When the Lich swirled and grew in size, I knew that he was no longer fighting alone. The necromancer, wherever they hid, had decided to pour in a significant amount of his own magic into their minion. I could see the magic link between the two, a cord of darkness stretching into the west. It pumped the dark servant with dark magic like a vein.
The lich was enveloped by a violet haze, dark magic made manifest in the form of a wheezing tornado. No longer was the spawn of darkness of death relying on an army of brittle bones and murky shadows. No more did the black drakes fly nor the ghoulish riders gallop. There was only the lich.
The thousands of skeletons that remained on the ground crumbled, forming piles of bone on the dead grass. The wraiths lost themselves to the wind, disappearing with a scream. The black drakes returned to the skies, content to lurk in the confines of the black clouds. The ghoulish riders rode no more, their ugly steeds collapsing onto the ground.
Black drakes were cold, unnatural creatures who were mere pale imitations of the great dragons. Their existence was an insult to those ancient foes of mine. To feel their fear, the cowardice as they hid, brought me a bit of satisfaction.
All of the remaining undead mages floated up and merged with the Lich, fusing imprisoned souls and bone. Necromancy was not supposed to be able to manipulate souls, only mimic them.
Yet here I was, bearing witness to a once impossible feat. A concerning possibility. It was something I needed to tackle after the battle.
I expected the army to keep fighting. I braced myself for strategies that never came. Gambles that never left their hand.
It seemed like summoning my sword was an overestimation, and a cruel waste of my power. Realizing this, I allowed my sword to disappear like mist, to be summoned again in the future against a more worthy foe.
It may have seemed like the dead had been returned to their graves, but it could not have been further from the truth. The dead had not been returned, in fact, they had been stolen further away.
The dark magic that kept the undead army going, bound to the world of the living, had been stripped away. They now joined the malformed soul of the Lich. The creature relished in his newfound power, cackling maniacally as he felt the magic of the damned reinvigorate his own brittle bones.
There was no doubt that the necromancer intended to defeat me. If he couldn't invite me willingly or unwillingly, then I was a threat to be eliminated. Whatever nefarious plans the necromancer had required my demise, something I could not and would never give.
Even if I could, he would never succeed either way. Only a power equal to that bestowed by the heavens could harm me, let alone kill me.
And the heavens, once mighty and holy, had been overrun by a sickness. A corruption that threatens the boundaries of reality. A disease inching ever closer to overrunning the world. There were no more gods to watch over the world or to summon heroes from lowly peoples.
The people of this world, from every race and civilization, must work together if they even wanted a chance to surviving. This was assuming I would not help.
Assuming I did decide that the world was worth saving, I did not fancy my own chances. I barely survived against that abomination that tore through my home, I could not imagine dealing with more than one at the same time.
I did not need to imagine how many were coming. There were many. They were, for the lack of a more comforting term, uncountable.
Somehow, I found myself smirking, there was something ironic in all of this. I could not explain what exactly it was.
Regardless, problems came and problems go, dimensional horrors beyond comprehension had a time and place.
For this time and place, I had a Lich to put down and a necromancer to hunt.
Unfortunately, I could only do one of these things for now.
I sensed another group of magical signatures approaching from the southeast. Their magic was pure and strong, appearing like a magnificent beacon to my enhanced sense. Whoever they were, I doubted that they were coming to help the lich.
The Lich had probably sensed the newcomers by now and would soon act.
Ceasing his maniacal laughter, the Lich bellowed a cry that echoed for kilometers in all directions. The sky above grew darker as the black clouds became thicker. The shadow the clouds cast against the land below was solid enough to plunge it into a pale mimicry of the night.
Light still shone, yet it was dim and gray.
"As my masters expected, you are no ordinary being. You are a potent force. An incarnation of power, vast and untamed. You refused their hospitality, slaughtered their blood servants, and squashed one of their armies as if they were a mere, pathetic hindrance." The Lich spoke in a bellowing voice, raspy and curdling. Red eyes gleamed in the distance as I looked directly at his skull with my enhanced senses, daring him to stare back.
