Hello All!

I have not written anything in quite some time. Before anyone heckles me about the discontinued stories from years ago, let it be said that I am a busy person with two jobs, still in University, and am more active in life now. This was a bit of a spur, but I have been wanting to do this story for a while. The rest of them can wait or I might make announcements in the future regarding them.

That is besides the point though. I have something new for you all!

This story is inspired by the idea of a non-cardinal hero being sent to the same world. I always enjoyed a second perspective story of heroes who are not dubbed the true warriors by the populace, mainly due to a lack of intrigue or plot power. There are elements of Wizard of the Coast 5th edition magic systems and classes within the story, but do not take it with full seriousness. The point is to set up a differing system of magic from the world of Rising of the Shield Hero.

There will also be spells within Draconic Language, so a key is at the bottom of the story in case you are curious of the name, or if you want to quiz yourself on which spell is being used based on the descriptions I use. I hope you enjoy it.

This story is based upon an idea that I have had for some time, but never got around to it. Summary below:

Heroism is not a test. It is not the act of defeating foes in the pursuit of coin, nor of gaining more for one's self. Heroism cannot be formed by a contract. It is action in the name of good, in the name of protection. To serve the innocent, and to slay the heretic. Heroes will always be found within society, working from the shadows while the false defenders lay claim to the spoils of their victory. It is only when the heroes are gone, that the people truly realize who they are left with, and what they have lost.

Update: I changed all the spells, and gave their English names alongside the Draconic casting names to make it easier. Full description of spells is also at the bottom of the chapter.

Warnings: DND Elements, Slight Gore, Realistic Depiction of Death and Torture, Language, and Blood.

"Draconic Spells (Spells in English Translation)"

"Conversation/Speech"

'Thoughts/Internal Dialogue'

Chapter 0: A Tale of Heroism (Prologue)

To say chaos overtook the lands would be putting the situation lightly.

Fire burned into the dusk sky, billowing up into the Sun's rays and blocking what gentle tides may have come from it. The air grew thicker and darker as black soot overtook what was a better day. It became hard to breathe, as soldiers sucked in the fumes, desperate for the embrace of oxygen into their lungs. Screams echoed through the air as corpses hit the ground, falling into muddied floors and swallowing them whole.

Arrows soared through the sky, falling like hail unto the masses of approaching forces. Even as second and third volleys strike the crowd of bodies, it does little to impede their movement. The unfeeling waves of bodies slog towards the towering walls that separate them from their prey.

Banners flew high into the air, emblazoned with symbols of skulls and ice, for the dauntless army of darkness to hasten their move towards the walls. Their bones creaked and cracked as they shifted within their ranks, hoisting up shields, spears, and swords into a makeshift phalanx to guard from the continuous rain of arrows their defenders sunk into them. They grunted out as more orders came, marching in step and obeying the wishes of their masters.

Following behind the front formations came battalions of undead archers, their arms barely held together with a patchwork of decaying and cold flesh, their faces deformed and hollow, and their frames built up of men who had not seen food in weeks. It mattered little to the forces that controlled them, pushing these puppets of wretchedness to take aim. Line by line, the undead archers stretched their bows, seeking targets high on the walls.

A crack of a staff onto the floor, an order from a robed individual, and a rasp of a voice, the air became dark with rotted wood and rusted metal. Barely fletched arrows flew towards the defenses, sinking into stone, leather armor, and flesh. Howls of pain came to those who had not the time to hide, more corpses either falling back behind the walls or being flung forward into the mud of the moats surrounding the castle. Those of luck, shaken and morale waning, stood from behind their defenses on the walls, prepared to let loose more shots in an attempt to counter the damage to their own numbers.

As the frontlines of the undead horde grew closer, more was revealed to their opponents. Five robed individuals stood on moving platforms, wrapped in circles of candles and protective energies. Sigils grew around them, purple and red, before fading to acidic greens and blacks. Directing their magics, they threw these incantations onto the nearest corpses, be it animated or freshly dead.

Flesh, bone, and muscle meshed together from dozens of corpses, forming into golems of nightmares. The faces of horror stitched together into a grimace of self disgust, wrapped with multiple appendages onto their engorged torsos. Five of these mindless golems looked around, confused as to their own existence. It took merely a pointed finger from the robed figures towards the walls. The golems then understood the objective.

