In response to the first new review I have gotten in almost a year, I have
decided to keep writing, and here is what we have, because, as one review
evidenced, people are still reading . . . Thank you for putting up with me,
and I have already finished another chapter after this, so only wait a few
days and soon we will have the conclusion!
-J. Diabolico-
Durag Lithinthuar, covering his eyes in the white blast, blinked away the blindness of the sorceress' lightening spell. The woman stood gazing, confused and scared at the unaffected iron golem. Her hands at her sides, she looked for any sign of damage from her attack.
"Iron," Durag laughed, "Does not yield to electricity, my lady." The sorceress' eyes showed plainly a hint of fear as she turned and ran towards the large center tome. Durag sent his minions scampering quickly after her, bony fists drawn back and blazing with dark magic. The iron monster clanked stoically forward, as well, It's plated spikes jingling dangerously in the gloom.
"You are a fool to stand in my way, Necromancer! Your weak compelling powers over the dead will not match my Lord's granted power!" Cried the Sorceress, casting her hands over the room, the skeletal mages did not halt, but advanced. Suddenly, rising before them in the gathering dark of the room, ten festering, green corpses, rotted skin still hanging from their decayed flesh and bones, formed a circle of defense against the attack. Leaping back, the mages immediately began to discharge their elemental magic, knocking the zombies slowly backwards.
"To fight a Necromancer with the dead," sighed Durag from the opposite end of the room. "Is like trying to put out a fire by feeding it wood!" The powerful dark lord spread his hands and the corpses stiffened in their advance and hesitated. A moment later the Sorceress' weak hold over the mindless bodies visibly faltered and died. The creatures, now under the Necromancer's control, turned and advanced with the mages upon the panting Sorceress.
Conjuring a powerful spell, the woman blast forth a torrent of flame, incinerating five of the green corpses where they stood, and singing the rotted dead flesh of the other five. Shielding herself from the barrage of the skeletons' blasts with an orb of protective lightening, the woman, now fighting for her life, sent a group of icy missiles flying towards the iron golem, which had clomped up to her right. Freezing its joints, the Sorceress watched as it fell, facedown and immobile, to the floor. She then sent two blasts of red flame into the nearest skeleton minions, knocking two of the weakly structured warriors to pieces.
Durag had not wasted any time. Striding swiftly to a small tome near the left hand side of the room; he came upon what he was looking for. Ever since the first battle he had fought against her forces, the Necromancer had noticed the abilities of her hordes to mimic his art by raising their slain comrades. The Sorceress' own tendency to rely on a weak form of Necromancy had also not escaped his notice. As he had suspected, her evil lord Diablo had provided her with an ancient summoning orb. Sacred to the Priests of Rathma, these archaic devices were used by the first of the Rathma magi to summon the shades of the dead for their servitude and control. Through consistent use, however, the orbs had been found dangerous for the reason that the user of the orb all too often began summoning apparitions of evil and cunning whose forms he or she could not control with their rudimentary compelling hexes; many unwary priests and orb-users had been imprisoned by their own manifestations. The priests had long ago decided to destroy the remaining orbs. This one must have been spared by the Dark Lord himself centuries ago, and therefore probably held immense power.
Another mage fell, and the Necromancer turned from his work quickly and spat out a quick curse with a flick of his fingers. A red, evil glow encompassed the Sorceress as she readied a coup de grace for the final two staggering skeletons. Her fireball landed with a singing crack into the nearest skeletal mage, knocking it's arm off and sending it's right leg into spasms as it clattered to the floor, once again lifeless. The dark haired woman smiled triumphantly to herself as she watched the last of the skeletons, an ice mage, beginning to retreat under her attack, but her victory was short-lived as she looked down to find her own cloak burning merrily away. She screamed in surprise and pain as she realized that whatever damage she inflicted upon the Necromancer's minion, she received double upon herself. Recoiling, she scampered behind an ancient bookcase and refreshed her protective spell. Where was the Necromancer, anyway?
