Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 61 - Death and misery - 6 of 6

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 61 - Death and misery - 6 of 6

With each step closer I took, a new alert appeared informing me that I had successfully resisted the Liche’s aura. All the same, I could feel a deep chill sinking into my flesh and settling into my bones. Keenly aware that if we were to fight for an extended period, my movements would only grow slower and more clumsy. I was entirely committed to ending the battle as quickly as possible.

For all of its rage, the Liche stared at me in surprise. No doubt confused that I would willingly enter its aura of death and entropy. However, its surprise was quickly replaced by bitter determination.

Opening its jaw open impossibly wide, the Liche disgorged a swarm of flying carrion insects in my direction.

Without a second set of armoured eyelids or my full helm’s visor to protect my eyes, I had no choice but to very nearly fully close my eyelids, leaving only the narrowest crack so I could continue to track the Liche.

Almost out of mana, I grit my teeth and ignored the swarm as its countless tiny bodies impacted against my armour and face.

A host of new alerts sprang up in my peripheral vision, warning me that I had successfully resisted poison and disease.

Even so, I could feel the mandibles of the insects gnawing, biting and otherwise probing at the exposed skin of my face.

The Liche’s determination faltered and it took a half step backward while raising its staff to protect itself.

I felt a surge in tainted mana from the Liche, but nothing happened.

The Liche’s emerald glowing eyes grew wide in shock as it realised the significance of the maintained Barrier. Realised that it was trapped and had only its staff with which to defend itself.

Fitting a vertical slash from above and to my right, I waited until the Liche took the bait before turning the slash into a thrust.

Without its Spells to enhance its strength, speed, or reflexes, the Liche reacted too slowly to deflect the attack in time.

Shiverfang’s blade passed into the right side of the Liche’s chest with effortless ease, cutting through flesh and bone as if it was air. Without friction to anchor Shiverfang’s blade, the Liche’s attempt at deflecting the blow afforded me an opportune angle to further compromise its ability to defend itself.

Straining my muscles back into motion, I reignited my initial momentum and heaved, knocking the Liche’s staff down and to my left. I then shifted my stance and pivoted hard to my left.

Shiverfang’s blade sheared through the Liche’s rib cage, out of its chest cavity, and through its right wrist.

As the Liche’s right hand and staff fell toward the floor, I began moving my body into the next stance that would allow me to deliver a slashing strike from the left side to the right. If successful, there was a distinct possibility that the Liche could be cleaved in half at the waist. However, I was forced to abort the attack as my mana reached critically low levels and I felt a sudden surge of weariness.

Staggering backward instinctively attempting to buy space between myself and the imminent danger, by the time I realised my mistake, it was almost too late.

The Liche’s eyes flashed malevolently as it gathered its mana and pointed the stump of its right hand toward my face.

The swirling lance of emerald energy raced toward me, closing the gap between us with impossible speed.

Blood was still rushing in my ears and with my hearing quite heavily impaired by my helmet and coif, I heard cries of alarm from somewhere behind me but couldn’t make out the words.

At the last possible moment, Wisp reappeared in the direct path of the Liche’s Spell.

The Spell washed over Wisp’s body but was almost immediately enveloped by the coiling shadows that formed his robes. The shadows devoured and absorbed the Liche’s mana, soaking it in greedily like a ravenous sponge.

“It is over,” Wisp declared calmly, ending the Liche’s Spell with a swing of Ophelia’s Blessed blade.

Looking past Wisp and toward the Liche, I could see that he was right.

In less than a handful of seconds, the Liche’s body had severely deteriorated. Deep cracks and fissures were slowly creeping across its pale skin and dislodging clumps of ashen flesh.

“There is no shame in this defeat,” Wisp commented in his earlier strangely supportive tone. “After all, it was inevitable...”

The Liche’s snarl turned into a scowl and then a bitter frown. “It was the attack on that village...The one with the monsters...The one with the Ogre...”

“Indeed,” Wisp replied neutrally. “The moment you crossed the line, this outcome became inevitable. Just be thankful for the mercies given to you, for others would not be nearly as just nor as kind.”

“Mercy? Kindness?...” The Liche wheezed incredulously, collapsing to its knees and sending a cloud of ash billowing out from beneath its gown.

“There are worse fates than death...” Wisp replied ominously, the finality and absolute certainty of his tone sending chills down my spine.

The Liche continued to stare at Wisp for a while longer before glancing toward Marco who had begun dragging himself to his feet. “I...I didn't choose to be this...this thing...” The Liche hissed bitterly, “To be a monster...I just did what I had to...I made the best of the shitty lemons life gave me!”

