The horde of creatures rising from the ground exuded the putrid stench of death. Liandre tensed his muscles, gripping the sword's hilt so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. He hoped that whatever Khaled was doing, he would do it quickly. He didn't know if he could hold out much longer against an uncountable number of undead, especially with the stench emanating from the place, which made him nauseous. The expression on his face was far from friendly. He backed up until he pressed against the marble mausoleum; it would reduce his mobility, but at least it would prevent them from attacking from behind. Contrary to myths and stories, these creatures moved quickly, craving Liandre's soft, thick flesh. They lunged forward with mouths full of teeth and claw-shaped nails. They were filthy with cemetery sand and reeked of necrotic magic.
His heart pounded wildly as he dodged the first attempt to slash his throat. Adrenaline coursed through every muscle in his body, propelling him against the corpse. Five strikes sent the body crashing to the ground in pieces, until the next attack came from the side. Others would follow, all exuding the stench of death. The enemy's blow wounded his arm superficially, but he could feel there was something more in those nails caked with grave dirt: some kind of poison. From their mouths dripped a very dark green liquid, reminiscent of putrid sewage. It was degrading. He couldn't dodge every strike, and he doubted his armor was good enough to stop each new attempt to wound his body from the five enemies in front of him.
Liandre was experienced in battle; he didn't just know how to wield a sword. He grabbed a dead body and threw it onto a pile of other corpses that were voraciously closing in. The entire cemetery wanted a piece of his precious flesh. And as much as he managed to rip through decomposing skin, destroying, cutting, and piling up the bodies before him, he was beginning to feel tired. He tried his best to keep his body free from any serious wounds. He swung his sword fiercely, cutting the heads, claws, and teeth of anyone who dared approach. The corpses felt no pain, only advancing relentlessly, climbing over the inert bodies before the mercenary and falling to the skillful cuts he delivered with each swing. He needed to hold back the contingent of death before him. "Come on, Khaled," he pleaded internally. However, with the sheer number of enemies proving unstoppable due to their overwhelming numbers, it was hard to protect his body all the time. He felt teeth sinking into his leg, then another bite on his arm where the armor didn't cover. Even with his helmet, he didn't feel protected enough after having a chunk of flesh viciously torn out. Red blood mixed with the green, putrid liquid that seeped into his body. He didn't know how strong the poison might be, but he understood that he needed to end this as soon as possible.
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Khaled's footsteps echoed in the corridor. He knew it wouldn't be easy. So, with each step on the ground, he conjured something to protect his mind and body. He needed to maintain his sanity. Khaled's eyes were glowing, realizing that the place was steeped in necrotic magic. Every corner reeked of necromancy. Everym, the goddess of justice and goodness, had placed her magic in such a filthy and forgettable place.
He descended the staircase that led to the underground. He didn't have time to think about Liandre; he knew he would hold out well, but even so, he quickened his pace. The walls were damp, covered in sludge and mud; there were some vines hanging down to the floor, in addition to the grime and the stench of mold and rot. The environment was completely unsanitary. He noticed that, had he not been protected, he would have already fallen to the cheap tricks there. So, it was relatively easy to reach the tomb. The large stone coffin was stained with ancient blood marks, as well as words drawn around it. A statue of an angelic figure stood positioned above where the corpse's head would be. It held a spear with both hands in front of its body, in a rigid and intimidating posture. Vines grew all over the inert object's body. There were a few other coffins perfectly aligned, but that one stood out the most. He could feel the fragment pulsing inside the coffin before him. He was so close.
He used a dispelling spell, spreading it throughout the environment; however, the statue remained fully empowered. And he knew that would be a problem. He approached, extending his hand toward the lid; the tips of his fingers assumed an almost colorless glow. The lid, which weighed tons, came off easily and was thrown to the other side, shattering into pieces. He noticed the corpse, which held a pendant with its skeletal hands. It was almost very well preserved. He recognized the family to which that crest belonged. They were the Faerir, excellent merchants and nobles of the capital who supported his cause, the first to embrace his knowledge; there was a time when he even tutored the family's eldest daughter. It pained his heart to see someone close now dead. He had already reflected on the ephemerality of life; humans degraded easily, just like orcs. Elves and dwarves were the races that endured the most. Seeing someone close in such a miserable state was not pleasant.
When the statue moved with the spear, it wasn't surprising; Khaled merely shifted his body out of the blade's reach. Until a voice, familiar to him, echoed through the crypt:
— Khaled, elf of Encanthia, son of Aisha and Samir, brother of Nádia, Mage of the Tower. Do not make this mistake again. Leave the fragment in its rightful place, resting with the dead, and live your ordinary life in this world; do not desire more than you can have, as you once did.
— Everym, what an honor, the Goddess of Justice speaking to a mere mortal — Khaled listened to the divine voice echoing through the room via the statue, which moved more slowly, firmly holding the spear in its hands. He could feel the pressure around him. The fragment was just two steps away; he only needed to touch it and obtain what he desired.