At the far back of the battlefield, a large figure watched with little concern, eyeing his forces that slowly advanced. He played absentmindedly with the pommel of a rather large mace which was covered in scrimshaw depicting dark magics and undead forces. Icy sigils wrapped the handle, giving an aura of chill and danger from just the weapon itself.

The figure sat upon a throne, a pile of bodies slowly dragging him towards the uninteresting battle. A small huff escaped the lips, the cold air catching the breath as it exited. The figure felt guaranteed in this victory. Their opponent had a lack of proper defenses, no artillery, small supplies, and a dwindled army from previous losses. The fact that they had run back to the corner of their kingdom, to this little castle on the edge of the plains, sealed within their mind the desperation of the men hiding inside.

The flapping of his flags upon the mobile throne told him of the winds shifting in his favor. The battle was over once the walls were breached. It was a shame to ruin such old pieces of history, but was necessary. The pathway to the petite keep made it hard to bring larger siege weapons, winding through mountainous roads and finally ending off within the valley where it lay. No catapults could pass through, nor towers, so he was forced to use brute force to tear them upon. Yes, quite a shame. Those walls had stood the test of time under many nations, but would have to fall today to usher in a new one.

The blame was only on those foolish enough to hide within.

And so the figure continued forward, his hand still on the pommel of his weapon, and a sea of skeletons taking him to his conquest.

"Prepare to Fire! Aim for the giant ones!"

Arrows launched from the walls, dozens at a time flung into flesh and decaying bodies. The massive husks of what could be several men seemed unaffected by the damage. As an opposing effect, they charged forward even faster into the walls, rushing onto all fours like that of mad beasts. Muscles bulged and stretched, snapping and bone crunching within as more arrows hit true.

The soldiers on the walls shook in fear as their attacks did nothing. Several began to stumble back, readying to flee. The commander upon the gate looked at the waning confidence of his men, gritting his teeth in frustration. "Men, do not be broken by this! Focus fire on their arms, slow them as much as you can. Try to focus fire on one at a t-"

"You are shooting at the wrong target." A soft voice brought forward.

The commander froze at the words, swinging around to the voice. His anger and upset was however cut off when he saw the silhouette. Two arrows pulled back on the same string. A bow white as polished ivory, hummed with power. Simple in looks, but the energy pulsed from within as it was bent back with immense pressure, not buckling from the user's strength. A ring wrapped around the boots of the stranger, yellow hues shooting up around their dark leather clothing.

Narrowed in focus, eyes trailing over two targets. They pulled back just a bit more, shifting a foot back as their arrows glowed with a lavender shine. "Gotcha." An echoing force ripped through the air, startling soldiers around the walls from the sheer volume. Two beams of power shot through the air, twirling around each other before splitting off into two directions.

The robed figures, so focused on their incantations, didn't detect the disturbance of magic until it was too late. With a jolt, both looked up from their sigils around the same time. A glowing projectile struck the barriers around their platforms, shattering them. Both moved to teleport away, only one fast enough to speak the phrase. The other was seared through the heart, white magic cracking around the point of impact before they exploded into nothing but their robe and ash.

The other warped but a few meters from the platform, only to blanch when the projectile bent at an angle, singing through the air once more right in their direction. Their mind went blank for a pause as the arrow struck their chest, before their thoughts were only filled with agony. Their fate followed their accomplice, exploding out into ash and leaving behind another robe onto the floors of the broken plains.

The stranger brought their bow to their side, nodding to their work as they looked upon the battlefield. 'I did my half of part 1, now you guys finish the other ones.'

The remaining three robed figures froze in their incantations, turning to the now shouldering piles of what used to be two powerful casters. They were given no reprieve, as a door appeared behind the centermost's platform, shining like a beacon and blinding the figures who dared shy away from the light. Distilled in the air, ornate in design, as if carved from magic. The centermost robed figure was first to act, moving his hands accordingly and letting loose a bolt of cracking energy from the tips of his fingers.

"Itpro Bluthel (Lightning Bolt)!" It blasted toward the glowing door, dancing through the air as it neared the target. The door swung open, revealing a massive shield that planted itself firmly in the path of the lightning. The azure energy struck into the center of the imposed barrier, but even with all it's power, could not travel through. Within moments, the lightning dissipated, snuffed out by the guard of lay behind the door.

