Arcanist In Another World

Bodies clashed and bodies fell. Wavering lines pressed into each other and muddled into a sprawling mess. Everywhere at once, men died bleeding, the Skeletons screaming, the Undead reeling back. Bones were coming out of the ground, hands reaching out to catch the alliance unaware, to give the hulking beasts of the Necromancer’s horde a chance to crack the ranks wide open.

Valens saw towering shields crumbling down out of the corner of his eyes. Trampled under the hooves of Oarfangs. Drilled by Wards’ streaking limbs, through the metal and into the flesh, caught all unaware, caught like fish on a spear’s tip. They were jerked back and sent hurling across the lines, bits of broken bodies falling in a sickening shower over the scattered lines.

But then green lights washed down over the ground and stretched into lanes of fog that slithered around the Undead ranks, seeped deep into the ground, the Skeletons hissing against the touch of it. The Lich’s magic gave the Undead lines some semblance of their order back, and then they were marching, crushing the bony hands with their armored feet, moving in lines of steely death toward the Necromancer’s beasts.

Lightmaster was there on the din, that smile of his stretched painfully tight across his lips. He waved an almost vehement hand around the air, and then there was light, blooming in the dark of the cave like a morning sun gracing this forgotten stretch of the world with its face.

It burned, looking at the man now. Burned just being in the proximity of the light. Valens was no believing man, but he still thanked whatever the Gods were out there when Lord Zahul’s fog blocked the light from spilling down to the Undead lines. It instead seeped into the golden-armored men and brought a change to their ranks, letting them establish their lost order in moments while the Lightmaster kept the sun alive.

And yet, Valens could see the wide openings through his sound vision in the alliance’s army. Hulking beasts reaped the souls of men by dozens. Magic and arrows couldn’t scratch their thick bones. Valens had tried himself before and knew how sturdy those outer shells were. The only easy way to deal with them was to cut the lifeline of the venom.

The only easy way.

He scoffed. This world was mad.

There was scarcely any muscle that didn’t hurt when he tried to move his body, mind still scrambling to understand what had happened to Nomad. He could tell he was troubled just by lending an ear to his frequencies and could almost hear his thoughts as well, but they were more like incoherent whispers that he couldn’t quite understand.

He shook his head. There was no time to think. The lines were moving, and they were being slowly forced to get dragged into the din. Nomad on the front. Celme on his side, face twisted up as she tried to wave the fog away. Valens a step behind, surrounded by a group of Undead that followed after Hook.

The chief didn’t seem to be aware of the change. Not yet, at least. He didn’t seem to care whether Valens and Celme were in their ranks too. Valens guessed that was only normal. One more corpse, human or undead, wouldn’t make a difference. His eyes were back on the horde now, back to the Skeletons, that spiked mace raised high.

“I remember,” Nomad was mumbling, the tip of his sword scratching the ground as he dragged it mindlessly after him. Valens wanted to reach out and see the situation around his Heartstone with a Lifeward, but the Undead around him pushed him back, back until he lost sight of the pair.