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Evan Kelly Jennifer Murvin English 315: Creative Writing: Fiction II March 2, 2013

Creative Writing II

Ignavus II

Wralgars long, stark white hair danced lazily in the warm morning wind as the young barbarian looked out over the icy bay below. The sea around the Frozen Fangs should have been complete ice in the perpetual winter that surrounded the Jarreg kingdom, but the frigid waters were agitated. The broken sheets of ice crashed and split as the submerged waves pushed them over one another. Wralgar hand combed the soft strands of his restless hair behind his ears and sat forward in his dark oaken throne inlaid with the images of men vanquishing monsters. He placed his head into his hands and a gust of wind freed his hair which immediately resumed its ballet about his face. The young barbarian drew the warm morning air through his mouth and deep into his lungs. He exhaled the breath slowly through his nose and tried to clear his head of thoughts, but it was of no use. He could find no peace this morning. With an annoyed grunt, Wralgar shifted his deerskin boots beneath him, drew the polar white fur of the Yorguur around him, rose from the throne and walked across the dirt and stone ground towards the edge of the cliff. The young king stopped at the precipice and looked out over the choppy bay with his radiant golden eyes. Unlike his kin, Wralgar was different, unique.

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During his 25th summer of life, he stopped ageing. While others around him continued to collect wrinkles and scars, Wralgar remained untarnished, his skin pure and devoid of even the smallest defects. His absolute white hair was also an abnormality. From birth it had quickly grown long and now in the wind it caressed around his body like the ghost of a lost love seeking embracement. Wralgar was also exceptionally tall and strong as the Jarreg were renowned to be. His chiseled body and prominent jaw gave proof to that testament, but he alone had a power beyond the physical bounds of the mortal body, a strength that put him above all in his kingdom. Wralgar wielded the power of voice. It was a gift that had lain dormant inside him until he faced down the mighty Yorguur, the white death, the bane of his people. The monstrous yeti had hunted his kin for hundreds of years and became the nightmare of legend that not even mothers would use to scare their children to sleep at night. If you saw its polar white fur and coal black eyes, it meant your death. Scores of brave warriors had tried to vanquish the beast. All had failed. None could best the monster by martial means. But Wralgar was different. He wielded no weapons, no armor, and hardly any clothing to protect himself from the frigid winter of the Frozen Fangs. Using only his voice, Wralgar sang the beast to death. The feat of slaying the monster with his voice was beyond the understanding of most of his kin, but when he returned home with the legendary Yorguurs fur draped around his shoulders, none could deny his claim. The next day he was proclaimed king of all Jarreg. The wind played over the Yorguurs fur, sending rippling waves across its white lustrous length as if it was an ocean. Then the warm breeze once again animated Wralgars hair sending it to parade in his face as if it was a court jester demanding attention. But he paid it no heed.

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His mind was elsewhere. The Jarreg began to shuffle on his feet as his eyes darted across the bay looking for something to hold his attention, being careful not to allow them to fall on the dark water below. Wralgar found nothing. His gaze drifted towards the sun until its radiance temporarily blinded him, causing his eyes to protectively snap shut. An irritated grunt forced its way out of his mouth. Where are you priest? The priest in question was Morzak, a stocky, average height middle aged man that had just reached his fiftieth summer of life. A black well groomed beard grew about his stoic face and reached towards trimmed dark unyielding hair, and his kind green eyes could set any troubled soul at ease. Since his arrival over a year ago, the two had met each day so that he could teach the young barbarian about the world beyond his frozen realm. The lessons ranged from the many and varied sciences to the depths and moralities of the soul. It was unheard of for an outsider to be allowed in the Jarreg kingdom, much less to even survive in the inhospitable winter of the Frozen Fangs. However, Morzak, a southerner, was the personal tutor to the king of all the Jarreg and that should have been unbelievable. But like Wralgar, Morzak was also exceptional. Morzak hailed from the Kingdom of Cordyere a land far to the south, almost a world away. Cordyere was known as a beautiful realm, a hearth of two seasons, summer and autumn. Here, old forests grew untamed and tall; rivers flowed through lush valleys with fertile land that produced bountiful harvests. Small homely villages dotted the countryside and castles as stalwart as they were beautiful protected all from the many threats of the outside world. Its people never hungered or met strife. Morzak left this majestic realm for the Frozen Fangs, and he did so by choice.

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He was not the first priest from Cordyere to be tasked with gaining entrance into the secluded frozen kingdom. Five from the Order of the Phoenix came before him, and all five had either been killed outright or slaved to their deaths in cold mines. But Morzak wasnt a simple priest. He was a Philbellic, a military scholar that specialized in war. Upon arriving at the gates of the kingdom, he immediately called out a challenge to any that could hear him, daring any to try to deny him entry. The one attribute the barbarians valued upon all others was strength, so they could not refuse his challenge lest they wish to forfeit their honor. Using his red full plate armor, matching kite shield, long war mace, and superior fighting techniques, Morzak crushed ten of the Jarregs strongest warriors as if they were children first learning to wield a weapon. When all ten laid dead at his feat he was granted entry and acceptance into the kingdom. Since that day, none had challenged Morzak. To the Jarreg people, Morzaks strength was without question. Today however was not a day for fighting, and from Wralgars perspective it was becoming a day filled with nothing. It had been a week since their last meeting on Wralgars personal balcony, where Morzak began the tale of the scholar and the knight. Since that night they had failed to meet again. Never before had Morzak relented in his teachings. Each morning he would rise, awaken Wralgar, and the two would begin a new lesson as they had from the day of the priests arrival. They never missed a lesson and that made the current situation even stranger. From the very next day after the night on the balcony, Wralgar began to witness a change quickly coming over the priest. His bright green eyes fell tired and empty while dark circles began to form under them. The strength is his poise had also abandoned him. Morzak

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shambled about like an exhausted old man straining to make even his basic daily rounds. To Wralgar, it was as if a dark cloud was looming over the priest, sucking his soul of life, turning him into an empty husk. And every subsequent day it had grown worse. Each morning Morzak had met him exhausted as if he had endured a sleepless night, and Wralgar reluctantly had to turn the man away. Wralgar loved and needed each lesson he was taught, but he wasnt willing to make the priests health suffer for it. The young Jarreg was sure that with a little rest the priest would be ready to continue the lessons the next morning. Today however Morzak had not even risen to greet him, and now Wralgar continued to stand alone on the cliff, his radiant eyes overlooking the bay as the bright sun shone down from above. Abruptly, a fierce cold breeze crept up from the dark waters below and blew back the young kings hair and polar fur cloak. Bumps like gooseflesh quickly rose across Wralgars exposed chest and arms as he wrestled to bring the white fur back around him. Unable to avert it anymore, his golden eyes fell on the dark, cold waters below. At first glance, he saw nothing but the broken ice and restless sea, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But to his horror, something crawled forth from between the ice. Two swollen, rotted hands grasped onto the frozen surface and a drowned corpse pulled itself from the frigid waters. Wralgars heart leapt in his chest and his paced quickened as the dead man lifted himself from the ice. The cadaver moved slowly, the bones and rotted muscles inside it creaked and snapped as the husk jerked itself into a standing position. Long heaps of black hair stiff with mud and other refuse clung to the body and showed the emaciated curves and crevasses of the carcass. Slowly, the dead body turned and faced towards Wralgar, it hollow pits where eyes once rested gazing directly at the barbarian. Much wasnt left of the corpses half eaten face,

