Within the sinister halls of the cult of Kasm, somewhere beneath the underground ruins’ central temple, Nez’rin and Elarin faced an army of cultists. Although they were not stronger than those they fought back at the mansion, they were in larger numbers this time. The lich was dealing with multiple enemies from a distance without putting in much of an effort. In contrast, his moon elf companion was taking the fight up close and personal. They both knew Elarin would not be able to assist Nez’rin in the event of him being overwhelmed, and at the same time, neither could he keep a constant eye on her. The conclusion was obvious: they would stay, as much as possible, out of each other’s way. They may have ended up together, but they were mostly fighting alone.
The cultists seemed unled. Not a single one of them stood out from the lot. Even their powers didn’t seem natural, a fact suspected by Nez’rin since his first encounter with them. That would explain why their potential is so basic… so limited… If only their circumstances had differed, I would pity them for their frailty.
While the lich had the luxury to contemplate over other aspects on the battlefield, it was a different story in Elarin’s case. She was calm yet fully alert, evading spell after spell while studying the cultist’s rhythmic symphony of projectiles to find the perfect moments to strike. Her mind slowly drifted away at some point, losing itself in memories of a distant past when she was but another Lu’Derai in training. She forced away these thoughts as the fresh blood from her dagger splattered and spread all around her, keeping her sharp and focused. She was dancing through her enemies, closing in on them one at a time as they fell to the ground. She aimed to remain the last person to fall, or better yet, be the last person standing when the melody of conflict was over.
In Nez’rin’s case, he was not a dancer at all, but rather a maestro who formed and waved his spells to align and traverse the battlefield as he pleased, in a harmonious, deadly manner. Having been trapped with the elf in these halls, however, posed two problems for him. The first one consisted of having to desist from using his death magic, his most developed skillset. The other one was to maintain his humanly disguise. A feat that, ever since he put it on, had demanded a portion of his magical energy and stripped him of his full potential. Whatever what-if scenarios came to his mind, they were irrelevant. Even more so, they posed a distraction that needed to be dismissed. Something is not right… he thought after several minutes of constant fighting. Their numbers are beginning to grow, even with us tearing them apart. He figured they had already dispersed about fifty cultists so far. If they have so many people here, they may pose a far greater threat than we initially suspected. With the danger at hand ever-growing and Nez’rin’s realization, the lich attempted to warn the Silver Sorceress and the rest about the situation but received no answer.
As the battle continued to rage on, several new pathways opened all around the arena. The elf and lich’s resistance turned for the worst as they now had enemies pouring in from multiple directions. For Elarin, it meant little, as she was already in the center of their field. For Nez’rin, however, the dynamic had changed. When facing an enemy, be it larger in number than oneself, it was relatively easy for a magic practitioner to protect himself if all the attacks came from the same direction. Aside from that, he would now have to spread both his defense and attacks to cover more ground and not just from the front.
“You will not be able to last long, old man,” he heard Elarin shouting at him from afar. In a way, he was impressed she had time to keep an eye on him.
“Worry about yourself, girl,” he yelled back.
“That is not how this works. We may not have known each other for long, but at the very least, I need you alive to help me.”
“And what do you propose?”
“For you to stop holding back.”
Her words almost made the lich lose focus for a brief moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“Whatever it is that keeps you from using all your power, lose it.”
How is this possible? he wondered with a sentiment of dread. Does she indeed know, or is it a coincidence? Have I been careless? His thoughts were interrupted by her shouts.
“Look, my kinship is of the Lu’Derai. I learned how to figure out when a person has something to hide since I was a child. No matter the reasons, if you continue to conceal your true power now, we may not survive.”
“It is not that easy.”
“Yes, it is. If you want to see your “lady,” Thaidren, and the others after this, then you must unshackle whatever you’ve been hiding from me.”
There was no more time to mull over the consequences. Nez’rin was well aware that she was right. But fortunately, in his case, he did not need to undo his camouflage. He only needed to unleash his true nature. One secret at a time. By raising barriers of ice and darkness around him, he formed a cocoon that offered him the protection needed to chant undisturbed. The lich waved his hands for a few moments before letting them down again. Upon slowly raising them upward, Elarin heard Nez’rin’s true, sinister tone.
