Denis felt his lungs burn as he ran. He hadn’t run this much in too long, and the amount of people that were trying to get away from the violence didn’t make his path any easier.
Crowds of people fleeing the main streets in panic, filling the back alleys he used for his pursuit of the exact same thing that was causing the general mayhem surrounding him.
He barreled through a Drow noble, and put her behind him before her bodyguards had time to stop him.
As he passed another point where a crossing road united the one he was following with the main street, he could see city guard running off in both the direction of the gate, and similarly to him in pursuit of the madly dashing zombie.
Denis had the taste of bronze in his mouth, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.
Damn the undead and their unholy stamina.
But he knew these streets. He had one shot at catching up to the zombie just a little further on, where the main road curved off to the right, and where his side passage ends in connection to it.
He just had to figure out how he was supposed to do this.
If he just grabbed the thing, it may just turn around and rip his throat out, leaving him dead and the objective unfulfilled.
Looking ahead, he gets an idea as his eyes fall on laundry suspended between the buildings on his left and right.
Large, linen bedcloths hanging freely just out of reach from the road.
But if he jumped…
He could grab one.
As he reached the laundry, he leaped as far as he could, reaching up.
He could feel the soft linen brushing towards his fingers, and he closed his hand.
The grip was poor, but as he fell back to the ground, his fingers proved superior to the clothespins that had secured the cloth to the line, and it came down with him.
Bunching the cloth up in his hands, he pushed himself to run the final stretch.
He was at the very limits of his stamina as the side road opened up into the wide main street that snaked its’ way throughout the undercity.
And he had made it in time.
On his left, he could see the confused crowds turn panicked as the apparition of death came charging.
He bit his lower lip.
This is it. Now or never.
He felt a cold lump form in his chest as he caught his first glimpse of it.
A decaying corpse. Rotting flesh given unnatural life. Pallid and green where the rot had set in, it was a ghastly sight, indeed.
He did not want to touch it, but he would do what he must.
He threw the bed linen over the zombie, which got caught in the large cloth, flailing as its’ legs got tripped up.
It fell to the ground, and immediately Denis’ dove in.
He grabbed the thing, even as the smell of it made him gag and retch.
It flailed helplessly in his grasp. He had expected it to be stronger, somehow. Its’ flailing felt meek, more than anything, but that may be because of the cloth limiting its’ range of movement.
Well, no use contemplating such things, Denis knew, as he could see the city guards that had pursued the zombie approaching.
They looked winded indeed, as many of them had already abandoned the running pace, and he could hear their panting and moaning even from a distance.
Denis hoisted the struggling undead up onto his shoulder, turned on his heel, and took off down the alley from whence he came.
All around Anders, combat raged. His own battle-zombies and the dragon had been the vanguard, but by now the warriors of Ashenvale had joined the fray.
The line of mages and Praetorians had shattered as Anders’ dragon had been sent to be a undead battering ram against their wall of shields.
He had bought the humans time before the elven mages were able to utilize their dangerous magics effectively.
Still, pockets of mages still hurled their fire and jagged chunks of stone through the air, into the oncoming line of warriors.
All around there was the crash of metal on metal, and men screaming in pain.
Well. Men and women. The drow, in direct opposite to the Humans, had a majority of women in the front line, with the men utilizing ranged weapons and spears.
This would have been an interesting observation to make, if Anders hadn’t felt so ill.
He didn’t have the stomach for this. Any of this.
The blood. The madness.
The cries for mercy, calls for their mothers.
It was all so awful.
If Anders was given the choice, he would have avoided combat altogether. He wou-
His scout went dark.
The perception he had sort of halfly paid attention to went black, but only the sight.
Odd.
He could still hear, and he could still move its’ limbs, but it was hampered somehow.
What was going on…?
His distraction was blown away as he saw through the dragons’ eyes a mage leveling a large globe of fire at the line of warriors that was trying to form a wall in between the gatehouse and the Drow. Not on his watch. With a slight twitch of his finger, the dragon reeled and lumbered straight into the path of the magic.
For a moment, the perception was consumed in a impenetrable wall of orange flames.
He could tell that the dragon was unharmed, as its’ scales could not be breached by flames.
As its’ vision returned, he could see the fear in the mage’s eye, and he felt a tinge of pity.
They were invading this poor creature’s home. And for all the Drow knew, they were here just in the pursuit of destruction.
He didn’t see evil in her face. Just desperation.
With another small twitch of his finger, the dragon twisted, and its’ tail flicked out, impacting the mage straight in the gut, sending her flying.
He hoped he had measured the dragon’s strength correctly, and that she’d live.
Moments later, he could see two of her praetorian protectors dragging her away from the battlefield.
Good.
He didn’t want to kill anyone if it could possibly be avoided, but he couldn’t stand by and let them hurt or kill his friends.
He’d protect them. No matter what.
Uther delivered a kick straight into the gut of one of the elite Drow that were blocking his way.
The guardhouse that the Drow had been encircling was so close now.
“With me!” he shouted, and pushed on towards the shattered door.
He prayed to Leto quietly, hoping that they had been in time.
He had no way of knowing how long they had been here, how long they had been in this desperate situation, or even if there was anyone left to save. The Drow had breached the gate. They had entered the guardhouse.
If Freidrich or any of his men were still alive, they were now fighting for their lives inside that building.
Uther swung his hammer, and he could see the shield of the Praetorian buckle inwards, accompanied with a nasty cracking sound as the woman stumbled backwards, the shield falling limply down along her side.
Still, she would not yield, swinging her short blade at the gap in Uther’s armor between his helmet and his gorget.
Uther caught her sword-arm in his free hand, and thrust his head forwards, headbutting her.
The Drow falls backwards onto the ground, unconscious.
Uther steps forwards, passing the threshold of the guard house. It takes but a moment for his eyes to adapt to the change in lighting, and his heart sinks in his chest.
On the ground, he can see most of the members of Freidrich’s expedition. He can see that they have been maimed and brutalized, and if most aren’t dead, they will be soon without his help.
But not only that.
Freidrich himself sits kneeling in the midst of a dozen dead praetorians, his hands red and broken, his face burnt and bruised, but Uther can immediately recognize him.
And behind him stands another praetorian with a sword resting on his exposed throat, and yet behind her, a trio of other praetorians, all wounded.
They have the look of cornered beasts in their eyes.
“One step closer, and I slit his throat.”
Her voice’s unsteady, but Uther could tell that she means it.
“Do that and you’re all dead.” he responded, calmly. “Let him go and you have my word you’ll live.”
He could see the Drow struggling with the decision, but the blade still remains firmly pressed against Freidrich’s throat.
“How do we know we can trust you?”
“You’re wounded and surrounded. I’m the best chance you have.” Uther slowly lowered his hammer, but held it firmly in his hand.
One of the wounded women behind the Praetorian holding her blade to Freidrich steps forwards, and leans in to the other woman’s ear.
“Jeanna. He’s right. We’re trapped here. Please, I don’t want to die.”
Jeanna looked at Uther, her distrust written clearly in her face.
“…very well, human. We have your word?”
“Yes.” Uther nodded slowly, keeping eye contact with her.
She removes the blade from Freidrich’s throat with a swift action, putting the blade to the side and raising her hands in surrender.
“We’re at your mercy, outsider.” The aversion to this clear in her voice.
Uther steps forwards, and kneels beside Freidrich, placing a hand on his shoulder.
The now-familiar tingling sensation of Leto’s gift flows through his arm, out into his friend.
“I have you now. I’m getting you out.”
Freidrich reaches up, grasping Uther by the clasp of his cloak.
“Not me. Save Dieter. Almost… dead…”
Uther could see the broken fingers of Freidrich’s hand pop back into their rightful places and mend before he let go of his friend. “I’ll save them.”
Freidrich slumps down onto his back, but Uther can see him breathing.
Looking around the room, he manages to find Dieter. Kneeling down next to him, he can see that the man is already dead, eyes staring blindly at the roof of the gatehouse, a trickle of blood leaving his mouth.
Quickly moving from one to another, only Garen and Emmet were still in a condition that Uther could fix.
Ammet had died, his head scorched beyond recognition, and Barend having bled out from an arrow to the neck.