— I will be merciful. Retreat, leave, live as a mortal elf — she said again, pointing the spear toward his chest.
— You know I won't do that, Everym. You shouldn't have interfered in mortal life, it's the elemental rule of the gods, and yet here you are, speaking through your totem. Making vain threats — he stepped closer. The stone creature moved, thrusting the spear toward his chest, but Khaled dodged by mere centimeters, close enough for it to tear his cloak. He murmured arcane words continuously. The presence of the statue was impressive; he could feel the divine spark in every piece of marble before him, imposing and overwhelming. He knew he was on the right path if he could be threat enough for the deity to worry in such a way. She couldn't kill him; it was forbidden. The other gods wouldn't allow her to do it, especially Tiphus.
He advanced toward the fragment, extending his hand toward the divine presence, breaking it apart, starting with the stone spear, which exploded into pieces. Her presence in that crypt didn't matter; it was still an animated object that could be destroyed using magic.
— You have been warned, son of Aisha and Samir — the voice vanished completely. The structures of the mausoleum were weakened. Khaled absorbed the fragment's magic; his entire body finally felt the power, and the place glowed intensely. He let out a satisfied sigh, as if he had eaten something delicious that satisfied a centuries-old hunger. The power had returned, just a small part. He could feel the power flowing through his whole body, every fiber of his flesh receiving something so familiar that had been ripped from his existence without permission. He opened his eyes, noticing the place beginning to collapse. The corpse of the ancient patriarch was completely torn apart. He knew this would happen; it was impossible for the fragment to leave the host intact when torn from fragile mortal flesh. Khaled needed this power; it was his, it always had been. Those destroying the ones who contained the magic were the followers of the Goddess of Justice, who allowed the power to enter their bodies.
He transported himself outside. The initial image was the pile of corpses stacking up in front of the mausoleum, which was breaking apart, the marble cracking with each second. He searched for Liandre amidst the chaos. Almost all the bodies lay on the ground. The warrior had shown his strength and power against an enemy cursed to crawl in the soil of death. He was on one knee; there were bite marks in the areas the armor didn't cover. Liandre was breathing heavily, leaning on his sword. The helmet, which had been ripped off by one of the dead, lay beside him, dented; a few cuts on his face. But he had destroyed every enemy before him with savage momentum, cutting through the putrid flesh with ease, until there were no necrotic beings left.
Before Khaled could say anything, when he finally reached Liandre, those who had once betrayed him appeared before him: Gilgrim, Randyr, and Laurent, all with their almost divine aspects. However, the mage noticed how tired they were, bearing a weight that had been given to them and could not be removed. He internally admitted that he felt nervous about the reunion. He tried not to blame them for their ignorance, but he felt hurt, frustrated. They had been friends once; now they were nothing more than puppets controlled by an egocentric goddess. The tips of his fingers were tingling; he could feel his hands trembling slightly as he faced them with all his arrogance.
— Khaled, don't do anything you might regret — Gilgrim approached. They were all prepared for a possible conflict. The elf knew they needed to retreat; he noticed that Liandre hadn't moved, was leaning on his sword and bleeding. He couldn't lose him, not now, or else he'd be trapped in the tower once again. The mercenary was his passage to remain alive in the outside world, and he needed to protect his existence.
— Gilgrim, my old friend — Khaled placed a hand on Liandre's shoulder, who didn't react. — I'm honored that you've come to me and didn't sneak around like traitorous rats.
— Kha, you can't do this anymore. We know you're not as strong as you once were — Randyr had his axe in hand; he kept his voice calm and smooth, while he risked a step forward.
— Randyr, this aspect suits your existence much better — Khaled smiled softly when he noticed his friend, as she had always wanted to be. — It's a shame we didn't do this together, as I promised you. You sold yourselves to a goddess who deceived you.
— How dare you try to make us doubt our faith? You insolent one! You were always disrespectful to our deity! — Gilgrim, though usually calm, had her voice slightly altered. Until she felt Laurent's hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing, as if giving her some support.
— What we mean, Kha, is that we're all tired. It's better to end this without fighting. Just surrender and let this poor man go — Laurent tried to sound sane, despite the deep dark circles under his eyes and the sickly thinness on his face. Although Khaled had been imprisoned for two hundred years, he was the only one who looked legitimately invigorated. — Fighting again will only bring destruction, and you know you can't stand against the three of us.
— I'm smart enough to realize that, Lau — he let out a bitter sigh, ending with a smile. — Last time, I was caught by surprise; now I know what to expect.
— You would put an innocent in danger just for a power that was taken from you? — Gilgrim pointed toward Liandre. Khaled realized he was very wounded.
— No! — Khaled exclaimed, strangely, at that moment. — You did this! You stained your hands with blood, blindly believing in a goddess who cursed seven individuals just to keep me imprisoned! Causing suffering to innocents! Don't blame me for your goddess's sins, Gilgrim! — he shouted bitterly. He could feel the pain coming from deep within, that suffocating sensation; he could barely breathe as he spat those words out. — You didn't give me the benefit of the doubt; you just conspired behind my back and earned your rewards. Congratulations on the achievement!
