Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 323 Fear The Night : Nameless Stand

It was like breaking a bunch of rocks with a hammer, it worked but the hammer was worn out and the rocks were much too numerous, that was how it felt trying to bash Helena's skull in, especially as he subconsciously erect barriers in Loimos's way, otherwise he would have already gouged out her eyes like he had done to Merno, once the zone was dispelled, he moved on and rushed for the last challengers still standing.

His armour and bones had suffered some wear and tear, but he somehow appeared even more threatening to the five that remained, three champions of the element and the talented cleric stood in his way, barring the way to Minli and the wounded, whomst had been arranged neatly and had some sort of items cradled into their unconscious hands, the way they had to teleport back to Tamaris was only one way and would work on all of them as long as they carried the appropriate object.

Even as their legs shook, and as their spells failed to make a difference, the remaining four were not retreating, intent on somehow grasping victory, it was their intense fear that kept them standing, they feared eternity, they feared King Nitok, they feared the gravelords, they feared the endless and unceasing ranks of death's legion.

But nothing scared them more than Loimos himself, the champion of death was the face of the undead empire, he was its repressive inquisitor, he was its royal executioner, he was the vanguard.

Upon his back, he carried the four aspects of the apocalypse, it was the blades of his scythes that would draw the most blood, it was his rot that would draw forth beasts of slaughter.

In service of oblivion, death he would spread.

In service of death, a world tree he would nurture.

There was no hesitation to be had, Loimos was the enemy, and no matter what, he had to be brought down, certainty plagued the hearts of the living, that as long as the champion was eliminated, not victory, but escape could be made possible.

The four remaining combatants, warriors of little renown, nameless they could have been, stood in the way of the putrid knight.

"O Phanes, grant me strength, strength to face the scion of heresy... Wash away the doubts within my heart..." Marl whispered a quiet prayer, tightly grasping the symbol of his god around his neck.

The three champions tightened their grip upon their weapons, the vileness before them was running at full speed, like a beast he was powerful, like a man he was cruel.

Alosfit's straight sword was ignited with bright white flames, the skin on his hands and arms cracking and burning away, the metal shining brightly, like a sun in the night.

Forven's curved sword was unseen as raging winds surrounded it, his hair flailing chaotically as he extended it to all around his body, subtle cuts appearing upon his clothes and skin.

Neige's quarterstaff turned cold, snow beginning to fall, emerging from her, saliva turning to ice, eyelashes growing white as residues of snow fell upon them, like four divine warriors, holy life, fire, wind and snow enacted their will upon the surroundings, intertwining perfectly, all homing in on Loimos.

The glorious shine of holy life vanished, and lastly, the clouds of snow fell to the ground.

Within mere moments, Loimos still stood tall, deep gashes still fuming, scorched marks upon his armour, countless slashes riddling his hide of rot, marks of frost clinging upon him, it had been glorious, but clearly, the undead had overcome their burning hopes and bravery.

Alosfit was missing his left leg, Forven clutched a broken arm, Neige's face had turned red, a whole chunk of her face seemed to have been ripped out, and Marl put pressure on his throat, rivers of blood still finding its way through his fingers.

One step forward, the undead was not even going to go for Minli, he would first claim the lives of those closest, and once he was done with all of them, the death force produced would allow for him to recover his capabilities.

"It was useless...?" the healer could not help but notice that Loimos was just about the same as when they had arrived, they had done nothing but impede him for a little while, all damage was superficial and had no bearing on his ability to fight.

In fact, had they not just delivered him his food to recover?

Minli prepared to activate the item to take them back, at the very least, she would stop him from joining the war!

"Hold on... We didn't lose yet" a hand came up to her shoulder, rising up to their feet, one of her unconscious patients stepped forward, and as though his presence deserved recognition, the vile undead stopped as well.

"Excuse me Sir Loimos, but I am afraid that I am not yet dead"

"Would you grace me with one last duel?" calmly, face bloodied, battered and beaten, in the throes of an injury that could very well spell the end of life.

Griar pointed his sabre at Loimos.

Blood seeped from his nose, mouth, eyes and ears, yet he stood tall, posture and hold upon his blade perfect, the arts surged alongside his mana.

Loimos sensed the life stirring, it seemed like Griar was a true knight as he had wished, he laid down his life for what was right, resting it upon the sharpness of his blade.

'This could be problematic'