Touch of Fate 256 Not Even My Final Form

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Cariel

Age: Unknown

Race: Human (Angel)

Class: Solar Paladin

Title: Fist of the Legion

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[Wait angel? There are actual angels in this world? Ones that apparently interbreed with humans, no less?...I'm not sure why I'm surprised. They're practically a staple in fantasy literature. Not to mention the fact that there are demons here as well. That said, I wonder if her age being unknown has something to do with her bloodline, or is the product of something else entirely.] Mike thought while waiting for the slightly air-headed woman to formulate a reply.

[Hmm, I really need to work on unlocking the next Tier of Appraise.]

Finally, Cariel nodded. "Of course I can. I'm something of an expert at that. Believe it or not, my boss once told me that I'm the most distracting person she'd ever met. That's saying a lot because..." She trailed off for a moment, and began to look a little flustered. "...because...Ah! Because she's really important and she deals with a lot of people...yeah."

"...Okay...Then can you start distracting him?"

"Right! Sure thing!" She replied energetically while raising her sword vertically in front of herself and closing her eyes. The mundane looking weapon began to glow with a golden light, leaving a trail of luminescence as she brought it up into a ready position.

"Whew, good thing he bought it. Julia would give me a hard time otherwise." She whispered to herself, far too loudly, before issuing a battle cry and charging.

Her movements were quick and efficient, and in less than a second she was fully engaged with the Skull Lord, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with her. Even for an amateur like Mike, it was clear that, despite her obvious flaws, this Cariel was a experienced and talented warrior, easily among the best of the Tier 3 fighters he'd come across. Which begged the question, where did she come from?

[At least she seems more trustworthy than that moving corpse. Judging from her previous attempt, I don't think she's capable of really lying.]

Leaving asides his concerns for the moment, Mike concentrated on creating a trio of his Stone Javelins, sinking as much mana as he could into them. Holding them at the ready, he followed after the two.

By this point the Skull Lord was nearly covered in scratches and scrapes from Cariel's golden sword. His arm blades, which he was apparently able to reform at will, were repeatedly shattered on contact with the blade, and only through an excessive amount of dodging had he managed to escape a lethal injury. Obviously aware that the situation had turned on him, the lich decided to make a sacrificial trade.

Allowing Cariel to stab her sword into one of his shoulders, he swiftly moved to trap the weapon and crush the paladin against himself in a bone-breaking bear hug. For a moment, Mike as concerned that he'd succeeded, only to feel a surge of triumph as Cariel threw her shield forward, causing it to flash with a blinding radiance which seemed to sear the surface of the Skull Lord's armor. Reeling backwards, he collapsed onto one knee. Not wanting to miss the chance, Mike released his spell, firing all three projectiles sequentially.

Kultanis, who should have been off-balance and blind, still managed to react, redirecting the first javelin and blocking the second at the cost of one of his hands. The last, however, buried itself in his chestplate and exploded, tearing most of the lich's torso apart in the process.

Staggered and heavily injured, the Skull Lord should have been easy pickings for Cariel, who was already looking to capitalize on the opening, but he had other plans. Just as she was about to bring her glowing sword down on his helmet, Kultanis exploded in a wave of dark, grey energy, throwing the paladin back in the process.

Soon, a veritable storm of necromantic energy began to rage about the lich, and Mike could feel it quickly sapping his life-force. He quickly channeled mana into his torso, converting it into Earth Magic in order to enhance his Endurance, and brought up a mana shield to protect him from the worst of it. Cariel was in a similar situation, having created a small globe of golden light to protect herself.

"To think a pair of mortals has pushed me this far!" The Skull Lord roared over the noise of the wind. His chestplate was swiftly closing once more, covering his shattered but recovering rib cage. "It seems I no longer have the liberty to take this fight leisurely. Very well, let me teach you the meaning of fear, Dragonknight!"

Rising into the air at the center of his necromantic wind storm, Kultanis began chanting in a dark and guttural language, voice echoing with ancient power. "Fractured souls and hollow spirits. Life renewed I take from you. Return that which was given! Yield that which was bestowed! Render unto me all that you possess, and I shall consume your hatred!"

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"Get out of my way!" Brenden roared as he cleaved his way through another knot of the animated corpse. While they weren't particularly dangerous, their sheer numbers was slowing him down far more than he would like. He could no longer hear the sounds of the rest of the army that had been following him, which probably meant he'd pushed too far forward again.

Under normal circumstances, he would have fallen back and regrouped, knowing that he was in danger of being cut off and overwhelmed. However, he couldn't do that now.

Panting for breath after the swing, he nearly stumbled as a wave of fatigue passed through his limbs. Grunting, he forced himself back up and started moving towards the center of the battlefield again. He'd been fatigued after fighting the Death Knight, so this constant struggle, the wave after wave of tireless undead, was pushing him to the brink of exhaustion.

But he didn't have time to rest.

"Damn it! I don't have time for this." He yelled as another batch of zombies began to surround him, with more on the way.

The first thing he'd done after arriving at the coalition army's fort was to try and locate his friends while Fang got a rundown on the current military situation. Mike was predictably away, in the thick of the fighting, but he'd been pointed in the direction of the Infirmary to find the others.

