Hi again. This chapter is long overdue. Feel free to sue me, but I imagine you'll be disappointed with the haul. Anyway, here's what can effectively be considered Chapter 2. Once again, I own nothing except this burger, and even that I'm only renting.
Chapter 2 - The Ancient's Tomb
Zakurah could see nothing. Blackness stretched eternally ahead of her, and she found herself frightened in a way she rarely was. Her sword was clutched so firmly in her hand that her knuckles were probably as white as her armour.
"Calm down," Rhet's voice came from a few paces to her left, "they're drawn to that kind of fear." She tried to relax her grip slightly, hoping she wouldn't lose her composure in this black pit. "Can you see?" she asked. A moment of what felt like contemplative silence, a slight clinking, and then the hair that had fallen so wildly across her face was gently swept back. "I can see perfectly." Rhet replied, somewhere between cold and reassuring, but not quite either.
A torch in such gloom would have been blinding, but Rhet had clearly considered that as he encircled himself with a mild green glow. Zakurah could see him now. His gauntlets pulsed with the green hue of necromantic energy; his long sleek hair staying obediently brushed back, and that devilish grin he only displayed when no one could see or he was about to slaughter. It invoked a strange sensation for Zakurah. She felt partially safer to have him there and simultaneously terrified of the dark duality in his character.
"They're coming," he said, "if you want to brighten the place up, do it now." Zakurah nodded – knowing the familiar battle routine – and knelt on the spot while Rhet stood in front of her, arms spread, both protective and welcoming. That was when the screeching began.
The Burning Dead were a particular type of skeletal summon favoured by Horadric ancients for the ease with which their bones could be enchanted with strengthening magic. This made them stronger and more reliable minions. Of course any necromancer worth his salt knew this, and Rhet could see the undead advancing like soldiers. Their bones clunked noisily as the skeletons in front dragged their swords and maces; behind them, the archers knocked decaying arrows into rotten bows and stood to take aim. Rhet surveyed the small army and the laughter began to bubble in his stomach. His slight grin spread into a maniacal smirk. He spread the fingers on his outstretched hands and screamed "I RETURN YOUR SOULS TO THE VOID"
The cavern filled with a blinding light. Zakurah had illuminated a circle of white-hot magic from behind Rhet as he had begun to scream. She was shocked at the joy in his war-cry, but even more so – as she always was – when he darted forward into the mass of skeletons completely unarmed. Swords blurred and the Burning Dead were moving with feverish speed; striking at the whirling necromancer. Rhet danced and dashed away, dodging blades and spikes with practiced ease; all the while the green glow around him grew stronger. One skeleton lunged forward, sword first, aiming for his head; Rhet spun and his cloak created an arc of black as he drew the skeleton off balance by the charging wrist with one hand, and gripped it's skull with the other.
The creature would have fallen if not for the vice-grip of Rhet's gauntlet. There was the slightest crackle of electric energy and green light playing across his hand. Then the skeleton's skull exploded sending bony shards ricocheting around the room. The other minions paused in their attack as their comrade fell back into a pile of disconnected bones. With no soul to hold the enchanted bones together, the skeleton was nothing more than a dead pile again.
One skeleton seemed to remember its purpose and charged Rhet with what looked like a falchion. His insane grin had not faded since the fight had begun, and now his eyes had widened to the point where his entire emerald iris was clearly visible. He looked like a wild beast. The skeleton's sword came in low, swiping for his leg, Rhet's hand raised slightly and he snapped his fingers with a bizarrely contrasted calmness. The bones of the fallen skeleton shot up from the stone floor, their forms almost liquid as layers of bone shifted over themselves leaving them sharp as pikes. One caught the skeleton in the wrist – severing its entire right arm – and the other shot straight through its skull before impaling a second minion standing poised with an arrow. Both fell backward and crumpled, dusty and lifeless again.