“Minions! Servants! Denizens of the cold dark! Rise from the endless abyss of the afterlife, and obey the command of your dark master!”
The piles of corpses left by the lich and the elf began to move, with each cadaver getting back on its feet and turning against their former allies. Elarin was shocked to see such a tremendous display of necromancy, yet she was the one who asked for it. Nez’rin’s attention focused on the animated dead, steadily tipping the scales of the battle. The cultists’ most significant advantage — their numbers — had been turned against them. Their defeat was now at hand. It was merely a matter of time.
***
The demonic experiment was staring right at Thaidren and the dwarf as it stood motionless before them. If it weren’t for its menacing expression, he could’ve fooled them into believing he was a statue. He seemed… absent. An empty shell stripped of whatever poor soul had resided within it some time ago. Its humanity, its identity, all of it appeared washed away in place of something… primal.
For Thaidren, it felt even more disturbing, causing his mind to flood with dark thoughts and memories about Baav’s betrayal. It’s not the same, but they do look alike, he thought. From the back of his head, he heard Aramant’s voice struggling to communicate through the mind link.
It’s not just the looks. Seems it fights the same way. Tread carefully!
After a few moments of inactivity, the creature opened its mouth, letting loose a war cry that echoed throughout their entire battle area. Soon after, it charged toward Thaidren, guided by an instinct to take down the bigger target first.
“Buy me a few seconds, lad,” shouted Thraik as he loaded his firearm. As the monster swung his giant axe at the young warrior, Thaidren unsheathed both of his swords and crossed them in order to block the attack. He immediately got a taste of the beast’s physical strength, feeling that if it were a bit stronger, the blow might have shattered the blades. He scraped one of his swords against the other one as he bent down and slashed his opponent’s abdomen before taking a few steps back. The cut proved to be superficial at best. This form of demonization seemingly hardened the skin of its subject. It started to make sense for Thaidren as to why it wasn’t wearing much in the way of armor.
With his attack failing, it was Thraik’s turn to give it a shot. He aimed at his chest and pressed the trigger, only to witness that the creature was also capable of incredible speed. It dodged the bullet with ease and shifted its focus toward the dwarf. Thaidren took the opportunity and froze the ground beneath him, making it slip and drop its weapon before it had a chance to reach his companion. If I can make it unable to stand properly, we might have a chance, he thought. The situation reminded him of his misunderstanding with Robnethen and how Thaidren held the advantage for most of that fight. He aimed to replicate that strategy and adapt it to this new threat.
The demonized subject groaned as it thrust its claws into the ground to shatter the ice. Its back slowly began to light up, eventually forming a line of fire along the creature’s spine, then by lighting its hands afterward, crushing any hope for Thaidren’s strategy.
The dwarf fired a second shot, this time hitting the abomination in the left shoulder. Unfortunately, that bullet didn’t do much either. If anything, it angered the creature more. With Thaidren engaging in close combat once more, his fighting style adapted to a low pose and the idea of leaving multiple cuts, be they shallow or not. Eventually, they would damage the monster enough to put it down, or so Thaidren hoped. It was not a proven strategy, but for the time being, it was all he had. By imbuing his weapons with frost energy, Thaidren hoped to counteract his opponent’s flames. However, the fiery touch of Hell was hard to extinguish and easy to reignite.
The demonic experiment charged at Thaidren a second time. The young warrior resorted to the same tactic by lowering himself and aiming for its abdomen and legs. Although his attack struck true, as soon as he passed by the creature, it grabbed him by his mantle, setting it aflame and knocking Thaidren to the ground. He rolled out and ripped the cloak from the shoulder pins holding it, with the added cost of losing his weapons. Before he could turn his focus back to his opponent, his enemy attempted to pummel him to the ground once more. Thaidren caught the creature by the hands with his own, letting his frost energy channel through them in a desperate endeavor to freeze them. As soon as the abomination felt the cold touch enveloping its palms, it released a burst of flaming energy, neutralizing Thaidren’s powers, overwhelming them in the process. He screamed in agony as his gloves partially melted away, coating his palms. He let go of his enemy only to receive another punch, this time in the abdomen. For a soulless husk, this experiment seemed fond of irony. It threw the young warrior against a wall and tore through his armor as if it were made of tin. After several punches, his fists reached Thaidren’s skin. He groaned as he heard the sound of his ribs cracking.
