The Tale of Drayden

Chapter 20: The Final Push

The air in the Shadowfen Chamber was thick with the remnants of dark energy, a heavy, suffocating presence that clung to everything like a second skin. The ancient portal stood ominously in the center, its once-vibrant runes now dark and cracked, yet still radiating a faint, malevolent glow.

Around the room, the adventurers lay scattered, battered and exhausted. The battle against the Dark Lord had drained them of nearly all their strength. Kael, Elyndra, Jaxon, Eliah, Leona, Alaric, Torin, Miri, Thalos, Jax, Eris, and Zaglas were sprawled across the floor, struggling to regain their breath.

Kael’s chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, every muscle in his body screaming in exhaustion. The chamber was thick with the stench of burnt magic and death. Around him, his companions lay sprawled, their bodies battered and bruised, barely able to move. The Dark Lord was gone, dragged back to the Shadow Realm, but victory had come at a bitter cost.

Kael’s gaze fell upon the motionless form in the center of the chamber — the Serpent-Tailed Sorcerer. His father. Or what had once been his father. Grief tightened like a vice around his heart. His adoptive father’s face was twisted in death, a permanent look of agony frozen on his features.

But he couldn’t grieve now. Not yet. A low, mocking voice broke through his thoughts.

“You really think you’ve won?” Malakar’s voice was venomous, his eyes blazing with fury. The dark sorcerer was still standing, still a threat. His black robes whipped around him like smoke, his hands raised high, crackling with foul magic. “This is far from over!”

He threw his hands down, and the chamber shuddered. Dark energy rippled out from him, filling the air with a foul stench that made Kael’s stomach turn. “Rise!” Malakar shouted.

The shadows at the edges of the room seemed to come alive. Rotten hands clawed their way out of the darkness, and a horde of undead soldiers began to emerge. Hollow eyes glowed with malevolent intent as they dragged themselves forward, their mouths hanging open in silent screams.

Kael staggered back a step, his sword feeling like dead weight in his hand. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. His legs were barely holding him up.

Malakar’s sneer widened, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the lifeless body of the Serpent-Tailed Sorcerer. “And as for you…” he hissed, thrusting his hand toward the corpse. A dark, crackling energy shot from his palm, snaking through the air like a living thing, and plunged into the sorcerer’s chest.

Kael’s eyes widened in horror. “No!” he shouted, voice cracking with desperation. “Not him! Don’t you dare!”

The body jerked violently, limbs twitching in a macabre dance as Malakar’s magic took hold. The Serpent-Tailed Sorcerer’s eyes shot open, glowing an unnatural green. His face contorted, lips pulling back in a rictus grin, and he slowly rose to his feet, moving like a marionette on tangled strings.

“He will serve me in death,” Malakar declared, his voice dripping with malice, “as he should have in life!”

Kael felt a surge of rage and grief threaten to choke him. “You bastard!” he spat, pushing himself up, nearly stumbling over his own feet. “He was never yours to control!”

Elyndra, one of the few still standing, glanced at Kael, her eyes fierce. “We can’t let this happen!” she yelled, her grip on her sword tightening. Her voice was hoarse, and there was blood on her cheek, but her determination was unwavering.

Zaglas, still in his full tiger form, snarled. “Then we don’t,” he growled, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Hold nothing back!” With a ferocious roar, he charged forward, his massive claws slashing through the first wave of undead like they were paper.