“You could have been different, made different choices,” I countered angrily, morally repulsed by the feeble self-justifications for committing wholesale slaughter.

“What would you know?” The Liche sneered contemptuously, “With how shitty your world is, we were doing you all a favour! We would have ended all these stupid wars for good! So what if a few cities of people die?! PEOPLE DIE! It’s what they do! What’s a handful of deaths compared to-”

“MILLIONS OF INNOCENT PEOPLE!!!” I roared, pushing past Wisp and glowering at the Liche, “YOU BUTCHERED FUCKING MILLIONS!!!”

Despite its badly eroded features, the Liche seemed taken aback. As if somehow it hadn’t fully considered the actual scale of destruction it had caused. “No...” The Liche shook its head, dislodging several clumps of hair and sending them cascading to the floor. “That’s not...No...We just...I just...” Its voice trailed off into permanent silence as its lower face and jaw crumbled away.

Staggering toward the Liche, still twitching and spasming, Marco balled his fist and drove it through the Liche’s head.

Already heavily compromised by the debilitating effects of Ophelia’s slayer enchantment, the Liche’s head exploded in a cloud of ash.

Whatever had been holding the Liche’s body together dissipated and the rest of its body collapsed.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!” Marco howled in rage and frustration, kicking at stomping at the pile of ashes until they were scattered to the wind.

Picking up the Liche’s staff, I immediately recognised it as an Artefact. Another Key to the Labyrinths. Combined with the Liche’s own words, it confirmed my suspicions that the Liche had been another Awakened. However, the exchange between Wisp and the Liche had opened my eyes to the possibility that there had been a second Awakened working with the Liche.

Thinking back on my battles against the Liche’s forces, I could only think of one individual who stood out from the others.

The short Vampyr.

There had been something about the Vampyr, its clothes, its hair, facial piercings, none of them were unique to earth, but collectively...It was possible.

If the Vampyr had been the other Awakened, then it was already destroyed. Wisp had seen to that.

With my thoughts still lingering on the fate of the Vampyr, my eyes were drawn to a small golden pendant and a sapphire brooch that had been dislodged from the Liche’s remains by Marco’s vicious kicking.

To my immense surprise, the sapphire brooch was another Artefact and Key to the Labyrinths.

Securing the brooch inside one of my belt pouches, I picked up the pendant and examined it. It was entirely non-magical and looked like it was only gold-plated. The sort of small pendant that would have cost less than twenty dollars back on earth.

The two faces of the pendant each bore a single capital letter from the English alphabet, with A on one side, and L on the other. Each letter was positioned off-centre in such a way that spinning the pendant created the illusion of both letters being side by side.

“I am prepared to make your judgement final,” Wisp commented neutrally, raising the silver lantern slightly to reveal a host of small shimmering spheres of light trapped within. In stark contrast to the vortex formed by the other lights, a pair, each far larger than the others, slowly circled the inside of the lantern side by side as they orbited one another.

Any mercy I may have been inclined to feel, any shred of doubt or hesitation had been purged after hearing the Liche’s self-justifications and denial. “Do it,” I ordered.

Wisp nodded and raised the silver lantern to the opening of his cowl. The pair of lights were drawn out of the lantern and disappeared into the shadows of the Wisp’s robes. Consumed by darkness and destroyed as Wisp absorbed their essence to fuel his Evolution.

“It is done,” Wisp confirmed dryly, “They are no more.”

“What about the others?” I asked somewhat numbly, my emotions warring between a profound sense of relief, loss, anger, and exhaustion.

“I cannot release them here,” Wisp replied pensively, “However, with your permission, I wish to attempt to purify them on consecrated grounds. If successful, I intend to release them and return them so they may find peace.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” I pressed, refusing to look away from or ignore what I was party to.

“Oblivion will be a kindness,” Wisp stated bluntly.

My earlier ruminations on Wisp’s origins left me inclined to agree with his assessment. “You have my permission,” I sighed tiredly as I turned my attention toward Marco.

Marco had fallen still and was staring blankly up at the sky.

The sickly emerald light was gone and the clouds were slowly melting away.

Just by looking at Marco, I knew what his intentions were. Despite my appreciation for all he had been through, I owed Tobi a debt.

“Take him with you,” I ordered, shifting Marco into Wisp’s party and giving him control over Marco. “He needs time to reconsider and fully appreciate his options...”

Wisp nodded in understanding and made his way over to Marco.