Durag, peering into the dark and swirling orb, worked out the images of the souls captivated within, the souls the sorceress had call forth with it. The sorceress had been hard at work, conjuring up some truly horrific demons of extremely powerful dimensions; torturing them with her hell-given assistance from Diablo to do her bidding and act as servants. Demons, of course, did not like to be enslaved any more than a human did, so naturally Durag assumed the powerful apparitions within the orb would jump at the chance of avenging themselves upon their Sorceress master, if, that was, he could find a way to break the orb's seal. He summoned all of his strength. His sword bounced harmlessly off the shiny orb, not even leaving a scratch. He looked up to see his last mage, an ice skeleton, stagger backwards under a fireball, the sorceress screamed in pain from behind her bookcase, but the pain spell was weakening.
"Khala! Gimeni A'la Forsani!" Durag ordered to his mage, and, hearing his master call, the mage clanked quickly over to the Necromancer. Creating a protecting wall of gleaming bone around them, Durag turned to the quizzical skeleton. "Rega, La!" he ordered, and, without any hesitation, the mages' icy hands froze the compelling orb solid. It looked up when it was finished, and Durag smiled, saying "Shala, shala, nima tonithua." Or, good, good, now show it to your enemy!, and the creature leapt up to comply.
"Show yourself, Sorcerer! Coward!" cried the Sorceress, the pain spell having worn off, she had come out to finish the mage and found her way blocked by a wall of bone. The frozen iron beast twitched, and she blasted a new ice spell onto it, refreezing its joints. She readied her most powerful inferno spell and prepared to blast away the coward's puny wall. Suddenly, the ice mage leapt out from behind the wall, and, seeing the Sorceress, ran towards her, hands outstretched. Without thinking, she released her inferno . . .
Diablo stood in the fortress keep, head cocked to one side in the gloom, staring at the Knight, who, despite his fear, walked slowly towards him. Damathodor was breathing heavily under his armor, but his super-strength still coursed through his veins, and he felt more confident. Diablo watched him, his shadowed face hidden under the black cloak.
"Who are you?" came a deep voice, stopping the Knight in his tracks, the rich, echoing voice seemed to come from all sides at once. Diablo's form hadn't moved an inch, and Damathodor continued slowly forward. "Why are you here?" the voice asked again, this time with the slightest tinge of annoyance. The figure had still not moved. Damathodor opened his mouth to reply when the command "Answer me!" boomed from right behind him. He whirled and swung his sword through the empty air. Deep, echoing laughter receded down the passage behind him, then from in front of him, and from all sides. The figure was as still and silent as a stone.
"Damathodor," came a voice, again the Knight stopped, bracing in surprise, "Damathodor, Knight of the Guardian Angel." The voice continued. "Why have you come here, warrior of Light? Who has killed so many of my best soldiers?"
"I am here to destroy the evil that plagues my lands. I am here to kill Diablo, for once and all!" Damathodor found his voice, and it carried far into the dark cathedral.
"Kill him?" The voice sounded amused, "But so many have tried before you, and so many have failed!" It spoke through laughter.
"You are mortal, nonetheless!" Returned the Knight, "Come out and fight, vile evil!"
"Do you know how many of your kind I have killed in the past two hundred years?" Laughed the voice, "Of course, that has never deterred your people, so righteous and self-important. I suppose this is some Holy quest by your esteemed 'God'? Or are you on some damn-fool Angel's quest for proving yourself?" It mocked.
"I am here for the souls you torment, for the men and women you have slain and have tortured in the realm of hell for too long!" Damathodor shouted. "Now let us battle, and be done with your pointless talk!" At this the figure of the cloaked man shifted his weight slightly, and two dark, black hands appeared from beneath the brown robes to rise to his face. Tongues of flame licked at the lower folds of the thing's robes, billowing upwards in an expanding inferno to shroud the whole form in a blazing ball of hellish fire, the Knight could barely make out the black hands through the flames, lifting the now incinerated hood and releasing the most hideous evil the world had ever done battle with.
Diablo, the Lord of Terror, stood before the Knight, rising from the fires of the discarded robes, the demon king was taller than his opponent by nearly four times, the yellow and red-cracked horns protruding from the thing's deep red face glowing as bright as the eyes as the beast's four tremendous arms tore up from the flames to clench their clawed fingers and spread their full length across the red-tinted cathedral amphitheater. The tail of Diablo curled menacingly close to the ceiling of the tall structure; it's end spiked and horned as the horns of the creature's head and along it's red, muscular back.
"You," The beast said, it's voice still the same calm, unfaltering level of the man's he embodied as second ago, "Will be no different from the rest."