Fully half of Freidrich’s party had already died before he had reached them.
Uther returned to Freidrich’s side after throwing another glance at the Drow, who at this point had gathered in a corner of the room, as far away from them as possible.
Uther reached down, placing his hand down on Freidrich’s arm.
Once again, the light pours from him into Freidrich, and his breathing steadies, and soon he looks up at Uther.
“Dieter…?”
“Dead. I’m sorry.”
“How about the others?”
“Garen and Emmet will make it.”
“Ah..” He can see the breath catching in Freidrich’s throat.
“Uther. I’m… I’m a failure as a leader. There’s something wrong with me.”
“I’d say. I… I appreciate that you came down here for Lyssia, but what did you expect to accomplish with five men and scarce supplies?”
Uther grasped Freidrich’s wrist, and pulled the man onto his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Drow pressing towards the far wall, as if desperately trying not to be seen by Freidrich. Curious…
“Not only that, sir. There’s something wrong with me. There’s this… rage. It’s eating away at my-”
He suddenly grasped Uther’s shoulder. “Eyla! Did you save Eyla?!”
“She’s fine. I got to her in time. She’s waiting for you on the surface,”
“Thank Leto…”
He slumped, shoulders sagging.
“Uther. I’ll tell you everything later. Please. Relieve me of duty. I can’t… I can’t trust myself.”
Uther nodded.
“You’re relieved of duty. Get your men to the back line. You’re done here.”
“Thank you.”
Lyssia stood with her cloak pulled tightly around her, the hood pulled up and down to obscure her face to any onlookers, as she leaned towards the cold stone of the building’s wall.
She was starting to shiver again. She felt awfully hot and cold at the same time.
She could tell that the fever was rising, even without Orrian saying anything.
The old elf was distracted from seeing her condition worsen, as he paced back and forth in the little back alley that was their current refuge.
His spoken complaints had been replaced by a low muttering.
“Where is that damned human?! If he’s going to get us all killed, he might as well get it over with. I don’t have all day!”
“Ssh.” Lyssia was interrupted by a coughing fit. “We’ve almost been discovered already. Keep your voice down.”
And it was true. They had avoided discovery by the skin of their teeth mere minutes earlier.
When the Ashenvale forces arrived and drove the fighting lines backwards, a few guards in the back had been attracted by Orrian’s complaints, and they had been forced to go further back into the alley.
She couldn’t even see how the battle was faring from here.
She could just hear the sounds of metal on metal, and the screams.
There were a lot of screams.
Then she could see him, Denis.
And he was carrying a flailing bundle of cloth.
Lyssia smiled.
He was successful.
“Ah! There you are, you damn fool! And the avatar of my demise, I presume?”
“Yeah. I got it.” Denis panted. “What… what do I do with it? Ah, gods..” He leaned towards the wall, struggling zombie still held aloft. “It’s.. It’s not easy carrying this damn thing and running from the guards, you know? I think… I think I lost them, though.”
“You better have. Else we’re going to die even sooner.” Orrian sneered.
“Enough, Orrian. Denis, set it down, facing me, and remove the cloth. And… good work. You may have single handedly saved us.”
“Well… If you’re absolutely sure…” Denis didn’t seem to be too convinced by her plan.
“Yes. Do it.” Lyssia threw her hood back, as Denis set the zombie down.
The Zombie still struggled against Denis’ strong arms.
“Here goes.”
Denis released the zombie and pulled back the cloth, throwing it behind him as he tried to grab the zombie again.
This proved to be far easier than he seemed to have expected, as the zombie ceased all movement upon being released.
It just stood there, looking at Lyssia.
Lyssia smiled.
“Hey there, Anders.”
As suddenly as it had disappeared, the vision of the scout returned.
For a moment, Anders wasn’t sure if he believed its’ eyes. But it was certain.
Yvonne! Get Uther! I found her!
With a thought, he turned his dragon around, and called it to him with all due haste.
He could see warriors dodging out of the way and running to fill the gap that the dragon left.
He stepped up onto one of the dragons’ legs, and it lifted him up onto its’ back.
