Dragoln's and KZ's Short Stories

No matter the cost

Reluctantly, he handed over the key as his fingers tensed tight.

"Lucas Heartrite, you are under arrest by the Warrior Knights Coalition for practicing the forbidden arts of necromancy and daring to steal the Frozen Key of Zenetor." An unyielding voice growled in authority.

Magical glowing binds wrapped around Lucas - stripping him of any ability to utilise mana. His face was obscured by a dark, ragged robe that sheathed his entire body from the sun.

Despite the ropes that bound him, the warriors behind the captain quivered in his dominating and ruthless presence.

The forest that they had found him, once lush and green with life, had withered away to a purple, corrupted rot - seething into the ground to encourage generations of infertility more.

Lucas Heartrite was also known by another name: The Tragic Dark Lord of Soul - an entity that terrorised local towns and was said to leave them in heartless ruin; his vicious reputation was known far and wide to travellers lone and weary.

"S-sir, do we really know the binds are working?" An anxious warrior quietly asked the captain with worry.

Not only was the Dark Lord of Soul known for his ruthless nature but also for his cunning wit and overwhelming power. There was a reason why the Warrior Knights Coalition hasn't been able to catch him in all this time.

Each attempt they had cornered him to the brink of loss but every time he managed to turn around the entire situation in unforeseeable mystical ways.

"Nonsense. These binds were created by one of our greatest battlemages. It is even said that they could weaken an entire Dragon." The Captain of the troop spoke with confidence and clarity, standing straight - arms behind his back.

"I-If you say so sir!" Saluting, the soldier chirped.

Putting a hand to his chin, the Captain mused, "If it weren't for our King, we probably never would have been able to capture him... Using the key of Zenetor's replica really was a genius move."

The Frozen Key of Zenetor - a priceless magical item that has passed down the Kingdom for centuries was stored in the depths of the dungeons, guarded by only the most Elite trained warriors and mages.

"Hm. So, it was a replica."

Suddenly, a shudder passed through all of the warriors at once. His voice rang clear throughout; a cold tone dug into their minds.

Despite the situation he was in, Lucas stood arrogant - glaring head-on with the Captain.

"Mark your days, sorcerer." Gritting his teeth, the Captain spat out the words. "You're never going to see the light of day again. Our mages will have you undergo the worst of the worst torture out dungeons have to offer."

Instead of getting onto his knees and pleading in fear and desperation, Lucas merely smirked at the thought - almost as if the words that the Captain spoke were that of a Jester's.

"Are you sure?" The Dark Lord spoke with a hint of playful tease in his voice.

"Hm?" The Captain hummed in disbelief and haughtiness.

As much as the binds allowed him to, Lucas outstretched his arms like a performer. In response, the warriors readied their stance - pointing their blades towards the lone figure in black.

Even the Captain, who had done nothing until now, unsheathed his magical sword adorned in all sorts of fancy metals and runes.

"You're entirely surrounded."

"I was surrounded in almost every battle we've fought. Want to remind us who won?"

"You've no magic to wield."

"That never stopped me from escaping your grasp. It won't stop me now."

At the snap of his finger, the binds stopped glowing with mystic - instead falling limp to the ground.

With no time to waste, the Captain roared, "Charge!"

All at once, warriors zeroed in on the target - ready to take their first swing. Just as the first made it to Lucas, dark wisps of magic exploded from the tips of his fingers - pushing back the warrior's metres away; leaving the closest to him with corrosive burns.

With a commanding tone, Lucas spoke in a faded whisper, "Familiars of the dead - rise."

From the barren forest, the earth rose animated beasts of tainted dark. Forest Drakes, Giant Orcs, Pale Unicorns, Horned Elves: they were all high-grade magical creatures and stood obedient with a purple dull light in their eyes.

Left and right - the warriors stood no chance of facing such powerful opponents with these numbers. The Captain had already managed to slay some with his exceptional sword but still struggled with the enormous army forming.

A dark crow formed at Lucas' shoulder, chirping delightedly. "Bring me the key."

While the Captain was distracted, the crow swooped down and grabbed the replica key of Zenetor and returned it to Lucas.

"Let's see. A replica is still quite useful after all - its magic contains traces of the original key I could trace back." Lucas paid no heed to the carnage happening behind him.

"They will never understand what I have sacrificed. The world is in danger and I'm the only one who's qualified to save it. No matter the cost."