A round bullet hit the beast behind its left knee, making it lose balance and fall, Thaidren tripping over it.
“Lad, FINISH ‘IM NOW,” yelled Thraik as he threw Wrought, his prized axe, toward Thaidren. He caught the weapon and struck his opponent. The dwarf’s weapon seemed more effective at tearing through the demon’s tough skin, yet it was far from enough. In a burst of anger, the creature knocked Thaidren away and grabbed the axe from his hand, tossing it back at the dwarf and hitting him in the shoulder.
“Not dat spot again!” he screamed in pain as he shot his second round without aim. His left arm had been his bad one for over two decades, and now it ended up with a new, fresh wound that would only make it worse. He could not make use of it anymore, only watch the beast slowly limping toward him. For the first time in many years, the dwarf feared for his life. He turned to Thaidren, then looked back at his enemy with a fierce frown on his face.
“Y… Y’er not gettin’ to me boy while dis… son of Kezerok4 still has breath within ‘im.”
He reached the dwarf and thrashed him, throwing punch after punch and tossing him against a wall. The sound of breaking bones spurred the creature to continue, drowning him with a sentiment of mirth displayed by a seemingly sadistic grin that appeared on its face. However, the beast’s bloodthirsty drunken state ended abruptly as a stinging pain seared through his back and came out from his front. It looked at itself and saw one of Thaidren’s swords buried in its chest. The young warrior stood behind it, throwing punches at him as soon as he turned around. He imbued his fists with elemental power, creating sharp chunks of ice to cover them with each consecutive hit. He shook to the point where Thaidren himself did not know how he was able to stand, let alone fight.
Within a few more hits, the young warrior pushed the beast against one of the walls and continued to strike until his scorched hands bled through his ice gauntlets. Both he and the beast fell on their knees, with Thaidren rolling to the ground. To his horror, the creature stood back up after a moment of respite. Everything he threw at it proved insufficient. No. How can he… After all the… Believing he was now living on borrowed time, he took a deep breath and desperately tried to get back on his feet. Alas, his body would not respond anymore.
The creature began to limp toward the spot where the dwarf’s axe had landed, only to return with it in its hand to finish the job. It raised its arm and let loose a triumphant war cry only to stop mid-air. Something caught its attention. At first, Thaidren did not understand why his opponent was hesitating. He looked at the beast and realized it was staring at its right side. There was nothing there except an empty wall. A moment later, Thaidren’s attention shifted to it as well. From within it came a soft, beating sound, turning stronger and stronger with each beat.
***
Aramant drew the hammer from his back, holding a tight grip on it with both hands, standing still, waiting for his opponent to make a move. It was terrifying to observe such an abomination doing nothing but staring aimlessly, almost as if it was looking through him. It seemed confused yet somehow peaceful, gazing at the young paladin for a couple of seconds before showing a deep frown on its face. It picked itself up and raised its larger, more intimidating hammer from the ground and let loose a high-pitched shriek that pierced Aramant’s ears like a needle.
The demonized subject rushed toward its target, jumping high into the air as it closed in on him and lifted its hammer above its head. As the weapon descended, Aramant dodged the attack with relative ease, although it was the emotional effect of the blow that he could not dismiss that easily. The impact shattered the ground as if it were made of glass, shrouding the young paladin’s mind with dreadful thoughts of what might happen to him in the event of such a blow striking him. With these thoughts, he started to sense the hauntings of his artifact once more. His grip loosened and his hand shook for a split second. I don’t have time to deal with this. The thought was soon interrupted by the sound of Thaidren’s voice coming through their mental link.