To the Lich's credit, he did not waver even as I poured my magic into my enhanced senses and causing my aura to grow beyond my immediate surroundings. I could see him struggle against the weight of my presence, magic beyond his own capability belittling the dark magic he had just received.
I wished that, by showing such a difference in strength, the Lich or its master would find it within their rotten hearts to do the cowardly and stupid thing and run away. To be completely fair, a wise combatant would have already retreated their forces, or themselves, once they knew what exactly they were up against.
But Liches, throughout the long history I had known of their existence, often fought to the very last. Mostly because the necromancers that controlled them knew the risks of having them retreat. Once a Lich retreated, holy magic could be used to mark them, thereby inadvertently leading to the necromancer's lair and their demise.
Magic was a lot of things, and that was just one of many ways to track a necromancer. However, seeing that the necromancer, or necromancers, had injected their own magic directly into the lich, I could simply track the trail their injection would have undoubtedly left behind.
Our battle, in the few minutes it had transpired, had squandered the once green plains and tall woodlands. Dark magic festered over the soil, seeping into the ground and killing what life was left.
In the midst of it all, the oak tree stood tall. A bastion of living green in the middle of a sea of dead gray and brown.
It really did not matter anymore what the Lich would decide to do. Fight on and die. Retreat and die. It would not matter in the end.
I was confident the Lich knew this too, and as expected, decided to go all out.
A wall of magic circles appeared behind the Lich as he summoned forth more than a hundred spells at once. The circles were of numerous colors and make, some big and some small. Different colors reflected their elements, most of which were red and hot. Symbols pulsed and flared as the spells gathered magic.
Thunder rang forth from above, accompanied by bursts of lightning that struck the ground around me. I could sense a few area spells being cast, one that controlled the bolts of lightning and one that was aiming to chain me in place.
Dark magic swirled alongside pure magic in this cacophony of arcane ability. A chaotic union was brewing, meant for one thing and one thing alone: utter destruction. If the Lich was going down, it was going to try and bring me down as well.
"You will not stand in the way of my masters," The Lich announced as he slowly lifted his arms as if unveiling a grand masterpiece, "Your existence cannot continue. Once you are killed, you shall be used as fuel. Once that is done, your pet shall join our ranks, while the golems defending her shall be crushed."
Zeal was no pet.
I pointed a finger and cast a spell.There was no projectile, no visible manifestation, no medium. Before the Lich could react, his magic barrier exploded into a thousand shards around him, pushing him back in the air.
Magic was not just about controlling or summoning elements; it was a tool to shape reality. A master of magic could do many things, let alone someone such as I.
I hated thinking about my magical ability. So much so that I unintentionally handicap myself in ways I do not realize until I am directly hindered.
This time, a bit of unorthodox casting wouldn't hurt. After all, the same spell would not work against the abominations anyway.
"H-how dare!" The anger in his voice hid the disbelief the talking skeleton was feeling.
Even as my aura weighed against his body and pushed against his bones and rot, the Lich managed to maintain his focus long enough to finish casting his grand attack. By this point, there were more than a thousand magic circles itching to be triggered.
All at once across the wall of magic circles, a tsunami of spells was unleashed against me. Hundreds of fireballs. Beams of fire. Shards of darkness. Shards of blood. Boulders the size of wagons. Summoned weapons in the form of swords, spears, and axes. Magical arrows. Balls of lightning. Bolts of lightning. Balls of every form of energy. Purple vortexes.
It was as if the Lich had decided to reveal to me the entire codex of known offensive spells. But instead of writing them down like any sane person would, he decided to show them in all their glory.
And futility.
The lich had concentrated most of his shield spells over his head, obviously fearing that I was about to summon another pillar of light to smite him. That would not be the case.
I raised my arms in front of me and held out my palms. Glaring with mild annoyance, I stared down the Lich behind the storm of spells he had summoned. The red and flaring orbs in the sockets of his skull met my blue and flaming eyes.
In that brief and fleeting moment, a flash of understanding was shared. Time seemed to slow.
And then I cast.