142 Battle of the Wild Mountains : Part 10 (1/2)
Like that, two days happened, with nothing interesting for the coalition. Bones were crushed, flesh was burned and souls were claimed. Both Malakov and Ferrod stood at each side of the room, daring the other one to do something. Of course, none of the humans could know that the lich was on the brink of crumbling. The last night,the gods tried once more to influence the battlefield, only to be repelled again.
This time, the entire lower body of the Envoy of Leilade had been reduced to dust, making the robes of the lich float weirdly. But because those limbs were never seen in the first place, thanks to his voluminous outfit, Malakov did not have to create new ones. With the rest of his mana, he could barely fix his skull and fill the numerous cracks on it. Also, for the first time, Leilade envisaged retreating soon.
”I hope whatever you prepared will be worth, Davion. If not, we will not wait for the arrival of that Archmage, otherwise, someone will truly be killed.” The little girl was maybe talking to the orodil, but her eyes were fixed on the succubus. The enchanting beauty that should have been present was barely felt, appearing quite pitiful. The damages that she received that day had yet to be completely healed.
”Empress, how dire is the situation with Malakov?” Davion could only feel that something was off with the lich, but couldn't guess exactly what was the problem. They knew he had to fight the powers of those gods, making the undead quite grumpy and even less approachable. But only Leilade could know exactly how severe was the problem.
Sighing, the little child was looking at one of the screens that were displaying the lich. ”One additional time. If the gods tried once more to infiltrate this place, I will have no choice but to recall Malakov back to the Vault of Souls. It is only fortunate that Ymir is relatively safe, otherwise, he wouldn't be able to even control the undead in Archet. In fact, just their destructions over there would be quite terrible.”
Even the undead had a soul, or, all of those that could think had one. And everything in this universe had a limit. The Ancients, a race that could only be described as the most intelligent race of all time, had disappeared. And even if Malakov had been trained for centuries,with his control over undead being flawless, he still could not control millions of them. Quality, quantity, distance all played a part. And while he could sever the link between him and one of his summons, those links were not all the same.
If every single one of the skeleton he created with a core, the ones that fought along Ymir, were destroyed, the drawback on the mind of the lich will be beyond what he can resist right now. It was fine before when he had still a few days to rest, but now, he had already lost his legs. Understanding that, the orodil lowered his head a bit, being in quite of a pickle. By his side, Meridiana was on the other hand still puzzled, not getting everything right.
”Very well, so, it is time to activate everything we have. I wanted to exhaust them even more, to not give them a single chance of fighting back. But if it can't hold, we will have to kill as many mages as possible.” Outside of the room, by following the only tunnel available, one could reach the vast cavern where the humans were beginning to retreat. The very air was now filled with blood, the dead bodies that were taken care of by both the undead and the living beginning to be removed.
This day, only Seven was not present, being injured previously by one lich. Knowing that the one they spend years with was in a bad shape, the disciples of the Archmage created quite a mess, even slaying a few liches in the process. With those undead caster being removed, the pressure on the humans was getting a bit lighter. Just a bit, especially when a horde of those were still present, surrounding the one that was calmly standing still.
Feeling glad to have gotten rid off some of those undead and happily chatting about that, none of them truly were on guard when the walls around them began to open. Legions of undead swarmed the unprepared and tired humans, only aiming at the mages. Pushing aside the soldiers without even really hurting them, the skeleton warriors raised their weapons to kill. However, what was in front of them was not just a harmless chicken.
Losing no time, and even in this state, Three was strong enough to take care of pesky skeletons. But not against the several liches that were creating the very same mist that Five had seen previously. She could only shout a warning before she saw Eleven getting caught, soon followed by Eight. Casting a magic shield in a hurry, she saw it being repeatedly hit by several bone arrows. Swords and axes appeared shortly after, joining the fray.
Getting closer to Three, the two managed to hear the shouts of humans arriving to help. Feeling relieved, they couldn't see that the reinforcements were not in any position to come. The following minutes, neither of the two talked, their throats getting very dry as they were gasping for air. To prevent the mist from entering, they had no choice but to be completely cut from the rest of the world. However, they realized that no air was coming in either.
Since both had created a very small shield, to protect themselves and maybe one or two other people, the oxygen was getting very low. If the concept of atoms was still not present, they still knew that humans needed fresh air to survive. Realizing this, Five could only glance at the old face of Three, that was getting blurry. Putting her hand on his neck, she began to give him as much mana as she still had.
The man only realized he was getting better when he felt an arm suddenly dropping on his waist. Turning around, he saw the body of his female friend falling to the ground. Touching her neck, he could no longer feel any heartbeat. His eyes began to be filled with tears, as he knew that he was the only one that had survived. Still under the permanent assault of the undead, he felt wrath in his heart.
”[EXPLO ...]” Before he could end, silence reigned supreme. Stopping in his track, he could see the mist getting clearer and clearer, and saw a familiar sword cutting down a lich. Ferrod was stomping the skull of a skeleton that was still moving, as he removed his weapon from the corpse. Turning around, he saw the mighty magus of the 7th Circle kneeling near a body.
”I am sorry, Five. I am sorry, Eight. I am sorry, Eleven. I should have protected you. You trusted me, you trusted me, and I failed you.” The old man, nearly as old as Lord Darkwater, was half crying half praying. Caressing carefully the palm of his deceased junior sister, he tried to carry her. But, even as he was doing that, he felt his rusty legs letting him down.