Now I’ll show you!

  To the world, come and see!

  With your own eyes and ears!

  A true bard!

  That is me!

  Beneath the heavens on this earth,

  I shall reveal, and you'll revere-

  the powers of a bard!

  An entertainer, a musician, a troubadour!

  Master of the trampoline, the dagger, the voice!

  With a smile, we control! With a shimmy, we seduce!

  With music in our voice, we inspire!

  With rhythm in our step, we provoke!

  We perform for adoration!

  For coin!

  But can we fight? Kill?

  With an intent of fire, what do they will?

  Intoxicating the air, why do we stand?

  To the lights, we look.

  To captivate, our cause.

  To bedazzle, and hypnotize.

  Does a bard have the will?

  The hapless masses that stand before us.

  They await our every breath.

  But can we, of the path of imagination…

  The road of entertainment…

  Take the lives of others, with the flair of our brilliant guise?

  The way of a bard, why would one take such to harm?

  Those before you listen in awe

  Hang your likeness on their wall

  Focus of their worship and admiration

  To walk in our very steps

  Our idol!

  They cry…

  A celebrity!

  They cheer…

  And that is their damnum fatale.

  Idols, we are not.

  And gods, none could ever be.

  Bards. Are. Soldiers.

  Entertainers of the End Times.

  Existing to soothe and calm. To bring a smile to a face of tears.

  With a flourish and a flash!

  With a turn and a twist!

  With a note and a shout!

  The most macabre of plays…

  The most dire of situations…

  We still are there to entertain.

  With lute in hand, we sing,

  as they bleed and die.

  With flute and whistle we play,

  while the enemy pleads and cries.

  Those who would see, watch with shaded eyes!

  Those who would hear, muffle thine ears!

  For now you bear witness,

  to the true path…

  of a bard.

  ~Wicked Dance of the Bard

  ~Feldyn Goldchord, the Endless Bard

  * * *

  'Wow, he sucks at this,' Ally thought, as she listened to Feldyn shout his dumbass taunts. She couldn’t believe the Terrors would be provoked but such… ridiculousness. I mean, really? Watching from the doorway of the house, Ally was nervous. She believed in Feldyn, yet… he stood out there, not even a weapon in hand.

  Could they really win against enemies powerful as the Terrors were supposed to be? This wasn’t just a boss fight, this was the last boss fight. Sure, there was more out there, a bigger picture, a grand scheme. But to Ally, all of this had started because of these specific villains. If this was a game, they were at the end of the plot, for what it was worth. Continuing the metaphor, they had struggled to defeat weaker encounters, and now the final fight was three solo boss battles?

  Someone shouted something in the distance, which Ally couldn’t make out. At least one of them could though, since Feldyn quit yelling insults. The next few minutes felt like hours, the group staying in their respective positions, watching and waiting in silence.

  A few blocks down, Shuzariel floated into view, altering course to head straight down the middle of the street. She was moving quickly, but calmly. Hair in pigtails, belly showing, skirt short enough, when it moved, well… let’s just say that John’s fear was again replaced by his psychotic murderous prudism. The witch queen wore no shoes, feet crossed at the ankles, floating a foot off the ground. Her hands were black as night and elongated into some type of finger-talons, a couple of feet long.

  The other two terrors were nowhere to be seen.

  “Could you guys have not just walked to me?” Suzie whined loudly, when she got about a block away. “Where are the other two?” Feldyn snapped, loud and commanding, Shuzariel's swampy rainbow eyes widening. “Um, Larry is currently burning in Hell, and Xal is back there, being a bitch, as usual.”

  Feldyn was a bit shocked at the casual revelation of the zombie king's demise. “Alone?” Masque deadpanned, and the witch nodded before thinking. Masque leapt away. “Awwww, crap!” Suzie hadn’t expected the thrall to go off alone to attack X’al’antra! He didn’t have a chance of defeating her, but oh, was she going to be pissed about it later!

  “Ignore him,” Feldyn ordered, the witch looking back to the elf. “I am your opponent, not him.” She smirked. “What about the old man? And blondy back there?”

  “Just me, and Lance,” Feldyn didn’t blink. John looked a bit disappointed, but he stepped to the side, then a bit reluctantly headed to the house with Ally.

  It didn’t take Suzie long to puzzle it out. She giggled. “Are you guys fucking serious? The cat was a bit startling, I’ll give you that, but really? You sure you don’t want the priest’s help? I don’t mind. Will make things last a few more seconds, at least.”

  “Do you accept my challenge?” Feldyn’s mind was whirling. He had no idea if Masque had just charged into a trap, or if the zombie king was actually dead, and that wasn't just some figure of speech. Shuzariel groaned, shaking her head, and covering her face with one hand before answering. “Yes, fine, whatever.” Still floating, she looked Feldyn in the eye, between her long claws and grinned, “You do know who I am, right?”

  This was it. It was time. Never, not even once, had Feldyn succeeded in what he was to now attempt. So many hours of practice. So many techniques learned, and items acquired, all to boost his foolish obsession of mastering this stupid combo; and it was still nothing more than a stubborn goal, inches from his grasp. But this time, he would succeed. This time, he would pull it off. Why? Because with Lance familiarized to him, their subconscious bond was strong enough for the tikirin to time assistance perfectly. In theory, anyway.

  Besides... what else could he do? Other than support, this had been his trump. His proof of being able to take on a powerful enemy. The bullshit he had put all of his time into practicing, now was his only chance. A fool to the end.

  “The question is,” Feldyn started, smirk of his own spreading across his face, “do ye know who we are?” He held his left arm down to the side, right also held low, and bent his knees. His hands appeared to be gripping something, yet nothing was there.

  And Lancetron Que Delimitrix knew that was his signal to release the gear stored in his glisserant collar; to equip his best friend, and -of his own choice- master.

  From nowhere, leathers began to wrap the elf’s torso, replacing the torn shirt beneath. They were dark brown, almost black, with many straps across the chest, trimmed in the deepest of green. So much more elegant and regal-looking than Reba’s own leather armor. His left arm was short sleeved in a flared green cloth, where the right arm was not only wrapped in leather all the way down to his wrist, but also had an extravagant green sleeve, long enough to conceal his hand.

  Feldyn's legs were then covered in tight, black, glossy pants; black and green tunic-like skirting of his leather top hanging over his waist far enough to conceal if they hugged awkwardly. Large, deep gray, ashen-colored boots appeared on his feet, stretching to just below his knees, where they were adorned with a bright golden buckle.

  So far, so good!