"We shall soon see." Damathodor gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders as the beast before, above, and all around him bellowed inhumanly and evilly into the cavernous room.
-J. Diabolico-
Durag Lithinthuar, covering his eyes in the white blast, blinked away the blindness of the sorceress' lightening spell. The woman stood gazing, confused and scared at the unaffected iron golem. Her hands at her sides, she looked for any sign of damage from her attack.
"Iron," Durag laughed, "Does not yield to electricity, my lady." The sorceress' eyes showed plainly a hint of fear as she turned and ran towards the large center tome. Durag sent his minions scampering quickly after her, bony fists drawn back and blazing with dark magic. The iron monster clanked stoically forward, as well, It's plated spikes jingling dangerously in the gloom.
"You are a fool to stand in my way, Necromancer! Your weak compelling powers over the dead will not match my Lord's granted power!" Cried the Sorceress, casting her hands over the room, the skeletal mages did not halt, but advanced. Suddenly, rising before them in the gathering dark of the room, ten festering, green corpses, rotted skin still hanging from their decayed flesh and bones, formed a circle of defense against the attack. Leaping back, the mages immediately began to discharge their elemental magic, knocking the zombies slowly backwards.
"To fight a Necromancer with the dead," sighed Durag from the opposite end of the room. "Is like trying to put out a fire by feeding it wood!" The powerful dark lord spread his hands and the corpses stiffened in their advance and hesitated. A moment later the Sorceress' weak hold over the mindless bodies visibly faltered and died. The creatures, now under the Necromancer's control, turned and advanced with the mages upon the panting Sorceress.
Conjuring a powerful spell, the woman blast forth a torrent of flame, incinerating five of the green corpses where they stood, and singing the rotted dead flesh of the other five. Shielding herself from the barrage of the skeletons' blasts with an orb of protective lightening, the woman, now fighting for her life, sent a group of icy missiles flying towards the iron golem, which had clomped up to her right. Freezing its joints, the Sorceress watched as it fell, facedown and immobile, to the floor. She then sent two blasts of red flame into the nearest skeleton minions, knocking two of the weakly structured warriors to pieces.
Durag had not wasted any time. Striding swiftly to a small tome near the left hand side of the room; he came upon what he was looking for. Ever since the first battle he had fought against her forces, the Necromancer had noticed the abilities of her hordes to mimic his art by raising their slain comrades. The Sorceress' own tendency to rely on a weak form of Necromancy had also not escaped his notice. As he had suspected, her evil lord Diablo had provided her with an ancient summoning orb. Sacred to the Priests of Rathma, these archaic devices were used by the first of the Rathma magi to summon the shades of the dead for their servitude and control. Through consistent use, however, the orbs had been found dangerous for the reason that the user of the orb all too often began summoning apparitions of evil and cunning whose forms he or she could not control with their rudimentary compelling hexes; many unwary priests and orb-users had been imprisoned by their own manifestations. The priests had long ago decided to destroy the remaining orbs. This one must have been spared by the Dark Lord himself centuries ago, and therefore probably held immense power.
Another mage fell, and the Necromancer turned from his work quickly and spat out a quick curse with a flick of his fingers. A red, evil glow encompassed the Sorceress as she readied a coup de grace for the final two staggering skeletons. Her fireball landed with a singing crack into the nearest skeletal mage, knocking it's arm off and sending it's right leg into spasms as it clattered to the floor, once again lifeless. The dark haired woman smiled triumphantly to herself as she watched the last of the skeletons, an ice mage, beginning to retreat under her attack, but her victory was short-lived as she looked down to find her own cloak burning merrily away. She screamed in surprise and pain as she realized that whatever damage she inflicted upon the Necromancer's minion, she received double upon herself. Recoiling, she scampered behind an ancient bookcase and refreshed her protective spell. Where was the Necromancer, anyway?
Durag, peering into the dark and swirling orb, worked out the images of the souls captivated within, the souls the sorceress had call forth with it. The sorceress had been hard at work, conjuring up some truly horrific demons of extremely powerful dimensions; torturing them with her hell-given assistance from Diablo to do her bidding and act as servants. Demons, of course, did not like to be enslaved any more than a human did, so naturally Durag assumed the powerful apparitions within the orb would jump at the chance of avenging themselves upon their Sorceress master, if, that was, he could find a way to break the orb's seal. He summoned all of his strength. His sword bounced harmlessly off the shiny orb, not even leaving a scratch. He looked up to see his last mage, an ice skeleton, stagger backwards under a fireball, the sorceress screamed in pain from behind her bookcase, but the pain spell was weakening.
