life sprung into her face and she jumped to her feet.
“Where are we?” inquired Umbra between huge gulps of water.
“We have just entered The Lava Fields. I used the vapor around us to form that water. We will need it, this part of the trip can get pretty rough, Umbra,” Marin explained looking at him with a smile on her face as he gulped the water.
So there the two sorcerers walked, slowed by the searing heat, and daunted by the Dead Landscape. Umbra wondered if they were even going in the right direction, the dust cloud in the distance concealed the horizon.
Marin seemed sure of their course so he said nothing and continued forth towards the unknown. For hours they walked, or rather stumbled until something other than dust and rock appea
red through the dust-cloud horizon.
Rising peaks, and a giant crevasse that glowed red from the molten hell-fires below; the crevasse stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. They had to cross it; there was no way around it.
A red banner flapping in the wind caught Umbra’s attention, marked with a skull surrounded by fire.
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to deal with the molten-core bandits, this is very bad,” Marin stuttered, her anxiety apparent. “They will kill us on sight; they are extremely territorial, and violent.”
“We can try sneaking through I suppose,” Marin suggested looking at Umbra, trying to conceal her angst.
The moon shone overhead. “I think we should wait until later hours, we can hopefully sneak by undetected as the guards turn in,” said Umbra. “My powers are much stronger should we have to fight our way through,” he gloated.
“Freeze scum!” ordered four Myst City guards patrolling to the north of the city.
They had stumbled upon Micah and Vlad heading north in the Werewolf Woods to find the Demon, Lust. The guards lowered their pikes, pointing their spear-points at the two black-clad perpetrators.
Micah continued walking away casually, his expression lacked concern and his sword hung over his shoulder, Vlad nervously walking behind him. Vlad’s power was minimal in the light of day; he was hesitant to engage the guards.
“I said freeze!” demanded one guard. Micah stopped abruptly, but not out of fear.
The wind in the trees made them rustle; they suddenly stopped dead, almost like the holding their breath. The necromancer and his companion turned to them and looked menacingly at the guards.
The guards shuffled nervously upon realizing who they had provoked.
“Just walk away” warned Micah casually. Vlad nodded with an evil grin across his face, his fangs were revealed. The guards grunted with contempt.
“You die, here, today scum,” they affirmed, hiding their fear.
“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Micah sighed, his sword lighting up.
Micah and Vlad ran towards the guards, Micah was much faster than the vampire, being was the first to draw blood with a quick, clean kill. The guard didn’t even have time to react as the sword penetrated his neck. A look of horror was frozen on his face as he dropped lifelessly to the floor. The sword, almost as if savoring the blood illuminated a fierce red.
“You left me no choice” Micah sighed, looking down at the fallen guard. He stepped on the guard’s helmet to extract his blade and held it over his head. However he hesitated, deciding against taking the guard’s soul.
Vlad was already chewing fiercely on one of the other guards. He was obviously hungry judging by his frantic bloodlust.
“Vampire, stop! We made our point,” Micah snapped, disgusted by the vampire’s feeding frenzy.
Vlad leant up wiping his bloodied face with his sleeve. The other guards had already started running, almost tripping over each other in their desperation.
Vlad looked over at Micah, “should we chase them?” he inquired.
“Let them go, we’ll be long gone before they return with reinforcements,” Micah assured him as he wiped down his blade with his cape.
He held up the sword to examine it, various swirling white souls permeated through it’s blade including his—the grey-colored one. This was only a fraction of his soul. The rest lay in its natural vessel and that’s where he intended it to remain. Micah could hear a cold, deep breath as he fixated on the swords blade. He scowled.
Soon Umbra would face justice at the edge of the blade.
“I’m hungry, I won’t last if I don’t feed,” protested Vlad, watching the remaining two guards flee off into the woods.
“Fine, eat this one,” Micah sighed with an unusual lack of concern. He kicked the lifeless guard he had killed towards Vlad.
What’s happening to me?
Vlad fed furiously on the fallen soldier without uttering a word.
“Disgusting,” Micah grumbled as he watched Vlad chewing furiously with hunger.
Micah looked down at his blood-spattered hands.
How much more blood will have to be spilled?
TWENTY NINE
Gladius and Fletcher sped off down a shallow hill through a long, narrow plot of dead cornfields that lined the northern edge of the outpost.
They didn’t have time to give any of the peculiar scarecrows a second glance. They had to hurry towards the fires of Darkwoods Outpost. The entire forest was lit up like the sun.
It’s time these fires were doused. Gladius resolved.
Zombies swarmed the burning town, undaunted by the guards. The dark elves were falling by the dozen as the undead horde rampaged, hacking down innocent civilians with their rusted weapons.
Magister Lunaris, the leader of the dark elves issued orders to his troops assembled near the smoldering town hall. “Keep together! Archers to the rear; stay in formation!” he ordered. The dark elves saluted in unison.
The few surviving citizens fled in every direction, screaming at the top of their lungs. The chaos spread like a plague, the town would soon fall. Gladius and Fletcher arrived on the scene, hacking and piercing zombies as they went.
“Where’s The Wickerman?” Gladius demanded, looking intensely at the Magister as he arrived on the scene.
“He’s moved into the trade district!” one of the dark elves explained, shifting nervously near the front of the formation.
“Let’s go Fletcher!”
“Sure thing, boss!” replied Fletcher, not halting his flurry of arrows.
The two sped off in the direction of the fiercest flames.
And there he was, The Wickerman, a monstrous combination of scarecrow and demon.
His limbs were stitched with straw poking out of the seams, he wore ragged clothes and had a woven straw hat pulled down over his eyes. Jet black wings were folded behind his back. He pointed towards the nearest house commanding his zombies to torch it.
I guess these zombies aren’t as stupid as they appear, Gladius thought to himself, as he watched the shambling undead carrying torches over to the building.
“Spare none!” hissed The Wickerman. He turned to notice the two heroes standing at the ready, his head cocked to the side with a curious stare.
“Your time is up, Wickerman!” yelled Fletcher, his voice dampened by the crackling flames.
“Who are these fools?” The Wickerman inquired. He felt no threat by these non-elf interlopers despite their fearlessness.
Fletcher released an arrow into flight, piercing The Wickerman in the shoulder. “That almost tickled,” mocked The Wickerman as he pulled out the arrow and snapped it in two with one hand.
Straw poked out of his wound, there was no blood. Fletcher was dumbstruck.
The Wickerman extracted two hand-sized reapers. “Here are my reinforcements,” he cooed, turning his head completely around and looking over to the rotting cornfield.
It rustled before revealing several animated scarecrows armed with reapers and scythes. They shambled awkwardly, straw sprinkled out of their ragged clothes as they moved, their eyes glowing a sinister red.
“What now, boss?” Fletcher inquired as the stiffened scarecrows picked up speed and ran into the town. A hail of flaming arrows descended upon them. The few successful hits burst a few of them into flames.
“That works!” Gladius grabbed a torch out of a nearby zombie’s grasp and lopped his head off effortlessly holding the sword in his free hand. He hurled the lit torch at the nearest scarecrow igniting it in an instant; it tried to flee but collapsed into a flaming pile of straw.
“The Wickerman is a demon! We need to seal him!” yelled the Magister. He stood behind a line of dark elf archers, who were reloading their bows. A single da
rk elf holding a torch ran down the line, lighting up the archer’s arrow-points, as they prepared to launch another volley.
“Do you know how to seal a demon?” inquired Gladius to Fletcher with a look of embarrassment. Fletcher shook his head.
“Damn! Where’s that bratty necromancer, Umbra when you need him?” Gladius grunted with a frown.
Overhearing them, the Magister piped up. “I can seal him if you can cover me, we can’t let him escape again!” the Magister yelled out, running towards them.
“Sounds like a plan,” Gladius exclaimed with a look of renewed hope.
Umbra and Marin had found a small dust-covered gulley to rest for a few hours. Marin was that first to fall asleep almost immediately. She slept silently in Umbra’s arms, curled up and content. Umbra parted her thin blonde hair from her face and watched her face tense ever so slightly.
Umbra, still tormented by the same nightmares and wasn’t expecting sleep to come easily. Even though the sun was down The Lava Fields were still sweltering, Umbra wriggled away from Marin.
He decided to go for a short walk to clear his head and contemplate his situation. He had just under a year before he was dead, his soul would be taken by the demon he had bargained with two years ago.
He was still tormented by that demon’s evil smirk in his waking hours; his recurring nightmares had become more intense. Since Astralode had delved into his mind he hadn’t been the same, his power had multiplied, but his fear and anxiety had too, he felt cold, empty.
The end was near and it terrified him. He had to find a way to break the deal, and time was running out. He glanced back at the small gulley where Marin was sleeping soundly. He crept away until he reached a small decline leading to a river of lava. He sat near the current and the banks of this molten flow. Slumped over, he buried his head in his hands.
The red glow from the lava flickered, casting its sulfurous smell and heat towards Umbra. With a deep sigh he began to doze off.
The Contracted Soul Page 12