  Lance unlocked the accessories next, and with a twinkle, Feldyn felt the brief pain as five earrings re-pierced the grown over piercings in his left ear, then the three in his right ear. He was grateful that the hole in his tongue hadn’t begun to heal, as that piercing reappeared. Then was the snug tightness of the ring on his left hand’s index finger, and the two tiny bands he wore on his right pinky. The weight of his pendant’s chain once again around his neck, also added to the familiarity that was now bolstering his ego.

  The tug as his hair bound itself in a ponytail, almost made him smile. The hair tie was not even magical, but Lance must have stored a band or two. It had been so long since he bound his hair back, he had all but forgotten the sensation. Feldyn preferred his hair loose, but when he was fully gearing up for battle, he always pulled it back, to make sure his eyesight did not get blocked mid-combat.

  Last, but not least, Lance equipped the weapons! In the top of Feldyn’s left boot, the end of a long brown wand appeared. The bard’s left hand now gripped a roughly two-foot long, shiny silver, hiltless blade; four large gems -red, green, blue, and yellow- were embedded in a row along the center of it; between each was a hole (smaller than the gems) that went straight through. In his right hand appeared a long rapier, also of that same shiny silver, silver basket hilt concealing his hand. His right boot then saw the appearance of the black hilt of a dagger.

  Ally could only see Feldyn from behind, but the way he had just equipped those items had been so fast, so sudden, so freaking cool! The bard’s entire demeanor felt different somehow too. It was hard for her to put a finger on, but Feldyn had an air about him that was completely different.

  John, having reached Ally, was irritated. Not only had he been abruptly sidelined, but the one man he wished to kill was apparently dead. True, it may be a lie, and the alchemist could show up at any moment. Trusting these Terrors to fight fair would be foolish.

  Looking back at the Aetherian, seeing him now in his full garb, even as he faced away, John felt a thrill that overrode his own irritation. The rush of a spectator ringside, watching the fighters enter, getting that chill in your soul that told you this would be a fight to be remembered.

  Muscles taut, smug smile on his face, Feldyn didn’t blink, eyes locked on the witch queen’s. She was obviously a bit surprised by his sudden change. Good! Without even a warning, as Shuzariel opening her mouth to make a snotty comment; Feldyn and Lance attacked.

  * * *

  Masque landed at the edge of the canyon, at the far end from where X’al’antra, facing away, was looking at a book. Stealing a quick glance at his surroundings, he noticed Caleb on the ground. Odd. Why was the boy just lying there? Regardless, he was alive, and did not appear to be in any mortal peril. Hopefully the young man was planning something, or simply stunned, as Masque could not risk going to his side.

  Focusing his attention back on the vampire queen, Masque was doing everything he could to hide his presence. If he was succeeding, or if the vampire queen was feigning ignorance, he was about to find out.

  The plan Masque had concocted wasn’t much better than something the half-elf would come up with. He needed to get X’al’antra as far from the others as possible, then defeat her. Or die trying. Death… was unfortunately an option. There was only one thing he could do to move her in a hurry. It was dangerous, and he was not even sure that it would work. Worst (best?) case, he killed her by accident.

  With a shadowstep, he was behind the vampire queen, driving his nightblade two-handed through her torso, requiring more strength than he had ever needed to pierce on object. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand- he shadowstepped them both up high above the ground, and away from the Rock, almost to the violet shield in the sky.

  As soon as they exited, X'al'antra ripped free of his blade, backhanding him hard enough, it took severe will and his netherweave, to halt the flipping momentum.

  X’al’antra growled in irritation. 'What is that fucking Shuzariel doing?!' she seethed to herself. Mild concern also crossed her mind. Why did I not sense him behind me? Granted, the odd density of mana under this shield made senses like smell not so helpful. Even still... “Seriously?” she hissed at her one-time thrall, as he took a stance before her in midair, netherweave roiling around his body; at least four yards in either direction. It appeared he had found a way around his curse and fed.

  “Okay, fine,” the pretty, young-appearing, black-haired demon growled. “If you want to fight me so badly, then let’s fight.” X’al’antra hated combat. She loved killing, torturing, maiming, slaughtering. The good stuff. One on one combat? Battling, brawling, dueling? Not her thing. Though, she supposed, there would be plenty of combat once she got to Aethra. If any of it would be worth her time, she did not know. May as well stretch a little. “But know this, Masque; I am going to end your pathetic accident of an existence!”

  It had been a very long time since X'al'antra had taken her true guise. Not since the Sealing could she have dreamed of one day showing her true self on the face of the Earth. But she had dreamt it. And not even God would stop her now. It wouldn't be long until she was free of His curse!

  Pests, such as the one before her, had time and again done exactly what pests do; kept coming back once you thought them exterminated. No more chances. No more risks. She would give everything she currently had. While still not at full power (still recovering from the seal placed upon her, and had used more energy than planned in the last few hours), what remained outshone the presence of the thrall postured before her.

  In one bloody splash, large skeletal wings burst from her back; mostly bone, with some slight remnants of webbing visible. Her leathers were torn off when hip and shoulder bones ripped through flesh, and grew to cover her pelvic area and breasts. Parts of her arms also ruptured, as did her legs and feet, bones growing out from the wounds there was well, in a natural armor.

  Her eyes turned the blackest of black, widened, and slanted into beautifully wicked, small almond shapes, red pinpoints in the center of each. Her skin changed to an even more unnatural bone white; grin showing wickedly pointed teeth, with two prominent fangs.

  In her right hand, a large cruel scythe appeared, its black blade dripping liquid lightning. Xal’s grin grew wider. She may hate combat, but being herself once again, and the feel of her Plagued Lightning Reaper (the name sounded so fucking stupid in common), the memory of all those it had slain- did bring a positive charge to her black soul. Perhaps she liked to fight more than she cared to admit. Giving the metaphorical middle finger to God, helped as well.

  Masque beheld the sight he had not seen in ages, and couldn’t help but admire her beauty. It was cold, and cruel, yet it was still there. He also felt, oddly enough; pride. X’al’antra had chosen to fight him unhindered. Not like he was some bug to be squashed, but as a threat. She hated him. She wanted to run no risk that he would succeed. That realization made Masque feel something else he never expected to.

  Complimented.

  Masque had no other form. He was not a true demon, nor witch. He was what you saw. Yet, there was something he had envisioned, prepared in his mind time and again. As children fantasized about superheroes, having powers to save the innocent, and slay the wicked; Masque had envisioned powers that would allow him to one day break his bonds, and slay the queen that so imprisoned him. In truth, Masque had forgotten those youthful fantasies, until the moment when Feldyn informed him he was to face X’al’antra alone.