It’s not the same, but they do look alike…
Aramant couldn’t agree more. These creatures bore a resemblance to Baav beyond their liking. And for him to hold the weapon responsible for his transformation in the first place, disturbed his state of mind even more. With each doubt, negative thought, or fearful scenario that he could imagine, the hammer was poisoning its host with a desire to let it be unshackled. It didn’t matter upon whom; it only cared to be released.
The monster continued to swing its massive hammer at Aramant as if it weighed no more than a mere dagger. It forced the young paladin into a position where he could only focus on evading its blows without returning a single attack. This hesitation resulted in the creature grazing him a few times and managing to close in on him within the first moments of their fight. It threw him against a wall and tried to finish him off with a vertical swing. He dodged the attack and quickly regained his feet.
It’s not just the looks. Seems it fights the same way. Tread carefully!
Aramant took a few steps further away and summoned the power of The Light to envelop his hammer, releasing a small beam of light energy to purge away the evil before him. The demon recognized the element, seemingly out of a primal instinct, and dodged it before making a swift turn and charging back at Aramant. The young paladin was starting to feel like he was facing a raging bull with him fully covered in red. However, a promising sign for him was that his state of mind was seemingly improving, with the intoxicating sensation from his artifact beginning to subside as a result of that.
Perhaps channeling The Light through it played a part in that. Perhaps it was related to him dismissing most of his negative thoughts. These assumptions would have to wait. For the moment, he had to direct his full attention to the creature. In and between the demon subject’s relentless assaults, the young paladin gathered his thoughts in the hope of coming up with a plan to defeat his adversary. The most obvious answer had already been shown by the creature mere moments ago: it was afraid of The Light’s power, the only known natural enemy of demonic energies. He would’ve preferred to have a more solidified course of action than resorting to the natural order, but considering the threat of him being overwhelmed increasing with each passing minute, that would have to suffice.
An underground base of operation with demonic subjects. A setup like this was entirely turned against the young paladin or any other paladin, for that matter. The Light had limited means to manifest below the surface, while the never-ending flames of Hell burned brighter underground. He did not know whether his allies were still alive or not. He did not know if they were still fighting or not. He did not even know how far away they were from each other. The last thing he had heard was Thaidren’s voice, confirming he was fighting the same kind of monstrosity, before going silent.
Kill… he heard in the back of his head. Compelled by a fearful impulse, Aramant turned his back to the demon in search of the voice. There was no one there, and his gesture cost him. The next thing he saw when turning back was his opponent swinging its hammer at him, managing a direct hit to his side. The young paladin had barely found the time to react by putting his left arm between the hammer and his ribs, making it absorb most of the impact. He ended up on the floor, with Viz’Hock slipping from his grasp and ending up a few meters away. He groaned in pain as he desperately tried to get back on his feet using his good arm. After reaching back for the hammer, he quickly ducked another lateral swing from the beast before distancing himself from the creature. Half of his armor was compromised, becoming more of a burden that slowed him down rather than protected him. With that in mind, Aramant made a risky decision to strip himself of the armor parts rendered useless. Mainly the ones covering his entire left arm up to his shoulder and the cape, as a precaution. He wouldn’t want the demon to grab him by it in an unexpected display of intelligence.
Slay it! he heard the same whisper again. This time he did not turn. Instead, he started to wonder who it was that he was hearing. It couldn’t be coming from his opponent. The voice seemed to always come from behind him, even when facing the demon. What he had in front of him was an animal, driven only by instinct and common, basic logic at best. It can’t be it, he thought before hearing another echo. Come on! After hearing that, the young paladin’s curiosity turned to concern. While distancing himself, he took his eyes off it and stared at Viz’Hock for a split second. It can’t be… he thought while enshrouded in a strong sentiment of unease.
Burn it with your rage!