The shielded form jumped from the doorway, launching right towards the robed individual. Before they could utter more words, an armored hand smashed through the defensive barrier like it were glass, wrapping polished digits around the neck of the robed man and cutting off the utterance of more magic. The figure tried to break away from the grip of the much larger individual but to no avail. In response, the grip tightened, the sensation of shifting spinal disks around the neck signaling terror and pain.

The two other robed figures harnessed their magics, charging their own powers and muttering their incantations as quickly as they could. New sigils appeared in the air, one of dark green, the other of purples and reds. "Vers Airem (Disintegrate)!" "Uvelucal Buatleb (Vitriolic Sphere)!" From one side, a blast of putrid green shot through the air towards the center platform, sizzling ooze swirling around itself. On the other, a beam of pure energy shot through the air, straight and true towards the massive set of armor that imposed itself onto the battlefield.

In response to this, the armored man twisted around, muttering under their breath with simple spellwork as they moved their shield hand around in rapid action. First to strike was the ever growing ball of ooze that flew towards him. Swinging his arm up, he exposed the back of the robed individual to the ball, and tucked behind as much as he could. The ball exploded out, impacting the soft layers of the robed figure. Acid belched out from the ooze, spraying both undead and necromancer alike. Said necromancer's eyes widened, unable to do anything as they felt the liquid grace them. The back of their robes were quickly destroyed, leaving skin, then muscle, then bone to be wasted away by the potent acid that ate its way into the makeshift shield. The robed figure used what little oxygen they had to scream from the torturous pain, before becoming silent. The armored individual wasted no time, finishing their phrasing in the last moment to thrust a hand right towards the beam of indigo and crimson magic flying toward them. "Mekihl Buatleb (Resilient Sphere)" A deep monotone voice echoed through the air as a bubble formed around their body, white magic encompassing them just as the beam struck.

The two forms of magic were immediately contesting power, with the beam smashing with force into the defensive shell around the armored man. The toxic magic began to press harder, buckling the defense ever so slightly, before cracks began to form in the shell. Just as the last of the attack launched into the shell, a shatter broke around the platform the armored figure stood upon. With a toss, they disposed of the now dead necromancer, seemingly undamaged by the levied attacks. The glow of the magic door enveloped him with light, invoking a sense of intervention from something greater.

It was not well enjoyed by the opposition.

The remaining necromancers snarled in disdain, one preparing to make more incantations while the other pointed towards the armored man. "Kill him!" The raspy voice bounced through the minds of the undead horde, who all turned their blades and weapons towards the imposing form of the knight. Said knight looked upon the army, mind processing the next course of action.

"Dos Di Inhelk (Wall of Stone)!" Echoing out from the still open doorway came a gravelly voice, forcing the two necromancers still alive to assess the newest opponent. The incantation struck through the air as magic ripped from the ground barriers of stone. Wrapping one side of the battle field, half of the approaching undead forces were now cut off from a rapid advance, and trapped in said spellcaster, around their mobile platform.

The entrapped spellcaster went for an incantation of vicious magic, but no sooner that they began, were they stopped. The glyphs that were to dance in the air died around them, falling to the ground as the words "Wolius Tija (Counterspell)!" were uttered from the newest hero's lips.

On the opposite side, the spellcaster went to cast a long range escape spell, preparing his incantations. No sooner that he did so, he felt a tug upon his stomach, trying to grip around his insides and pull him forward towards the armored figure. He fought as much as he could, but eventually, his withered body was forced to relent. Just as his body gave, he was flashed right in front of the armored knight, who's tall form overshadowed the nasty and shriveled robes of the man within. Sharp thoughts rang in their mind at their position. The necromancer's hand coated itself with an arcing blue energy, cackling with power. The blue hue around his hand shot right towards the chest of the armored knight.

The hand was caught mid air by a shielded arm, which took up the attack with little damage to the user. The spellcaster, fearing the worst, did a rapid warp spell and moved to escape as quickly as he could. "Bakmada Dost (Misty Step)" took effect, carrying him several meters away from the knight, behind the formations of several skeleton ranks. "Kill him!" The necromancer bit out to nearby undead, who moved to obey their master's order.