"Khala! Gimeni A'la Forsani!" Durag ordered to his mage, and, hearing his master call, the mage clanked quickly over to the Necromancer. Creating a protecting wall of gleaming bone around them, Durag turned to the quizzical skeleton. "Rega, La!" he ordered, and, without any hesitation, the mages' icy hands froze the compelling orb solid. It looked up when it was finished, and Durag smiled, saying "Shala, shala, nima tonithua." Or, good, good, now show it to your enemy!, and the creature leapt up to comply.
"Show yourself, Sorcerer! Coward!" cried the Sorceress, the pain spell having worn off, she had come out to finish the mage and found her way blocked by a wall of bone. The frozen iron beast twitched, and she blasted a new ice spell onto it, refreezing its joints. She readied her most powerful inferno spell and prepared to blast away the coward's puny wall. Suddenly, the ice mage leapt out from behind the wall, and, seeing the Sorceress, ran towards her, hands outstretched. Without thinking, she released her inferno . . .
Diablo stood in the fortress keep, head cocked to one side in the gloom, staring at the Knight, who, despite his fear, walked slowly towards him. Damathodor was breathing heavily under his armor, but his super-strength still coursed through his veins, and he felt more confident. Diablo watched him, his shadowed face hidden under the black cloak.
"Who are you?" came a deep voice, stopping the Knight in his tracks, the rich, echoing voice seemed to come from all sides at once. Diablo's form hadn't moved an inch, and Damathodor continued slowly forward. "Why are you here?" the voice asked again, this time with the slightest tinge of annoyance. The figure had still not moved. Damathodor opened his mouth to reply when the command "Answer me!" boomed from right behind him. He whirled and swung his sword through the empty air. Deep, echoing laughter receded down the passage behind him, then from in front of him, and from all sides. The figure was as still and silent as a stone.
"Damathodor," came a voice, again the Knight stopped, bracing in surprise, "Damathodor, Knight of the Guardian Angel." The voice continued. "Why have you come here, warrior of Light? Who has killed so many of my best soldiers?"
"I am here to destroy the evil that plagues my lands. I am here to kill Diablo, for once and all!" Damathodor found his voice, and it carried far into the dark cathedral.
"Kill him?" The voice sounded amused, "But so many have tried before you, and so many have failed!" It spoke through laughter.
"You are mortal, nonetheless!" Returned the Knight, "Come out and fight, vile evil!"
"Do you know how many of your kind I have killed in the past two hundred years?" Laughed the voice, "Of course, that has never deterred your people, so righteous and self-important. I suppose this is some Holy quest by your esteemed 'God'? Or are you on some damn-fool Angel's quest for proving yourself?" It mocked.
"I am here for the souls you torment, for the men and women you have slain and have tortured in the realm of hell for too long!" Damathodor shouted. "Now let us battle, and be done with your pointless talk!" At this the figure of the cloaked man shifted his weight slightly, and two dark, black hands appeared from beneath the brown robes to rise to his face. Tongues of flame licked at the lower folds of the thing's robes, billowing upwards in an expanding inferno to shroud the whole form in a blazing ball of hellish fire, the Knight could barely make out the black hands through the flames, lifting the now incinerated hood and releasing the most hideous evil the world had ever done battle with.
Diablo, the Lord of Terror, stood before the Knight, rising from the fires of the discarded robes, the demon king was taller than his opponent by nearly four times, the yellow and red-cracked horns protruding from the thing's deep red face glowing as bright as the eyes as the beast's four tremendous arms tore up from the flames to clench their clawed fingers and spread their full length across the red-tinted cathedral amphitheater. The tail of Diablo curled menacingly close to the ceiling of the tall structure; it's end spiked and horned as the horns of the creature's head and along it's red, muscular back.
"You," The beast said, it's voice still the same calm, unfaltering level of the man's he embodied as second ago, "Will be no different from the rest."
"We shall soon see." Damathodor gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders as the beast before, above, and all around him bellowed inhumanly and evilly into the cavernous room.