“Stop it,” shouted Aramant, as he channeled the power of The Light through the hammer a second time and sent another burning ray at the creature. Having no means to dodge the attack this time, the creature used one of his arms to block the blast. It seared its skin, angering it as it let loose an agonizing screech. It started to charge furiously at the young paladin as he shot a continuous beam of light at it. The demon crossed its arms and pressed on through the pain, tackling Aramant and throwing him on the ground while trying to pound him with the hammer. He raised Viz’Hock, somehow blocking the blow. With a second attack imminent, the young paladin rolled out of the creature’s range and made a quick charge at it, aiming to hit it in the chest. His strike was successful, yet the demon managed to strike Aramant’s shoulder plate with his hammer’s handle as well.
End this inferior replica. The demon ended up knocked on the ground, but slowly rose back on its feet while pressing its chest with one hand. Aramant began to scream. If there were any other intelligent beings on their battleground, they’d probably start questioning his sanity. He imbued himself and the hammer with light, not letting his opponent get the upper hand again. His fighting style became erratic, unrefined, and more primal. They were fighting on equal terms now. The fate of their battle could turn at each swing, with each blow that hit its mark turning the tide more and more in this chaotic scaling in which the upper hand of the combatants was constantly shifted. “Shut up,” shouted the young paladin again. “Whoever or whatever you are, leave me alone.”
The light in Aramant’s hammer started to dim. He could feel the power slowly leaving him, like a constant flicker that would end in utter darkness eventually. Between the flashes of the forces that were to forsake him soon, the voice became more coherent, louder, enveloping, and silencing the mental link between him and the others without breaking it.
What The Light gives you is but a glove…, he heard it whispering. I can offer you a gauntlet. Aramant defiantly shook his head, almost as if he felt that whoever communicated with him could see his gesture. Granting you so much more… You need only ask, it continued. Aramant’s hand shook all the while as he listened and fought for his life at the same time. Why do you reject my beauty… my gift?
“Who are you?”
A friend whom you can trust… A wishful aiding hand, rooting for your survival.
Its voice seemed seductive, yet it reeked of lies. Simply too suspicious and inhumane to stir any form of trust in the young paladin’s heart. He finally understood what a burden the hammer was. It wasn’t an ordinary corrupted artifact, repurposed for the use of the righteous cause. Something was inside it. Something evil, related to its original nature. Something demonic.
With his attention spread on two fronts, and his powers leaving him, Aramant received a full-on direct blow from the creature’s hammer, tossing him against one of the arena’s walls. This time he heard and felt some of his ribs cracking as he fell to the ground, unable to stand back up from the pain. His opponent roared and charged at him, preparing its weapon for a final, decisive blow.
I remain your only option. Accept my help or die, young one, the voice intervened once more. Don’t you want to reunite with your family?
Whoever or whatever was speaking to Aramant, knew what buttons to press. In a quick flash of thoughts, the young paladin reminisced about all his family memories. The ones when he was a child, the ones with his father. The ones ever since he found out Wizera and Thaidren were family, as well as the realization that all the memories with his not-so-favorite, annoying ice-brain companion were a part of that.
Scenarios of whether his body would ever be found and receive a proper burial coursed through his mind. Perhaps his grave would one day lie next to his father’s. Perhaps he would end up incinerated like the countless victims at the cathedral, his once beloved home. His sanctuary of good memories, now lying in ruins, just like he was standing now, broken and bleeding in front of an enemy that was not even aware of whom it was killing. A mindless creature that would end him just for the sake of bloodshed.
He refused to accept these thoughts. Aramant’s inner flame refused to run out like this. That day is not today. He stretched his arm toward Viz’Hock and grabbed the hammer as tightly as he could.
“I accept your gift…” he whispered, “this time…”
A sudden surge of power emanated from the hammer, making the demon cease its charge and take a step back. Aramant’s right arm felt hardened, stronger. With his eyes barely open, he saw his veins glowing in the same devilish nuance of red that reminded him of his father’s murderer. They slowly began to expand from his fingertips to his entire arm and up to his neck until it stopped in his right eye.