The tide of the battle was clear. But the skeletons did not have the ability to reason. All they knew was their instruction, and again they charged. Rhet casually snapped his fingers again and pierced the skulls and bodies of the archers attempting to draw their arrows with a fearlessness that only the undead can possess. As the others neared the necromancer, he raised his hand above his head and for the first time, his expression calmed as he spoke. "Rest now, and know your master." With that, he clenched his fist and shouted a syllable that echoed with incredible power. For the second time a brilliant light filled the room, this time menacing and emerald. When the light faded enough for Zakurah to un-shield her eyes she stared, transfixed by the scene before her. Rhet stood in a burnt circle; around him was nothing but dust. He turned to face her with what appeared to be a satisfied smile. "Shall we?"
"I've never seen you fight like that," her voice cracked slightly as she stood up, and she felt a fearful pride for the strength of her companion. He merely shrugged and pointed into the murk ahead of him. "Radament is that way." Zakurah raised a quizzical brow. "How do you know he isn't that way?" she motioned to the tunnel on their left. "I know because I can feel his magic," came the reply. "It's similar to mine after all." He started walking in the direction he had pointed and she felt an anguished pang at the memory of how very different the two of them were. "High Heavens give me strength." She murmured to herself, knowing she was out of earshot.
They met no resistance as they ventured deeper into the sewers, the darkness was silently dancing at the edge of the glow from Rhet's frame. Zakurah added her own radius of warm light to which he cocked an eyebrow. "They already know we're here," she said, "this way they're less likely to ambush us." He only nodded and quickened his pace. She found herself wondering about the bizarreness in him, and his obvious edge over the undead. A shiver went down her spine, unrelated to the dripping cold of Lut Gholein's sewers.
They rounded a corner and Rhet froze, eyes wide, and stared into the blackness ahead of him. "What is it?" she asked, but the answer came from the shadows instead of her companion; a low, rasping voice that sounded like wind through reeds or scraping metal against stone. "Welcome heroes." Zakurah tensed and the grip on her sword tightened again. "Show yourself, demon, and be cleansed!" she yelled. Radament's laughter vibrated through the cavern like a snake's hiss as the room was illuminated by several ghostly lights protruding from the blackened stone walls. Rhet's mouth hardened into a thin line; his contempt for the fallen ancient apparent even in the poorly lit room. "Zakurah," he whispered, "we're heavily outnumbered, I need you to handle Radament and let me deal with his minions." She looked at him, perplexed, before casting a searching look around the room. The walls were black with charring and shadow, and Radament stood at the far end of the room, alone. The ancient towered, at least eight feet tall, and his head was that of a jackal. His skin was dark like dirty brass and he wore only a ceremonial skirt; though his muscles rippled, he didn't look particularly strong, his strength was his magic. Only then did she notice the movement in the walls. They were not black. Skeletons with bones as black as night stood en masse against every wall, jaws gaping, swords and maces clenched or bows drawn, and palms sparking with imbued magic. She would later discover that these creatures were called Horrors.
"You walk into your death mortals," came Radament's rusted voice again. He pulled a sickle the length of a human body from somewhere behind him. "Make peace with your gods." He spat the last word from his animal's mouth, and the Horrors jumped forward as if that was their cue.
Rhet reacted immediately, drawing his arms around him in a practised fashion as the light from his gauntlets began to pulsate. The Horrors charged, jaws hanging in soundless war-cries while the archers raised their bows and took aim for the glowing necromancer.
Zakurah squared her stance and focused on Radament. The Ancient was waiting half crouched, with his jackal's mouth hanging slightly open, revealing teeth like a hundred tiny spears. He sprang forward with incredible speed, sickle bearing down on her neck. Zakurah did not move to evade. Unlike Rhet, she was trained to withstand attack rather than avoid it. The sickle met her shield with an impact that would have shattered bone like kindling, but Zakurah held fast; her magically imbued strength allowing her to stop the attack dead without so much as flinching. Her whitesteel armour shone brilliantly as she spun on one foot, in a small circle, bringing her sword around with lightning speed, and cleaving Radament's right leg clean off the bone.
Rhet heard the Ancient's frenzied cry as he withdrew his hand from one Horror's crumbling chest cavity. The black bones didn't have the opportunity to hit the floor before Rhet was moulding them into a hundred tiny projectiles. The Horrors fell in quick succession, each one with number of bony darts littering their now twice-dead bodies. Eventually, only the five Horror-magi remained, their magical shields had saved them from Rhet's onslaught for the time being; he turned his attention to them just as they each hurled all manner of elemental attacks in his direction.