  Now Masque held an understanding. A power - no, a gift. It was time for him to make his fantasy a reality, and slay this murderess before him. It was time to break every rule he knew, and shape his reality to the one he chose. It was time for his own transformation.

  Without a word, he tucked his body in, crossing his arms in front of his face, nightblade still in hand; Masque forced the netherweave to integrate with the flesh and shadowcloth of his left hand. Using naught but will, he tried to reshape the body part into the image in his mind.

  The pain was enormous, though he hadn't the time to shy away, and in mere seconds, his uncrossed his arms, panting; left hand warped into into a large claw- fingers melded into three large wicked-looking, black talons. A fourth, smaller talon, also extended from the back of his hand, making a sort of spur.

  X’al’antra’s eyes widened in curiosity, but Masque wasn’t yet done!

  Bolstered by his success; using the same concept, he intended to extend his fangs next, and swell his muscles- but the pain was simply too great. Struggling to not lose focus, Masque unintentionally altered the way he viewed the intended final transformation. Confidence already gone, as he began to fear; knowing the only reason he had not yet been killed, was due to the Vampire Queen's amusement of his impotent flailing.

  Unable to stop, no time to continue, Masque forced the final tainted imagine upon the netherweave.

  And lost control.

  Somehow his body in-took a vast amount of mana in an instant, funneling it into the netherweave- which began to rip him apart! Masque threw his head back, and cried out; mouth tearing and splitting. Shadowcloths peeled back to reveal a mouth now as wide as a ghoul’s. His cry changed to a gurgle; the netherweave-imbued-cloths bubbling and boiling into his mouth, down his throat, then over his teeth and fangs, shattering and reshaping them. Each tooth in his enlarged mouth was now sharp, black, and longer.

  Masque's body snapped from side to side, convulsed and lurched; shadowcloth bubbling and boiling across his entire body. Apparent new muscle mass grew and rippled, arms, legs thickened and lengthened, chest bulging and barreling. The nether and shadow even extended from his arm over the nightblade, growing it significantly larger, and making it so it was unable to be released. His feet also warped, altering to have talons similar to his left hand.

  Then, in a flash of the deepest of night, Masque floated still, netherweave rolling around him, misty ice-blue smoke pouring from his eyes, chest heaving, as he panted, long, violent deep breaths.

  “What… the fuck?” X’al’antra whispered, completely stunned at what she had just seen.

  Masque roared- the force of it hit her like a hurricane from the mouth of a behemoth! And he kept roaring; the gale so powerful, she had to lean into it, exerting herself to not get pushed back.

  Then, this paradox of a creature, this defiant experiment - attacked.

  * * *

  Defending the half-elf’s double-bladed attack using both of her claws, Shuzariel halted his momentum, and flipped him up and over her. Feldyn spun a tight axle through the air, landing behind the witch queen, facing her. His feet slid in a controlled glide backwards, as if his boots had sharp blades on the bottoms, the ground made of polished ice.

  “Flashy,” the witch mocked. Feldyn resisted a smirk. 'Oh, ye ain’t seen flashy yet,' he thought. Now to get her to drop this guise, and show her true self. Shuzariel no doubt had a way to defend from getting killed during said change, but he didn’t need a moment to strike; he needed a moment to get his combo going.

  Charging right back at her, he ducked her two claw swipes, then back-flipped- avoiding a flurry of jabs. Feldyn dropped to his side; dodging both claws Shuzariel thrust forward and swiped outwards, throwing a wave of fire.

  Using his songsword, he sliced deeply into her shins, before thrusting upwards with his rapier, forcing the witch to leap backwards or be skewered. Feldyn began to roll, and Lance blinked them behind Suzie- scoring her a kick in the head, before Lance again blinked them away. The duo came right back at her, gliding, flipping, rolling, and occasionally blinking; dodging every attack she threw at them, while Feldyn scored numerous superficial hits.

  “Last chance to quit holding back,” Feldyn warned the enraged Shuzariel. He had just cut through the toughest skin warding she was capable of putting up. Barely. The look on her face showed she was believing his bluff. Good thing too… because that skin shielding took an entire charge from his blade.

  Feldyn saw a small green spot appear on her arm without warning. She was dropping her guise. Now!

  The bard stood straight and closed his eyes; Shuzariel’s pretty white skin beginning to turn green and bubble.

  "Aaaaaaaa~"

  The haunting note sent a chill through the witch queen. 'The fuck is he doing now?' she thought, more annoyed than anything. The Aetherian had proven to be far more agile with magical equipment, and she didn’t feel like fucking around, choosing instead to take full advantage of the barrier-shield they had erected. And where the change was slower than she would have preferred, it felt satisfying as fuck.

  At that moment, Suzie, Ally, and John, all gasped. Because, as Feldyn stood singing those notes that sent chills up your spine, two more Feldyn's stepped out of him. As in, two identical-looking Feldyns (sans a pink cat on their shoulders) were now standing one on either side of the original. Then, two more stepped out of the center -main- Feldyn; one to the front, and one to the back.

  Lance vanished from the center Feldyn’s shoulder, as the two copies to either side fanned outwards, the ones in front and back stalking towards the witch queen, weapons at the ready; her body continuing to bubble and bloat, no longer an inch of her creamy white skin visible.

  The two Feldyns that had been moving to flank, stopped to harmonize the melody that was still being sung.

  And the air changed. Impossibly, it was now as if... you could feel color.

  “Can you know my path?”

  The center Feldyn sang deep and low. The bard looked into the witch’s eyes, walking forward; her cheeks sagged, and her nose elongated, body still transforming.

  “Can you feel my raaaage?”

  In a pop, the center Feldyn vanished, and re-appeared behind the witch, right arm leading in a thrust, which she hardly blocked, her slender green and bloated form erupting into huge rippling green rolls of fat during her spin, to deflect with her claws.

  "Do you know it now?"

  Came the softly sang question of the two Feldyns, that had been approaching her slowly, with weapons drawn. Both quickstepped to opposites sides of the witch; both scoring slices on her shoulders, the first Feldyn vanishing with another pop, Lance still not on any of their shoulders, or at least not visible.

  “The way, can you feel?”

  She spun her horrible, rotund, bloated, warted, green and brown nastiness around, blocking, countering, and attacking- the two bards that had attacked from the sides vanished mid melee. All four of Shuzariel's giant naked breasts wobbled wildly, her gaze darting about; panicked, confused, and having trouble focusing her thoughts.

