Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

It was like breaking a bunch of rocks with a hammer, it worked but the hammer was worn out and the rocks were much too numerous, that was how it felt trying to bash Helena's skull in, especially as he subconsciously erect barriers in Loimos's way, otherwise he would have already gouged out her eyes like he had done to Merno, once the zone was dispelled, he moved on and rushed for the last challengers still standing.

His armour and bones had suffered some wear and tear, but he somehow appeared even more threatening to the five that remained, three champions of the element and the talented cleric stood in his way, barring the way to Minli and the wounded, whomst had been arranged neatly and had some sort of items cradled into their unconscious hands, the way they had to teleport back to Tamaris was only one way and would work on all of them as long as they carried the appropriate object.

Even as their legs shook, and as their spells failed to make a difference, the remaining four were not retreating, intent on somehow grasping victory, it was their intense fear that kept them standing, they feared eternity, they feared King Nitok, they feared the gravelords, they feared the endless and unceasing ranks of death's legion.

But nothing scared them more than Loimos himself, the champion of death was the face of the undead empire, he was its repressive inquisitor, he was its royal executioner, he was the vanguard.

Upon his back, he carried the four aspects of the apocalypse, it was the blades of his scythes that would draw the most blood, it was his rot that would draw forth beasts of slaughter.

In service of oblivion, death he would spread.

In service of death, a world tree he would nurture.

There was no hesitation to be had, Loimos was the enemy, and no matter what, he had to be brought down, certainty plagued the hearts of the living, that as long as the champion was eliminated, not victory, but escape could be made possible.

The four remaining combatants, warriors of little renown, nameless they could have been, stood in the way of the putrid knight.

"O Phanes, grant me strength, strength to face the scion of heresy… Wash away the doubts within my heart…" Marl whispered a quiet prayer, tightly grasping the symbol of his god around his neck.

The three champions tightened their grip upon their weapons, the vileness before them was running at full speed, like a beast he was powerful, like a man he was cruel.

Alosfit's straight sword was ignited with bright white flames, the skin on his hands and arms cracking and burning away, the metal shining brightly, like a sun in the night.

Forven's curved sword was unseen as raging winds surrounded it, his hair flailing chaotically as he extended it to all around his body, subtle cuts appearing upon his clothes and skin.

Neige's quarterstaff turned cold, snow beginning to fall, emerging from her, saliva turning to ice, eyelashes growing white as residues of snow fell upon them, like four divine warriors, holy life, fire, wind and snow enacted their will upon the surroundings, intertwining perfectly, all homing in on Loimos.

Minli, busy healing her allies, looked upon the devastation, pillars of fire, rays of holy life, clouds of snow, tumultuous storms cutting through all of them, she had no way of seeing how this last stand was going, the distinct clashes rang throughout the broken expanse of duality.

She quickly rushed over to Helena, the talent holder was not very physically fit, small in size and with delicate limbs, yet, she too was feeling this surge, grabbing the much bigger Helena, bringing her tiny arms below the mage's armpits, dragging her back to the rest to tend to her wounds.

Helena's face had taken the brunt of the undead's assaults, multiple bones were cracked or broken, making certain that her breathing had not been cut, Minli used her healing magic, wrapping her patient's face with bandages dipped in miraculous liquids, brewed by another talent holder that had remained within Tamaris to face the tides of the assault.

But she did not linger for long, she had to cycle between everyone.

Hoffnu had been paralysed, not forever, but for a long while, even after putting the vertebrae back in place, casting some healing and such, she would not be standing up for at least a week, even with her honed physique.

Molc's status was unknown, too far from Minli to be brought back, she could not leave the ones here by themselves, but it could not be good, he had not given any signs since then.

Menhirel had had her left hand amputated, and had been stabbed in the guts, although the stalwart girl was very receptive to healing and was very tough, she would not be up and running any time soon either.

It was a wonder how Merno had not succumbed to shock upon having his eyes crushed, his throat had suffered damage as well from being squeezed.

Defoim'nocle had lost an arm, Filiusorci had received a severe beatdown and many ribs were in pieces, thankfully, none had pierced his organs, he was incredibly lucky. Find more to read at My Virtual Library Empire

Dasato's chest had been torn apart, Minli could touch the champion's bones if she wanted, not a pretty sight, she had lost a lot of blood and that was without mentioned her teeth that had been savagely pulled out, as for Msir, both of her wrists were broken, nothing life-threatening, but her brain had certainly been taken for a ride upon taking a kick from the undead, life everyone else, she was unconscious.

Milo and Griar were not in optimal condition.

The former had been stabbed through a lung, and Loimos had not done it cleanly, no, he had made certain to do it at an angle that would make removing it even more dangerous than not, but this meant that Minli could not tend to his grievous wound that was sapping his strength.

As for Griar, he did not look very injured, but the small girl was fairly certain that that last punch he received had cracked his skull.

The pillars of fire disappeared, then storms ceased.

The glorious shine of holy life vanished, and lastly, the clouds of snow fell to the ground.

Within mere moments, Loimos still stood tall, deep gashes still fuming, scorched marks upon his armour, countless slashes riddling his hide of rot, marks of frost clinging upon him, it had been glorious, but clearly, the undead had overcome their burning hopes and bravery.

Alosfit was missing his left leg, Forven clutched a broken arm, Neige's face had turned red, a whole chunk of her face seemed to have been ripped out, and Marl put pressure on his throat, rivers of blood still finding its way through his fingers.

One step forward, the undead was not even going to go for Minli, he would first claim the lives of those closest, and once he was done with all of them, the death force produced would allow for him to recover his capabilities.

"It was useless…?" the healer could not help but notice that Loimos was just about the same as when they had arrived, they had done nothing but impede him for a little while, all damage was superficial and had no bearing on his ability to fight.

In fact, had they not just delivered him his food to recover?

Minli prepared to activate the item to take them back, at the very least, she would stop him from joining the war!

"Hold on… We didn't lose yet" a hand came up to her shoulder, rising up to their feet, one of her unconscious patients stepped forward, and as though his presence deserved recognition, the vile undead stopped as well.

"Excuse me Sir Loimos, but I am afraid that I am not yet dead"

"Would you grace me with one last duel?" calmly, face bloodied, battered and beaten, in the throes of an injury that could very well spell the end of life.

Griar pointed his sabre at Loimos.

Blood seeped from his nose, mouth, eyes and ears, yet he stood tall, posture and hold upon his blade perfect, the arts surged alongside his mana.

Loimos sensed the life stirring, it seemed like Griar was a true knight as he had wished, he laid down his life for what was right, resting it upon the sharpness of his blade.

'This could be problematic'