Turning it again, he faced the door to the guardhouse, and with a thought he sent the dragon charging forwards.
He needed to get Uther. And get him to Lyssia.
Uther! The voice was sharp in his mind.
Uther stopped. Yvonne had a tone of utmost urgency in her mental projection.
What is it? I have Freidrich and I’m about to move back to you with wounded and prisoners.
No time. Anders found her. He’s on his way to pick you up with the dragon.
“Freidrich! Seems I can’t relieve of you of duty yet! Get your men and the prisoners to the back line! It’s beyond the hole in the wall! You can’t miss it!”
“But-”
Before Freidrich even had the opportunity to voice the rest of his complaint, Uther dashed out through the doorway.
Indeed, he could see the Necromancer astride the giant form of the dragon barreling towards him at high speed.
The dragon had, during the course of the battle, turned into something of a pin-cushion, with a great number of arrows sticking out of its’ front and side.
“Anders! You found her?!”
The dragon stopped next to him, and Uther grasped one of its’ back spikes, setting his foot on a particularly firmly lodged arrow, and jumped up onto its’ back, seating himself between two of the spikes.
“I’m on! Go!”
Without even a second of delay, the dragon shot off.
Warned by a mental notice, their battle line parts before them. The Drow line isn’t as lucky, and several Drow are thrown to the side as the gargantuan bulk of the dragon tossed them aside like children’s toys in a hurricane.
The wise among the Drow part way and merely avoid them. A few foolish ones set up a pike wall, which shattered like twigs before the armored scales of the unliving dragon.
Uther could tell that Anders knew where he was going, as he made a beeline towards an alley, well-hidden between two large buildings.
As they approached, it was clear that the dragon wouldn’t possibly be able to make it through, as it was barely possible for two men to walk side by side, and even that would leave them dragging their shoulders towards the walls.
Anders will stay here and prevent any pursuit. She’s just ahead.
Thank you, Yvonne.
The mental presence of the mage shifted away from him, and he was once more alone with just himself and his god within his mind.
He slid off the dragon, and his sabatons hit the stone ground hard.
He ran down the alley, up a short but steep set of stairs, and then around a corner.
He almost collided head on with a red-haired human.
“Uther!”
The voice. He could recognize it anywhere. Lyssia.
He stepped around the man, and he saw her.
She was pale (for a Drow), her eyes showed how tired she truly was, and she was shivering and coughing. But it was her.
“Lyssia…”
He choked up, he felt tears threatening to flood from his eyes.
“I was so scared.”
She smiles at him, and holds her arms out towards him.
In one fluid movement, Uther removes his helmet and sweeps her up in his arms, careful not to touch her skin with his steel armor.
As he embraces her firmly, he lets his light flow into her, and he can hear her sigh in relief.
“Fascinating.”
Uther looked up from Lyssia, and only now noticed an old-looking elf standing beyond lyssia, looking uncomfortable. His discomfort soon becomes understandable as Uther also noted the presence of one of Anders’ zombies just loitering in the area.
He releases Lyssia. “Are you allright?”
Lyssia giggles. “We are now. I knew you’d come for me.”
“And these are…?”
“Friends. Denis. Orrian.” She motioned at the human and elf in turn. “Denis saved my life after I escaped captivity. Orrian kept me alive afterwards.”
Uther looked to the two, and gave them each a grateful nod.
“Then I owe the two of you-”
“Yes, yes. No time for pleasantries now. There are enemies everywhere and I. Want. Out. Now, if it’s not too much trouble.” The elf said, speaking very fast.
“But what about the others?” Denis interjected.
“The others?” Uther asked, looking the human in the eyes.
“Y-yes sir. The other, uh, slaves. We’re both, you know, escapees? We can’t abandon everyone.”
The human looked a little flustered.
“We can think about that later. We’re on hostile land. We can discuss this after getting to safety.” The elf added, sounding more than a little insistent.
Uther looked to Lyssia. “I agree. I need you safe, both of you.”
He placed his hand on her stomach, and to his joy, it seemed their child was doing well.
“Come. Anders waits for us back on the square.”
“Anders? Isn’t that… thing Anders?” Orrian pointed at the zombie.