  “Now yoooou can feeeeeeel.”

  Three Feldyn's now stood before her, the two harmonizers forgotten. The trio clapped their hands once, in perfect sync.

  *FLASH*

  Colorful lights strobed the air around her, music and tempo picking up, with no memory of when it had began.

  “Can you, can you, can you?!”

  The three Feldyns vanished, then one immediately appeared- slash, cut *FLASH*- gone. *FLASH*- two more appeared, slicing and stabbing *FLASH*- gone. *FLASH* One appeared, no two. FLASH- gone again!

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The beat was pounding, lights flashing, strobing and swirling- a disco in the mind of a madman!

  “Can you buuuurn?”

  “Can you feel?”

  “My rage, do you know?" "Oh, she knows!”

  *FLASH* *pound* *PUMP*

  The witch queen flailed, swiping wildly, the lights felt like they were suffocating her! The music blaring inside her skull!

  “This

  -

  ha~tred!”

  One of the Feldyns appeared, to shout a note, then vanished as she sliced a wave a fire through where he had been a moment ago, taking two deep stabs in her back. She shrieked, spinning, but none were there!

  Then, three appeared around her, and each swung their songswords in an underhanded swipe, not making contact, but flinging a bright rainbow wave of energy at her from their blades. Each rainbow slice made her world spin and turn, confusing and disorienting further. Suzie screamed, and spun faster than her fat form should have been able to, claws held straight to the side, like she was a cyclone of death and pain.

  “Can you feel, can you see, do you know, what it is you see?”

  The three sang, leaping clear of her deadly spin, before they too began a spin of their own, gliding around the witch queen in the opposite direction than she, moving so fast, they almost appeared one blurred image, staying a perfect distance from her as she tried to twirl into them.

  “Can you see, can you see, can you see, can you see?!”

  Feldyn with Lance on his shoulder appeared outside their circle and closed his eyes, reaching mentally for and activating one of his left earrings. As Ally and John watched, speechless, they saw amidst the flashing lights, soaring tempo, and pounding base -that seemed to be centralized around the witch queen- nine small purple orbs appear in the air, silhouetting the -presumably- real Feldyn's head.

  “What, can you seeeeee, iiiiiiin-”

  *FLASH!* *BANG!* *BAM!*

  “THIS!”

  The spinning Feldyns yelled the last word and quit moving, showing there were only two of them- and the Feldyn with Lance on his shoulder once again vanished. The witch queen ended her spin, and a wave of fire rolled out in a ring around her body, blasting so far that the two Feldyns that had been near her barely dodged, jumping straight up, much higher than natural. Ally and John both had to duck away as the ring crashed into the house, shaking it badly enough that Ally thought it was going to collapse. Several houses that the wave of fire hit did collapse, though luckily nothing ignited.

  The two Feldyns landed, skating backwards to clear distance- and were now holding brown and white guitars of a style Ally had never seen before; playing so crazy and fast that she almost applauded.

  Shuzariel was totally nude, having burst from her clothing long ago, bloated and green. She was covered in warts, nose over a foot long, four dangling breasts, and… what appeared to be… long vaginal lips between her legs. She bent those same stubby legs, looking about to launch herself at the guitar players, who had moved to stand side by side, and continued singing.

  Then, the Feldyn with Lance on his shoulder appeared in front of her, a purple orb blasting from where it floated, to hit her in the face, reeling her backwards.

  “Hit!””Kill!””Burn!”

  “Twist!””Rot!””Learn!”

  Shuzariel went into a full defense when the Feldyn with Lance and the orbs, began to blink all around her, but not attacking. The two non-guitar players, who had only been singing, joined in the fight, also blinking and quickstepping all around the witch queen; only they were actually attacking. The attacks were so random, the music and lights so disorienting, Suzie was taking far more hits than she was blocking. Feldyn was everywhere and nowhere, she couldn’t keep up!

  "TELL ME WHY!”,

  the purple-orbed Feldyn shouted, standing behind her, the two attackers vanishing; all the remaining orbs shot into her back, burning deeply into her flesh; wounds dripping blood good.

  Stumbling several steps, and crying out, Shuzariel appeared more angry than injured.

  The guitars began to slow, and the now orbless Feldyn, with Lance still on his shoulder, blinked in front of her, rapier held as if to stab her through the face.

  Suzie opened her mouth and a skinny blackish-brown pole thrust out, hitting the bard in the throat with enough force to take him off his feet, landing him on the ground. Weapons hilts laying in open palms, Feldyn and Lance both, lie still and unmoving, the bards throat completely crushed.

  All the music and lights quit when he hit the ground; the extra copies of himself vanishing, like they were never there.

  * * *

  X’al’antra halted Masque's charge, catching his katana with the shaft of her scythe. Even though she pushed against him with all of her might, using two hands, Masque wielded his katana with only one. He opened his mouth, and roared again, the gale of it adding to the force; finally managing to push her back. Masque his taloned hand to strike.

  “Eximea fulgkur’temptaiti!” X’al’antra incanted, pushing mana and will into her scythe. A split second before his claw hit her, X’al’antra’s Plagued Lightning Reaper released a spherical wave of electric energy. The yellow-green crackling sphere blasted outwards, in a large sphere around her, not harming the vampire queen, but causing Masque’s body to go rigid long enough for Xal to break free of him.

  With a downward spinning slash of her scythe, she hit only black smoke, Masque shadowstepping away in time.

  That spell should have killed him. Especially since he had taken the impact head on. The mild poison it produced, on the other hand, Masque's body completely resisted.

  The hulking vampire wasn't sure what had happened with his transformation. The way his body had rapidly taken in mana to fuel it, should have been impossible. What Masque did know was that this change had been worth it, and was also temporary.

  His body wanted to change back. Keeping up this appearance was sapping him dry of everything, and fast. When the transformation eventually reverted, he truthfully did not know if he would survive it. Masque had minutes, maybe seconds, to win this fight. Killing X'al'antra was apparently still impossible, but causing enough injury to force her into a retreat was much more likely than before. That should buy the others enough time to get Caleb and flee.

  He feigned a roar-attack, and when the vampire queen braced for it, he shadowstepped behind her. Expecting her to be fast, he caught the handle of her scythe she was bringing around in a horizontal swipe. Headbutting the bitch, before she could take another action; Masque was suddenly sent spinning downwards when she headbutt him back - the power behind hers much greater than his.