Shady appeared from behind a pile of rubble shortly afterwards and slunk his way over to Marco's side, pressing his head into Marco’s listless hands and rubbing against his legs like a giant housecat.

Still desperately short on mana, I sat myself down on a pile of nearby rubble and considered how I would repay the debt I owed to the families of those I had led to their doom. Destroying the Liche had been necessary, but that did not absolve me of the consequences.

I refused to become like them.

***** Marquis Daniforth ~ Werrian Empire ~ Displaced Werrian Empire Capital *****

Keenly aware of the sudden turn in the weather, Marquis Daniforth eyed the figures fathered atop the displaced fortress from his vantage atop a nearby mountain. Despite the extreme distance between them, the Marquis had no difficulties in making out every detail thanks to his highly Evolved senses.

With the destruction of the runaways confirmed, the Marquis felt a slowly building compulsion to return to his master within the halls of the Pale Court. Marquis Daniforth had originally intended to dispatch the runaways himself, but the intervention by an army of livestock had piqued his interest and he had decided to observe.

Expecting the assembled livestock to fail miserably, the Marquis had been incredibly surprised when the livestock had defeated the forces of the runaways with only a handful of losses. That alone had been thoroughly disconcerting.

The seemingly minimal support of the Angels had proven devastatingly effective and was a serious cause for concern.

The Pale King himself was fully capable of quashing such interference, but the creation of such powerful relics had long since been forbidden. Several ancient treaties had outlawed the practice and stipulated the price for those found in breach.

The fact that the relic had been created without repercussions was proof that the Angels had not kept to their word. More than that. For the Angels to move so brazenly in the open, was tantamount to a declaration of war.

A war the Pale Court was not prepared to face.

Millennia of endless intrigue had left the Pale Court fractured and rife with infighting. The Pale King’s indulgence in such matters for his amusement was his right. However, it left them at serious risk of a concerted attack from the Angels or their Devil servants.

Making matters worse, the involvement of the middling undead suggested a potential alliance between the Angels and a member of the Pale Court. It all but guaranteed that a surprise attack would signal the beginning of the conflict.

Withdrawing a scroll from his doublet, the Marquis sent a small pulse of mana into the velum to activate the Spell within. Collecting and carefully structuring his thoughts, the Marquis projected them to his master within the Pale Court.

The compulsion to return remained, but its strength waned while the Marquis master digested the assembled report.

Despite having served his master for the better part of three centuries, the Marquis knew better than to make assumptions regarding his master’s motives and desires. So it came as little surprise when the compulsion returned to its former intensity, demanding he return immediately.

Eyeing the Devil-Bound Dragon and Wyvern warily, the Marquis slowly and stealthily worked his way down the south side of the mountain. He would have preferred to simply teleport, but the traitors and Angels had deployed some sort of trap, and the Marquis had no intentions of falling victim to it.

Taking great care to avoid the briar bushes, the Marquis felt a profound sense of relief after reaching the barren soil of the ground below. While he was not afraid of fighting the briar monster directly, the Marquis would be forced to reveal his position to defend himself without incurring serious injury.

He had witnessed firsthand the destruction the briar monster could unleash and had no desire to find himself upon the receiving end of an ambush.

At that moment, an unfamiliar sensation erupted in the Marquis's chest, stopping him in his tracks and drawing his gaze down toward his chest.

Staring in bewilderment, the Marquis slowly reached for the thick wooden shaft lodged in his ribcage.

His eyes widened further still as a second wooden shaft appeared in his abdomen, and a third drove through his right thigh.

Pain tore through the Marquis’s body as he was set ablaze from the inside.

Struggling to tear the thick wooden shaft from his chest, the Marquis howled as a crimson steel blade appeared protruding from his stomach.

Somehow pinned in place, the Marquis struggled frantically as he tried to escape. Each passing moment was agony and he could feel his strength rapidly fading away.

Desperately fumbling at his doublet, the Marquis could only watch in horror as his pale elegant fingers blackened and hardened like charcoal.

“No! NO!!!” The Marquis shrieked, unwilling to accept that he was going to die.

Wildly flailing his arms in an attempt at striking one of his invisible assailants, the Marquis's vision suddenly spun into a dizzying spiral. He briefly found himself staring at his own body and the rapidly fading blade of a large two-handed sword passing by just to the right of his now bare and bloody neck.

Before the Marquis had time to realise what had happened, everything rapidly faded away.

Staring into the yawning void the Marquis silently whimpered as it embraced and utterly consumed the final remnants of his mind.