The Paladin in the Abyss

In Peyton Derrick’s wildest dreams, he had never thought of becoming a god. The main purpose of his revisit to that ancient temple was to find a way out of the Derrick Kingdom, a cage he had forged for himself due to past mistakes. He failed and returned gravely injured. Soon after, a group of malicious hags invaded his territory. They were powerful, but what truly terrified Peyton was their dark knowledge. The lich’s fears were indeed justified: he was humiliatingly defeated, stripped of his power, his body sealed, and even his consciousness was imprisoned in a void. There was nothing he could do except fantasize about how he would take revenge on the hags and all those who had ever wronged him.

In his heart, he had already accepted this as his fate—to be imprisoned until the end of time, perishing with the multiverse. Yet, just as he had completely abandoned hope, a turning point suddenly occurred: his stripped powers returned to his body, and his consciousness effortlessly broke free of the prison imposed by the hags. In fact, his current strength far surpassed what it was before his imprisonment, and his mind was filled with knowledge he had never known. A man like him would always find an excuse for himself: "I, Peyton Derrick, master of the Derrick Kingdom, the greatest mage in my family’s history, was always this powerful. It was merely the long imprisonment that caused some confusion in my memory; likewise, those pieces of secret knowledge were always mine; it was the vile witchcraft of the hags that made me forget."

Besides that, another voice emerged in his mind, a voice that was intelligent, proud, arrogant, and imperious. He believed it was his former self. He even thought that this fragile, sensitive, and terrified self born of long imprisonment should be quickly ’integrated’ back into the ’healthy’ self of the past.

And indeed, that’s what he did. Urged on by that voice, the lich suppressed his fear of the temple and ordered his bearers to move forward, raising his arms to weave the intangible, omnipresent web of magic.

His first spell used simple casting materials: just a piece of foam commonly used to stuff sofas and cushions. But after a few breaths, the lich used dark magic to turn it into something entirely different, which he then threw into the midst of the tenaciously resisting Holy Temple Guardians.

The foam emitted a bizarre, sickly purple glow as it sailed through the air, and upon hitting the ground, the magical energy it contained exploded violently like a supernova. Centered on the foam, all moisture within a large surrounding area was forcefully extracted, whether from the ground, the air, or the bodies of living creatures. Clearly, this effect had no impact on the undead, whose bodies were already devoid of moisture and whose existence was sustained by forces unrelated to water.

This was the Withering Curse of Abi-Dach, an Eighth Circle necromancy spell and one of the liches’ favorites, much as demons favored Firewall spells. All living humans within thirty feet of the foam died instantly, their bodies as dry as withered wood. Those further away, possessing stronger constitutions, barely survived but were severely weakened, the loss of bodily fluids causing dizziness, shortness of breath, and severely diminished combat effectiveness.

The lich looked on with satisfaction at his handiwork. With just one action, he had successfully torn a wide breach in the defenders’ lines, and his undead army immediately surged through it. Everything seemed perfect.

Just then, a heavily armored knight suddenly charged from the rear of the enemy lines, wielding a massive spiral sword. In the midst of the chaos, he unleashed a storm of metal, tearing through the surrounding enemies like ships caught in a maelstrom. In that instant, the lich almost thought the demon knight who had once forced him to flee had reappeared, but an entity pushed to the corner of his consciousness recognized the newly arrived figure.