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the eyes and nose were gone and nearly all of the teeth had fallen out but it was enough, enough for Wralgar to know beyond a doubt. No! Youre dead! No!Wralgar retreated on his heels and tripped on the loose edge of one of the worked stones in the earth. The young king scrambled backwards on all fours and threw himself into the oak throne. He pressed himself as far back as he could in the chair and grabbed the arm rests as his limbs flexed as he tried to bury himself further into the wood, moaning no repeatedly. The hairs on his body stood on edge and not even the warmth of the Yorguur fur could still the dagger of fierce chill creeping up his body. His arms and legs stiffened as if they were stone. The cadaver began to move again and what seemed with great effort. In short spastic motions the dead man raised his rotted and swollen right arm until it was level with his ruined head. The only remaining finger on his hand, the index finger, pointed off into the distance, farther out into the dark broken bay. Wralgar followed the corpses line of direction which led a solitary island at the very edge of the harbor. The small pointed outcropping was covered in ice and seemed nothing more than a collection of large boulders heaped upon one another by the waves. But to Wralgars people, it was known as the Crypt of the Ancients. As the young king continued to stare at the crypt, shrill voices drifted in on the arctic air until the he could hear them clearly as if the orators were whispering into his ears. He could feel their festering breath on his skin. ComeCome to ussss.Comeit is time..Comeyoung kingCome. The voices continued the mantra until it built into a loud cacophony that filled Wralgars mind and invaded

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his soul. He screamed and shook his head, covering his eyes from the horror. The spirits cackled sadistically for what seemed an eternity and then abruptly stopped. Wralgar hesitantly peered between the cracks in his fingers looking for his assailants. The drowned man on the ice was gone, and the voices were as well. All that remained was the agitated harbor and the ice breaking within it. The young king pulled his cloak around him and tried to vainly to warm his chilled extremities. His fingers and toes felt frostbitten and his arms and legs were still stiff from the unnatural cold. It would have been easier to start a fire in a blizzard. Wralgar worriedly eyed about, looking for some sort of salvation in the now frigid morning. Where are you priest!? All traces of anger had been replaced with fear.

Morzak stood in utter darkness as the world above him continuously thundered. In the blackness of the room, the storm sounded like the end of the world. The booms shook the walls and ceiling and sent dust and dirt raining about. The particles fell on Morzaks head and some on the bits dropped into his eyes forcing them to shut. The priest moved his right hand to wipe his eyes clean but the chain cuff at his wrist stopped his motion short. The cuff bit into the raw skin around his forearm and pain shot up the limb, so Morzak relaxed his hand and it resumed its dangle about his side. The dark room smelled of freshly spilled blood and excrement. The sour stench made his nose burn. The roar above exploded again, the loudest it had yet. The floor beneath him rumbled as if an earthquake were about to bring his prison crashing down upon him. Morzak could feel his

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pulse building as his heart and body began to fill with adrenaline. The priests limbs began to shake as his breathing quickened. The thunder above him ceased. In the silence left by uproar, Morzak could hear the scuttling of little feet and what sounded like the dragging of metal. The noise came from behind him and even though he couldnt see clearly in the dark, he could still see movement. Morzak swiveled his head and looked while the chains at his hands clinked and kept him from fully turning. The priest had to squint and blink repeatedly until the dirt was dislodged from his eyes, and then he could only make out motions. Whatever the creatures were, they were short, as small as a child. Each appeared to be dragging something behind that from the sound could possibly be metal. Morzak heard a finger snap in front of him and a small but bright light filled the immediate area. The dazzling glow flooded his eyes and he had to squint momentarily as they adjusted. When he could see clearly, one of the tiny creatures was standing in front of him and the light it summoned was drifting directly above it. From his knowledge it appeared to be an imp, one of the smaller types of demons. The critter was red and extremely thin, like a stick figure. Its spindly hands and feet were clawed and its wicked little head was a cross between bat and a human. The imps spine ran down it back like a set of small spikes until it ended at with a pointed diamond shaped tail. The imp looked directly at Morzak with its beady red eyes, and then it checked the priests restraints. After a small tug on each chain the fiend snapped its fingers again and the rest of the company came into the light.

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As the imps stepped into the glow, Morzak noted that each was a different color. There were eight little monsters and their collective pigments spanned the length of the rainbow. Every imp laboriously dragged with it a piece of plate armor that appeared to be of exceptional quality. The hue of the steel was incredibly silver, and obviously not natural. Every piece was trimmed in gold and the bands glistened as the light reflected off them. In the center of the breastplate was an embossed emblem of a blazing sun, silver in the middle with golden flames reaching from it. The critters pulled the armor directly to Morzak and then a few skipped off into the darkness and returned with stools. The red imp, clearly the leader, snapped his fingers again and the fiends started placing each piece of armor upon its corresponding part on Morzaks body. The little monsters worked quickly and to the priests surprise, exceptionally well. Their small hands expertly buckled and strapped the armor in place. The imps started with his boots then legs and thighs and when those plates were snug and fit comfortably, they moved up to his belt and breastplate and then the rest of his body. In short order and most likely better than he could have done it himself, the fiends completed dressing Morzak in the steel. The red imp skipped back in front of Morzak and snapped his spindly fingers. The chains at the priests hands went slack and the shackles fell off his wrists. Morzak immediately began rubbing each sore appendage. The red critter bounced into the blackness and then returned with a helmet which it offered up to the priest. Thank you, he said to the imp, although he wasnt even sure if the fiend would understand him. The open faced helm was as brilliant as the plate which he was now wearing. Like the armor, it was trimmed in gold and was of the purest silver. A golden ridge ran up the back of them