The armor on Aramant’s right hand was still untouched. He did not understand how he was able to see the veins where he could not see skin. He turned his head toward the creature and started to comprehend. With one eye, the one unaffected by the dark powers of the hammer, he could see as he always did. With the other, he saw the demon as a mere glowing silhouette. A luminescent red specter with no face, eyes, or expression, as if this newfound spectral sight allowed him to see beyond the capabilities of human eyes. While holding it, the hammer shattered on the outside, with a fiery glow, ever-growing from within. A molten core of rage and destruction reshaped itself over the handle of Viz’Hock until it took the form of a long saber.
This is the most I can give you for now, heard the young paladin. Obliterate this ambulant insult. He slowly got to his feet, realizing that he could now breathe painlessly, his eyes fixed on the demon. It did not advance, nor did it run. It screeched toward him as if trying to intimidate him. The sword ignited in a flame with embers of both red and black nuances, intertwined in a symmetric manner that allowed them to complement one another.
Aramant pointed at the creature with Viz’Hock. Within a split second, the weapon’s flames grew, ending up being thrust in a frontal cone that covered the paladin’s target with a blanket of darkness and heat. As the flames were reduced to embers, so did Aramant bask in the image of his enemy being reduced from an empty, soulless beast to a pile of black, charred bones. Soon after that, he breathed heavily, but the demonic powers did not subside.
There is another, whispered his alleged friend. He turned his gaze around, scouring for the target, spotting it within a moment’s notice, behind one of the arena walls. Next to it, he saw two others. One gray, small silhouette, subtly flickering like a candle on the verge of being extinguished, and another, larger one, emanating a blue mist that inspired power, resilience. For a moment, it caught the curiosity of the young paladin more so than the other demon. With his last shred of consciousness, he realized that he probably saw Thaidren and Thraik, given the gray silhouette’s size. He rushed at the wall, tackling it with his shoulder. The impact reminded him that even empowered, he was not immune to pain.
There’s no need for that, said the voice in his mind. Aramant tightened his grip on Viz’Hock, concentrating on the shape of the weapon. The blade slowly began to reshape again, rearranging into the molten core that the hammer harbored. It then stretched out and solidified itself into the form of a fiery hammer, the antithesis of how its purified form looked. He hit the wall once with little result. Then a second time. Then a third. With each consecutive blow, he felt the wall slowly giving way, cracking more and more until its impending destruction drew near.
On the other side of the wall, something stirred the attention of the demonized subject that Thaidren and Thraik had relentlessly fought. At first, Thaidren did not understand why his opponent was hesitating. He looked at the beast and realized it was staring at its right side. There was nothing there except an empty wall. A moment later, Thaidren’s attention shifted to it as well. From within it came a soft, beating sound, turning stronger and stronger with each beat until they both saw Aramant bursting in from the wall and rushing toward them. His molten hammer had reverted to its original flaming sword form as the corrupted paladin was charging his attack.
The creature roared and charged toward him as well. Unlike the other one, it seemed more confident, making Aramant smirk in exhilaration as they approached one another. In the blink of an eye, their fight was decided. The creature hit Aramant near his right shoulder with little effect. In contrast, the young paladin swung his sword through his opponent’s skull, cutting through it until reaching almost to its jaw. The weapon ignited and burned away the insides of its head as the monster met its end and fell for the last time.
Thaidren found himself unable to move, speak, or even blink from the shock, unable to process what he was seeing. On the one hand, he and the dwarf were somehow saved from a fate they thought inescapable. On the other hand, their savior bore the mark of past corruption — a fate that befell someone they once thought to be the embodiment of benevolence and kindness. Eventually, he snapped out of his trance and shouted through the mind link.
Mother! Something is very wrong with Aramant. I don’t know how to explain, I — You have to see this.
At the entrance of the central temple, Wizera had barely had time to catch her breath. What do you mean? she asked. What’s wrong with him? Are you all right?
Thaidren looked at Aramant, with the young paladin’s eyes fixated on him as well. Both of them did not utter a single word. They stood in complete silence, without even blinking.
Aramant… He’s…
Before having a chance to explain what lay before his eyes, the young paladin collapsed on the floor, his flaming sword extinguished in tandem and turning black as coal.
Thaidren could not see whether his eye had turned back to normal or not, but the veins on his neck faded away. He needs help, he shouted internally.