CHAPTER 31: Blades Against Darkness - Part 1

  Every time Varne closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, the image of his father with severed limbs, and Margivaz stepping on his chest surged into his mind. It lingered there, never leaving.

  His body began to play discordant tones. His muscles were like over-tightened lute strings each time he moved. The interval of his heartbeat was rapid, its beats strong, creating dissonance. Only by thinking about harming Margivaz and inflicting even greater pain upon him did the music of his body slide towards consonance.

  A scream. His eyes snapped open. These cries were from outside, not figments of his imagination. He sat up on the edge of the bed to better listen. A beeswax candle on the table flickered an orange hue, dancing in the still air.

  He leaped from the bed and threw open the door as another cry echoed. Torches lit the empty hallway outside, the distant clatter of combat echoed from the end of the corridor. He ran towards the noise, his footsteps thundering along the hallway.

  The atrium of the temple, lit by numerous garden lanterns, was bright even in the night. The light was sufficient to reveal the features of the temple assailants, though he had to look twice before believing his eyes. Undead. A dozen armed undead were rampaging in the atrium garden, their rusty weapons slashing, stabbing, and crushing victims at random.

  “Brother, help! Brother!” The little half-wit crouched amidst the chaos, eyes shut tight, hands covering his head. A skeletal undead swung a machete towards him.

  Boom! Ruin Fist shattered the skeleton into bone fragments.

  “Get up,” Varne said, extending his hand.

  “Behind you!”

  The undead, now reduced to a head, part of a ribcage, and an arm, crawled towards him. He kicked its head, smashing it against a relief wall and shattering it. Yet, the remnants of its body still moved.

  “Can’t they be killed?” Varne stepped away from the crawling skeleton. The little half-wit hid behind him.

  “They cannot be killed since they are not alive. But I know your question isn't philosophical.”

  He wanted to slap the little half-wit’s head. Even now, he was irritating. “How do we defeat them?”

  “The easiest way is to defeat the Necromancer controlling them. The Necromancer shouldn't be far from the undead due to range limit of Mana arm.”

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  Varne scanned the area but could not spot the controller. Were they hiding by pretending to be a victim? As he scrutinized each body, a group of undead encircled them.

  “Fuck!” He readied his Ruin Fist in both hands. The enemies were weak, but destroying them one by one would drain his Prana.

  Flashes of blinding light burst above the undead. The little half-wit reflexively closed his eyes, while Varne's adapted in an instant thanks to his Prana. The flashes extended into spears, impaling the undead and obliterating them.

  “Big Sis!” The little half-wit ran towards the spellcaster, Almyria. Several priests and priestesses accompanying her attacked the remaining undead.

  “Are you unharmed, Alec?”

  “Varne saved me.”

  Alec – right, that was the half-wit's name.

  “Thank you, Varne,” Almyria bowed to him. “You two hide, let me and the others handle the undead.”

  “Sis, wait. The attack happened when the Matriarch and most of the Legares were away. I also saw someone heading to the reliquary chamber. This attack is just a distraction, the Necromancer is after the Fire Core. And look at this.”

  Alec ran and picked up a green, pyramidal crystal from among the scattered bones.

  “This is a Mana Cradle,” Alec's words made her eyes widen.

  “The enemy is storing Mana in the Mana Cradle and using it to sustain their undead!” Almyria said.

  “Yes. That's why the Necromancer isn't limited by the reach of Mana arm and can create many undead.”

  “Very well.” Almyria took a deep breath to compose herself. “Varne, may I ask you to take Alec to a safe place?”

  “No! Sis, he's a strong Prana Decima! Brother Varne, please accompany my sister and protect her. The technique of using a Mana Cradle to sustain undead is so complex it's nearly extinct. If the enemy can do it, he must be immeasurably powerful!” Alec bowed to the waist. Varne did not expect the half-wit was capable of manners.

  “Priestess,” Varne said, “I am grateful for your care, and gratitude isn't something I take lightly. If you'd like me to join you, I’ll do so.”

  “Then please.” Almyria gave a slight bow.

  “Do you have a sword?”

  “The Legares have an armory within the temple. We can stop there on our way to the reliquary chamber.”

  After ensuring Alec ran in the right direction, Almyria led him through the rear corridors of the temple, navigating long hallways. The creak of heavy double doors reverberated along marble floors.

  “Al,” Varne said as they climbed the stairs, “before we face the Necromancer, I need to know your combat abilities. As far as I know, a priestess can only Heal.”

  “Aside from being a priestess, I am also a Legares. We are trained in combat to protect the temple. I have substantial combat experience and won't be a burden to you.”

  At the top of the stairs they found the armory. Its guards lay fallen. Three were dead, and another, a woman of Almyria’s age, was on the brink of death. Her legs severed at the knees with blood pooling below them, back against the wall.

  “Sister, hold on! I will Heal you,” Almyria said.

  With a faltering voice, the guard said, “Save your Mana, Sister… I know I cannot be saved. He is very powerful. Be cautious….”

  “He? Alone?”

  “Be careful….” The guard handed Almyria a necklace with the key to the armory and pleaded, “Please grant me peace now. I beg you….”

  Usually, Almyria’s face was always ready to smile, but it turned solemn as she resolved herself. She embraced the guard, one arm over the shoulder, the other wrapping around her back. A red glow emanated from her right hand which was adorned with a ring on the middle finger.

  The guard's face softened as if released from all pain. A faint smile crept onto her lips. “May Azarion’s protection and blessings be with you, Sister…,” she said, almost whispering.

  “And peace and salvation to you,” Almyria replied. The guard’s breath ceased after a few gasps. Her hand, which had also embraced Almyria, fell limp. Almyria laid the guard down and closed her eyes.