"You want your stick?" Warrick spun the staff around him, "Come and get it!"
The dragon circled around and dove at him. Summoning a Shadow Bolt with his left hand, he felt his palm tingle with the power – amplified by the staff. He grinned and sent it barreling towards the Dragon Lord.
It hit him on the right shoulder, singeing a good portion of it, but failed to stop the dragon's deadly dive. Warrick grasped the staff with his hand and dove to the right, barely missing Nefarian's massive claws as he landed on the tower.
I need that last Soul Shard!
Looking around the rooftop, Warrick failed to see the Priest anywhere. Probably fallen to his death from Nefarian's tail… The Warlock eyed the dragon's tail warily. It was the same as on the base of his staff – though much more deadly.
Desperately looking around for a living enemy, his eyes settled on an injured Acolyte. A dangerous thought played in his mind.
I couldn't…
You could.
Reaching out, he felt for the tenuous strand of life in the Undead and pulled, the heavens opening as he did, drenching the rooftop in a torrent of rain. The Acolyte started screaming.
Taking her eyes off the dragon for a moment Bala caught sight of a green flash from the corner of her eye. A scarlet-robed figure was siphoning the soul of an Acolyte through the rain. Garrimar?
She'd suspected the cheerful old corpse could be treacherous, but kill one of his own? Blinking rain from her eyes she realised with a jolt that the figure was Warrick. The twisted smile on his face was sickening as the Undead soldier twisted and thrashed on the ground like a worm.
He mustn't be able to see.
Bala, dodging a ball of fire from the Dragon Lord by a leapt and roll to the right, bounded across the rooftop towards him.
"Warrick! That's an Acolyte!"
"I know." He said in a low voice. He looked at her, his eyes shimmering a purple hue; this wasn't him.
"Stop. Now."
The Warlock paid no attention to her. The dragon landed once more on the rooftop; causing it to sag even more and snarled.
"Are you ready to die, insects?"
Garrimar sent a flurry of lightning towards it, the bolts barely bouncing off his scales. Warrick turned back to the Acolyte, twisting his hand deeper.
I must have that Stone!!!
As the giant dragon raised his tale high into the air, Bala did the first thing that came to mind; turning his head she kissed the Warlock.
The tie instantly severed from the Acolyte and he stepped back. Nefarian's tail came down like a club, skewering the Acolyte with its spines and sending him flying through the air.
Now it was only Garrimar, Warrick and Bala against the Lord of Blackrock… and the odds weren't in their favour.
How long had it been since she had kissed him? Warrick's thoughts were scattered to the monsoonal winds as her tongue rediscovered his mouth. He remembered their first kiss – the night they had met – the ritual… the spell.
"Warrick! Bala!"
Garrimar's voice cut through the howling of the storm as he continued to shoot Shadow Bolts at the dragon's thick hide. Opening her eyes, Bala saw Nefarian's tail reflected in the lightning. She pushed Warrick towards the trapdoor and leapt.
Looking up slowly, Warrick realised dimly that Bala had cast a spell on him. He struggled to get up, the world moving too fast for him to keep up.
Whistling through the air, the dragons tail snapped back through the rain and hit Bala squarely in the chest, winding her. She rolled across the rooftop limply and landed on her back next to Warrick.
"You bitch. You spelled me." He slurred.
"How else could I stop you from siphoning the soul of that Undead?" She grinned and wheezed back.
Without warning; Nefarian's tail dropped from the storm clouds, slamming into the rooftop – and something else – with a sick thud. Garrimar rolled under the dragon and struck at it with his staff, the blows weakening the leg and the dragon reared – taking flight again.
The Undead Warlock spun,
"Bala! Oh dear…"
Vision still blurry from the spell Bala had cast on him, Warrick blinked hard and crawled to her. She coughed,
"Cheeky… bastard."
Warrick looked down, his mind beginning to clear as he noticed the puddle he was knelt in. He lifted his hand, seeing that it was blood. He pool on the ground spread rapidly, leaking from the punctures Nefarians tail had left on Bala's chest and shoulders. Warrick felt the tie between them fray. She was pale, her eyelids fluttering.
"Make… the Stone." She whispered.
"With what?"
Where is that Priest when you need him?
Make the Stone. Use her!
"Me…" She trailed off, her form fading.
Use her NOW before she dies!
"Bala!" Reaching out a hand, Warrick felt the stone rooftop. She'd gone.