Mick lowered his head in despair as the fighting continued to escalate around him. He thought that the death of Zamarock would have ended the fighting. It turned out that the lord of evil had been correct after all when he had said that his death would not be the end of the fighting. Unless...Zamarock had not really been killed. The Duke of Lumbridge had warned him that Zamarock would take many forms - and yet he hadn't seen any sign of any of Zamrock's other forms.
He shook his head and rushed towards the nearest enemy - thinking would do no good at the moment: there was still a battle to be won. His scimitar was a blurr as he hacked apart enemy after enemy. He lost himself in the battle: surrendering to the bloodlust that had been threatening to overtake him the entire time. It was only a matter of hours before the battle was over - the white knights and adventurers finally prevailing after a long, hard-fought battle.
Seeing that the last of their enemies had been defeated, Mick wiped his scimitar clean on the grass and sheathed it - glad that the horrible ordeal was over. He looked over to make sure that Glenn and Richard were alright. He was glad when he saw that they were alright. Their armour was a little battered from the repeated blows that they had sustained during the battle. He immediately headed over towards them, unable to resist letting a smile show on his face.
"Looks like we did it," said Glenn, smiling as he sheathed his rune scimitar. "I didn't think that we'd be able to get it done that quickly but it looks like I was wrong."
"It was indeed a lot simpler than I thought it would be," Richard confirmed. "But I don't think that this is over quite just yet."
"It isn't over just yet," agreed Mick. "I don't know exactly what happened to Zamarock but I certainly know that he isn't dead just yet. This whole ordeal won't be over until he's dead." He turned his gaze towards the city of Varrock and his jaw dropped when he saw that the city of Varrock was in flames! He quickly unsheathed his scimitar and began running towards the city, gripping his scimitar tightly and making sure that his shield was strapped firmly to his arm. He couldn't afford to lose any of his equipment at a critical moment like this.
Glenn and Richard followed Mick's lead, with the rest of the adventurers and the white knights trailing behind them, anger filling their every feature as they saw what Zamarock had done to their beloeved city. It was enough to drive any patron to the point of madness - enciting an unimaginable anger towards whoever it was that caused this havoc. Even though the walls were made of stone they were still burning with bright red flames which could only mean one thing: the fires were the result of some sort of twisted magic.
When Mick entered the city he nearly dropped his scimitar in astonishment. The fountain in the centre of the city wa sno longer spewing out crystal-clear water but was instead spewing out the same viscous green liquid that he had seen down in the sewers. He knew that the substance was largely responsible for turning the hostages that the Moss gaints had taken into zombies. Hopefully the substance hadn't been able to extend its influence as far as the rest of the city yet otherwise he and his allies would have a very pain-staking task ahead of them: to kill all the citizens of Varrock that had turned into zombies.
He slowed his run down to a walk as he approached the fountain. He was glad to see that the castle guards had closed the main gates, blocking the one and only entrance towards the castle. Mick came to a stop as he reached the fountain, fingering his scimitar lightly, ready for action. The area was too quiet - the entire situation didn't seem right. If the city was on fire then logically the citizens would be panicking and the first place where they would logically turn for refuge is the castle. As these thoughts were running through his head Glenn and Richard caught up to him. He could tell they were just as puzzled as he was by the expressions on their faces and the way they lowered their shields and scimitars.
"Raise your shields! It's an ambush!" yelled Mick just as an arrow pierced the air and bounced off his armour. He looked down at the arrow. It had an adamant head, which could only mean that there were expert archers placed around the place. "Form a circle and raise your shields!" The white knights and adventurers that had rushed in reacted quickly, raising their shields and forming a circle just as Mick had instructed. They had completed the maneouvre just in time. As soon as they had finished forming the circle a hail or arrows suddenly shot towards them from the direction of the town entrance.
Mick was filled with anticipation as he heard arrow after arrow bounce off his runite kite shield. How much longer would this rain of arrows last? Since his attackers had been able to sustain their attack for so long he suspected that they had raided the arrow shop. There was after all, no other source of arrows in the entire kingdom of Asgardia - unless they had been able to fletch their own which nobody knew how to do save the owner of the arrow shop. When he felt the rain of arrows finally stop he lowered his shield and looked around - waiting for their attackers to show themselves.
It was only a matter of seconds before their attackers revealed themselves - surging forward from all directions in overwhelming numbers. There were all sorts of vile creatures all around them - ghouls, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, and other mutated monstrosities that Mick couldn't give a name to. "Break the circle!" Mick quickly stepped out of the circle and moved to engage the nearest creature, slashing with his scimitar. He ran up to the nearest zombie, slicing with his scimitar and decaptitating it in one slice before turning around and be-heading another zombie that had tried to creep up behind him.
Mick kept his attacks fluid and simple, moving from one attack right into the next one. Everything was a blurr around him as he surrendered himself to the bloodlust of the battle once again. It was moments like this that he lived for - when the adrenaline was pumping through his veins and every move he made was made with confidence and power. If he could keep himself in this state forever he would - it was a warrior's state of bliss. He was vaguely aware of his allies fighting around him - all surrendering themselves to the battle and worrying about nothing else. Bearing that thought in mind he suddenly stopped himself and ducked to avoid the axe of a nearby zombie before charging forward with his shield: barrelling straight into it and sending it flying backwards into ihis other attackers.
