Paladin's Rise - Lich Lord Wars Book 4

Chapter 9

"What is it, what are you trying to do!"

"Many things, just a little longer and you will see."

Almas and Uncle Marpel sprinted, their breaths ragged and hearts pounding, desperately trying to reach Ulec in time. The air around them crackled with tension, the very atmosphere charged with magic and danger.

"Almas, look out!" Uncle Marpel cried, shoving the boy aside just as an energy blast tore through the air where he had been standing mere moments before. The blast struck Uncle Marpel instead, sending him crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Ruined everything," Tornal snarled, his voice like poison dripping from his skeletal lips. Almas scrambled to his feet, fury and fear igniting within him as he took on his undead form.

"Alright, you bony buffoon," Almas thought bitterly, feeling the darkness swirling inside of him, "let's dance."

As Almas faced down Tornal, the bitter taste of vengeance filled his mouth, and his thoughts burned with a singular purpose - to protect those he loved from the nightmare that stood before him. In that moment, he knew that there was no turning back, no other path but the one that led straight through the heart of darkness. And as his eyes met Tornal's cold, yellow gaze, he knew that this was the battle that would define them both - for better or worse.

Gritting his teeth, Almas snapped off one of his bone spikes and hurled it into the grass. The ground shuddered as a grotesque, insect-like undead creep burst forth, its chitinous legs skittering in anticipation.

"Really, Almas?" Tornal sneered, his voice like shattered glass scraping over stone. "You'll need more than a few undead insects to save you."

As if to prove his point, Tornal thrust his arm forward, launching another energy blast straight at Almas. Without missing a beat, Almas flung another bone spike into the grass before him. A wall of writhing, undead tentacles erupted from the earth, blocking the blast and sending sparks flying in all directions.

"See, that's where you're wrong," Almas replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stared Tornal down. "The lich lords never realized the power they had. You always thought bigger was better. Bigger, stronger revenants. More and more death to fual your magic."

In the background, despite his injuries, Uncle Marpel began playing a haunting melody on his flute. The notes seemed to weave themselves around Almas, bolstering his resolve.

"Your kind never saw the power in small things," Almas continued, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he listened to his uncle's song.

"Small things?" Tornal scoffed, his pale eyes narrowing with disdain. "What good will that do you when I crush you beneath my heel?"

"Ah, but there's beauty in the details," Almas retorted, his mind racing with strategies born from the wisdom of his father's training. "Take this wall of tentacles, for example. It's not just about brute force - it's about timing, precision, and finesse."

"Enough!" Tornal roared, the air around him crackling with dark energy. "I'll show you the true extent of my power!"

"Go ahead," Almas taunted, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. "Show me how wrong I am."

As the battle raged on, Almas knew that his words had struck a nerve. Tornal's arrogance and obsession with raw power had blinded him to the subtler aspects of magic.

The wind whistled around Almas like a living thing, tendrils of air swirling and snapping at his face as Tornal's staff glowed with power. It was as though the very atmosphere was crying out for vengeance - but Almas knew that the true force behind this storm was the seething wrath of Tornal.