"Alex...
Alex...
Alex! Why did you abandon us?!"
I jolted awake, haunted by that same, buried memory that clung to my soul like a shadow.
"It's that one again," I groaned softly, shifting in my sleep, trying to find a position that would allow me to drift off once more. The long march ahead demanded every ounce of my energy.
"Nightmare?" came a voice from beside me.
"As usual," I replied curtly to the hooded figure traveling with me. I couldn't tell if they were man or woman—their voice was androgynous, and they kept their cloak on, concealing everything else.
"Would you like me to chant a sleeping spell?" they offered, their tone as flat as ever.
"No, thanks," I replied. Trust didn't come easily to me, especially not with someone I barely knew. We'd been traveling together through this barren land for nearly three months now, and though we shared a destination, we had purposefully avoided understanding each other's motives. For my situation, that felt essential.
Before I could ponder it further, our carriage jerked to a sudden halt.
"Whoa there! Easy, girl, easy," the coachman murmured, calming the startled horses.
"What's happening?" I asked, stepping out of the carriage and scanning the area.
"Knights, sir. And it seems we have other trouble ahead." He pointed toward the horizon, his voice edged with fear.
I followed his gaze and felt a chill creep over me. Black miasma was gathering in the distance, accompanied by a massive, armored figure charging toward us at an impossible speed.
"Demons," my companion observed grimly, joining me outside the carriage.
The dark mist thickened, and the miasma signaled what lay behind it: a horde of morbid creatures drawing closer. The towering figure at the forefront of the approaching horde was a Gorthok—a brutal demon-beast clad in heavy armor that was practically immune to any siege weapon or enchanted arrow. They were a walking disaster for every city they appeared, it would be erased on the map.
"Go somewhere safer," I ordered the coachman.
"Yes, sir!" He scrambled to comply, leaving us alone against the advancing terror.
"Hell-bent on killing us for stealing that crown, I suppose," my companion quipped, though their hands were already weaving defensive spells in anticipation.
"And I suppose they'll die trying," I replied coolly, readying my own spell. "Flame Singularity," I murmured, and with a snap of my fingers, I unleashed a devastating burst of energy—a spell with the firepower of a nuclear explosion from my past life.
The spell shot forward faster than sound, a blur of scorching light, catching the Gorthok off guard. It struck dead-center in the beast's chest, exploding on impact and leaving a smoldering, gaping wound. The creature dropped to one knee, trying desperately to regenerate, but it was futile. The flames of my spell had a decaying effect, burrowing down to the molecular level, like a cancer that wouldn't allow its prey to heal.
The area-of-effect blast scorched the surrounding horde, their bodies twisting in agony as flesh blackened and heat waves rolled over them, reducing them to charred remains.
"Arcane Barrier!" My companion cast, encasing us both in a shimmering shield that would ward off most magical counterattacks.
"Thanks," I muttered, already focusing on my next move. "Heaven's Wrath," I whispered, my hands moving like a conductor leading an orchestra.
The sky darkened in response, clouds gathering with a furious energy. Lightning streaked down, not once but in rapid succession—one, two, three strikes, then more. The battlefield transformed into a storm of relentless strikes, demon screams rising in tortured harmony as their numbers dwindled. The Gorthok had collapsed completely, its regenerative powers finally overwhelmed by the curse of my flames.
"Final March," my companion murmured, and with that, the corpses of fallen demons began to twitch. Slowly, they rose, twisted shadows of what they once were, turning to attack their former allies. The few surviving demons recoiled in horror, desperate to escape their doomed comrades-turned-enemies.
There was no mercy in this battlefield. As a necromancer, my companion commanded forces darker than even the demons we fought—one of the most reviled powers in this world. And as for me? I was an outcast too, though not for wielding dark magic. No, I was hated for one singular, unforgettable crime: assassinating the Emperor.
"I'm sorry," I muttered softly to the remnants of my old life, an apology meant for another time and place.
"Let's continue with our march," I said to my companion, turning back toward the coachman.
I longed for this journey to end, but even that distant hope felt like a dream.