Now that he had a few seconds Mick thought about the situation. It didn't seem correct that Zamarock would just wish to overhwlem him and his allies with just sheer brute force - he had to have somethign else up his sleeve and furthermore he had to be somewhere on the battlefield. Zamarock might hnot have been foolish but if there was noe thing that Mick understood about him it was that he also enjoyed being in battle. Mick took a step back and looked for anything that could resemble Zamarock. While he was busy speculating he suddenly felt a mysterious force hit him from behind and knock him over.
He groaned and rolled over. The force that had knocked him over had packed more of a punch than he had realized. He felt winded. He looked up to see who his assailant was and was surprised to find what looked like another adventurer in red armour standing over him. The scimitar that they were holding was also red and had a black handle. The blade itself had a few ragged edges but he could tell by the look of the weapons and armour that they were a very formidable set of equipment. The helmet had two white horns on it and the shield had a picture of a red dragon painted on it.
"You really thought that you could kill me, the mighty Zamarock?" laughed the figure, twirling his scimitar around idly. Mick sucked in his breath as he saw Glenn come up Behind Zamarock and swing his scimitar with all his might. Zamarock just stood there and let his armour absorb the blow. Mick watched in astonishment as the rune blade shattered into a thousand pieces as it impacted with the mysterious red armour. The shards bounched harmlessly of Zamarock, but the shards that flew back towards Glenn penertrated his armour and cut him, sending him staggering backwards before he finally fell over, his hand still clutching tightly the remains of his rune scimitar.
"NO!" cried Mick, suddenly jumping up and charging towards Zamarock. Zamarock turned to face Mick, a smirk on his face as he drew back his red scimitar ready to attack Mick. Mick raised his own scimitar and as the two blades clashed he watched in horror as his rune scimitar was cut in half. Furious, Mick threw away the useless remains of his scimitar and prepared for the worst.
"So this is how it ends," smirked Zamarock. "In the centre of the very city that you were trying to save. And the worst part is that you don't even know what happened to all the citizens." Zamarock waved his hand and suddenly the castle gate opened. Mick watched in dismay as he saw a fresh wave of zombies suddenly advance on what was left of his team of attackers.
Grant me strength Saradomin, thought Mick as Zamarock drew his scimitar back for the killing blow. Nothing that he currenlty possessed had the power to block the force of such a terrible weapon. The red weapons and armour were unlike anything that he had ever come across before. He replaced his thoughts with a quick prayer as he prepared to face the blow. Grant me strength.
As Zamarock began swinging his scimitar forward Mick felt time slow around him. He looked up towards the heavens and felt a bolt of lightning hit him, energizing him and filling him with strength. A cursory glance at his armour showed that it now had a white trim around it and on his breastplate was a white star - the symbol of Saradomin. Grinning, he ducked under Zamarock's blow and lashed out with a punch, hitting the surprised Zamarock right in the face: the only part where his armour didn't protect him. While Zamarock was still shocked he quickly snatched his scimitar out of his hands and slashed, decapitating the evil god in a single blow.
Mick watched in wonder as Zamarock's body disappeared and all that was left of the evil god's body was his armour. He tensed as the same familiar red wisp dissipated into the air, the same as what had happened the first time he had killed him. Curious, Mick stepped forward and slashed at the red wisp, watching in fascination as it suddenly disappeared. He quickly looked over at the fountain and was surprised to find that the fountain colour had returned to normal and that the zombies, ghouls, ghosts and werewolves were no longer attacking. They were instead standing still as though they were in a trance.
Within moments the creatures had returned to their normal state - citizens of Varrock that had no idea what had just happened to them. They all had puzzled looks on their faces as they took in the area around them - they were surrounded by white knights and adventurers and there were dead bodies littered all over the area. Mick knew that there was a lot of explaining to do but at least they had finally managed to defeat the threat that had been plaguing them. But at what cost? He sheathed his new scimitar and walked over towards Glenn's body. He fell to his knees in front of Glenn's body and he felt tears beginning to form in his eyes.
The price for victory had been heavy. He looked all around him and he could see numerous bodies of white knights and adventurers all over the place. They had finally overthrown the evil god Zamarock but in doing so they had lost the lives of many brave knights and adventurers. He had managed to form a bond with Glenn and Richard in the short amount of time that they had adventured together and he felt largely responsible for Glenns' death. After all, if he had acted sooner than perhaps Glenn would still be alive and he would be the one dead. He would have much preferred that than seeing his friend die.
"There was nothing you could do," said Richard as he came up behind Mick and rested a hand on his shoulder. "His sacrifice and the sacrifice of others will not be forgotten. We will build a memorial for them so that nobody will ever forget this tragedy and the sacrifices that had to be made to rectify it." Mick nodded and slowly rose from where he had been kneeling and prayed a silent prayer for Glenn's soul.
"What is going on here?" demanded King Roald.
"Your majesty," said Mick, turning around and bowing slightly. "We have a lot of explaining to do."
"And so to commend the bravery of you and the others that assisted you I bestow upon you all the status of Hero and present you with the medal of valor that is greatly prized among our people," declared King Roald. "I will also honour your request to build a memorial for those who were lost in this horrible ordeal."
"Thank you your majesty," said Mick, bowing humbly. "Should you ever need our help again you can summon us and we will come to your aid."
"I have a special title to give to you Mick," said King Roald. "I hereby dub you a Knight of Saradomin, the first of many if all goes well. Will you be willing to train others to assist Varrock in its time of need?"
"That is something that I will leave up to Saradomin," replied Mick. "I am a simple adventurer." With that, Mick got up and walked out of the castle, not even bothering to look back. He was back to where he had started before this entire ordeal had started. Alone. Adventuring. Wandering. Just the way he liked it.