"Nessmotva Zhen (Kinetic Jaunt)!" The armored knight dashed from the platform, charging right for the necromancer with little abandon. Arrows flew from undead quick enough to draw their bows, but little hit their marks. Those that did faced thick armor that emanated abjuring magic, a shield as tall as the hero himself, and even then a subtle barrier that blocked attacks to chinks in the defense. Weaving through hordes of undead, who attempted to swing as he passed to no avail.

The spellcaster thought of his options, and began wrapping himself in magic, his hands dancing as he began to utter his incantations. The massive knight grew close, and he didn't have time to pull a golem all the way here. The massive piles of flesh that they were were too close to the wall and his platform was to be abandoned. Not good. "Morne Kovgam (Heat Metal)!" The necromancer bit out, watching with sick satisfaction as the armor of the hero began turning red, steaming up from the pure heat as it warmed to a fiery orange while still upon the hero.

To his horror, however, the hero continued charging, and before he could utter a spell to escape, a glowing hot, metal hand vibrated through the air, positioned high in the sky over his head. With not enough reflex time for anything else, he went for a rapid "Oidot (Shield)!", which ripped from his lips as the fist descended down. A blue-colored barrier wrapped around him, shielding his feeble form from the heavy, hot strike going for his head. A crack smashed through the atmosphere, busting through the barrier like nothing and descending onto an almost soft skull. The force of the blow knocked the spellcaster to the floor, their head bleeding and their body collapsing from the pressure exerted.

It was not over though, as the knight proceeded to keep smashing his massive fist into the corpse to be, even as the red hot heat slowly left his armor from the no longer maintained spell cast upon it. Even as skeletons and undead made strikes upon his shield and defenses. Nothing stopped the hero until the necromancer was but paste on the floor, their head akin to a smashed assortment of fruits, teeth, and jelly.

"Docargarmth (Fireball)!" Hearing this phrase, the knight quickly set his shield for defense, and no sooner did a blast of heat envelop his body, ripping apart any undead that attempted to injure him during his task of pest removal. The fire spread around into a circle on the battlefield, leaving little but dried bone and crisp skin as remnants from the decomposing corpses that once stood.

"You almost hit me, Zy Yeal."

"And that man was probably dead after the fourth hit, but you kept going, Tsairaah."

The knight huffed at the floating figure now not a few steps from him. "I have asked that you call me my name, yet you continue to refuse such requests."

"Your name is just an occupation. Tsairaah is more fitting for you." The age could be heard within the voice of the older gentleman, who wrapped himself and his compatriot in a barrier of force magic just as a sea of arrows attempted to strike at their location. The arrows merely bounced off the arisen defense, with more undead also trying to get inside and avenge their masters with swords and spears. The knight, Tsairaah as he is called, crossed his shielded arm overtop of his punching hand, looking around at their handiwork.

"You finished off the other one, correct?" Zy Yeal huffed at the question.

"Do you not trust me to complete such a simple task? Of course I did! That necromancer was a second rate caster with a fourth rate list of spells." The one dubbed Tsairaah merely nodded.

"Good. With them out of the way, the golems are mindless. They can't complete actions like attacking the walls without orders." The knight looked to the five golems worryingly close to the walls, who were now looking around confused and directionless. "Even I would have had a hard time defeating them."

"Which is why we took care of the necromancers before they wizened up and fell back." Zy Yeal looked to the upper levels of the walls, nodding to an individual who was now aiding the other archers in taking care of their opponent's ranged forces. "Even without the necromancers leading them, the army will still be driven with the purpose of killing everyone inside. We got lucky with the golem situation, as they are truly mindless. All brawn and no brain. But, moving forward: the next course of action ought to be an allocation of tasks. With Lyell aiding the defense, we can trust him to keep anyone away from the gates with battering rams or explosives if they have them. I will begin offering overall coverage of damage with incantations, and possibly slow down their advances. Tsairaah, we will need you to hunt any remaining caster within the ranks, for should there be one, they may attempt to... are you even listening?"

"I think your ally's attention is on a more pressing matter." Smooth words shook through the magic barrier, a rush of icy air passing alongside them and washing over the two heroes within. The mood shifted instantly, the pressure in the air growing from just the single statement. The armored knight stomped upon the ground in haste, his armor shifting once more and letting out puffs of steam. A new barrier wrapped around their form as they moved in front of the spellcaster, facing down the reason for this battle.