  Shadowstepping to elevation, X'al'antra anticipated, and moved to remained above him. Spinning her scythe up and over her head, she swung down, flinging a yellow-green blade of electricity - but hit empty air.

  Going into a flurry of slices, each producing a yellow-green blades of magic lightning, she made a perfect defense; anywhere he appeared near her, would slice him in two! He stayed back, waiting for her to quit. She charged him. Masque shadowstepped again, but this time not quick enough, scythe severing his left forearm before he vanished.

  Knowing the fight was near its end, yet not wanting to get cocky and slip up, Xal began to go into her perfect defense again.

  However, she did not expect the thrall to reappear in the exact same place he had just been! Before she had even swiped the air once, Masque stabbed his nightblade through her torso with a shout that sounded like a man, and no longer the beast he had become.

  She registered surprise for just a moment, then released her grip on the scythe -which hovered in the air near her on its own- and grabbed his blade with two hands. Masque dismissed it, and fists blurring, X'al'antra punched him over ten times in the chest; impacts making it feel like his torso had caved in.

  He looked more intimidating, but so far, Masque hadn’t managed to do much more than piss her off. True, it had startled her at first, but where he was reeling from her blows, she didn’t feel any worse for wear. It also appeared like his transformation was wearing off.

  X'al'antra noticed them his arm she had sliced through was still there. Her only guess was whatever trick he had used to alter his body, had grabbed and reattached the arm, instantaneously upon the clean slice.

  That said, both arms were less muscular now, no mist pouring from his eyes, and the gaping fanged mouth was gone, once again covered by shadowcloth. It was time for her to end the thrall! With a squeal of victory, X’al’antra punched a hole in his chest grabbing his heart, and ripped it free.

  And froze.

  The heart she held in her hand, his black dead heart… was beating.

  * * *

  Looking like a fat, butt-ugly, demonic frog-woman, Shuzariel panted wildly.

  Something was wrong.

  Anything, anyone, can be killed. She had gotten cocky. She knew little of Aethra, having never been there, but had just assumed that this faggy little bitch of a half-elf couldn’t be too tough. He was a bard! He sang, and danced, and told fucking stories! He was nothing more than an actor! A musician! How much trouble could he really be? Apparently, quite a good deal of it.

  Whatever it was he had been doing, and however he had been doing it, her skin shielding should have been hard as diamond, yet was removed like paper. Suzie's mind had been so boggled she couldn’t think to chant. Her body so twitchy, she had struggled to control muscles. The form she was in now should have boosted her powers higher than ever!

  A dipshitted, airheaded blonde, was the persona she chose to wear! You have to be smart, cunning, powerful, pure wickedness, in order to be the queen of the witches! Witches by nature were not the loyal sort, always looking for a way to corrupt. To betray and dethrone those not just above, but around them as well. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, if it wasn’t for the most basic of crafts at her disposal, and the condensed mana under the shield, this bitch-faced alien would have killed her.

  Something was wrong.

  Her mind still wasn’t thinking clearly. Her body was trembling. She felt weird. She felt… sad. Sad he had died so easily. That music, she couldn’t stop thinking about it! The stupid nonsense lyrics! Those lights and colors! Her breasts were dripping sweat, she was so upset they had stopped! That… wasn’t right. The fuck had he been doing?! Dammit, she wished she could bring him back, just to let him finish! No chance of that now. She had completely crushed his throat.

  It didn't add up. None of it did.

  Puzzled, trying to focus, Suzie looked down the street at the teenage girl and old man, standing in the doorway of the large white house, staring at her. Somewhere in her mind, she knew crushing someone’s throat, kill shot as it may be, they didn’t just fall over dead. Let alone kill whatever animal was residing on their shoulder. But all she wanted was to find out what she would have felt if the bard had finished his spell-performance-thing. Continuing to stare at the two in the house, her mind knew she needed to kill them. One small craft, fuck- just some martial arts, and they would be dead faster than a kitten under the heel of a boot.

  The look on their faces…

  Those two didn’t seem to care their friend was dead. In fact they looked… confused. Tense. How odd. Maybe they too had wanted him to finish?

  The priest smirked.

  That was what it took. That old man’s smug fucking face. That was when her conscious mind knew something was horribly, terribly, wrong, and that she was under the effect of some type of spell or ability, or both.

  The corpse of the bard vanished. Fuck! Turning as quickly as her befuddled mind would allow, back where he had been when he first started singing, Feldyn stood, tikirin on his shoulder; the bard’s eyes were closed, blades hanging from his hips, hands making elaborate signs as he quickly chanted.

  Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! Shuzariel shook her flubbery face trying to clear her mind. It was almost squealing in delight that he was still alive! That he could show her more lights! Let her hear more music! NO! “NO!” the witch queen cried out loudly, realizing she was in mortal danger.

  Two Feldyns appeared next to her, and tried to attack. Oh no, you don’t! Tentacles erupted from her vagina and ears, grabbing them both around the neck, and lifting them off their feet. But it was too late. For then, and only then, did she notice that on the roof to either side of the street stood two more Feldyns, also chanting. Both opened their eyes and pointed a finger at her.

  “Pago’krilis’stallio isitiria!” the Feldyn on the left roof said.

  “Pyraa’to’nuufo fotea flutro!” the Feldyn on the right roof said.

  A giant icicle and stream of fire, respectively, shot from their fingertips, and the two Feldyns she held aloft vanished.

  “Arcaes ireas psev’daltosi illusionainti!” the Feldyn with Lance on his shoulder spoke, ending his chant.

  Seeing the spells incoming from the roofs and starting to dodge, the air all around her, in fact, all that she could see, feel, hear, and taste, looked to be nothing but rainbow. It was… so fucking beautiful! “YES!” Shuzariel screamed in delight, even as her mind shouted at her to dodge, to break free, to fucking move!

  The icicle from the left (over five feet long) slammed into her at on angle, entering the left side of her neck and rupturing out her right hip, as she stood grinning like a fool. At that same moment, the stream of liquid fire hit her on the right side of her neck, penetrating her flesh; flames briefly exiting from her eyes, nose, mouth, and groin. The rainbow illusion was gone now, and she shrieked in pain worse than she had ever known.

  All four Feldyns without a tikirin on their shoulders were now surrounding her. The two on her sides stabbed their songswords into her, up to their fists. The one in the back and front stabbed their rapiers in, equally as deep.

  Her mass quivered like gelatin, eyes burned from their sockets, black filth pouring from her mouth. Shuzariel' arms no longer worked, and she stayed standing only by the support of the blades piercing her body.