“No. That’s just one of Anders minions.” Lyssia explained.
“…ah. Well. We better be off.” Orrian concluded.
Anders stood with his back to the dragon, the great beast acting as an undead wall, blocking off the entrance to the alley.
Looking through it’s eyes, he can see a half-circle of Drow soldiers having formed in front of it, probing at it with spears.
The spears were, of course, completely useless.
There was nowhere near enough force behind them to even dent the dragon’s scales, so Anders had the dragon ignore the Drow as long as none of them got cocky and stepped inside reach of the dragon’s maw.
Then he had the Dragon give them a solid push back out of range with its’ snout.
He noted that Uther had met up with Lyssia and her two new companions, and that they were moving back towards him.
Good.
It was time to move again.
He had the dragon stand back up, and he immediately saw the half-circle of drow spear-wielders disperse in front of it.
Not that he blamed them.
There was nothing they could do against the dragon, and it was wise to not thow their lives away uselessly.
He just hoped they stayed away for the rest of the fighting.
He didn’t really want to see them get hurt.
As they turned the corner, he saw the elf of Lyssia’s company stop dead.
“That’s a dragon.”
He could hear him plain as day through the ears of his scout.
“An undead dragon.” Uther added.
The expression on the elf’s face made Anders want to crack a smile.
Too bad he didn’t have a face.
“And that…?” The elf pointed at Anders.
“That’s Anders. He’s our necromancer.”
“Your. Necromancer. Singular?”
“Singular?” Uther asked.
“Ah, as in the only one?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s raised a dragon. And a zombie.”
“He has about fifty more zombies.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No?”
The elf, Orrian, Anders remembered, didn’t respond, but looked awfully pale.
“Come on. We’re riding the dragon back behind friendly lines.” Uther stopped and looked to Lyssia “If you think you can manage?”
“I’m pregnant. Not that pregnant. I’ll make do.”
Lyssia lead the way down towards Anders, and Anders could tell her gait was slightly laboured, but she seemed much better now than she had been earlier.
Lyssia approached him.
“Hey there, Anders.”
She hugged him.
Anders did not expect that, and after freezing up for a second, he very carefully returned the gesture.
“Thanks for your help.”
Anders stood back, and had the Dragon slump down to allow Lyssia an easier ascent, and with the help of Uther, she got up on top of the Dragon.
She didn’t look comfortable, but it’d do.
Anders was just starting to begin his own ascent, when he suddenly felt a sharp, fierce force from behind, pinning him firmly to the side of the Dragon.
He could feel the ribs shattering as he was hit, and when he tried to push away from the dragon, he was firmly stuck.
He felt Panic well up inside him, and the Dragon reacted immediately.
“Anders!”
Uther shouted his name, and as Anders turned his head towards him, he could see shadows moving in the murk of the alley.
Anders pointed, and let out a wordless, gurgling screech of warning for his friend as the dragon set off, reacting to Anders’ subconscious wish to run away.
Uther watched as a great bolt pierced Anders from behind, piercing straight through the undead dragon’s outer layer of scales, pinning the Necromancer fast against the dragon’s side.
The shot came out of nowhere, and then… the screech.
Uther had never heard Anders make a sound in the past, and he dearly wished he hadn’t just done so.
His screech had been etherial, a piercing, unholy note that still reverberated in his ears.
But the warning hadn’t been lost on him.
He twisted around just in time for an arrow to fly at him, skidding off his armor. Had he not moved, it’d have slid into the weakness in the armor in his armpit.
Before he even has time to register where the arrow came from, he’s set upon by a shadowy figure, swept in dark gray garb, with a short sword and dagger in hand.
The man, because he was undoubtedly a man, moved faster than Uther could match, and Uther felt an unnatural burn as the dagger put a narrow cut in between his helmet and pauldron.
It burned like fire, but as Uther let loose his light, it vanished.
He drew his hammer from the loop in his belt, and attempted to block the aggressive assault of his assailant with his plated fist.
The fist caused a chop from the sword to slide off, but immediately, Uther had to duck back and avert his gaze as a second figure threw powder in his face, blinding him.
