The Necromancer lowered his armored forearm from his face, allowing his pained eyes to readjust to the dimensions of the Sorceress' chamber after the roar of her desperate inferno spell had blown past, decimating his wall of osseous matter and most of the cluttered and battle-ravaged room's remaining artifacts. As his sight adjusted, so did his hearing, the roar of the past wave of flame having temporarily disabled his senses, and the things he saw, coupled with the things he then heard were enough so that had his hair not been entirely bleached already, it certainly would have been.
There hung the Sorceress, suspended in midair by some unseen hand of bewitchment, her arms and legs held rigid and unmoving at her sides. Her face was frozen in terror and her features were drenched in the sweet, aromatic sweat of fear. Durag lifted himself from his knee, feeling the aches and pains in his protesting, battle-worn body, glad that it was over, at least with the sorceress ...
"There he is!" The witch cried in a half-whisper, half tortured sob as Lithinthuar's lithe frame pulled itself from the pile of disintegrated bone. "He's the one who made me torture you! He made me ..." the wretch's pleading was replaced with a scream of pain as her suspended body was racked with sudden seizures. The Necromancer further surveyed the scene, in all its grotesque entirety.
The woman was being held by the force of several hideous shades, their ghastly backs to the dark mage as they flickered and shifted eerily just above the stone floor. Two of them turned to gaze half-interested in the Necromancer, who's manner, despite his fatigue, failed him not.
"Bishu-dsh," He addressed them, "Shku." Using the proper demon tounge for the ancient looking malcreations, addressing them as the equivalent of 'my lords', the nearer demon nodded with an almost patronizing sneer.
"He is not the one," Said one of the farther wraiths, it had not shifted its gaze from the captured witch. "Why do you think that we are so inferior, human? So prone to you mortals' lies?"
"We see all, sorceress," chimed in another, a hideous ghoul of a demon whose shade towered over the room, and his frame and countenance so disfigured and evil looking, not even the learned Necromancer could decide where its head was and which half was the body. "This priest of Rathma we owe our freedom, despite his mortality, he has broken your vile hold, and no longer shall we serve the whims of you or your real master, the 'great and powerful Diablo'." The circle of fifteen to twenty ghosts laughed a vile laugh that shook the room and almost made Lithinthuar pity to fate of his recently defeated foe. Almost.
"You speak easily of freedom, Malakaih," spat a third demon, "Yet I will not feel liberated until this whelp here has been shed of every last particle of her mortality, and her soul is mine to gnaw upon in my infinite slumber in the netherworld!"
"Wise council, Sinivus," came a fourth, deeper, more powerful voice, and Durag noticed the already dim lights flicker and fail, plunging the room in the eerie red gleam of the various demons. Several of the other shades shuddered despite themselves in the wake of this powerful new presence, and the sorceress' eyes widened further, if that was at all possible. The voice continued as a corner of the dark room seemed to grow even darker, and a massive figure rose out of the stone, causing several of the larger demons to back away from the powerful pit lord. "Again you display your superior knowledge and foresight in our admiring company."
"Zhin-Dotrikaih, I, I only meant ..." sputtered the tiny Sinivus, but he was silenced as the lord demon strode forward, simply a massive shadow in the darkness with only two gleaming red eyes to be seen of his featureless form. He strode up to Durag, who, combating all the desire in his body to flee and never return, stood his ground. The smaller imp-demon had addressed this new wraith as 'Zhin-Dotrikaih', which, the mage knew, meant 'King' or 'Lord Fear', obviously not the thing's actual name, but Durag doubted seriously whether any of the demons present knew any other the other's real names; birth-names were powerful sources of power that demons (and anyone dealing with demons, for that matter,) as a rule kept secret, as these binding names could be used to seriously weaken even the strongest of hell-fiends, and a demon or powerful sorcerer could utterly destroy another mortal magician with the knowledge of his birth-name. Lithinthuar's own name was merely an adaption he had taken after his second year of apprenticeship with the Priests of Rathma, his real name was now known only to himself and his long dead parents. Lithinthuar repeated his earlier address, replacing the polite 'Shku' with the much more reverent and praising 'Zhin'. He was acknowledged, even politely, with a nod from the shadow. This one had manners, and spoke with sophistication and wisdom, meaning 'Lord Fear' was probably one of the more dangerous wraiths around.
"Priest of the old way," the creature's voice reverberated off the stone walls and ceiling as he spoke, "For twenty thousand years were we lords of the other realm subject to that binding orb of summons, and for the last five have we suffered the most under this vile witch," He motioned with his eyes to the sorceress, who's paralysis did not keep her from listening fearfully to everything that was said. "She, of course, will die, among other things, but you, esteemed zealot of darkness, to you we shall offer another fate."
"I am here only to serve your will, powerful shade, I swear to it that I never allied myself with her," Durag said respectfully, though the hairs on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably.
"You misunderstand me, human," the demon king nearly chuckled in bemusement, "To you, our liberator, we will grant one wish that is in our power, as well as this," here the towering blackness bent, his invisible knees sweeping low to the floor as from out of the darkness there floated a small, gleaming object. The shadow's freezing touch passed briefly over the bowing Necromancer's shoulders, and continued down to his feet, finally receding away as Lithinthuar looked up confusedly. He was, to his senses, completely rested, his body had been cured of every burn, cut, scratch, gash and pain he had suffered on the long trek to the fallen tower, and, upon inspection of his newly rejuvenated limbs, the magician soon found that he was also suited entirely in a sinister golden armor. The helmet, more of a braced crown than anything, light and fitted perfectly, had the weight and comfort of silk, but the durability of imbued diamonds and tempered steel, his arms up to his elbows were covered in the same sort of ultra light, flexible gauntlet, the knuckles crowned dangerously with razor-sharp claws to enhance even his hand-to-hand abilities, which were lacking. The plate mail that protected his chest down his arms and past his hips had arcane and devilish designs etched across its smooth surface, and the belt that held the midsection was of a heavy, durable leather, as thick as it was flexible. Finally, the Necromancer saw, his battle-damaged and bloody Kris had been repaired and sheathed in favor of a short but solidly made tasseled wand, the short staff intersecting the terrifying demon-skull of a vanquished pit lord, and no doubt containing invaluable black magic, indeed, the sorcerer felt the power and magic coursing through his veins as it had never before, and his knowledge seemed tripled along with his strength and endurance.
"My lord," he uttered humbly, bowing low to the demon as he struggled to find words of thanks fir for such a kingly gift and overwhelming generosity.
"Now, my dear sorcerer," came another voice from the multitude of wraiths, "Pray tell us what one wish we may grant you in final payment for our freedom, so that we may continue with the ... punishment ... of this unfortunate woman."
The Necromancer had been thinking about that one since the Lord Fear had mentioned it, and he had reached a decision. He smiled mysteriously, causing two of the nearer creatures to cast each other curious gazes.
"I have just the thing to ask, my lords," he said, "and you won't even have to go out of your way to grant my wish ..."