Said opponent tilted their head, gazing upon the corpses of his necromancers and his idle golems. "I was growing quite bored of this battle. The walls would be breached and everyone inside, dead...That is until you showed up." They stepped forward, the mass of undead bodies around them parting around their form. Waltzing towards the barrier, steps slow and steady upon the muddied grass. The ground froze over with each step they took, icicles forming upon the surface and hardening the soft soil below their gentle stomps. Moving in on their prey. "The strongest warriors were killed in the previous battle, so I felt there was no competition here for me. I am glad to be wrong." The figure seemed to smile behind the visage of their helm, jagged and rough. "Especially considering the fact that it's you... Baron Architect."

Architect observed the tyrant before him. His armor was harsh and spiked, cascading down his body like black ice. His arms and pauldrons shone with magic, pulsating with dark intent. The figure of the dangerous man continued towards the barrier, slowly his step as he neared the edge. "I won't let you destroy this keep, Rastokal. Nor the people within." Architect commanded, prepping their shield in front of their body, sizing up a long time adversary once again. "Your reign as Lich will end here. You have no remaining casters. No undead giants, no siege beasts, no death fiends. Only yourself and simple undead soldiers." Behind the armored form of the shielded hero, Zy Yeal continued to mutter, his hands shifting through symbols and a glow building under his own robes.

Rastokal stood at the edge of the barrier, looking upon it with mild amusement. "You are right. I only have these simple fodder to aid me... but like you said. I have myself." With a swing from their back, a massive mace made its presence known upon the battlefield, smashing into the ground with force and kicking up blood and grime, locking it in place as it was distilled in the air with the power of chilling magic. "And that is all I will need to finally kill you." He heaved his deathly weapon above his shoulder, prepping for strike.

"But first...let's remove any obstacles." With not but a whisper, Rastokal was gone. Architect's lenses widened behind his helm.

Zy Yeal felt the shift, but was not fast enough. As quickly as he could, a barrier sprung to life at his side, barely blocking the strike of frozen steel into his frame. It did not last long however, as the barrier broke apart from the power behind the blow. The swing carved into his body, cracking through bone and freezing over flesh. He was sent cascading through the air, all of his previous magics falling to nothing as he was launched to the floor several meters away.

Architect felt the barrier around him and his ally go down, and sprang into action. "Serth (Haste)!" He yelled out, a glow surrounding his form. His steps grew faster, his body bounding forward in intensity towards his opponent.

'Heimerfell, heal Zy Yeal.' He spoke within his mind. With a twist of his shield arm, a panel within the back of his armor opens up. Coming out from his back plate looked to be a slightly round orb, with several mechanical tendrils hanging upon it. In its center is a ruby eye, glistening with the shine of life and knowledge. The little machine dove off of Architect's armor, making a move towards the downed spellcaster.

Rastokal saw this, and merely raised a hand towards the offending machine servant. "Soldiers, kill the-" Explosions ripped through the air, billowing even more smoke into the air and tearing through dozens of living corpses in a flash. Just after, more volleys seemed to finally fall upon his forces from the walls, scattering into the ranks and killing dozens at a time from the timed attacks.

The Lich looked to the castle's walls once more, eyes narrowed behind his helm. Several arrows attempted to pierce into him, but didn't bother him in the slightest, breaking away or sizzling into ash upon contact. Instead, he saw within the lines of bowmen a single figure clad in dark leathers, a glow emanating from his form atop the keep gate. Several more glowing arrows left this figure, soaring through the skies before plunging into his undead horde and exploding in every which direction.

A kick of the breeze moved in the air.

Rastokal swung around just in time to catch a heavy strike with his mace, blocking a powerful blow that stood to press their his own strength. The Lich glared at the Baron Architect, disdain written into his features. He swung out, hoping to knock his opponent from his feet, but with the added magic on the knight's armor, he ducked away, immediately shifting to an uppercut from below. The hit sunk into the helm of the undead king, knocking it askew. Architect wasn't finished though. He continued his assault, dodging any counterattacks, blocking heavy blows with his shield, and stepping closer into Rastokal's guard. It was due to his experience killing massive undead followers of said tyrant, that he knew how to deal with larger opponents.

