Dark Age Year 871
Twenty Third day of the Third month
As both of them gave chase to the necromancer, they followed him as he retreated around the house, passing the graveyard at the back, and quickly heading for the forests that surrounded the homestead. The necromancer directed the undead not engaged in fighting a fully transformed Rayner towards them, trying to block their advance. Behind Tharos, he could hear what sounded like a grim and frightful slaughter taking place. An orgy of noises filled the air, from wolfish howls and bestial roars to the crunching of armour and bones, limbs being sliced or torn off. He even heard the squirting sounds of what seemed to be blood splashing onto the ground below. The sounds, heard in isolation or together, would be bone-chilling to lesser men.
It’s a good thing that we fought on the night just after a full moon. If it had been just before, I doubt I would have won. Tharos thought to himself as several more skeletons and zombies formed in front of him and Cenric, rising from all but one of the graves. Behind them, more undead closed in. Although Rayner was the first lycanthrope he had ever encountered in the flesh, he was thankful that the books he had read about them were quite accurate. He didn’t know for sure if Rayner was cursed or born that way, although all evidence so far pointed to him being cursed. This would explain a lot. Unlike those who were born with lycanthropy, those who were cursed with it couldn’t control it nor could they assume a wolf form; only those born with it could assume that form. Outwardly, there wasn’t much difference; both of them were still slaves to the cycles of the moon, growing stronger as the moon drew closer to full, and then being at their weakest point at the start of the new moon cycle, and could assume the dreaded form that was a perfect blend between man and wolf.
However, he couldn’t lose focus as several skeletons and zombies were blocking his path and surrounding them. Tharos and Cedric stood back to back as the undead creatures lunged at them, hissing or groaning. With a quick flick of his wrist, Tharos slashed into them with his blade, sending their heads flying through the air to land with a thud on the ground like heavy leaves. Meanwhile, Cedric smashed in the head of a first zombie that tried to grab onto him with his shield. Then, with a swift strike, he split its head wide open like an egg with his axe. Its rotting and maggot-ridden brain reduced to nothing more than a pus-ridden mush, oozing out of the skull like a rotting egg yolk. Tharos could see a small look of horror and disgust on Cedric’s face out of the corner of his eye as the zombie dropped to the ground, its brain matter spilling out.
Tharos thought to himself that he had a long way to go. While skeletons and zombies were not tough opponents individually, they became much more dangerous in large groups. Even the most skilled warrior would be overwhelmed by wave after wave of relentless undead that never tired, never needed to breathe, and would not stop until they were completely destroyed. Tharos would have preferred Cenric to face living opponents like bandits to provide a greater challenge, but he had to make do with the necromancer and his undead minions as training material. If Cenric could learn to handle such abominations, he could handle anything. Giving in to fear and losing composure were among the greatest dangers on the battlefield, along with overconfidence.
After about another minute, as they finished off the group of skeletons and zombies, Tharos sensed a few more approaching from behind. The necromancer was already a few hundred feet ahead of them, getting deeper into the forest of trees and bushes. It was just another stalling attempt, but Tharos wouldn’t fall for it. He had to press the attack now while the necromancer was on the back foot. If he let the necromancer get away, this would all be for nothing. Tharos quickly turned to Cenric. “There are zombies behind us. Will you be able to take care of them and catch up with me afterwards? I am going after the necromancer.” Cenric, panting and looking at the approaching zombies, his form covered in mud and blood, nodded quickly. “I should be able to.” He gave him a smile. “Catch up when you can.”
Tharos rushed to the treeline with full spirit, his heart beating like thunder and the blood flowing through his arms and legs feeling like lightning. As he passed through trees and bushes in hot pursuit of the necromancer, he felt truly alive in the blind madness and rush of battle, where the line between predator and prey blurred. It was dark, and he could barely see anything as everything was a blur in the faint bluish tint of moonlight pouring through the foliage in solid beams of blue. Although he didn’t need to rely much on sight, he could sense the necromancer’s magical energy getting farther and farther away, and he wouldn’t let them escape. He had to finish this as quickly as possible. Every second was another moment for the undead horde descending on Aurelia Silva to gain ground. Every minute could result in another death, a death that could have been prevented.
As he ran through the forest, following the necromancer’s trail, several bolts of concentrated energy in the form of green blasts made out of pure mana came flying straight at him from the trees. Tharos dodged and weaved through them with great speed, narrowly avoiding one that almost hit his head. A green flash of light passed through his eyes. It was quite pretty to look at, but he didn’t want to be hit by one of those things. After a few more minutes of running through the forest, with the sounds of battle and wildlife echoing out of every shadow, Tharos spotted the necromancer heading towards a clearing. As Tharos entered the clearing and saw the necromancer standing in the Centre, breathing heavily beneath their mask and trying to catch their breath, behind them was a massive tree and several bushes laden with pink berries. Tharos recognised the berries as Fragaria berries, which were abundant in this forest. The necromancer finished catching their breath and turned around, directing their wand at Tharos, the tip flickering green.
Tharos tightened his grip on his sword as he aimed it at the necromancer, looking into the holes in the mask where their metallic brown eyes were. He said firmly, “This doesn’t need to end in bloodshed. Call off your horde and spare the village. I’m not sure what Nico did to you, but must it lead to the loss of so many innocent lives?” Tharos could sense that the necromancer was reaching their limit, and they would soon have to make a choice. Either call off the undead horde to regain some of their energy back, or be forced to fight until they run out; either choice was not going to be good. From underneath the mask, the necromancer spoke, “Innocent? If you knew what they let happen, you wouldn’t think they were so innocent. I don’t know what lies that old fool has told you, but I will have justice.”
