Nathan's grin widened as Khasmina's spell worked its way into the grave-guard. Soon another two turned on their own allies and cut each other apart, and then another and another until the living dead were embroiled into
skirmishes all over. The animation that gave them a hint of personality had become their undoing. Unexpectedly, another one near the crypt fell to ashes, though not to Nathan's blade or to one of its own. Rather, the lich that he had detected earlier was acting against his enemy.
Perhaps they were not allies after all. Nevertheless, Nathan turned his attention to the nearest opponent not under Khasmina's spell or fighting against its own and parried an incoming sword stroke. Immediately he riposted and struck low, under its ribcage and turned on his left foot, redirecting his own blade into an underhand slash that severed it at the spinal column.
The flesh burned and almost instantly as he completed the swing, the creature lunged for his throat, dropping its sword in the process. The blade clanged dully on the ground as its wielder seized him about the jugular with rotten hands. Now only a torso, still, it held on tight with incredible strength despite that and how its hands burned upon touching him.
"Get off me!" He growled in between choked breaths.
With that, Nathan's free hand curled around the solar plexus and shoved, hard at the creature's chest. It fell a short distance away and landed on the wet ground. Almost immediately, it tried to force its way back up and crawled, on its hands towards him. The paladin put a stop to it as he advanced; shearing the head clean off its shoulders with his radiantly glowing sword.
He turned to make sure his ally was behind and his eyes widened in alarm.
"Khasmina, behind you!" He exclaimed.
With that, Nathan reared back and hurled his sword as one would a javelin. The blade soared straight and true, right past the sorceress and buried itself, blade first into her attacker's throat and reduced the creature to burning sludge before it could raise its spear.
Two more appeared from the east, working their way around rotten trees. They bore axes and had their baleful gaze upon Khasmina.
"Stay away from her!" Nathan roared as he turned to face them and put his frame in between her and her attackers. The glow around him intensified and he felt his blood turn red hot with anger and vindication. His previous delight in the thrill of combat had submerged beneath the fury of seeing his newfound ally under attack. Godsend turned aside an axe head as it came at him in a two-handed swing. Steel clanged and sparked as blades slammed against each other.
Snarling, Nathan delivered another blow - taking the first one's off with a single swing. He ducked under the other's counterattack as it came and lunged, driving his blade into a stab right through the creature's chest, driving it to the hilt into its un-beating heart. Still, he advanced and knocked its rapidly decaying body off its feet with a shoulder check. The paladin held the blade in both hands, allowing it to remain a second longer before he wrenched it free and watched in satisfaction as the corpse was reduced to
cinders.
"This ends now." He muttered. He turned to the crypt.
"Hear me!" His voice boomed, long and loud throughout the wasteland, making every one of the grave-guard clutch their heads and screech. At the far end of the trail, a black, forbidding presence stirred and a cry of rage and pain sounded. Through his enhanced senses, Nathan could feel that through the connection with their master, they conveyed his agony.
Within, he was gripped with terrible pain from the purifying light and the necromancer desperately tried to keep up the spell sustaining his minions, but every second was sheer agony for them.
"I am a servant of the God of War and the instrument of His retribution. Too long have you held sway over this place. Understand that there are forces at work in this world, besides the will of evil. Come out and face me, Zasz!"
At the last word, slowly, very slowly, the doors of the great crypt were reopened. From within its black depths, the necromancer himself emerged. Nathan's eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of his old enemy.
Even before his descent into the dark arts, Zasz had been gigantic; unsurprising given he was himself a half-giant, but now he was a colossus wrapped in black steel, sleek and hard-edged. The armor's surface was a reflective sheen, as if the alloy was alive and coated with oily sweat, but no light, either from the moon or from Nathan escaped from it. In fact, the longer Nathan stared, the more it seemed to suck in and devour all radiance.
What flesh was visible beneath Zasz's plate was pale and necrotic; bleached of all color and life and any trace of humanity. He wore on the top of his head a thorny crown made of iron that stretched over his bald scalp. Green eyes glowed with bitter, ice-cold hatred above a face that was fixed into a permanent, hideous rictus grin. In his right hand he carried a mace with a shaft of ebony and a head of
dark steel.
In his left hand, he carried a spellbook, bound in chains around its spine. For all the power it had granted and for all the secrets of the dark arts it contained, it was all things considered rather plain; a single white, ghostly figure was depicted on the cover over a dark brown field, but to one with magic sensitive eyes, one could see and 'hear' the wailing of the damned souls writhing within its depths.
For a long moment, no one spoke. No one dared breath. Then finally, the blackguard broke the stalemate by clenching his mace tightly and holding it aloft in a mock salute.
"It is good to see you again after all these years,
brother." He hissed the last word in a voice as cold and sharp as an icicle.
"You lost the right to call me 'brother' long ago." Nathan snarled. It was impossible to tell which was filled with more hate; his voice or his eyes. "When you betrayed our comrades and turned to the dark arts."
"What other choice might I have had?" Zasz asked, sounding almost wistful. "When I lost my beloved Andrea, where were the gods? When I fell into despair, did the Order ever give me comfort or solace?"
"If I recall correctly, you rebuked us and turned away from the code. You earned my trust once, and we fought that bloody war together. Why? Why do this?"
"Because the dark arts promise a path. One that could bring her back to me. She will be returned to life."
"A life worse than death." Nathan said angrily. "She would not be as she was, Zasz. You know as well as I do, there is no resurrection, even if you had all the grimoires in your possession, there is only the living death you have embraced."
Zasz's eye twitched. "You're wrong, Nathan."
"Am I?" Nathan growled. "What is dead should stay dead."
"Still uttering the same nonsense." Zasz sighed. "No matter. Come midnight, I will cast a spell that will recall her from the land of the dead and be with her again, forevermore. And as for you, my former brother-in-arms, it is time for you and your new friends to DIE!"
In an instant, true combat was unleashed as both fighters charged, ignoring all else in their way as sword and mace met with thunderous impact. Stray dust and debris was scattered every which way upon the first strike and soon, both sets of arms were ground to a trembling halt. Muscles quivered with effort as Nathan struggled to push his opponent back, but he had met a foe whose strength easily rivaled his own.