Raskokal blinked away from the continued onslaught, appearing away from the armored Baron. With a huff, he adjusted his helm once more, cracking his neck in the process and he straightened bent metal with his hand. "You got stronger since the last time I killed you."

"You cannot kill me, Lich." Architect's armor glowed a brilliant viridian, shifting up to reveal the underbelly of his armor, before rotating back into its proper place. "You can break my body down into bits and pieces, rip my head from its shoulders, even freeze me solid. So long as my mind stays intact, a new form will be my vassal, and my spirit will not wane." Architect began to press forward once more, heavy impacts of his armor crunching anything below them as they moved towards the tyrant king.

Rastokal laughed a sickening sound, swinging his mace every which way before blinking forward towards the Baron. "Then I'll just have to destroy every piece of you, kingdom and all!" The two clashed once more, fist colliding with mace, armor pressing against one another. Ice forming and being quickly washed away by thunderous impacts. Blows from the mace crunched into thick armor, denting and glazing it in frost. Punches were given every bit of strength and wit, knocking through strengthened bone and tearing through preserved flesh.

Fires lit around them, fletched arrows shooting through the sky from both sides as the hordes around them seemed to leave the two leaders to face one another. Explosions from powerful arrows reduced corpses to ash, followed by soldiers on the walls letting off more volleys as they were shot upon by their less accurate opponents. The air was filled with rot, muck, and iron. Soot coated armor, and blood spilled from wounds.

On the floors of the battle, Heimerfell moved towards the downed form of an ally, hovering just above them. The spellcaster was bleeding from the head, their clothes rumpled and caked in . The orb-like body of the homunculus servant opened up, revealing what looked to be a token with a gear-like symbol upon the metal exterior. This token was like that of a coin, with ten teeth forming around the ring of the gear's body. Slowly spinning upon the token, ten little beads seemed to give off a golden light, locked between each tooth of the token.

The servant, Heimerfell, pressed the token to the downed form of Zy Yeal, "Seisu Ezouke (Cure Wounds)" whispered out in the voice of Architect from the object. The token shone with green light, washing over the spellcaster. The aged man shifted, but did not stir enough, so the servant did so once more, with the voice of its creator reverberating softly through the air again.

Almost cloudy eyes opened themselves to their surroundings, and found themselves looking upon the floating servant. The eyes drifted to the token, which now had only eight of the ten beads glowing upon it as it was withdrawn back inside the body of the homunculus. "Thank you, Heimerfell. I'll make sure to give my regards to Tsairaah." The old wizard looked around, noting how the undead walked around his downed form and towards the keep still. They took no note of him, nor of Heimerfell, even though the servant is obviously moving freely. 'Rastokal must have them on simple orders then. They are not intelligent enough to investigate or determine my death. Without a necromancer or leader to invoke more orders, they are on auto-commands. More than likely, he called upon them to 'Kill every living thing', which would not include a 'dead'wizard, nor a homunculus servant, which is not a living creature...I can use this.'

"Heimerfell, give your master a message. I have an idea."

Back with Architect, he felt himself running out of steam. His armor clenched and shifted, bent in odd spots from the chance blows that crunched into it. His shield was bent inwards at several spots, a third of it chipped away by the icy impacts that shattered whole chunks of steel body. His helm was scuffed from near misses, and his arm was weary from strikes made against a body that refused to go down.

As he felt the fight swinging away from his favor, a string of coded words danced through his mind, and he looked to the edge of the battlefield. He gave pause for a moment before nodding his head, understanding the assignment.

He dodged once more, and saw opportunity. His mouth danced through incantation, and he flung his hand towards the outstretched mace. "Morne Kovgam (Heat Metal)!" The frozen mace seemed to sputter with conflicting magics adorned in the Lich's hand, who looked upon his weapon with surprise. The frozen sigils tried to fight against the searing heat that dared try and overtake it. Flashes of orange heat tried to build, but were quelled just as quickly as they formed by ebbing ice. The Lich sneered at the Baron Architect from behind his helm. "You think this will stop me? A little bit of heat?" He bit out.

Architect did not listen, and instead pushed forward in his offensive. No longer as fast as he would like, he made calculated strikes, knocking into the guard of the powerful Lich with every blow he could muster. He blocked every impact he could, the weapon no longer chilling his suit with every strike. He felt it smash into his arm. If he could feel the sensation, he would most likely scream in pain, but such instances did not matter to him. He continued to mutter under his breath, keeping the heat magic on the weapon going.

