Hi everyone, sorry for the delay. Have been busy with work/life, procrastination got the better of me and this story was put on the back burner for months. Thanks to TheStrahl (who drew some really nice art btw), and the reviewers for reminding me to write!

Chapter 37 (Part 1): The Defense of the Ancients

Mortred

The lean, muscled guy in purple stood on the mossy riverbank on the opposite side, clutching a pair of axes in his hands. Sunlight glinted off the shiny bluish surfaces of the axes. He seemed to be doing nothing in particular, although his eyes were fixed in her direction. Perhaps he was waiting for her.

With some misgivings, Mortred stepped across the river rocks towards him, with Nerif padding lightly behind her.

Our child. The fighter's words echoed in her mind again, and a sudden shiver of excitement crept up her spine as she approached him. He, too, walked towards her until they were a couple of feet apart, facing each other.

Mortred lowered her gaze and bit her lip - she hadn't thought about what to say to him. He did not move, nor did he say a word. She breathed in, and, after a pause, looked at him and spoke in a low voice.

"Where's Megan?"

There was no response – not a movement nor a flicker. Did he understand what she was saying? Was he not aware of the child's name? But his eyes weren't even meeting hers – only staring right through her. Mortred frowned, feeling increasingly unnerved. What kind of game was he playing with her? Her short patience reaching its end, she unsheathed the Divine Rapier and pointed it at his throat.

"Tell me where my daughter is, and I'll spare your life," she threatened. Something, probably pride, prevented her from using the word our.

Not even flinching, he continued to stand motionless with hands clutching the pair of axes. She could see her own reflection in their gleaming, mirror-like surfaces. Shifting her gaze from the weapons to his eyes, she realized they looked different from what she'd seen previously. Was it the color, or the light in them? Whatever it was, there was something wrong with him. A fake? The realization dawned on her.

Confusion turned into anger. She struck out at him, and when her weapon connected, his image rippled like a pool of water disturbed by a pebble and vanished.

The illusion was gone, and she was left standing alone in the middle of the river, feeling like the world's greatest fool. There was only Nerif curled up next to her on his own rock, blinking his saucer eyes innocently. She had stupidly trusted the talking cat, who had promised to take her home, but instead took her around in circles and led her to a decoy. Of course he had been lying, just like everyone else who had spoken to her. They were all liars.

She whipped her rapier towards Nerif, stopping short of the feline's nose. "You think this is fun, don't you?" She spoke in a voice bubbling with rage.

Whiskers twitching, the blue-and-gold cat recoiled from the blade's golden tip. "Whoa, easy there. Using a Divine Rapier on a cat is a bit of an overkill, don't you think?"

Mortred sighed in vexation and closed her eyes. The headache was thumping back into her skull and her mind felt like there was a swarm of wasps inside, their furious buzzing seeming to form some incomprehensible words: Arkosh izh-domosh. A shudder ran through her. What the hell was that?

When she opened her eyes, Nerif was gone. She took slow, deep breaths to clear her mind.

"Alright. I have more important things to do than to kill a cat," she muttered decisively, climbing onto the riverbank. Moving straight ahead, she felt the soft richness of soil and grass under her boots. A butterfly flew past her, the surroundings flourished with animal and plant life, and she felt the sun beating down on her from the bright blue, cloudless sky. She was deep in Radiant territory.

She paused in her tracks when she caught a whiff of something nauseating. The air smelled of rotting flesh; the stench was unmistakably the Butcher's. Which meant her allies were nearby. Allies? The word felt strange to her. She had only seen the three of them a couple of times when she observed them in action from afar, and had never spoken a word to any of them. Pudge and the Bane Elemental didn't look like they could communicate with words, anyway, whereas the Invoker was full of gimmicks and tricks. She didn't trust him. She didn't trust anyone.

…except that disembodied voice that had welcomed her when she landed here…

Destroy the Radiant.

It was like a jolt of electricity, bringing her back to her purpose. A new energy gripped her. Maybe, after she'd carried out Lord Nevermore's orders, all this would finally make sense, and maybe the headaches would stop, and she would find her daughter!

Mortred sheathed her sword and tucked it under her cape, muting its brilliance, and made her way in the direction of Pudge's odor. As she passed through the woods, she found the three of them along the main path. They seemed to be heading for the Radiant's middle tower, in one united front this time. But not her; she wasn't about to reveal herself just yet. Keeping her distance yet maintaining them in her view, she glided silently behind them, using the foliage as cover.

Traxex

Traxex hurried along the jungle trail, the Daedalus in her hand and quiver on her back. It was morning, with ample sunlight illuminating her surroundings. By now she was familiar with the rhythm and contours of the jungle, such as when and where the camps of wild beasts appeared, but she still couldn't keep calm. Her heart pounded as she imagined pairs of eyes peering at her through the leaves, watching her every move. Pulling her hood tighter around her face, she cast glances all round as she ran, expecting Mortred to jump out at her any time.

To her left, plumes of grey smoke rose up in the distance. Their tower was under attack. Strangely this gave her a sense of relief, knowing where her enemies were. Keeping as far away from the smoke as possible, she continued her way towards Dire territory. Guilt weighed her down; she felt bad for breaking away from her team at a time when she should be helping them defend. But Magina needed her right now. He had sent his illusion over to convey the message, and she couldn't let him down. He was weird and all, but something deep in her bones told her that Magina knew what he was doing.

But what if…

There was no time for indecisiveness.

I can't screw up like the last time… I must do this right!

As she mentally repeated the directions to the Dire secret shop given by Magina's illusion, she felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched. It was Nortrom.

She couldn't deny the happiness she felt from seeing him, although she knew he disapproved of her travelling alone, and half-expected an admonishment from him. But he said nothing. Instead he took her hand and placed something in it. It was a small piece of rock, weighing almost nothing, glowing luminous blue in her palm.

"It's a radiant stone," Nortrom said. She remembered him scrutinizing the massive, magical-looking structure in their base. The ancient. The stone probably came from there.

She raised her brows. "What does it do?"

"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "It may help you, or, it may do nothing."

She nodded and thanked him anyway, slipping the stone into her pocket, next to her bottle of fountain water. And then she gazed up into his eyes - they reminded her again of the cool blue light from the ancient - and waited for him to say something. Surely he didn't come here just to give me a random piece of rock?

He reached out and gently drew her close, planting a kiss on the top of her head. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

She knew he was here to say goodbye. The enemies were finally coming for their base. They had discussed this before. There was no knowing what would happen if the Radiant ancient were to be destroyed. It was likely that their allied creeps would perish, together with all the flora and fauna, without the life-giving essence sustaining them. Perhaps the Dire's strength would increase greatly, overwhelming them completely. That meant she wouldn't be able to rescue her enslaved classmates' trapped souls. But their worst fear was, without the Radiant keeping them in check and draining their resources, those demonic forces could very well set their sights on Earth as their next target.

Think positive, Traxex told herself. And if her team were to be victorious? It would just end with all of them going back home to live their normal lives again, with her failing at her schoolwork and getting ignored by Nortrom.

Either way, both scenarios didn't seem too appealing to her.

Nortrom ended the brief embrace and turned to leave. He had no need for superfluous words like "good luck" or "take care". They simply parted ways.

Without a further look behind, Traxex activated Shadow Blade and ran like the wind.

The Shadow Fiend

Nevermore despised humans, with their frail, soft bodies and weak, puny limbs. It especially despised the way their bodies got ravaged by disease, withered and died. Yet, for all its disdain for humans, it was fascinated with them. Their minds were the only thing of value; the only thing it wanted from them was their souls.

There was immense pleasure to be gained from ripping the souls out of hapless bodies and savoring them. Each of those smooth, spindling membranes was warm and living, like a still-pulsing heart pulled from its owner's ribs, still attached to the arteries and veins. Vo'hedoq-gluth! Nevermore razed the wave of Radiant creeps standing in its way, crushing them and slurping in their life essence. This only staved off its hunger, but not fully quench it. Creep souls tasted bland and dry, whereas consuming demons' souls caused its inner fire to rage so strongly that it nearly imploded. Human souls were its most preferred delicacy. Each one was unique and a mini-universe in itself, carrying the subtle and complex flavors of human identities. Every time a new universe was acquired, there was an addictive rush of power.

The Shadow Demon would have scoffed at all this. And so would Doom. What is this pitiful pastime you have been indulging in, izh fol? The latter had sneered upon coming across Nevermore's prized collection of souls in the Abysm.

But none of that mattered anymore. It no longer served the Shadow Demon nor did it slave in Doom's pits. Those two who called themselves demon lords were as far away and as inconsequential as specks of dust. Ozh acha vo'izh. Gone were the days of being pushed around and made use of as a pawn in their petty power struggles. It was no longer a formless, malleable shadow, bending to the whims of others.

It was now free, free to explore the universe and discover planets like Earth with its captivating variety of human souls. By now it had harvested thousands; they came from emperors, beggars, doctors, criminals, musicians, athletes, prostitutes, computer game addicts, men, women and infants alike. Nevermore lived their lives and died their deaths, cracked open and tasted their shameful secrets, soaked in their memories, got drunk in their joy, boiled with their anger, trembled with their fear.

Of course, Nevermore had a preference for certain human souls, particularly those of poets. Their poetry provided inspiration for everything, such as its own name, as well as ways to kill and destroy for more souls.