— You were blinded by power! You were acting like a god! — Gilgrim also seemed to feel the weight of her own past decisions. — You even got romantically involved with one of them. You sinned because of your thirst for power, which would have endangered the very existence of your peers.
— No, no, no... Why do you blame me for a romance? He came to me, Gilgrim — he squeezed Liandre's shoulder without realizing it.
— And he betrayed you at the first opportunity? He realized your shady intentions, Khaled. You're not the hero. You're the villain, and you proved it in your final moments — the dwarf was firm in her own beliefs as she said that. — And now you're deceiving this poor soul.
— Then kill him! — Khaled shouted at the dwarf. — End this if you really believe I've deceived this man.
— Enough! — Randyr stepped between the two, determined to end that unnecessary discussion. — We were friends, and that's over. What we're doing is preventing you from regaining the power you once had. Now, let's do what we must.
— I don't intend to. Khaled muttered a few words. Gilgrim realized what he was about to do, signaling to Laurent, who drew his bow with supernatural speed, releasing three arrows at once. The mage was sure the archer would act faster than he could finish his spell, but he had to take the risk. Fighting was impossible at that moment. He felt the arrows hit his shoulder, his chest, and the side of his abdomen with deadly accuracy.
— Why didn't you aim for vital points? — he could hear the dwarf's voice.
But he had already disappeared with his warrior, leaving the cemetery behind. He fell to his knees as soon as they appeared in the Fairy Forest. The place was located in the Elven Kingdom of Encanthia. Khaled felt the blood running down his body; his clothes were easily stained. There was a fragment not far from there, but that wasn't his concern now. Liandre was on the ground, still holding the sword. The wounds he had were necrotizing on his strong body. He should have guessed they weren't just common undead; they always carried some sort of curse or poison. Mages didn't use healing magic; there was no way to help — they needed a priest.
He removed the arrows, even knowing he shouldn't have. Laurent had always been an excellent marksman, and Khaled knew he had avoided his vital points on purpose. There was still something in that team that stopped them from killing each other, but he didn't want to think too deeply about it. He took them to a familiar place; it was no coincidence they were in that clearing. He imagined the first being he would see would be the Oracle. But when he looked at where the enormous tree once stood, he only saw two giant craters. No sign of the oldest being in the world resting in its place. How had it managed to move with such a gigantic body? But there was someone who could help. The place brought him many memories, some sweet and others quite bitter. His head throbbed with bursts of faint memories. But he decided to focus on Liandre.
The cabin in question was between the two craters. The trees around were gigantic, their roots enormous; carved into one of those roots was the old cabin, which exuded natural magic. A very old woman was caressing her giant wolf. The old woman was as large as any creature in that environment; everything seemed bigger to the eyes of a small mage.
— I need help, my companion is injured and poisoned — Khaled said softly. — Agoria, please.
— There are many debts of yours to ask for yet another favor, young one — the giantess said. She had long white hair, with strands braided down to her waist; her milky-colored eyes indicated she could no longer see. The entity was part of nature and was powerful. Khaled had had contact with such a creature in other times. Her skin was the color of wood, with cracks like an old tree, her voice cavernous. But he wasn't afraid, he had already had wounds healed by those large, calloused hands. She was the companion of the former Oracle. He was curious to know why it had left, but he refrained from asking.
— Once more, great Agoria. — He couldn't lose Liandre. Not now. Liandre's body lay on the fertile grass. The woman approached slowly as if there were no reason to hurry. She pulled out a green goo from the pouch at her side, forcing it into the mercenary's mouth, making him swallow it. His body began to writhe. The giantess's words echoed through every tree and blade of grass; nature flowed through her body. Each of Liandre and Khaled's wounds closed as he felt the soft breeze brush against his skin, his hair.
The mage finally managed to breathe, sitting on the ground, gripping the earth beneath him. He knew his mission wouldn't be easy, but he hadn't imagined he could lose Liandre at the very first fragment. He needed to rethink his strategies. With each fragment, the three warriors of Everyn would know his location; next time they wouldn't hesitate to strike at the first opportunity. So if he could be quick enough, he might teleport before the three of them appeared. They were so mistaken.
— Your sister is in Elderim. You should visit her. — Agoria said with her ominous voice, moving away toward the large cabin.
— Maybe it's time to revisit old relatives. — He turned his gaze toward his warrior. He ran his hand through the brown hair, stroking it softly. Noticing the mercenary's hand reach for his, holding it. But still unconsciously.
— Khaled. — The voice murmured his name.
The mage felt a wave of pressure when he heard that voice, so frail. He smiled bitterly, leaning down, lying beside him. It would be nice if he could just surrender to such a light sensation. Not anymore. He couldn't trust anyone, and Liandre was no exception. In the end, he would serve only as a bridge. It didn't matter what the Oracle had said, or what Everyn once tried and failed to do — he would reach the pinnacle of power he had always desired.