Once more, the light within released him from whatever poison it was his assailants had just unleashed.
“Run!” he roared at Lyssia’s friends. Neither was armed, and he wouldn’t have them die here. Not after all they had done for Lyssia.
He couldn’t tell if they obeyed. There was no time for him to pay attention to them. Instead he grasped his hammer firmly, swinging it towards the first assailant; but with unearthly grace he avoids the blow with a hair’s breadth.
Then a third assailant joined in the fight, as a barbed whip coiled around Uther’s arm, pulling it aside, opening him up to the first assailant’s follow-up blow.
Uther felt his blood gushing from a deep gash in his throat. Warm liquid flowing down his front, as he felt every heartbeat push more straight out, to be wasted on the ground.
Then the light knit his flesh closed, binding the wound and restoring his blood.
Uther grabbed the barbed whip, and pulled. The assailant was thrown to the ground, but rolled to his feet in the very same movement.
Uther backed up, keeping all three enemies within view, but as he did, a sharp pain exploded from behind.
He turned his head back, and saw a fourth enemy behind him, with a dagger thrust up beneath his chausses and into his kidney.
Twisting around, he pulled the dagger loose from him.
More blood flows from his veins..
Three times now, he’d have died, save for the blessing of his goddess. His flesh mends, as he swung the hammer down at his fourth assailant.
The woman dived backwards, rolling onto her feet with the same unnatural grace as the whip-user.
Freidrich guided his two remaining warriors back towards the safety of the endless tunnels of the underdark.
He didn’t ever believe he would think about them that way. Ever since he was a little child, crawling through the narrow cracks of the mine walls for ore, he’d always feared entering the underdark by accident.
He remembered stories of those who attempted to escape into the underdark to escape their masters. The masters never chased after them, only ever sealing the tunnels behind them. And none were ever seen or heard from again.
And now he couldn’t wait to get back into the endlessly stagnant air of the pitch-black tunnels.
The fire still ate at his heart.
He needed to find Yvonne. She’d know. She would be able to-
Freidrich!
Freidrich stopped in place.
“Yvonne?”
Uther is in danger! Anders is wounded!
For a moment, Freidrich could see the battlefield from his mind.
He could see Uther, surrounded by strange enemies, poked and prodded with daggers, arrows, spears and whips. He could see his friend wounded, again and again.
He could see the enemy effortlessly dodging his counterattacks.
We need a leader.
“I can’t help you. I’m… I’m not fit…”
The fire raged in his chest. Bellowing for him to fight. Kill. Destroy.
“Who are you talking to?” Emmet came up on Freidrich’s right.
“Yvonne. In my head…”
We need you.
“Can’t you feel it? Inside me?”
“Feel what?” Emmet sounded confused.
“Not now, Emmet. I’m talking to Yvonne.” Freidrich realized his tone was needlessly harsh.
Uther needed him.
Fire be damned. His friend was in danger.
“Emmet! Get the prisoners to the back lines!”
He turned back towards the fighting.
“Yvonne! Get me a sword!”
We need a leader, not a-
“I’m getting you your damn leader. SWORD!”
The flames were emerging, and Freidrich tapped into them.
He could feel it again, the endless wells of stamina.
And he ran.
Uther praised the endless stamina that the Light gave him.
Again and again, he felt his flesh pierced from one direction and then another. Every fault and vulnerability of his armor was exploited by what seemed like endless foes.
Was he even fighting mortal creatures?
It was as if they were entities of smoke, turning to nothing when he swung at them, but turning awfully solid when they struck back at him.
He backed another step. Twisting to the side as he expected the one behind him to strike, but she did not. Instead, as he turned, the one with the whip coiled his tool of pain and death around Uther’s throat.
The barbs dug into the little flesh that wasn’t covered by his armor as if they had a mind of their own, and a thirst for blood.
And then it tightened.
Uther found it suddenly very difficult to breathe, as the snake-like thing coiled around him.
And this time, the light couldn’t make the harm disappear.
It seemed they were finding the limits of his power.
He grasped at the whip with his free arm, but it was firmly stuck to his flesh. Still, his struggle did ease up his breathing, if only a little.
Then he heard a roar, quickly growing closer.
