"𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡"

Chapter 5: The Dead and Death

The Border Bar alley was a narrow passage, its cobblestones slick with the evening's mist. Thane leaned against the cool brick wall, his breath visible in the chill night air. He scanned the alleyway for any sign of Suna, feeling the familiar hum of magic beneath his skin—a reminder of the power he wielded, yet often wished to forget.

Moments later, Suna emerged from the shadows, her cloak billowing behind her. She moved with a quiet grace, her eyes locking onto Thane's with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"You're here," she said, her voice a soft lilt that danced through the night.

Thane nodded. "You said you had an offer."

Suna hesitated, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as if weighing her words. "I want you to become the Warlock of Ivonmoure."

The title hung between them, heavy with promise and peril. Thane chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not interested in power plays, Suna. I've had enough of those for a lifetime."

"Think about it," she urged, stepping closer. "The influence you could wield, the change you could bring—"

Thane silenced her with a gentle touch to her lips. "I'd rather have this dance," he said, extending his hand.

Suna blinked in surprise but accepted his invitation. They moved to the rhythm of their own making, the world around them fading away. The night held its breath as they twirled under the faint light of distant stars.

But the serenity shattered with a thunderous explosion that rocked the bar. Flames licked at the sky, painting the night in a hellish glow. Thane spun around, his heart pounding as he recognized the figure stepping from the fire.

The God of Death, Fane Wilothar, loomed large and menacing, his eyes like twin voids. He spoke with a voice that seemed to resonate from the very depths of the earth. "The Dead God, Thane Zatrimus, I have been trying to find you. Are you ready to face your death?"

Thane felt the surge of dark magic within him, rising like a storm. "Suna, run! Gather the guards!" he shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

Suna hesitated, then turned to flee, but she barely took two steps before Fane's fire blast struck her, sending her sprawling to the ground. The sight filled Thane with a cold fury.

Drawing upon his magic, Thane faced Fane, his power manifesting in shadowy tendrils that lashed out like living extensions of his rage. The two clashed in a furious dance of death, magic crackling and flaring in the confined space.

Fane was relentless, each strike calculated to test Thane's limits. Yet, as the battle wore on, Thane pushed back, his dark magic fueled by desperation and defiance.

Seeing he was cornered, Fane sneered. "I will return next week, Thane. Prepare for your end." With that, he vanished into the night, leaving a silence as profound as his threat.

Thane staggered, his body battered and bruised. Blood dripped from wounds that burned with Fane's malice. As he sank to the ground, the edges of his vision began to blur, darkness creeping in.

He crawled to Suna, her body still and silent. With a trembling hand, he checked for signs of life, relief flooding through him when he felt a faint pulse.

But the battle had taken its toll. As consciousness slipped away, Thane lay beside Suna, the world dissolving into shadows. His last thought was of the dance, and the fleeting peace it had brought him amidst the chaos.