More strikes, more blows to his armor. Blocks and dodges against an opponent that knew no exhaustion. "You can't beat me, Baron." A strike to his side, where he barely catches it with his shield. "This world is mine. I own it, just as I did when I was alive." An overhead strike, which he barely dodged. An underhand swing back the other way, clipping his leg and bending metal into awkward angles. "This world belongs to the living." Architect started monotonously, shifting his weight for his next move.

"Then when you are dead, your words will mean nothing." The Lich blinked right behind the armored knight, his arm prepped for a crushing blow with his still conflicted mace. "A shame you lack flesh. You would make for a nice lieutenant." The weapon came down, smashing into the shoulder of the hero. The force buckled their body, splitting through magic defenses, barriers caved in, and oil spilled out from the wounds that carved into the leader of the region. The mace fastened itself deep into the body of the hero, locked in as it continued to shift from hot to cold.

The Lich smiled with vicious glee at the crippled form below him. The battle was over. He looked to the walls, noting that his golems still hung about aimlessly. He would just need to have them rip open the walls and victory was assured. A simple command for him to utter, unlike his necromancers who needed a whole ritual circle to maintain it.

He prepped to move away from his slaughter, knowing all that was left was to crush Architects skull and leave no trace of his knowledge behind to be put somewhere else. He shifted his shoulder, aged muscle tensing up to pull the mace from its confines.

It didn't budge.

He pulled harder, thinking maybe he put too much power behind the blow. With indominable force, he moved to tear it away.

It hardly shifted.

He looked to his weapon, only to be shocked at the sight.

To hands clasped around the handle of his weapon. Armored feet dug into the ground he stood upon, which had frozen over and locked the body in place. No movement was made from the thought to be a corpse, but it refused to give him back his weapon. Rastokal grit his teeth, moving to grab the hands away from the handle and wretch them of their dying grip.

Only for his hands to near them, and the body sprung to action.

The armored Baron's hands gripped at his own. "Oontanx (Enlarge)!" Echoed through the air, and the body of the knightly hero grew twice the size, breaking the ice at his feet. Swinging around the now massive Architect used his legs to lock Rastokal in place from below. Architect's arms shifted as the mace left the slot it had made in his shoulder, falling to the ground and now freezing over what it could touch. His hands shifted, only using one to grip the two of the Lich, with his other wrapping around the torso of the now smaller foe.

"Let go of me, you insect!" The deathly king bit out, trying to break from the metallic grip that held him on every side.

"You know, I had to stop your weapon's ice magic, lest I be frozen over by that final strike. It was the only way this would work, all things considered." Architect's grip tightened further looking to the distance. "It took plenty of concentration to not lose focus on Morne Kovgam (Heat Metal). Overall, however, this was a success."

"Success?" Rastokal yelled from his grapple. "You think that you can hold me long. I'll just warp away, then finish you off like the weak fodder y-" A massive hand shifted up, plugging up his mouth from any more words.

"But you can't, not without your weapon." The Lich's eyes widened, his body tensing up. "You don't think I noticed how you never let go of it in any of our fights? I know better. It's your conduit of power. Without it, you're strong, but you have none of your more unique abilities. No warping, no ice magics, nothing but a timeless body." The Lich looked to his weapon not two meters from his grip. It was so close. He just needed to grab it and escape. He would teleport a long distance away, retreat to his base of operation. His undead giants could be used to finish this battle after they finally got through the narrow trails. He would need to repair his forces and build a bit from nothing, but it was only a bump in the road. All he needed was to grab his weapon. His mace was right there! He continued to struggle in the hold of the behemoth version of the Baron, his immortal bones not strong enough to go through layers of strengthened steel. "It seems our conversation is coming to an end now." Rastokal stopped his struggle for just a moment, eyes drifting to where his captor was looking.

'No! He can't be serious!' In the near distance, rings of magic formed within the air, dancing around a prone form that barely moved. Small gestures of hands hidden under robes disguised the actions as wind to the unintelligent undead to bustle towards the walls, even as magic glowed from around them. The final glyphs in the air locked together, signaling the completion of the spell.