In a blur of movement, the enemy that had been behind him dodged away, rolling away like a trained acrobat as Freidrich leapt into the fight, longsword in hand.
Uther saw something in Freidrich’s eyes as their gazes met.
A deep, abyssal frenzy. A black fire hiding behind his eyes. Thoughtless and hungry.
Then he saw the eyes of his friend once more.
Freidrich brought the sword down, slicing through the barbed whip.
And Uther could breathe again.
The barbs still dug into his throat and neck, but no longer did the weight of its’ wielder pull on it, causing it to tighten.
“Get out, Uther! I’ll cover you!”
“No, Freidrich, come with me.”
“Not happening, sir. With all due respect. GO. Everyone needs you.”
“Are you crazy, man? We need you, too!”
“I’ll be right behind you! Now go!”
Uther nodded at Freidrich, and started running back to friendly lines.
Looking behind him, he saw that Freidrich hadn’t followed him.
The man was now facing down the enemies Uther couldn’t beat alone.
“Freidrich!”
Uther turned, and started to run back to Freidrich.
He saw the first of the enemies lash out at Freidrich, but it was a blow easily parried.
Uther knew it was just a diversion for the woman behind. He had fallen for it himself.
He watched as she struck into Freidrich’s kidney.
He saw Freidrich starting to turn.
“No! Freidrich!”
It was too late.
The first man thrust the dagger up beneath Freidrich’s helmet.
Uther could see it slide in.
Freidrich was cold, but he could feel warmth all around himself.
His eyes were heavy, and he was covered in a sludgy liquid.
What… happened?
He had been fighting the new enemies. He was about to atone for the death of his men.
Had he succeeded?
Had he saved Uther?
What was going on?
He forced his eyes open, and he could see only fire.
He raised his hand to his throat, and he could feel a gash going in on the right side of his throat.
He could feel his fingers being drenched in liquid.
Lifting the hand up in front of himself, he could see that his hands were not covered with blood, but instead with some sort of black sludge.
”Yes, mortal. You are dead.”
The booming voice seems to echo down from all around him, but the origin is easy to discern.
Upon a throne of skulls and bone sits a truly gargantuan creature. It looks like a man, but with claws instead of nails on its’ hands and feet, and skin more reminiscent of the scales of a dragon than the skin of a human.
It’s face was human-like, but its’ features were impossibly beautiful, but turned grotesque from the scales of its’ skin, his solid yellow eyes, and hair as if ropes of magma flowing from his scalp.
The fiend laughed as he saw the horror displayed on Freidrich’s face.
“I am Inferno, and I have chosen you to be my herald. Rejoice, and burn the world to cinders.”
“I don’t want to-”
”I don’t care.”
The god plucked a burning scale from its’ body, and flicked it towards Freidrich.
The scale flew like an arrow, and buried itself in his chest, digging its’ way inside.
”Entertain me.”
Then Uther was flung backwards onto the ground as an explosion of fire erupted before him.
He could hear screams from the assailants, the first noise they had made since they appeared out of the shadows.
As he rolled onto his side, facing where Freidrich had just stood, he could see an inferno.
But perhaps that was not the correct word?
After the initial explosion, there were no flames.
Instead, his friend stood, now noticeably without an arrow stuck through his head and both eyes intact, radiating an ungodly heat.
Uther could see the metal of his armor and blade turning red-hot, and his eyes were like magma.
Around him lay the assailants. A couple of them seemed to have been caught in the blast, the rest seemed to be unbalanced by it, but they were all getting back to their feet.
It seemed they weren’t done for.
Uther could see Freidrich raise his hand before himself.
He seemed dazed. Confused. But he was alive.
Or at least Uther thought so?
He wasn’t exactly sure what the hell just happened, or why. Or if that was even still Freidrich.
Could it be elven magic?
Shouldn’t be possible. He’s wearing steel.
He watches as the assailants fall back, carrying their injured back into the shadows.
“Freidrich?”
Freidrich turns his molten gaze towards Uther, and he seems to start to cool off.
“Uther… I…”
Uther can see Freidrich tremble.
“Help me…”
He collapses to the ground.