Tal had been laid low after defeating a bunch of ghosts or something, as far as he could tell based on the hurried description he'd gotten from the soldier leading the way, and Sera was watching over her. However, as soon as he entered the keep, he could tell that something was wrong.

An Almiran work party was moving the corpses of several soldiers to the Infirmary. While this wasn't surprising to see in the midst of a battle, Brenden could tell by on the amount of blood scattered on the floor and walls, that these men and women had been killed here.

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he rushed into the clinic and was relieved to find Tal along with a strangely subdued Audra in one corner. Both alive and well. He did not, however, see any sign of Sera.

After asking around, he eventually arrived at the bedside of an aged nurse. She'd been run through by some kind of massive spike-like weapon, and was on her last legs. The healers had largely given up on her, and were merely making her as comfortable as possible. As such, she wasn't even aware of his presence, and either didn't have the strength or inclination to answer his questions.

He'd about given up when he realized that she was mumbling something over and over, too weak to make her voice audible. Curious, and in need of a lead, he leaned over until he could feel her breath on his ear, manging to catch a single word.

"Cabal..."

It was clear what had happened, so he'd immediately ordered his followers to pan out and look for the kidnappers, but suspected that they wouldn't find anything. Based on the stories he'd heard from Sera in the past, they weren't the type to leave a trail. Mind working feverishly, he eventually remembered that Mike had made some sort of location device a while back. One that could hopefully track where she'd gone to, if he could just get a message to him.

A fairly simple task with one large complicating factor. There was an army of the undead standing in his way. To make his way through it, he'd need an army of his own. One much more substantial than the band of criminals that he'd brought from Almirn.

Surprisingly, it had only taken a few quick words to organize a sortie. The coalition leaders had apparently been planning on something that effect for awhile, and used Brenden's appearance to do so.

Pretty soon, he found himself in the vanguard of a thousands-strong force that proceeded to cut its way through the horde of the undead. Unfortunately, progress was slow, as the animated corpse clogged their path. So, with increasing desperation, Brenden began to push past the rest of the army and very quickly became isolated in the midst of the enemy, leading him to his current predicament.

As he watched the most recent batch of zombies shamble in his direction, he began to have second thoughts. Could he have done things differently? Wasn't there some other means of passing along the message?

Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword off the ground and readied himself for another attack. Whether or not this was the right decision didn't matter. He'd made his choice. All that was left was to see it through.

Suddenly, a wave of pressure passed over the battlefield accompanied by the screams of damned souls crying out in agony. A cyclone of grey energy erupted from the center of the enemy army as dark words in a language he didn't understand rumbled across the sky. Brenden sagged back to the ground once more, as the weight of the life-sapping power affected him, even this far away.

When the omnipresent voice finally reached a crescendo, the energy changed. All at once, every single zombie and animated corpse collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. Wisps of grey smoke emerged from their mouths, hovering over their bodies for a few moments before streaming off in the direction of the cyclone. As they did so, Brenden thought he saw a few of them take on the appearance of anguished faces, screaming in silent pain.

"What the..." He muttered under his breath as he looked over the field of corpses before him. It practically seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. As overwhelming as the army had seemed before, this sight was...disquieting in an entirely different sense.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stood up again and focused his gaze on the necromantic storm. The energy was subsiding, or rather concentrating in one spot. The way Brenden saw it, that spot was likely the center of this whole battle, and it was the mostly likely place for a certain Hero to end up at.

Shouldering his sword, he started moving towards it, a task made all more difficult by all the corpses which littered his path.

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When Count Graveston saw the grey cyclone, he knew that events were finally starting to reach the tipping point. Now it would be a contest of whether or not the living champions of the central continent could face down the newly ascended Skull Lord. While he'd planned for both possible outcomes, he hoped that the young Dragonknight would prevail. It would make things significant easier on him.

Descending the loading ramp of his ship, the Count was already a few steps towards his destination when one of the guards around the dock finally built up the courage to call out to him.

"Um, sir? Where are you going?"

"I have some business to take care of." He replied simply, not bothering to turn around or even slow his pace.

"Uhh, well, do you need an escort?"

"That will not be necessary." The Count adjust his grip on the simple wooden box he was carrying under one arm, and strode out towards the battlefield, leaving his subordinates behind.

[Hmm, not even one of them thought to follow me at a distance or inform one of the more senior members of my command. It seems I will need to rework our House's training standards again.] He thought idly while strolling though the tall grass that was endemic to this area.

Once he was out of sight of the boats, he rested the box on the ground and removed his shirt and jacket, leaving his chest bare. The Count's wiry arms and torso were nearly covered in intricate tattoos of arcane runes. While the majority of these tattoos served to protect him from magical detection and warded him from undue mental influence, it was one particular set of runes that he intended to use now.

Kneeling, he reached down to the wooden box he'd brought along. As he opened it, a tiny runic circle inscribed over his heart began to glow and pulse in time with his heartbeat. Inside were four vials of blood arranged in a cross shaped pattern inside another arcane circle. They too began to glow.

Drawing out his dagger, the Count indulged himself in a rare sigh before beginning the ritual.

Chapter end