Zy Yeal huffed as his hands worked through the complex magic, making sure to add every form of damaging impact he could. He grit his teeth through the pain. He knew what he was about to do, and he regretted even asking his ally to do this... it was the only way though. He saw it himself. The war would end at this keep, one way or another. The rings of magic aligned properly, and synced together as the spell prepared to fire.

"This is the end for both of us." Architect's words sunk into Rastokal's mind. "I doubt there will be enough of me to bring me back after this, but that is not important. Your soul will be sealed before it can escape. We have already made plans for it." The more Architect spoke, the more Rastokal squirmed and writhed in his arms. His muscles snapped, bones broke, and his body refused to give up, even breaking itself to get close enough to slip out. The grip only tightened more and more, crushing the captured target to the point of splitting them at the seams.

It mattered little to both, as time was up.

A ball of magic formed at the base of the sigils, before it pierced through the air, glowing white hot as it darted towards the target. A wave of power rushed through the air, knocking back guards on the walls, eviscerating through ranks of undead soldiers. Remaining formations were left in ruins, and the ground the beams of power flew over were vaporized. It shone closer and closer to the two figures. One desperate for escape, the other watching it grow near.

Architect nodded to himself. "Goodbye, Rastokal, Lich King." And with that, a scream finally tore through the lungs of the undead ruler. Architect felt pure white magic, the searing energy melting into his form. He felt the body in his hands turn to dust, the bones falling into ash, and ice melting all around him. He saw naught but white, and allowed it to take him.

Who am I?

Why am I here?...

What is my purpose in life, and where am I going?

I am not a creature of circumstances because I have the power of self-direction...

Surely I am the architect of my own future...

I am not a creature of circumstances because I have the power of self-direction...

Life has become exciting and dynamic...

Who am I?...

Who am I?...

Who am I?...

Who am I?...

Life has become exciting...

Who am I?... Who am I?...

I am the Architect

(End Chapter)

List of spells and descriptions below:

Itpro Bluthel: Lighting Bolt, a powerful blast of lighting that shoots out in a line, damaging and electrocuting all that are in the path.

Vers Airem: Disintegrate, a single target beam of pure energy that can evicerate a target upon impact. Only a Resilient Sphere can block this attack with certainty.

Uvelucal Buatleb: Vitriolic Sphere, a blob of acidic ooze that melts flesh, bone, and metal, corroding almost any object upon impact.

Mekihl Buatleb: Resilient Sphere, a spherical barrier that surrounds a target, making them impervious to most damage. Only destroyed by the Disintegrate Spell.

Dos Di Inhelk: Wall of Stone, a spell which allows the user to create formations of walls in any direction of their choosing, forming them to preferred thickness, and limited by a certain amount of stone to work with upon each casting. Will stay permanently should the spell be maintained for 10 minutes by the caster.

Bakmada Dost: Misty Step, a quick time teleport spell, which turns the body to mist to avoid attacks. It carries them a short distance away.

Tsairaah: Architect, his name in Draconic Tongue

Nessmotva Zhen: Kinetic Jaunt, a spell which allows a user to slip through attacks with ease, making it near impossible to strike the target who has this spell cast upon them.

Morne Kovgam: Heat Metal, heats the metal worn or carried by a target of the spell, forcing them to take damage the longer its upon their body.

Oidot: Shield, a reactionary bubble of defense for most spellcasters.

Docargarmth: Fireball, a large, area of effect spell which burns all targets in the radius.

Serth: Haste, allows the creature that this spell is cast upon to move faster, attack and perform actions with more speed, and be harder to hit.

Seisu Ezouke: Cure Wounds, a standard healing spell.

Oontanx: Enlarge, which expands the target in all dimensions by 2, and their weight by 8. Can also be used to Reduce.

Hello all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I will endeavor to get the next one up within the next two weeks, so stick around! I have finals and four exams this week, so cut me slack.

I'll keep this short, but this is the means of how Architect 'died' before being sent to the world of Rising of the Shield Hero. I went a bit overboard on the prologue, but I usually prefer more description than less in my fight scenes. This will pretty much be the only part of the story that is based on Dungeons and Dragons, other than Architect's abilities.

Other than that, See ya!

PS: Anyone want to try and guess Architects Class/Subclass and Race? I'll be revealing it in the next chapter, but I'm curious if people can understand my knowledge of DND.