Zakurah parried one after another of Radament's wild swings. The sickle whistled past her as she deflected a lunge at her face. She stepped in close brought her shield up with tremendous force, Radament recoiled as the metal struck his face with a brutal crunching thud. He staggered back and stuck his sickle in the ground to keep from falling; his breathing was laboured as he brought himself up to his full height again. Zakurah stared as the once-great Horadrim mage seemed to square his stance, his severed leg lay a few paces away, but Radament stood as if on two complete legs. It was then that she noticed a faint shimmering outline where his leg used to be. Radament grinned, "You cannot defeat me with your pathetic attacks mortal." His sickle was drawn and arcing up towards her face in less than a second; his ethereal leg carrying him swiftly towards his prey.
Rhet moved with a fluid intricacy, his fingers danced as he wordlessly conjured a wall made from the bones of fallen Horrors; the elemental attacks met the barrier and exploded into flames, shards and sparks. A smirk spread across his face and Rhet opened his palms, ready to retaliate with something they could not block regardless of the strength of their shields. One mage was charging a second glacial spike, hoping to pierce his wall; Rhet chuckled softly and turned both hands to face the attacking mage. The light from his gauntlets flared briefly and from his hands exploded two green bolts. The shots hurtled towards the mage faster than the skeleton could possibly react, and struck with fatal impact. The mage was thrown back so hard that it shattered upon striking a wall several paces behind it. Rhet did not hesitate and pointed the index and middle fingers of his right hand up while aiming at the fallen mage. The corpse exploded with such force that the other magi were knocked to the ground, their charged attacks fizzling in their bony palms. Immediately he laced his fingers together and pushed his outward facing palms toward the group of skeletons. The stoic wall of black bones twisted and writhed until each pointed bone was facing the magi. The wall dove forward like a wave of death impaling and crushing the magi against the same wall that shattered their companion. Radament's minions were finished. Rhet turned his attention to Zakurah and the Ancient.
Her sword was ablaze with holy fire and she was matching Radament blow for blow. Zakurah had dropped her shield and was now grasping her sword with both hands. It seemed as if it had grown to match the monstrous sickle the Ancient used with crushing power and otherworldly speed. A small smile played across Rhet's face as he stood there, dusting off his gauntlets. "Finally you show your true strength." He said softly, making no move to intervene.
Radament bore down on Zakurah, opening his jackal's jaws, aiming to slice and bite her simultaneously. She drew back her sword, the tip pointed at the charging Horadrim from a point parallel to her shoulder. The flames on the blade now glowed white-hot, and with a dazzling flourish, she drove the burning sword into Radament's open mouth. His eyes widened and the sickle struck the stone floor with a reverberating clang; the flames of the imbued sword seemed to dance behind his eyes for a moment. He gave a shriek of unfathomable agony as the jackal's head started to melt and the demon's soul was driven from the Ancient's body. Zakurah flexed and pulled the blade out sideways, slicing the jackal's face from cheek to neck, spraying black blood and bile across the room. Rhet didn't so much as twitch as his companion stood over the dying Horadrim and drove her flaming sword through the creature's skull with shuddering finality. Radament gave one final jerk, and as Zakurah removed her blade and the flames began to die, he whispered from a place that was not his mouth; "Thank you."
"That was a bit flashy don't you think?" Rhet chided as she turned to face him. She didn't reply, instead beginning to pray silently. The burnt blood on her sword seemed to fade and dissipate until it looked as though the sword had never seen battle. Rhet was already casting a glance around the room in search of something of value or interest. His eye fell on a chest a few paces away from where Radament had first appeared. He crossed the room quickly and kicked the lock viciously; it fell, broken, off the latch and he knelt to loot the chest. Inside, he found an assortment of gems; a pile of gold coins; what appeared to be embalming fluid, and a bizarre engraved cube. "Well," he said, lifting the cube, "this warrants some investigation."
Okay so everybody already knows about the cube, but I'm planning on branching off in the next chapter. Again, sorry this took so long; been busy with Girlfriend and our new apartment etc... Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading