Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal

Chapter 4 - Dance of the Undead

Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…

Unfortunately, passing through solid objects such as doors and walls wasn't possible in the Shadow Realm - you would still collide with anything in the 'material world' - therefore, opening creaking doors with stealth and finesse was still a real artform. Anyone could hear them, or see the door moving of its own accord, like some bored phantom out for a wander.

Jahaan edged the first door open with a hunched back and a wince that covered his entire face, flinching with every audible groan that the old door made. Alas, though not surprisingly, he didn't find the teleport beacon beyond the first door. In fact, it took six doors until he finally hit the jackpot.

The study the teleport beacon was in was small and cluttered, books piled in an unorderly fashion next to drab bookshelves after Zemouregal invariably got bored of putting them back where they belonged. From the amount of dust each one had accumulated, Jahaan gathered he wasn't much of an avid reader. This came as little surprise.

The teleport beacon itself didn't exactly look like a magical marvel - it was a clunky steel construction, standing tall at about a foot off the desk. Inside it, however, would be an enchanted crystal, and that's what Jahaan needed to get to. It took everything in his power to resist smashing it against the table. Instead, he used his fingernails to delicately pry the back of the casing off. Reaching inside, he gently nudged the gem loose and knocked it into his palm. The lights on the beacon instantly went dark, but fortunately, no alarms sounded. Jahaan prepared for a roar, backlash, the clatter of undead footsteps… but no. Perhaps Zemouregal hadn't gotten around to wiring up his security systems properly either? Rather careless of him, or arrogant, depending on your outlook.

After placing the tiny shining blue crystal into his rucksack, Jahaan pulled out the CommOrb, suddenly struck with a bolt of poignant familiarity; he'd seen Sir Tiffy use one to summon Thaerisk to the Ritual Site after the last Mahjarrat Ritual. It was a weird thing to haunt him, and it cut deeper than imagined. With all his anger, planning, running here, there and everywhere, Jahaan had not allowed himself the chance to grieve.

There'll be time enough when Zemouregal's dead, he vowed, shaking off the solemn cobwebs from around his mind and activating the CommOrb, tuning it to Azzanadra's frequency.

Upon a ridge, as far away from the fortress as he could be without being out of spell range, Azzanadra tucked the CommOrb back in its pouch and began to concentrate, hard. A spell of that magnitude wasn't a walk in the park, hence beacons were implemented to save mages working in shifts to protect homes and castles, such as they did back in the earliest days of magic. The spell's complexity was no trouble, nor was the duration he'd have to hold it for, not for a powerful battlemage like Azzanadra. No, the hardest thing for him would be sitting on the sidelines while Sliske, Wahisietel and the World Guardian faced up against Zemouregal without him. A large part of him wanted to be there as that Zamorakian filth drew his final breath, after all.

His lips curved into a cruel smile as he muttered to himself. "Not long now, Zemouregal, before you join your wretched cousin in the void… it has been a long time coming..."

After ending the communication with Azzanadra, Jahaan then tuned into Wahisietel's CommOrb, and within moments the Mahjarrat was standing in front of him.

However, Jahaan couldn't even get a word out before Wahisietel, looking around him uneasily, queried, "Where is Sliske?"

"We had a... disagreement," Jahaan groaned, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to brush past it, to focus on the task at hand and keep Sliske as far away from his mind as possible. In a time like this, he was a dangerous distraction. "It doesn't matter right now - Zemouregal would have sensed you're here, so we have to act fast."

Unfortunately, Wahisietel wasn't so easily brushed aside. Narrowing his stern eyes upon Jahaan, he demanded, "Your neck. Did Sliske do that to you?!"

Subconsciously rubbing the bruises around his throat, Jahaan averted his gaze. "Okay, so it was a little more than a disagreement. Here, I know we're one man down, so if you want to back out, I understand, but I'm not going anywhere. Just make sure Azzanadra doesn't relent that teleblock for a while."

Shaking his head, Wahisietel grumbled something in a cursed tongue, a hiss-infused-growl that scraped against Jahaan's ears. Whatever he said, Jahaan could surmise it wasn't pleasant, and no doubt in regards to the absentee. Then, back in the familiar tongue, he asserted, "I gave you my word I would see this through, World Guardian. But as soon as this is over, you are to tell me everything. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," a ghost of a smile danced across Jahaan's lips, his eyes determined as he said, "Let's do this."

Zemouregal was definitely in residence - Wahisietel could sense that much. Now came the task of finding just where in this gothic fortress he was hiding. Thankfully, it didn't take long, for as soon as the pair rounded the next corner, they found exactly what they were looking for - a large chamber door, crimson-coloured ornaments warping their way across the metal in twisted and vulgar patterns. It looked like it led to a grand hall, somewhere defensible that Zemouregal would greet unwanted guests, somewhere he could look down on them with his haughty chin raised, somewhere large enough to summon armies of the undead.

Nodding to one another, Wahisietel and Jahaan heaved the creaking doors open.

When the pair made their way inside, it was clear Zemouregal had been expecting someone, positioned at the far end of the room in a subtly defensive stance.

Zemouregal must have sensed Wahisietel's arrival, but from the look on his face when Jahaan emerged from behind the taller Mahjarrat, he was not expecting him.

Eyes flashing in shock, Zemouregal sneered, "So, back from the undead, World Guardian?"

"You should have finished me while you had the chance," Jahaan growled, clenching tightly onto the hilts of his longswords.

After a sharp laugh, Zemouregal broke out into a cracked and haunting grin. "Perhaps, but the temptation to see you burn was too much," his eyes scanned once again to Wahisietel, beside Jahaan, though he towered over the young man by a good height. "So, you brought this Zarosian scum along to act as a bodyguard - a wise move for a puny human, but I'm not going to entertain you maggots tonight."

Raising his hand, he attempted a teleportation spell, and his face crumbled into panic when he realised it didn't work.

With a satisfied smirk, Jahaan presented the teleblock crystal from out of a pocket on his rucksack. "This wasn't important, was it?"

Spitting a harsh curse, Zemouregal roared, "SHARATHTEERK! TO ME!"

The gargoyle manifested beside his master. "I come at your call, my lord."

"Summon reinforcements and dispatch of that Zarosian pest, but leave the human for me," he ordered, and moments later a platoon of the undead appeared behind Sharatheerk, swaying dizzily from side to side like drunken sailors.

Because he was a darling, Zemouragal wasn't kind enough to allow Jahaan a path through his horde in order to face him mono e mono. Instead, Jahaan got the perfect opportunity to try out his new gear for real, and by the gods did he enjoy it. Charging right into the swarm with his swords held aloft, Jahaan unleashed fury.

Zombies don't bleed, not requiring the circulatory system one requires blood for. Therefore, no crimson tail was left in the wake of Jahaan's attacks. Having had the unfortunate pleasure of fighting many a man and beast in his time, Jahaan had become used to the sounds of death. From a man or a humanoid creature, it's this sickening slurp, sort of like a squelch, that's usually masked by a groan or shriek of agony. The same usually went for beasts, although they had the tendency to roar through their pain. Zombies, on the other hand, made no protest upon re-death - they just crumbled to the ground and accepted it. That meant that there was nothing to hide just how nauseating blade through flesh and bone sounded, and if it wasn't for the chorus of moans coming from the sheer number of zombies, Jahaan might have let it affect him.

These types of zombies left a gooey greenish-black slime when cut into, and to be killed they must be decapitated. There were the older zombies, ones that have been dead for many years and decomposed into a near-skeletal form. These ones were absent of much fluid, tumbling to the ground with a low knock of bones and leaving a thin layer of dust upon the blade.

The main worry when fighting a zombie was their resiliency; you can cut all the limbs off one of these fuckers and he'll still shuffle towards you by shifting his broken ribcage if he must. Their attacks were wild and reckless, but in a group they can overwhelm quickly. If one latched onto you, you'd be in for a struggle to shake off the bastard before his friends joined in the fun. Then, of course, there was the standard zombie bite. Fortunately, the cure for a bite was stocked in almost every pharmacy in Gielinor, and handed out to anyone that requires it free of charge. Jahaan's armour covered him from neck to toe, so the only real risk came if he was swarmed and they pulled off a glove or boot, but as long as he got the antidote within seventy-two hours, he'd be fine.

Marvels of modern medicine.

And from how his swords cut through these undead cretins, they were marvels of modern smithing.

Jahaan swiped and swung from side to side, top to bottom, sometimes going straight for a decapitating blow, other times slicing inside the gut with one sword and stabbing through the brain with the other. As he fought on and on, he felt his dormant rage come back to him, but this time, he could control it, channel it into his precise attacks, carving a neat little path through the horde on his way to Zemouregal. Patient, making sure the Mahjarrat knew exactly what was coming for him.

In the shuffle, Wahisietel had become lost to the other side of the room, but the constant background noise of spells being channeled reassured Jahaan that he was still in the fight.

Jahaan didn't even try and keep track of just how many zombies he'd cut down in the melee, but they seemed to keep coming, occasionally knocking into Jahaan's armour before he had the chance to push them back and finish them off. Letting too many of them enclose on his personal space would be a real danger to him, so Jahaan fought carefully, not irrationally.

He had one chance to end this, and he wasn't going to let some poor undead sap get the better of him.

In Wahisietel's battle, he'd been using magic over melee, naturally. However, magic wasn't always the best strategy against the undead because, as previously mentioned, only a strong and precise strike to the head will kill them. Magic came in blasts, in waves, in spells that could throw a horse back a good few paces, maybe slow them down even further for a while, but they'd keep on coming back. Therefore, Wahisietel had developed the strategy of knocking them backwards with a large blast of ice magic, then using smaller and more deliberate ice spells aimed at the head to pick them off one by one. For once, the Mahjarrat was at a disadvantage over the tiny human with the blades.

However, Sharathteerk was a different story altogether. The gargoyle, who had been waiting in the wings while the zombies were attacking Wahisietel, finally got bored of sitting around and decided to bring the fight to the Mahjarrat.

Big. Mistake.

All of these precise strikes were frustrating the heck out of Wahisietel, so when a large target came along without a specific body part for a weakness, Wahisietel let loose.

It wasn't long before the gargoyle, so overwhelmed against the flurry of ice and smoke attacks from the Mahjarrat, succumbed to the intense barrage and shattered into fragments that exploded across the room. Jahaan had forgotten about Sharathteerk's existence entirely until the remnants of his left thigh shot overhead and buried itself into a zombie's skull. Looking past the swarm, Jahaan fought to see Zemouregal's reaction, and he wasn't disappointed; seeing Sharathteerk's demise, Zemouregal's face looked increasingly worried now. He summoned another platoon of zombies to fight in the gargoyle's place, growing even more desperate.

Desperate people make mistakes, Jahaan noted, his own confidence growing.

Finally, after swinging his swords so much he wouldn't have been surprised if one of his shoulders detached and whirled away like a Catherine Wheel, the swarm began to thin out, only leaving a handful of the undead between Jahaan and Zemouregal.

In one last flurry of blades connecting with undead flesh, the last of the zombies fell.

The adrenaline was suffocating, causing Jahaan's erratic heartbeat to thrum loudly in his ears. Glaring into Zemouregal's eyes, there was so much he wanted to say; violent curses, vows of revenge… but words didn't matter now.

Jahaan charged head on towards Zemouregal. The Mahjarrat quickly summoned up a spell and thrust it towards Jahaan, but Jahaan dodged it, rolling out of the way and continuing onwards. The second blast, however, Jahaan didn't see until it was too late to evade.

Wincing, Jahaan tensed up and braced himself for the blast of shadow magic to connect. When it did, he was knocked backwards a step, but he wasn't even winded. Looking up at Zemouregal, the Mahjarrat was just as surprised as Jahaan that he was still standing.

Jahaan's lip upturned into a defiant smirk, the grip on his swords tightening as he charged again.

Absorbing the next blast was akin to fighting against a torrent of wind, but it was manageable. Each time the magic connected, Jahaan's armour would tingle even more, like the energy was being absorbed into the metal itself. Once he was close enough, Jahaan swung for Zemouregal's head. The swipe missed wildly, Zemouregal evading with ease, drawing his own sword to parry the rebound.

Now, Jahaan thought, the fight can REALLY begin.

Jahaan knew that as soon as he could goad Zemouregal into drawing his sword the fight would be a whole lot fairer. The two blades clashed, the sharp metallic ring resonating throughout the chamber. Jahaan had no idea what Zemouregal's blade was made of; the metal was black, but it was far stronger than anything the black knights carried. Around the edges, smoke seeped from the blade, thin shadows coating the razor sharp metal. For a human the weapon would be held in two hands, if it could be lifted at all. Zemouregal, on the other hand, lifted it in one hand with the ease of someone lifting a quill pen.

Wasting little time, Zemouregal swung for a decapitating strike, but Jahaan rolled out of the way, the armour not hindering his movement or agility one bit. Like a second skin, it moulded to his body, moved with him, allowing him to gain distance from the blade before quickly dashing back in with a countering strike.

"Some fancy armour you have there, World Guardian," Zemouregal snorted the title like it was an insult. "Much nicer than anything those Temple Knights wear."

Zemouregal's comment was as sharp as his sword, pointed and attacking. The rush of blood that rose through Jahaan's throat made him falter, allowed Zemouregal the opening to slice his blade downwards. Jahaan dodged, but it was too close for comfort - he felt the metal whizz past his face, the cold rush of the breeze scratching his skin. If it had hit the mark, his head would have been sliced clean in half, like an apple being segmented.

Zemouregal's strategy was an obvious one; Jahaan cursed himself for being swayed so easily. Keeping his breathing steady, he let the words wash over him, focusing everything he had on channeling out Zemouregal's voice and putting everything into precise strikes.

"Did your dark-skinned friend make it out too?" Zemouregal jeered, all-too pleased with himself. "Such a shame I had to drug him. It would have been so much sweeter to hear him scream…"

Breathe in... breathe out… swing… parry… evade… lunge… breathe in… breathe out…

"Would you like me to tell you that druid's final words? Honestly, I've been laughing about them ever since… you know, he actually started crying! Such a pathetic human... "

Breathe in… breath out… dodge... swing… parry… strike… breathe in… breathe out…

"Your knight wasn't any better - he was shaking like a leaf! Stuttering and mumbling about Saradomin, as if that blue ponce could help him!"

Breathe in… breath out… evade… swing… block… lunge… breathe in… breathe out...

The constant back and forth was getting Zemouregal nowhere, and the lack of impact his words were having on the World Guardian really started to grate on him. Indignant, he pushed on harder, fought with an increased desperation and anger, but Jahaan could block everything he could swing at him.

Deducing his blade wasn't making any progress, Zemouregal started to warm up his palms with shadow energy. His mystic attacks from earlier did no good, but if he could build up the power, attack dead on at such a close distance...

Jahaan could see the spell being channeled, but figured he could swallow it and use Zemouregal's recharging time to try and get a lucky shot in.

However, he didn't realise Zemouregal was giving it everything he had.

Upon impact, Jahaan tumbled to the floor, swords clattering to the ground around him, the metallic ring echoing loud enough to catch the attention of Wahisietel.

"Jahaan!" he called out, moving to assist before he was tackled by a row of zombies who made the most of his distraction.

Groaning, Jahaan saw Zemouregal stalk over to him out of the corner of his eye, that smug smirk of his slashed across his face.

"You should have stayed dead, World Guardian," he gloated, summoning a spell to his palms. "This time I'll make sure it's permanent."

Before Zemouregal knew what hit him, his vision was clouded by a blinding smoke spell, causing him to cough and splutter as he gained distance from Jahaan.

Jahaan faltered slightly, so impressed that his smoke spell actually worked effectively that he forgot to capitalise. Luckily, Wahisietel had freed himself from the zombies and shot an ice blast from out of nowhere, careering straight into Zemouregal with a vicious impact. The Mahjarrat was knocked to the ground, and that's when Jahaan charged, scooping up one of his swords and bolting forwards.

He didn't waste time to gloat, or be smug, or allow Zemouregal even a second to register what was happening to him.

The blade plunged easily into the Mahjarrat's neck, sliding its way in like Jahaan was making the first carve into a tender chicken roast, but even more satisfying than the thought of a banquette ever could be. Gagging, hoarse rasps of breath were fought for, but Zemouregal never achieved them. Jahaan revelled in the wide-eyed terror glistening in his eyes, like the sockets were going to open up and let the eyeballs escape free. With teeth clenched, Jahaan took a deep, steadying breath, and slowly began to twist the blade inside his flesh, opening up a wound that started to seep ink-like fluid onto the ground below. He relished every second, watching the life fade from Zemouregal's eyes, the breath from his lungs, the blood from his veins.

Zemouregal was dead before the tip of the blade was removed from his neck.

As soon as Zemouregal was gone, the magic keeping the zombies animated suddenly ceased to be, and they all collapsed in piles of bones of the floor. Wahisietel watched them shatter, dust rising in clouds from their old corpses.

The adrenaline that had held Jahaan up those last few moments vanished as quickly as the zombies, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching balled up fists to his chest. He tried to prop himself up, instead sliding back to the floor, a hoarse groan forcing its way out as his clenched teeth tried to verbalise the pain.

"Jahaan!" Wahisietel called out, seeing the man fall to the ground. He rushed over, kneeling by his side.

"I'm okay," Jahaan winced. The injury wasn't anything too serious, just agonising. The severe pain in his chest confirmed his suspicions - he'd cracked a rib, if not multiple. Jahaan had cracked and even broken ribs before, several times too many in fact. Despite being familiar with the feeling, one never gets used to it. Breathing suddenly became torturous, but he forced deep breaths from himself, knowing this was necessary to protect his lungs. His armour would have to go, as would his weaponry, since their heaviness would worsen the injury. Right now though, he needed to get somewhere to recuperate that wasn't filled with zombie dust and dead Mahjarrat. He didn't even get a chance to relish in the victory thanks to the blinding pain in his chest.

"Contact Azzanadra," Jahaan tried to make his way to his feet, but seeing as he was struggling, Wahisietel practically lifted him up. "Let's leave this place. Fuck, I need some pain relievers…"

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.