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

A minority of the incorporeal guests – or rather, prisoners - caused trouble, so it expelled them. And then it discovered something even better. Keeping only the desirable parts of the souls, it unburdened the waste matter, carried by a flock of diseased ravens, upon its enemies.

But even with this curating and decluttering, the Fiend still found itself filling up to the brim with souls. It had to get rid of some, or be completely overwhelmed and drowned by the cacophony of foreign identities and experiences. As for which souls to get rid of, it was a difficult decision, for Nevermore had grown attached to the ones it owned.

It needed a place to store its endlessly-growing collection. Absym wasn't a good environment, as were most parts of the Dire planet. Too much fighting going on between the demon lords, striving to enlarge their territories at one another's expense. Lately, yet another ill-tempered brute, the Abyssal Underlord, had joined in the fray.

Nevermore wanted nothing to do with all this. It considered itself a demon of taste and refinement compared to those brutes; its goal right now was to establish a proper museum for its collection of souls.

Ozh nith, ozh.

And there was no better place than the very land it was on. This little planetoid was the gateway to Earth, which meant the Fiend could easily slide its shadowy talons into the world of humans to grab more souls whenever it wanted, and when its collection overflowed, the excess souls would be preserved here in the astral lava transported over from the volcanic regions of the Abysm.

Shoving another wiggling bunch of creep souls into its burning mouth, Nevermore fell into a reverie as it contemplated on its plans.

Setting up base had been easy; all it took were a few Dire stones to erect an ancient, and some help from a bunch of its followers from the Abysm. Some of the creeps had been servants of Doom and the Shadow Demon who had hated their former masters. And it went without saying that all of them had contributed their souls.

The main obstacle here was the pesky Radiant. The goal was to obliterate the Radiant and their life-forms, transforming the entire planetoid into a hellish wasteland. The river would become acid, decaying trees would give off poisonous fumes, and all fountains and shrines would turn into boiling lava. It would be the perfect sanctuary for Nevermore and its soul collection.

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

But the Radiant had proved more troublesome than expected, putting up a mighty struggle, and had even enlisted the help of humans.

Not all humans were on the Radiant's side, though. A few had, intentionally or unintentionally, appeared in the Dire base, falling right into the clutches of the Fiend. One by one those vulnerable humans became fodder for its latest experiment in mind control. Nevermore did this by tearing off a major chunk of their souls, preserving them in astral lava and leaving behind only a tiny remnant of their consciousness. The resulting hollow shells could easily be manipulated to do its bidding in battle. Two of those puppets even had their feeble bodies replaced by monstrous forms that were inspired by some of the Dire's native inhabitants.

Hollom icha fek ozh.

Having humans kill their fellow humans in various colorful ways, certainly spiced things up a lot.

Lina

Lina watched tight-lipped as the middle tower right outside their base went up in flames. The Bane Elemental and Invoker hurled blast after blast of energy at it, and the Butcher hacked at it slowly but determinedly with his huge cleaver. One last hack brought the tower down into a steaming pile of rubble.

"Back, everyone!" Nortrom urged, retreating back up the ramp with Lina. Davion was at first reluctant, but followed suit. The last barrier to their base was gone, and the enemies were practically at their door. With their teammates Traxex and Magina away, the three went for the more cautious option of defending inside their base. Even though there were only three enemies visible, there was no knowing where the other two were hiding and preparing for an ambush. Mortred was the one they feared most.

"Okay let's prepare ourselves for the last big clash," Davion announced as he squared his shoulders and secured his helm.

"Well, I'm kind of glad this is coming to an end," Lina sighed, polishing her Aghanim's sceptre with the hem of her crimson dress, and checking that the rest of her equipment, especially the blink dagger, was in order. "I'm missing my parents and my sister."

"And if it doesn't work out..." Davion trailed off with a shrug.

"At least we tried our best," Nortrom said, his piercing blue eyes scanning the surroundings. They were behind the safety of their inner towers, and the enemies had disappeared from view.

"Damn I hope Magina and Traxex are getting somewhere," Davion said. "It sucks not to have a mini-map. I have no idea where everyone is."

"Let's try to buy them some time," Nortrom said.

Lina nodded. "Yep. Hold the fort for as long as we can."

(End of Chapter 37)

Heroes

Magina = Anti-mage

Mortred = Phantom Assassin

Traxex = Drow Ranger

Nortrom = Silencer

Nevermore = Shadow Fiend

Lina = Slayer

Davion = Dragon Knight

Pudge = Butcher

Atropos = Bane Elemental

Carl = Invoker

Notes:

- The next chapter (Part 2: The Fall of the Ancients) will be posted shortly, within 2 weeks.

- The poetry quoted here is by Edgar Allan Poe (The Raven) and T.S. Eliot (The Wasteland)

- SF's demon language translation can be found in the Ozkavosh Dictionary.