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helm and came to a blunted point above the crown. Morzak lifted the armor and fashioned it on his head. The priest wasnt surprised when it fit perfectly, as if it was made for him. Morzaks own armor, while expertly crafted, wasnt even comparable to the masterworked set he now wore. Each section of his body was covered with plate and when he swiveled at his hips and rolled his shoulders he found that the armor moved with him, the multiple layers slid over one another with ease. He twirled his fingers in the gauntlets expecting resistance in the joints, but they too moved without effort. Unbelievable Morzak didnt believe in perfection, but as he stood and inspected the steel he couldnt help but wonder if he was right now wearing its very meaning. The red fiend in front of him snapped its fingers again, but this time it was at Morzak. The critter did so several times until the priest was forced to stop inspecting his incredible armor and see what it wanted. The little monster pointed off into the dark and then stamped its foot and snorted while emphasizing the direction when it realized the priest wasnt getting the message. Morzak wasnt sure if he wanted to follow the imps instructions, but so far it hadnt done anything to harm him, in fact it had greatly improved his position. Before he was nearly naked and now he was wearing the greatest armor he had ever worn. The priest didnt make a habit of trusting demons but he figured that maybe this time it wouldnt be such a bad decision. Besides, he had nowhere else to go and he still couldnt see past the little area the imp had illuminated, which showed him nothing other than the cracked stone floor and the shackles bolted into it.

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I guess Ill just have to trust you on this one, little demon, Morzak said hesitantly as he began walking in the imps pointed direction. As soon as he left the aura of light, the fiend snapped its fingers again and the glow disappeared. Morzak listened as the critter scampered off into the dark, and then his eyes adjusted and he continued onward. The priest noticed that as he walked in the darkness his armor made very little noise. Usually plate as encompassing as what he was now wearing creaked and popped when in motion, but the fine silver steel acted as if it was leather and made only the slightest of whispers. A faint trace of broken light shone through the twilight near what appeared to be a long flight of steps. After his long imprisonment in the blackness, the light seemed a like a godsend, as if it was divine itself. Morzak smiled and then walked forward with a renewed vigor in his step. As the priest began his ascension upwards towards the glow the thunder returned. It began as a quiet rumbling, like an ocean tide crashing upon a distant shore and receding. As Morzak climbed, the rumbles rose like a storm growing towards a crescendo. When half of the steps were beneath him, the floor began to shake. The echoes of thunder became faster and more powerful and took on a rhythm as if they were repeating a mantra. When he finally reached the pinnacle of the stairs the world outside sounded as if the gods themselves were marching in unison and trying to flatten the earth beneath their feet. Each blast washed over him and completely filled his mind, he could feel the energy rising, waiting to be unleashed. Morzak hesitated as fear began to grip him. He considered turning around and escaping back into the darkness, away from the terrible roar just ahead of him. With a mighty bellow, he quickly banished the moment of fear and strode forward proudly. As Morzak conquered the distance between himself and the light he noticed that the glow reflected off the blade of a two

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handed sword leaning on the wall ahead. With his confidence building, the knight snatched the sword and hoisted it in front of him. Morzak marched forward and the gate ahead clinked and groaned as it was raised, the intense sunlight blinded him, he didnt even shield his eyes. The world exploded in one singular mass of trumpeting horns and roaring voices. Morzak charged into the coliseum.

Wralgar could no longer sit and wait for Morzak. With the premonition still fresh in his mind, the young king abandoned the cliff side throne and beat a hasty path towards where he knew the priest to be. Morzak slept in only one place, the feared tower of the dead necromancer Tragul. Wralgars superstitious people shunned the dark spire, so of course to emphasize his bravery and masculinity, Morzak chose the cursed placed as his new home. As the young king walked towards the dark tower overlooking the harbor he cursed and wished that the priest would have stayed in the castle. Even though Tragul had been slain generations ago, the fear of him was still very much alive. Tragul was a terrible sorcerer, and his keep emphasized that point. The ground around the spire was a dull gray and permanently blighted. The stronghold itself appeared to be made of a single seamless ebony stone, as if it was grown straight out of the earth from some foul hell. The walls of the tower curved in until they reached the top where they expanded outwards forming a broad roof with a spike parapet. Tragul feared no one, so his tower had no windows. The only entrance into the dark redoubt was a single decrepit double doorway at its base.

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As the barbarian neared the blighted structure every stride became more difficult. When his feet stepped onto the corrupted earth his body cried out in anguish and his stomach turned as if he ate something sour. Old fears and tales swirled in his head and bit as his resolve like a pack of wolves trying to corner its prey. But in the young kings mind he had no choice, he couldnt turn and run now. After the horror he had seen this morning he had to have the priests council. Only Morzak would be able to make sense of it. When Wralgar finally stood in the long shadow of the tower he began to visibly shake. A surreal chill seemed to flow from the stone of the keep and fall upon the barbarian, as if it was welcoming him to the hells still inside, giving him a taste of the cold death that would surely come upon his entry. Wralgar pulled the Yorguurs fur around him and released a breath of air that turned to fog as he tried to calm his shaking nerves. Tragul is deadTragul is deadTragul is dead He repeated the mantra several times, willing himself to believe it, but even saying aloud that Tragul was dead did nothing to strengthen his faltering resolve. In fact, Wralgar believed that he was cursing himself by damning the dead sorcerer beneath his own tower. The young king turned in defeat and began to walk away. He stepped once and looked towards the path back to his throne and the castle. The dead man was waiting for him on the frozen trail, its limbs twitching as it slowly shambled towards him. The barbarians face twisted in horror. Without thinking, Wralgar spun, grasped the rotted wooden doors and pushed them open. He scrambled into the gloom of the tower.

Steal clanged on claw as Morzak spun to parry the low strike. The war priest immediately riposte and drove the blade hilt deep into the carapace of the crustacean monster. With a

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crack, the tip of the sword burst out its back spattering the sand behind it in a gory green mess. In one motion Morzak spun, jerked the bloody weapon free of the twitching carcass, and used the momentum to slash open the stomach of the demon leaping towards him. The rust colored hairy ape-like fiend stopped in its tracks as its guts and organs spilled and plopped onto the arena floor. The priest didnt wait for the stunned creature to respond. He lifted the perfectly balanced blade into the air and roared as he smashed the sword into the devils head. Its skull and brains exploded like a grapefruit being pulverized by a hammer. The endless demonic crowd roared in approval and the ground shook under their exuberance. Morzaks final foe, a man sized, blue scaled, twin headed snake monster nervously slithered backwards from him leaving a series of S depressions in the sand. The serpent snapped its fangs towards Morzak and raised itself trying to appear larger than it actually was. The war priest grinned and stalked towards his victim. When Morzak cleared a quarter of the distance between him and the snake he stutter stepped and broke into a sprint. Once again, the perfect armor surprised him. It was already incredibly light but now it felt like the steel was aiding his speed as he bolted forward. Lumps rose in the vipers twin necks and sparks jumped across its scales as the demon cocked its heads backwards. Morzak responded by darting unpredictably left and right. Each of the vipers heads snapped towards the priest unleashing dazzling lightning bolts. The first bolt flew wide to the right and exploded in a thunderclap sending sand flying as the snake wrongly tried to anticipate his movement. The serpent corrected its aim and the second missile streaked directly towards Morzak. He dodged back towards the right and the projectile vaporized the space he had just lunged from turning the granules into glass.

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The vipers heads lashed twice more sending crackling bolts towards the war priest. Morzak crouched under the first missile and barely slipped it. The lightning passed over him the sparks made the hairs on his face stand on edge. The dodged bolt exploded behind him and the force propelled Morzak forward. The serpent waited for the priest to dodge and when he did it sent the second missile streaking home squarely into his breastplate. Morzaks limbs seized under the electrical assault and he stumbled into the dirt. The priest grit his teeth and forced his feet back under him. The viper cocked its heads to unleash another barrage. As the debilitating electric effects quickly wore away, Morzak sprang into action. The two headed monster released the built up lightning bolts at the priest, and at the distance he was from the snake the missiles shouldnt have missed but they did. Aided by the armors enchantments, the priest lunged under the parallel missiles and the two beams blackened the earth spraying electrical tendrils in a large sphere of released energy. Morzak executed his lunge into a roll which brought him within striking distance of the fiend. The viper coiled its body and shot forward like a compressed spring. Its twin heads bared serrated fangs and struck at the priest one after the other. Morzak smacked the first strike away with the flat of his blade and then slashed the second head from throat to snout, spraying crimson gore over him and the snakes torso. Screaming, the injured head reeled and tried to duck behind its large body but the war priest followed up his slash with a quick stab directly to its lower jaw. The sharp steel punctured through the serpents maw and into its brain silencing the cries. Morzak jerked the blade free and was rewarded with a cascade of blood running

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down the steel and onto his plate armor. The vipers head fell limp against its body. The demonic onlookers roared. The remaining head went into a frenzy and lashed at Morzak so quickly that all he could do was parry and dodge the lightning fast strikes. Fang rang off blade as the priest shuffled his feet to keep his weapon between himself and the viper. Morzak backpedaled while the snake circled him launching attacks from awkward angles. Its slain head dragged behind it leaving a trail of blood. The priest missed a strike and the serpents fangs clenched onto his left shoulder. Its teeth ground into the plate with a nasty screech but didnt penetrate his armor. The viper held on and its iron jaw began to smash Morzaks shoulder. The war priest roared in pain and dropped his blade, it clanged in the dirt below. Morzak smashed his right gauntlet into the snakes eye again and again until it was a bloody pulp but the raging beast only clamped down tighter. Pain exploded through his shoulder. Frustrated and desperate, the priest plunged his armored fist into the destroyed eye socket. His fingers groped about and pulled on anything they could grab. The viper released his shoulder and snapped it head back but not before Morzak could pull a hunk of viscera from its eye cavity. The priest flung the gore away and reached down and snatched up his blade. The serpent twisted away in a weird corkscrew motion as its remaining bloody head curled against its body. Grunting, Morzak popped the joint in his shoulder back into place. The priest rotated his bruised appendage to relieve some of the stress then walked after the fiend to finish the job. The demonic crowd in the rafters howled and shook the coliseum as they anticipated the kill to

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come. An annoyed scowl formed on his usually stoic face as the priest closed the distance with the mortally injured demon. He just wanted it to die already. With its one reaming head brutalized the viper didnt even see Morzak coming. The war priest roared and brought his sword over his helm. He chopped on the demons head like a woodcutter splitting the last log of the day. The steel parted flesh and bone with ease and severed the gory maw from its now squirting and squirming neck. Blood sprayed out in long arcing spurts as the twitching monster collapsed and died, its tail continued to twist and flick sand around the arena. Morzak swept his blade over the dozens of torn bodies lying on the arena floor. He had conquered them all, smashed the cretins like the filth they were. The priest raised his sword in triumph and bellowed out at the devilish crowd, challenging any to come before him. The horrific crowd roared. They demanded more.

As Wralgar scrambled up the deteriorated wooden steps the planks groaned and a few snapped under his mad dash to safety. The terrified king didnt stop to catch his breath until he had reached the zenith. Panting, Wralgar threw himself against the nearby wall and peered precariously around the corner and down the steps towards the entrance. He stilled his breath and froze. Every beat of his heart felt like a lifetime as he waited for the cadaver to appear in the doorway. But as the minutes passed and the cold of the dead tower crept into his bones, Wralgar was forced to realize that nothing was chasing him. He was once again alone, but now he was inside Traguls tower. The blackness of the inner keep haunted his steps and his mind played tricks on him. Shadows scurried at the edges of

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Wralgars vision and ghostly whispers floated in his ears. His breath rose in front of him like a tortured spirit. He hadnt taken the first step by his own accord, but now he was here, inside the dreaded sorcerers home. There was no turning back. Wralgar again cursed Morzak for staying here and then grudgingly ascended the tower.

It would appear, My Lady that you are now out of champions and fodder, Clakdrill spoke in his shrill crackling voice as he looked out over the massive arena. The emaciated, neon-green skinned demon was an imp of unusually large size. Unlike his miniscule kin, Clakdrill was taller than even most humans, although this did nothing to better his position among the devils that now suffered his company. The surrounding fiends turned and waited for the queen to surely reprimand the lesser demon. Diadrath scowled at the maggot and considered flogging him on the spot for his impudence. The queen of the Blood Lands leaned forward in the high backed chair and made motions to rise and enact her rage but then checked her anger and tried to settle back into the uncomfortable furniture. It wasnt fitting for a queen to lose her composure in front of such esteemed guests. Diadrath shifted in the awkward chair and curled her tail over her legs. Its diamond shaped head came to a rest among her feet. The queen of the Blood Lands was beautiful by the standards of the gods even though she was a devil. Her soft, deep red curvaceous body promised of carnal passions and her perfectly proportioned angular face made sirines weep in jealousy. Even the scowl on her face did nothing to detract from her elegance. The devil narrowed her brilliant silvery eyes at imp.

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Maggot. You have no champions. You have not even fodder. Slaves will not bend the knee to you. If I wanted the observations of a rodent then I would ask it, which I never would, as I smash it beneath my feet. The hellion regarded his current situation and bowed deeply to the queen. She wasnt appeased and demanded him to grovel lower. He did so, almost brushing his bat-like face against the intricately worked stone. She would have bid him again but the queen didnt want his repulsive face to mar her balcony. When she didnt retort, the critter then scampered out of her line of site. Diadrath flicked her tail in annoyance. Damn that cretin! She would never admit it but she knew the imp was right. Over the course of the week the grayed knight had bested all of her champions, exhausted her supply of useless demons and had somehow remained unscathed throughout the battles. That single insignificant man was now embarrassing her in front of a very important guest, so important the he, or it, sat on her throne. Diadrath stood and decided to address her guests. As she walked to the edge of the balcony her hips swayed in an entrancing motion that attracted the eyes of all, but not her most important patron. She inwardly frowned at his lack of interest. The devils, all powerful in their own rights, ranged in type from hulking beasts to maligned monsters that both disgusted and amazed her. Diadrath reclined on the banister and pressed her lustrous chest forward as she smiled devilishly. He still ignored her. She frowned visibly. I take it then that no one else has any champions they would like to test against this warrior? When no one spoke up she finished her train of thought. Perhaps it is best. None here have devils better than I, and if my fiends cant best him then none can. It was an empty

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boast but it was the best the queen had at the moment. She hoped a challenge would spur someone into action, but as the moments lingered on and her guests began to murmur amongst themselves she began to doubt her ruse. Diadrath turned away, and scowled at the knight on the field below. You are ruining me! Why havent you been slaughtered yet?! I have one. The speakers baritone voice echoed with power and silenced all on the balcony. Diadrath bit her lip in excitement and slowly but elegantly spun to face the being sitting on her throne. A single warrior, your Omnipotence? Surely you would send more champions than that? You saw how the powerful knight handled some of my best. The queen curled her tail around her, seductively groping her body and inviting him to do the same. He made no note of her advance. Only one, the powerful entity repeated. Omeglar. From the shadows behind him, a massive form strode forward. The queens other guests visibly reeled from its presence and moved to make distance from it. The terrible monster said nothing and came to stand next to its master. The two shared a stare. The demon bowed its head and then disappeared into the darkness from whence it came. The other patrons visibly relaxed. Diadrath returned to her seat in both awe and fear. The being spoke again. Omeglar will break him. The statement was said with finality and none dared to question it.

Morzak finish his roar of victory and let his blade fall to relax at his side. The demonic hordes in the coliseum continued to howl and scream. They demanded more blood, more death. The priest rolled his left shoulder as it began to stiffen from the beating it underwent earlier. Morzak dropped his sword and let it fall to the earth as he tried to clear his mind in preparation

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for the healing mantra he was about to undertake. The war priest had performed the simple restoration spell countless times before, but now he found that he could not channel the correct energy required for the mending. In fact, Morzak couldnt even find it, it was as if he had never used a healing spell. The priest then noticed several other differences that hadnt been apparent previously. For starters, his hair was grey and almost white, not black. His reach was longer to, by several inches. Morzak hardly ever used a two handed sword, he preferred his mace and shield. So naturally, during the melee he hadnt observed the irregularity. He had attributed the difference as the weapons doing. The war priest was slightly taller as well. Some of the types of demons he vanquished today he had fought before it distant battles. The devils were usually larger than Morzak, but now he was the same height as the fiends. Everything about him was strange, but somehow, oddly familiar. Before Morzak could draw a connection with his metamorphosis, the largest gate in the arena shook and slowly rumbled open. The war priest retrieved his blade and drew it in front of him, holding it at the ready. His left shoulder ached, but Morzak would have to fight without healing it. The inside of the gate was dark, and he couldnt see very far into it. As he waited for his foe to come forth, Morzak shifted the blade to his right shoulder to relieve some of the stress. A huge form slowly lumbered out of the black. Its shape was vague at first, but as the demon walked into the light its monstrous form was terrible to behold. The fiend was massive, one of the largest the priest had ever seen. It had to be three times his size. The first thing Morzak noticed was its color, a purple so dark that it was almost black. The bipedal beast stood on three-toed feet that ended in nasty front and back talons, and its legs and thighs were as thick

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as tree trunks. The behemoth had four arms, two slightly smaller ones that connected at breast level and larger ones above at its rounded shoulders. Like its feet, the demons colossal hands were complete with long raking claws that looked capable of shearing metal. The devils visage reminded Morzak of a pit fighting dog, except with dead black eyes and large fangs that extended to the lower jaw, and short upward curving horns instead of ears. The demon was nasty to regard, and surely a deadly foe, but when it stretched its back and two gold cuffed stumps rose from behind its shoulders, Morzaks face went slack and his eyes wide. In all his years of adventure and warfare he had only seen the bindings once before, on a creature considered the third scourge of the world. The manacles, as he had been told, were a mark of servitude to an ancient, satanic god. A demon would cut off his wings and offer the leathery appendages to the absolute being. If the sacrifice was accepted, the fiends marred stumps would instantly be cauterized with molten gold cuffs, sealing the bond between god and monster. If the tribute was rejected, the hellion would explode from the inside and its life force would be permanently obliterated. Morzak had only ever seen the denial. The bindings gave power and status, which proclaimed and made the wearer a lord, among devils. Morzak hoisted his blade in front of him and whispered a prayer to the gods, begging for strength. The priest received nothing. Omeglar advanced on Morzak, and the war priest cursed.

Wralgars boots and knees knocked against stone and wood in the darkness as he blundered about inside the tower. The young king swore as he rubbed his right knee, then stood and squinted in the gloom. Without his sight, the barbarian was going nowhere, fast.

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Wralgar had felt his way around the keep, using his hands and feet to guide him, but the progress of ascending the tower had now got him lost. The path he had been following ended and left him stranded in the middle of what seemed to be an empty room. The Jarreg groped about in the blackness, searching for something to guide his path upwards, but his fingers only closed on cold, empty air. The young king sat down and buried himself beneath the Yorguurs fur, for security and warmth. Hands, feet, and all went under the makeshift blanket until he looked like a white lump on the cold floor. He admitted defeat to Traguls keep. Not everyone can be brave priest I tried! As Wralgar huddled beneath the cloak he began to hum a song his mother taught him when he was younger. The tune was for scaring away the darkness and monsters, and bringing back the sun. The Jarreg felt ridiculous for singing it, but no one was here to watch or judge, so he continued on. Thoughts of his mother brought tears to his eyes, she had passed when he was just a child and the wound was still sore. The king stopped humming the song and began singing it. His voice flowed outwards from him like a warm wave. The melody rolled through the dark corridors of the tower and banished the cold air from the keep. As the barbarian continued the song, he began to glow. At first the light was like a spark of fire struggling against the wind, fighting to stay alive. But then, as the ballad reached its crescendo and Wralgars voice grew in strength, the spark caught flame and grew into a mighty blaze, lighting the barbarian in a magnificent glow that banished the shadows from sight.

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Wralgar finished the song and raised himself to his feet. His golden eyes shone like the sun, and the fire within him flowed through his veins like a hot spring. The young king was no longer afraid. He was no longer cold. His path to Morzak was now clear.

The war priest dodged under the demons backhand and slashed towards Omeglars exposed midsection. The blade bit deeply into the fiends abdomen and opened a large gash. Black blood rushed from the wound and spilled down the hellions body. The monster howled. Morzak didnt stay to inspect the damage as he did a forward roll and escaped under the devils legs. He sprang up behind Omeglar and cut at his hamstrings trying to chop the beast down to the priests size. The sword split hide and muscle but the behemoth remained standing. Dark, sanguine fluid freely poured from multiple wounds that spanned the demons body. The fiend now looked more like a steak suffering under a hungry knife than a devilish champion. Even though it had lost what seemed to be an extreme amount of its life force, Omeglar continued to fight and lashed out towards the priest with its long arms. Morzak dodged the slow lumbering strikes and dashed in to score the fiend with several more strokes, drawing black blood. The priest danced away before the devil could counter. This is too easy. Morzak crouched under the hellions double swipe, the colossal curved claws just barely passed over his helm. The war priest riposte with a stab to Omeglars underarm. The two handed sword stabbed through the tricep and into the demons bone with a sickening crack. The fiend roared and stumbled backwards clutching its torn appendage. For the first time since the start of the battle, Morzak saw what appeared to be fear in Omeglars eyes. The holy warrior pressed his advantage.

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The situation was surreal. Withering away before his adopted blade was a truly power demon, perhaps one of the most deadly foes he had ever seen. And yet he was conquering it with ease! Perhaps the gods truly had answered his prayers. Rather than linger on the mystery, Morzak decided to use his good fortune to effect and assault Omeglar. The priest charged forward, his blade held high above his head. The injured devil clawed at the warrior with his upper right arm, but Morzak spun left, and shuffled inside the fiends range where its longer arms would be of little use. Morzak used the momentum of the spin to keep the blade whirling in motion. The razor edge of the steel gashed deeply into the demons oblique muscles, spraying blood across the warrior, and shattering several of the ribs as well. Omeglar shrieked. The war priest continued his sweep. He stepped past the demon with his right foot and swung his left behind him, putting his weight into the maneuver as he crouched low. The long steel sword swung around Morzaks body and chopped into the back of the monsters right knee. The ruined joint cracked and shuddered. The war priest yanked the blade fee and slashed the underside of the left knee to similar effect. Unable to support its massive weight anymore, the beasts legs gave out and Omeglar lurched forward, catching himself with his for arms. The hulking demon choked on a nasty cough and then twitched, spewing hunks of dark viscera on the sand beneath him. The coliseum shook with anticipation as hellish clamor echoed off the walls and floor. Morzak lifted his bloodied blade in victory and reveled in the moment. He allowed the devils to cheer for him, he accepted their praise! The energy cascading from the stands washed over him. At that very moment, the holy warrior felt like their champion. He roared with them.

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The war priest triumphantly walked around the demons broken body and brought his blade to rest above Omeglars exposed neck. He held the sword like a guillotine, poised and waiting to be dropped. The arena trembled in excitement, every soul, living and dead, their eyes watching the priest. The hellish crowds chanted what the priest could only assume meant death. Morzak looked towards the balcony that he assumed held the leaders, and waited for their command.

Diadrath couldnt stop a smile of victory from crossing her face as she approached the banister. The devil used her alluring body to full affect, sauntering forward as if she had all the time in the world. The knight, that impossible man, had defeated Omeglar, a true fiend of hell. This was the moment Diadrath had been waiting for, the point where she would once again gain superiority. The Queen of the Blood Lands raised her hands out over the assembled hordes below, they screamed for their beloved mistress and leader. With a few waves of her hands, she calmed the enraged, blood hungry demons and the arena quieted. Diadrath could feel the thousands of eyes upon her, begging for her to give them death. She slowly, teasingly, raised her hands, and a clamor began to rise through the coliseum, but then stopped as the queen held her judgment. Diadrath surveyed the entire arena, grinned wickedly, and then pointed both thumbs downwards, damning Omeglar to die. Her subjects thunders of elation made the earth tremble.

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Behind her, the supernatural being pressed its gaze into Omeglar. The demon spit out more black blood then turned to face its masters call. The dark entity nodded once, and the devil returned the gesture. A cruel, fang filled grin spread across Omeglars face.

Morzak waited for their queen to give him the command, to issue the order that would make him a warrior of legend. When the demon lord finally gave her people the death they yearned for, the priests heart leapt in his chest. He could see statues of himself carved in gold and the tale of his life being read in scriptures to the masses. All he had to do was swing his blade one more time. Morzak chopped at Omeglars neck with all his might. The priests next sensation was that of flying. Spiraling head over foot, the realm around Morzak became a blur, and then he returned to the earth from whence he came. The holy warrior struck the ground and violently bounced several times. Various bones in his body cracked and Morzaks vision went red. The priests world spun rapidly and his stomach clenched as he quickly sickened from the motion. Morzak vomited until nothing was left inside of him, and then he dry heaved as the pain continued to wrack him. His confused mind slowly gathered its self as his world tried to return to focus. The priest collected his hands beneath him and pushed his body off the coarse sand. The effort caused him to cough up blood. Morzak had been hit, hard. His compressed chest throbbed with sharp pain under the stress of multiple fractured ribs, and his breath came in short rasps. The priest tried to stand and his left leg buckled underneath him as his ankle failed. Morzak cried out and fell back to the arena floor. The agony pushed his muddled mind together and he could see straight once more. Omeglar, the demon he had thought defeated, stood.

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Omeglar raised himself and flexed his torn and bloodied appendages with ease, as if they hadnt just been ravaged. The abyssal demon elevated his four muscle knotted arms above his head, clenched every tendon in his body, and roared. His voice thundered out like a gods and the earth trembled around him. The mighty bellow continued forth and echoed out of the stadium and into the cosmos. Omeglar finished his eruption and stood in silence as the wounds on his body closed and his bleeding ceased. The shocked coliseum fell silent. Morzak wet himself. The next few minutes of the priests life were a blur as he was tossed about like a babe fighting a bear. The demon moved with unreal agility for a monster so large. He leapt like a tiger and struck faster than the quickest fencer. Omeglar devastated Morzak with every strike as he enacted his revenge. The blows either smashed the priest into the earth, or sent him flying. But the demon made sure not to kill his plaything. Morzak coughed up a bloody whimper as his broken body stopped rolling. Omeglar strode over to the priest and stood over him, blocking the sun behind him. The demons shadow fell on the human. Omeglar laughed aloud, and then spoke something with a tone of disgust in his harsh guttural language. The fiend almost looked as if he pitied the priest, almost. Then the mauling resumed.

Wralgar ascended the tower and the gloom fled before him. With each footfall upwards, Wralgars steps became lighter and faster as if he was being guided by some otherworldly force. As the young king rounded the last corner he came to Morzaks room. The barbarian marched forth and parted the double doors to the priests abode.

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The room was black, and incredibly cold. Frost had formed in the corners and all of the candles had been snuffed of life. Morzak lay in his bed, thrashing as if he was being brutalized by an invisible foe. He had kicked the pillows and covers off his berth and was dressed only in his undergarments. The priest flailed from side to side and screamed like he was dying. Wralgar rushed to Morzaks side and grabbed him, his skin was freezing. He shook the man and shouted his name trying to wake him, but the nightmare kept its victim in its grasp. Wralgar put his fingers on the priests eyes and tried to force them open. A dark, malignant force screamed at the barbarian and he quickly pulled his hand back and jumped from the bed. What hell has its grip on you priest, the young king exclaimed with fear. Wralgar watched as Morzaks thrashing worsened. The priests body bucked and clenched and his breath came in short labored rasps. He was sure that if Morzak continued this way that he would quickly die. Wralgar began to sing again. His voice lifted the darkness from the room and washed the cold out of the air and stones and replaced it with the warmth of summer. He built his voice to a crescendo and then laid his hands on Morzaks eyes once more. The malignant force thrashed against his power.

Omeglar lifted Morzak by his broken leg and then flung him like a bone. The priests limp form rolled across the sand and came to a rest. His entire body throbbed with dull and sharp waves of pain. Morzak was passing in and out of consciousness. He thought he had won. He thought he had defeated a champion of a god, a truly powerful demon, and done so effortlessly. He realized now that it was all a ruse, he had never had a chance. The demon had allowed him to devastate his body, to cut him into a bloody mess.

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Omeglar wanted Morzak to think he could win just so he could rip the victory from beneath the priest. But why? Why the cruel show? Why the torture? Why didnt the demon just finish him? Omeglar had a message to send. The broken knight in the sand had slain their best champions and had done so without being injured himself. This one man had defied and embarrassed the collective demonic powers for over a week. But compared to abyssal champion of a god, that man was nothing. It wanted everyone in the coliseum to know that he could slaughter them at will, everyone. Omeglar marched to his prey to finish the job.

Morzak had failed. He had failed his kingdom, his order, but most of all, he had failed Wralgar. With his death, Wralgar would be left to fend for himself, to prepare himself against a great evil that was coming. But the young king wasnt ready, he still hadnt come to terms with his tortured past, a hell which was fatally holding him back. Because of Morzaks death, Wralgars world would end. The thought sobered him and he prepared to die, as a failure. Omeglar once again stood over Morzak, blotting out the sun. The demon appeared to be surveying the priests smashed body, but didnt move to finish him. Morzak was barely conscious, but the demon spoke again and his voice had a clear tone of pity in it, as if he was sorry, as if the priest hadnt deserved this. Then Omeglar reached towards him with his four grasping arms to finish it. From somewhere deep inside the priest, a powerful, warm, tsunami like wave washed forth and repulsed the demon. Omeglar shrieked and recoiled from the priest, his purple-black claws raking at invisible foes in front of him. The storm surged through Morzaks broken body mending bones and muscles and renewing his depleted strength.

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The priest heaved and sat forward on his knees as he coughed new life into his lungs. He tensed his muscles and found their power returned, then rolled his joints and found his bones mended. Where had this healing come from? Who had answered his pleas? Omeglar roared in front of him as he continued to be assailed by some awesome force, whatever it was wouldnt keep the demon occupied for long. Morzak didnt have time to search for answers, he had to keep a promise he made to a young king. The priest ran to retrieve his blade, and to kill the demon. Morzak flew across the arena and snatched up his sword. With weapon in hand, the priest yelled and charged at his foe. Still distracted by his concealed enemy, Omeglar didnt see the attack coming, but he felt it. Morzaks blade cut deeply into the fiends dark back and bounced off his spine. Black blood sprayed over the priest. The demon howled and his form strained in pain. The wound was nasty, but Omeglar had survived worse. The demon bellowed, then turned and clawed at the priest. To the devils astonishment, the man parried the blow, a strike that would have slain a giant, and advanced on him, forcing the hellion to give ground. Now it was Omeglars turn to wonder. He had broken this man, utterly smashed him, but the very same creature now fought him with even more might than before! Omeglar snarled as the priest drew a long gash in his right forearm, and then cut open his chest. The wounds burned and dark blood flowed out freely. I am the champion of a god! This foe is nothing! This man cannot defeat me! Omeglar roared, planted his feet, and pushed into Morzaks advance. Each of his four colossal hands flashed in front of him and raked at the priest. The fiends talons could rend stone and his blows

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could shatter pillars, but the knight blocked and evaded each attack while still managing to score hits of his own. The hellion gnashed his fangs as the holy warrior scored another attack, a broad cut along his thigh that gushed blood and flayed skin and muscle. Omeglar howled, but then leapt forward, pressing his assault and snarling at his foe is his hellish language. I only have to hit you once! The abyssal fiends strikes became erratic. The demon no longer cared if Morzak struck him, it understood that it only had to connect solidly with him one time, one blow is all it would take. The claws rained in faster and faster and Morzak began to lose track of each arm. He backpedalled and gave ground to the savage monster. He could no longer afford to parry its talons. The priest had to dodge every attack. As the man retreated before his fury, Omeglar howled, and like a hound smelling blood, rushed forward. He snapped his lower claws at the knight from opposite, angled directions. When the warrior made his move and dodged in concert with the two strikes, weaving out and in, Omeglar launched himself at the priest, trying to smother him beneath his massive form. The bold tactic forced the knight to scramble backwards and it put him off balance as he stumbled on his heels. Ceasing his opportunity, Omeglar hooked his upper right hand out and smashed the holy warrior in the chest, earning a nasty cut to his wrist in the trade, but sending the man tumbling through the air. The devil roared in triumph. The knight crashed and rolled nearby. The demons feet chopped beneath him as he rushed over to Morzak, You will not get up this time! Morzak spun and tried to get his boots under him but the archfiend reached him before he gained his feet. Omeglar snatched him off the ground and seized his left appendages and his