  “Yoob… fwaucking… elphw..” she tried to say, as her body failed her, for she knew… he had won. And she would be damned if she would go out begging and screaming, like some whiny cunt! No! She was Shuzariel! The greatest witch the Earth had ever known!

  “You have killed, and maimed, and terrorized your last,” the real Feldyn said, Lance on his shoulder; the duo standing before the witch queen. “For all the ones you’ve killed, and for the God you have so mocked and blasphemed, I send you to the Hell you cherish so greatly.” Standing tall and unshaken, seeming gigantic, authoritative, and strong, “Die,” he commanded, and the four mirror copies of himself changed into beings of bright burning color, ripping their blades outwards in powerful slashes.

  The real Feldyn, blades back in hands - rapier coated in unnaturally-red flame, songsword shimmering like a mirage- quickstepped four times around the witch queen, appearing to collect his closes as he went; spinning, and slashing, and stabbing.

  Illusions and spells released, the remains of the witch queen were scattered on the ground, bubbling and dissolving, while simultaneously drying to a crumbly dust. And Feldyn stood silent, watching; Lance holding his pink and white chin high.

  “YES!!!” John and Ally basically screamed in wild cheer. John jumped in the air, and laughed, not being able to resist. Ally, on the other hand, sprinted from the door to Feldyn. He looked at Ally, still not fully registering he had won. They had won. “Ally, I-” he started, and was stunned speechless when the grinning, and squealing girl jumped, wrapping her arms around him, forcing him to drop his blades and wrap both arms around her, spinning to keep her from falling.

  “I knew you could do it!” she congratulated, as he set her down, grinning larger than he had ever seen her smile. “Hmph!” Lance chirped. “You too!” she added, reaching to pet him, then stopped. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Lance squeaked. He squeaked again as she took him from Feldyn’s shoulder, snuggling her face against him, giggling in joy.

  Feldyn was stunned. Not so much from the squealing tackle of Ally's, but from the weight of the realization he had succeeded. “We did it,” he muttered. “Um, no shit?” Ally laughed. Feldyn could hardly believe it. It worked. It had actually worked.

  That combo he had just pulled off was... ridiculous. Completely useless in actual combat. It charmed the opponent into accepting the spells and attacks, making them want it. Destroying all of their defenses. You stunned, immobilized, then hit them with dual magics that would preferably trigger a combination effect, before whatever killing blow you chose. Said blow needed to be strong, for if it didn’t end things, why the hell did you just go through all of that?

  No one ever used that combo. In fact, to his knowledge, no bard had ever even done it in real combat. It was for training purposes. A high tier bard trial. You had to have duplicates of yourself (clones, high level mirror images, copies; didn’t matter, long as they had substance), be able to control them all individually, cast several spells at once, while also channeling song magic, and engaging in martial combat. If one thing, just one thing went wrong, the entire combo failed, as did your passing grade.

  He had only started the endeavor of mastering that ridiculous maneuver… to prove to Lenner and the others that he was a link. And… to impress Ruby. To show her that he wasn’t the spoiled, talentless youth all accused him of. And he could never do it. Not even close. With his new equipment, he had done much better in practice, but to properly pass the test, you needed to be in mundane garb. Still...

  “You-” Feldyn began, and froze when he saw John’s face. John had stopped in the road, and was staring in the distance behind the bard, towards the Rock. Feldyn heard the crashing and shouting immediately after. Turning around, he quickly saw what John had in the near distance. The head of the gigas, bobbing in and out of view, obviously fighting with (or just trying to squish) something. “It never ends,” Ally said, voice hollow of all the joy filling it seconds ago.

  Before any of them could voice another thought or concern, the sky lit up in a flash, and the shield cracked, manastorms erupting all about, and the ground heaving.

  * * *

  Masque, at the sight of his heart in the hands of the demon queen, was filled with horror. Though he noticed something X’al’antra did not; a thin black strand of shadowcloth, stretching from it back to the cavity in his chest.

  Panic destroying his rationality, an idea occurred to him. An idea so impossible, so ridiculous, had he not been panicked, he would have dismissed it outright. And he knew if it worked… he was still dead. No time for hesitation, or second-guessing, what must be done must be done.

  Throwing himself at X’al’antra, wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug, he yanked in as much mana as he could, and shadowleapt- using mana to rocket himself and X’al’antra straight up through the nether, more power behind it than he would have ever entertained as a possibility. So wild was the leap from the mana, he was not so sure they had not simply died in that moment.

  Then, the instant quit. And Masque immediately knew he had succeeded.

  Disorientation- his body both crushed and pulled, reality around him spinning; he himself staying upright, yet upside down; moving, yet staying still.

  Outer space.

  Shoving the vampire queen with his little remaining strength, she spun away from him, and Earth. With no bearings, and no way to stop her momentum or change trajectory, she would not be able to get back. Or so Masque hoped. He had won. X’al’antra, the queen of the vampires, was defeated. For now.

  However, Masque did not feel too much like celebrating his victory. The sensation of being in space was… unpleasant. It was unfortunate his curse did not activate, ending his suffering. For holy relics could not leave the Earth, and many holy curses, including his own, also prevented leaving the Earth. Masque had hoped his curse would active upon entering or exiting the shadowstep, maiming X'al'antra.

  Damage to his body severe, heart floating free, yet still tethered- there was no sign of healing. Either he needed to be within Earth's atmosphere, or was too injured to heal without feeding. Was this how he died? Floating alone in outer space? Surely, after that shadowleap, no energy was left to return.

  'My Christ… one more… just… one more… I… do not want to die. Not now. Not after… I finally… made friends…' Even in this situation. Even in this impossibility, Masque was still Masque, and his faith was strong. Echoes of Aethra be dammed, if God willed it, it would be.

  The Earth spun into his view. And not understanding how it was possible, Masque again absorbed a large amount of mana with minimal effort, and, one final time; shadowleapt.

  Light assaulted his eyes, air filled his mouth, gravity yanked at his body.

  He thanked Christ for allowing the success. Masque didn’t bother asking to let him survive the fall, having not even the tiniest of netherweave left to slow his decent. God had done enough for him this day. No, if the Lord willed it, he would awaken later, alive, and hopefully not in the clutches of villains.

  The sunlight burned his exposed wounds, but he could inexplicably feel mana trickling into him, strengthening the shadowcloths, helping them to not only reel his heart back into his chest, but cover any exposed flesh or bone, which remarkably wasn't much. Manastorms tore through the air all around as he fell.

  With a smile, and confidence his friends had survived, Masque finally allowed himself to lose consciousness.

  * * *

  Flapping his wings, Lance stayed airborne while the others rode out the quaking the hard way. Not as distracted as the ones being bounced and rolled, Lance noticed the portal before the quaking abruptly stopped. “Feldyn...” The tone in Lance's voice had the others quickly moving to see what he was staring at.

  From where they stood, Ally could see the top of the Rock. A portion of it appeared to have slid away, reminding the girl of Mount Saint Helens. And atop it was what looked like a large bluish doorway. She couldn't see detail well from here, but the feeling it gave her was enough to know that it wasn't natural.

  Remembering Feldyn’s stories, “Is that a portal?” Ally asked, her emotions having been wrecked in the last hour, she sighed loudly. Too. Many. Sudden. Emotions. “Hide,” Feldyn said, and the group hurried off to the side, Lance blinking back to Feldyn’s shoulder as they took cover behind a house. They really only needed to move out of the road to break line of sight, but more cover couldn’t hurt.

  John was about to ask for clarification, when he saw Feldyn’s expression. “Feldyn… what…” he stopped there. The bard, still in his Aetherian regalia, looked ill, confused, frightened. If John had to put a word to it, the half-elf looked like he was in shock. “Why,” Feldyn stated. He wasn't even sure what he was hiding from. Only a link or shard could traverse a portal.

  “Are you okay?” Ally asked him, moving over to take his forearm in her hands. “Maybe it’s the professor?” Lance chirped, sounding confused as Feldyn felt. “To what end?” This time, Feldyn’s words had the proper inflection of question. “He is not a link, he cannot simply hop through and look for us!”

  “Maybe he found another link?” the pink tikirin chirped. “Yeah, I know,” Lance continued, answering his own question, “how did he know where we were, or control where the portal opened?”

  Feldyn was freaking out. There had been a portal right here this entire time? … There… was a portal… right… here!

  “Don’t even think about it,” Ally scolded, forcefully enough to make him look at her. “No, I’m not psychic, I’m just not stupid,” she glared. “I fucking swear, Feldyn, if you take off on us, grab Caleb, and leave,” her voice cracked, “I will find you and I will fucking kill you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. That had been exactly what had crossed his mind. “Promise me, Feldyn! Promi-”

  “I promise!” His words startled them all, even himself. Why was he making such a promise?! He knew better! The lives of the many outweigh the lives… of…

  “Perhaps he should do just that,” John said, Ally whipping to glare at him. “Ally, this chance should not be ignored,” John explained. “If he can recover Caleb, and get through, he should do it.” The old man’s eyes showed he felt what the teen girl was feeling, despite his words.

  Before any could say more, manastorms again tore through the sky, and the ground shook. Not from earthquakes, but from what felt like impacts. “Was that from the giant demon?” Ally asked, previous worry forgotten, her body shaking from fear. Feldyn frowned deeply, bent his knees, and jumped straight up, higher than the house they hid behind, giving himself a perfect view of the top of the Rock.

  What he saw destroyed his reality.

  “Impossible…” he gasped, falling back to the ground, though landing gently as a feather. How?! What did this mean?! Was- was everything he had ever believed a lie?! He didn’t hear Ally asking him over and over what he had seen. When John grabbed his shoulders, and forcefully turned him around, shaking him, demanding he get a hold of himself, the bard finally spoke. “Darlothz. We must run,” Feldyn informed him. “We must get the others and flee this place immediately!”

  A manastorm flashed nearby. “Caleb,” Lance said in his ear. “Feldyn, we have to get Caleb!” Without even meaning to, Feldyn was running from behind the building, and towards the Rock. It didn’t even register to him that he had left Ally and John behind. So fast and smooth did he dart between buildings, trying to stay in cover, his two human companions couldn’t even begin to keep up.

  “Lance, where was Caleb?” he asked his familiar, who was less freaked out, but having a good deal of difficulties understanding the situation himself. “Ahead more! Just keep going!” Feldyn’s heart was slamming, he was trying to clear his head, to not think! So much, so bloody much! He had endured, felt, and overcome so much! And now this! If his reality must be be proved false, his beliefs shattered, must it be because of him, the one responsible for the death of his friends? The one to capture and torture him in ways the zombie king could only imagine? Why must it be the Necromancer, Darlothz Tch’tlegion?!

  Darlothz was -is- an Ilcai elf. Elves of the darkest of skin hues; ranging from pitch black to deep inky blue, or even a dark purple. Yet, Darlothz's body was so forcefully aged, all pigment had been lost, leaving him a chalky white. He was tall for an elf, standing at five-ten in his youth. Most elven males averaged five and a half feet. Only now, his unnaturally ancient form was decrepit and hunched.

  Long ago, in the small Kingdom of Hhahgn, Darlothz lived with his adopted human family. He showed great potential, being one of the more promising minds their kingdom had ever seen. Though, as any genius child knows, that kind of talent comes with a hefty price. He was mocked, and teased, and ridiculed. Hated by his peers. Regardless, his talent could not be denied.

  At the young age of twelve, Darlothz was first in line for the title of court mage. But the crown prince loathed him. He was jealous of his talent. The crown prince was an ugly and portly little bastard with no physical prowess, nor an iota of magical talent. Skill that all the money in the world could not buy.

  Hhahgn prized strength more than intelligence. Even royal blood attended the same schools as the poor and lowly, to guarantee all had the same level of training and education; for their strengths to be honest, not born into. Royalty was royalty, but a weak king was hated, regardless of the knees that bent to him.

  Hoping to prove his worth to not only the king, but the prince as well (one day he would take the throne, after all), Darlothz snuck out to the northern border of the kingdom. Hhahgn was at war with their northern neighbor, and the king had taken the prince to the front lines, to show him firsthand, true combat.

  Coincidentally, their enemy launched an all-out offensive that day, and overtook the king’s men. They were quickly losing, so Darlothz, only twelve years old, single-handedly saved the king, his son, and their men, routing the enemy forces.

  The king had been angry. Furious. He ordered Darlothz to return home, the shame of being saved by a tween was too much for him. Darlothz instead snuck into the enemy nation, thinking to end the war. To prove himself to not just the ungrateful king, but to all of Hhahgn. And over the course of the next two months… he killed them all. Every man. Every woman. Every child. Darlothz killed every animal, tainted all of their water, and burned to the ground every structure and every field.

  Upon his return, expecting to be hailed a hero, Darlothz was instead greeted with fear and loathing. The king denied him access to the castle, and threatened that his life was forfeit if he so much as approached the gates again. Returning to the slums of his nearby hometown (his parents but poor bakers), he was once again met with fear and terror. Worst of all… by his own mother and father.

  That was apparently the breaking point for the Ilcai, and his heart fell to darkness. A darkness he had discovered from the enemy mages. The same darkness he had utilized to fell their nation. The darkness… of necromancy.

  He killed his parents in a rage the same night he returned, and reanimated them. Then, with undead parents at his side, Darlothz assaulted the castle. As he killed, he reanimated. Every guard, every soldier that he fell, only increased his own power. His slaughter continued until the king lay dead at his feet. The prince, he placed a spell of suffering on, sealing him in a time prison. Though it was only three days by the time he was found and released, the prince was long dead.

  Darlothz vanished, and for years, none knew his whereabouts. One day, scouts noticed the nation of Uytik, the destroyed nation to their north (which all feared to enter, calling it cursed) was active. Further investigation revealed thousands upon thousands of the undead. For, with his great talent and abilities, Darlothz had formed a legion, crowning himself the king of the small nation he had single-handedly conquered.

  The years following, he remained fortified within Uytik, repelling every attempt of invasion, but never leaving his borders. Then, one day… he struck. Tens of thousands of undead beasts, most of them the likes of which none had ever seen, began to march, razing cities to the ground.

  In one short year, the Necromancer, Darlothz Tch’tlegion, had taken control of several neighboring countries, increasing his borders. The hordes of undead could not be stopped. Stretching his area of control thin, Darlothz construct devices to help power his control. For he had not a single sentient being under his command, only the mindless dead, each one controlled by his necromancy alone. And Darlothz was only a mortal Ilcai.

  Knowing he needing thinking servants to help control his legions, he sought soldiers, slaves in the one place they were infinite. Hell. Summoning and controlling demons is very similar to necromancy. And it wasn’t long until demons began to be seen, leading groups of the undead, and patrolling Uytik’s now great borders.

  The necromancer again begun to advance, despite an alliance of kingdoms that were managing to keep him mostly in check. Though try as they might, no army could penetrate his borders. Not being a fool, Darlothz knew if they could keep him from advancing, eventually they would find a way to destroy him. So in his kingdom he plotted, and schemed.

  But there are always heroes where there are villains, are there not? And thus, a group of six heroes went against the great necromancer. They were a random group of the unlikeliest of characters, led by a young farm boy whose family was killed by Darlothz’s undead. He set out on a journey that spanned oceans. And in his journeys, he gradually acquired his allies, and friends.

  A degenerate human bartender with the reflexes of a cat, and a horrible gambling problem. A womanizing city guard, unparalleled in the axe, and his brother, a monk, with fists that could crush stone. A middle-aged teacher from a poor community, who had long ago given up her life as a sorceress to teach, and the very young princess of the now extinct Draclemear race.

  Together, they journeyed, fought, and saved many. Their adventures are literally the things of legend! And eventually, their quest led them to their final assault on the Necromancer's castle, deep within the borders of Uytik.

  The record of what happened from there is vague, at best. How any of it played out is still mostly unknown. You see… the heroes had rallied an army in their journey. An allied army of many differing peoples and lands. Into Uytik, the army fought, slaughtering undead and demon, fighting tirelessly, as they knew the band of heroes themselves pushed forward to the source of the evil.

  When the entirety of Darlothz’s undead seemed to lose cohesion, the commander of the united forces, a wood elf from the kingdom of E'Anri Te'uth, ordered the troops to ignore the undead, and focus their full might upon the demons. Without the oceans of undead properly assisting, the demons fell to the allied forces. Then, the wood elven commander, and several others, took to the skies, arriving at the castle where they expected to find the heroes resting after a well-deserved victory.

  They first discovered the bartender. Dead. Not far within the walls of the castle. Entering the throne room, what they found was even more tragedy. The only record of such was written by the commander of the allied forces. The leader of the group of heroes, that farm boy that started it all… was dead. As was the sorceress. The Draclemear princess, and the two brothers, were nowhere to be found. Although, before the throne of bone and steel, body broken and unmoving, was Darlothz. And he still lived. In a unanimous decision by those that had come to help the band of heroes, they chose to capture him, to try and find out the whereabouts of the missing three.

  On that day, from the sacrifice of many, the great necromancer, Darlothz Tch’tlegion, had fallen.

  No one knows to this day what happened to the brothers or the princess. If their fate was known, or Darlothz told the impromptu tribunal, history never recorded it. Darlothz? Darlothz was judged and sentenced before sundown on the second day.

  They thoroughly broke his hands and fingers, binding each separately. They gouged out his eyes, and cut out his tongue. They blindfolded his empty sockets, and gagged his tongueless mouth.

  He was sentenced to a time prison, much like the one he had bound the prince in years before, only he was not to suffer physical anguish, but to have a permanent spell of the greatest of fears placed on him. To live in terror, and grow infinitely older. To be both like one of his undead, and experience the terror he had inflicted upon the land, and was locked away in the most secure prison on Aethra - the Spires of Sacuaugator. There he would remain until his body finally perished. Which to him, would feel like an eternity.

  Though, eternity never lasts forever, and villains imprisoned never stay so. Antioch himself freed Darlothz, who had aged an incomprehensible amount of years. He restored his eyes and tongue, healed and stabilized his body, then forced him into servitude, making him the first of his generals.

  And so is the history of the Necromancer, that is told across Known Aethra.

  Feldyn arrived at the exit to the asphalt canyon, and Caleb was nowhere to be seen. “He was right here!” Lance chirped. Feldyn surveyed the area, and saw nothing. The canyon, mounds of dirt, amphitheater walls, and destruction, was too vast and high for him to even see the Rock from where they stood. Thinking to move into the canyon, Feldyn thought better of it, and moved farther along, past the landslide-filled amphitheater, and almost tripped over who he at first thought was Pazely.

  His mind spun when it registered what he was seeing. With her face crushed, it was impossible to tell for sure, but in his gut he knew this was the imp that had almost killed him and Ally, and had taken Caleb. Kneeling down to inspect her, she was indeed still alive, and her horrific injury was healing, though it healed at such a slow pace Feldyn wondered if she would yet succumb to her injuries. Not wanting to take any chances, he drew his rapier.

  And hesitated.

  She was a demon. A being of pure evil. Yet...

  Hearing the sounds of a skirmish, Feldyn foolishly left the unconscious imp, and hurried, albeit carefully, around the corner. Looking up the newly formed ridge, his heart went cold.

  “Lance,” he said. “I need ye to do exactly as I say!”