“Justice for whom?” Tharos asked, confused. Initially, he thought it was just another case of a mage going mad with power, which was quite common even in his time. However, all this was for revenge. For what, though, he thought to himself as the necromancer kept speaking. “It doesn’t matter at this point, mercenary. Soon, I will have my revenge, and you will join your employer in the afterlife. So die.” A green flash of light emanated from their wand, with bolts of greenish energy hurtling towards him at a rapid speed. Tharos dodged the bolts by ducking and weaving to the side, deflecting some of them with his blade. Before the necromancer could cast another volley, Tharos saw this as an opportunity to strike. He rushed in, closing the gap, and swiftly slashed downward with his blade. The necromancer tried to sidestep but wasn’t fast enough, and the blade hit them in the chest, cutting a straight slash through their robe, revealing pale skin. A trail of blood followed the blade’s path as it completed its arc, readying for another strike. However, the necromancer swiftly pulled out a vial from their pocket, shattering it on the ground. The impact sent both of them flying back several feet, landing with a thud. The necromancer collided with a tree, causing apples to fall to the ground.
As Tharos recovered and got to his feet, he could see blood starting to flow and spread through the necromancer’s clothing, quickly forming a pool beneath them. He didn’t need to be a doctor to realize that this injury was going to be fatal. He could feel the necromancer’s life force fading rapidly, even as the necromancer tried to reach for a red vial in one of their pockets. Their hands weakly attempted to grab the vial, but it was evident that their strength was failing; they could barely lift their arms or move their fingers. As Tharos walked closer, he saw the necromancer weakly look up at him and say in a rather sad voice, “Funny, it’s ending right where it all began.”
“Where did it all begin?” he asked. As Tharos stood watching the necromancer’s life start to fade away, he heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he realised it was Cenric who had just entered the clearing. Cenric, covered in blood, rushed over to Tharos, stopping right next to him. Now seeing the necromancer clearly and realising they were dying, Cenric asked, “Is it over?”
Tharos replied, “Yes, it’s going to be over soon.” As they stood there and the necromancer’s body started to go limp, and their head started to tilt forward, the mask they wore fell off, revealing their face. What both Tharos and Cenric expected was to see a half-corpse visage that was the stuff of nightmares, and they wouldn’t be wrong to think so. However, both Tharos and Cenric were shocked at what they saw. It was a woman, not just any woman, but a woman they recognised, a woman they didn’t think they would see. It was Faustina. Although she looked slightly different with sunken eyes and a corpse-like appearance, and her short curly hair was now matted, there was no mistaking it was her. Both of them shared a wide-eyed glance at one another. They were equally shocked, and as Tharos was trying to figure out what was going on, his train of thought was broken by Cenric asking one simple question, either to him or Faustina, whose life could now be measured in only mere seconds. “Why? Why do this?”
Tharos, in his wildest dreams, had never imagined this scenario. However, upon further reflection, it did make some sort of sense. There were overlaps between certain aspects of alchemy and necromancy as both were rather broad fields of magic, and it wasn’t unheard of for mages who had affinities with one to have affinities with the other or vice versa. It was this simple fact that led him to consider the possibility that the necromancer had come to the area to obtain Faustina’s alchemical research. It was not uncommon for mages to resort to theft or violence in order to acquire valuable research materials, and Tharos speculated that Faustina may have been killed while Ozias got caught in the crossfire. However, even in his wildest dreams, he would never think that Faustina and the necromancer were the same person. This revelation sparked a new theory in his mind, one that might explain why Nico was lying to him, but he needed one more piece of the puzzle to confirm it.
“Tharos, what is happening here?” Cenric asked, his voice filled with panic and confusion. “I don’t know,” Tharos reluctantly admitted, but he knew he had to find out. Despite the risks, he needed answers. Touching her pale forehead, Tharos delved into her mind. Time was running out as she was fading fast. With her mental barriers weakened by her impending death, he was able to access her memories more easily. He saw glimpses of her childhood, her mage training, and her travels with a young man with eyes as blue as the azure sky. He also saw memories of her meeting Ozias for the first time. However, as he tried to probe deeper, the images became blurry and vague. The last clear image he saw was a small group of armed individuals led by a familiar elderly man confronting a young man on a porch, with her holding him protectively as he bled out. The knife sticking out of his chest, then his vision turned dark.
Suddenly, Tharos was engulfed by intense feelings of sadness, guilt, anger, and a warm, almost pulsating sensation in the pit of his stomach. It felt like something was growing inside of him, but it didn’t feel unnatural; it felt comforting. If he focused on this feeling, he could almost sense a little heartbeat beating in tandem with his own. However, this pleasant sensation quickly turned into a sharp and burning feeling that spread from his stomach to his lower torso, as if someone was twisting a knife inside him. Then, there was nothing but darkness and utter silence, as Faustina took her last breath. Tharos snapped out of the trance he was in as he felt himself being shaken, and he saw Cenric shaking him.
“Are you okay? You just…”
“Yes, I am fine,” Tharos said as he straightened himself up. He noticed tears streaming down his face and felt the pain coursing through the pit of his stomach. Looking down at Faustina’s lifeless body, his amber eyes glowing as if struck by moonlight, Tharos uttered a single phrase towards her now lifeless form, “Don’t worry, we will get justice for you as well.” Tharos proceeded to bend down, pick up her lifeless body, and carry her in his arms like a princess.
He turned to Cenric, saying, “I’m afraid it isn’t over yet. It seems we have a few more things left to do.” Cenric looked at him slightly puzzled for a moment, then quickly realised the meaning of his words and responded, “Understood.“