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right leg, but as the abyssal demon reached for his right arm, the one wielding the blade, Morzak whipped the sword in front of him and cut the hellion from his left arm, across his chest, and into his right arm. The fiend shrieked as blood and skin burned and he lost his grip on the priest. The monster juggled Morzak into the air while trying to dodge his blade and regain control over the priests limbs. The brute knocked the holy warrior higher with his right upper arm, and then poised to snatch him with his left, but Morzak gashed the devils bicep and Omeglar jerked his limb back in response. With no clawing hands blocking his path, the war priest fell forward and cursed the demon as he plunged the two handed blade up to the hilt into the beasts chest, stabbing into its heart. Omeglar floundered backwards as the knight hung onto the blade and ripped down through his chest. The razor edge sliced through his innards and split bone. He screamed and wretched as his legs almost gave out beneath him. Red, fiery lances of pain stabbed through his body and a river of black blood poured from his wound and washed over the knight. He nearly collapsed, nearly. But as the blade stuck fast in his sternum he realized the blow wasnt fatal. Omeglar howled, whipped his outstretched arms forward and seized the confused knight in a bone crushing embrace. The demon laughed as it smashed the man against his chest while its horrid breath sickened him. The warriors bones popped while Omeglar increased the pressure. An astonished, cheated look filled the knights widening eyes and face. The devil pressed his head forward until his fangs loomed directly in caught warriors gaze, then he whispered to him in his abyssal voice. I have no heart, dead man! Omeglar wrenched the knights arms and legs and gnashed his fangs forward upon his helm.

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He had been cheated. Victory had been stolen from Morzak in what he thought to be its true, crowning moment. When his great blade had plunged into the demons chest and speared its heart, the priest had felt like a god! And when Omeglar went through what he was sure was the monsters death throes, the priest had bellowed like never before. But as his joints popped and bones snapped under the devils obliterating hold, all the priest could feel was the deceitful hand of fate playing Morzaks final card. Damn them all! Damn the gods and their cruel games! I shant go out like a coward! As the fiends fangs closed on his helm and his limbs popped like chicken bones, Morzak shouted at the demon in defiance. Come claim your victory, bastard!Omeglars serrated teeth pierced into his helm. The priest closed his eyes and braced himself for death.

CEASE! The word of power blasted through the coliseum and a reflective, metaphysical force ripped the fabric of reality to a crashing halt. The entire stadium, all of its inhabitants, and the immediate world around it froze in place. REGRESS. The dynamic voice spoke again and the arena slowly reversed in time. Omeglars fangs receded from the priests helm and his massive arms opened to release the demons prey. HALT. Reality once again stopped, but now Morzak was free of the demon, although he still clung to his blade embedded within its torso. A maligned, heavy presence grew around the entwined combatants until air about them freely discharged electrical currents. A dark force laid itself on Morzaks body. RELEASE. The priests body resumed animation and he fell to the earth in a heap. Morzak coughed as air rushed into his lungs. When the priest caught his breath, he lifted himself from

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the sand and saw that the world around him was still motionless. Every single soul within the stadium appeared to be trapped in the altered reality, all except for Morzak and one other being. A noise quickly grew around the priest until it sounded like he was inside a massive hornets nest. The electrical discharges began bolts of lightning that freely arced about the stadium, slaying any they struck. The hum pierced into his mind until it was all he could hear. Morzak turned and looked for the source, and when the priest found it, he fell to his knees in terror.

Before Morzak stood an entity that could only be a god. The humanoid soul was enshrouded by what appeared to be living shadow, the darkness moved freely about his obscured form and black tendrils extended from it, reaching hungrily for the priest. As the cold coils wrapped around the stunned priest, they lifted him off the ground and brought him into the aura of darkness. Once drawn inside, Morzak could clearly see his unearthly captor. Pitch black plate armor encompassed his body, and where the obsidian covering wasnt, his shadowy form churned beneath like a raging storm. Morzak thought he could hear souls crying forth from the storm. In the eye slits of the gods grim helm, two red orbs seared forth into the priests mind like hot branding irons. The dynamic voice uttered again, Show me everything. The holy warrior screamed as his captor invaded his soul.

Wralgars melodic voice slowly pushed the malignant presence back, although it fought just as hard to hold its grip over the priest. The barbarian flexed his muscles as if preparing to move

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a great weight and then pushed his mind into Morzaks psyche. The young king flooded into his teachers soul and the two forces collided like a pair of wrestlers. Wralgar heaved with all his might and moved his invisible foe back a step, but the gloom responded likewise and the two combatants strained in stalemate. Wralgar cried out for strength and pushed to his breaking point, and just when he thought he was about to snap in two from the stress, the entity broke its grasp from him, wheeled about in terror, and flew away as if fleeing from a great predator. Wralgar relaxed and exhaled in his apparent victory, but the moment was short lived as the malignant forms predator exploded into the area. The raging power washed over the Jarreg and threatened to absorb him entirely. The energy seethed at his form and tried to eat away at his soul, but its fangs couldnt pierce his glowing body. Wralgar defensively shied behind his arms, but when he found that the force couldnt touch him, he lowered his clenched hands and stood tall. The barbarian drew in a mighty breath and sang once more, his voice echoed forth and smashed the darkness.

The god gasped as something assaulted its mind and the dark tendrils holding Morzak aloft immediately released the priest. The holy warrior fell to the sand and crawled away from the shadow aura. The supernatural being clasped its head and shrieked, the cry stabbed into Morzaks body, physically causing him pain. The dark entity stepped away from the priest and moaned as whatever was assaulting it continued its attack. The living darkness surrounding the humanoid form seethed inward to save its master.

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Wralgar pressed forward as the shadow fled from him. He could feel the priests presence ahead and empowered his voice to leap forward to Morzaks aid. The glow surrounded the thrashing man and freed him of dark embrace. Wralgar ran forward and lifted the priest into his arms. Thankfully, Morzak was still alive. The storm churned around the barbarian as it gained strength to counterattack. Wralgars aura began to secede to its power, black tendrils pierced through the light and streaked towards the singer. We must go priest! Wralgar bellowed the last few notes of the song and he extricated himself and Morzak from the nightmare. The black tendrils gnashed over the area the young king had just vanished from.

Morzaks eyes burst open and he found himself inside Wralgars embrace. The priests gaze darted around his room looking for his foes, he found only himself and his savior. You are safe priest. Wralgar lowered the man from his grasp, and Morzak stood on the strangely warm stone floor. What was that priest? What darkness held you, Wralgar asked with clear concern. Morzak looked into Wralgars golden eyes, the holy warrior found himself devoid of explanation. The priest began to form words in his mouth, but he held his tongue. Should he tell Wralgar the truth? Could he? Would he understand? The priests knew little of what just happened, but underneath the confusion Morzak knew why he had been drawn into the nightmare, and that was an old, black secret that he was not ready to divulge. The priest closed his mouth and looked away, ashamed of his secrets.