Remezan’s logic was quite simple; the only time he could hope to defeat Apotho was while the Warlock was still weakened. As a Level 57 Cardinal and an accomplished Walker, he was anything but weak. However, what he was facing had been archived well. Before Gizmo had retreated into the finished barrier, one unfalsifiable assessment of his power had been created. A simple card of Divinium, hidden deep in the archives of the local church, present to give every stationed Cardinal knowledge of what exactly they were guarding over.

A level 127 Master of the Roots. The highest title any Warlock could attain and a level at which godhood was just a question of desire, not ability. More than twice the level, with the vast array of higher strength spell and skills that came with it and a unique Art, something only those beyond Level 100 had access to.

Although Remezan had his own, common Art from being above Level 50, those two things were separated in power intensity by a massive margin. Only right where they were, with no other people around that Apotho could use to quickly regain his youth, did the Cardinal stand any chance of victory.

“Divine Materialization,” Apotho clapped, sarcastically congratulating the man on the cliff above. “How befitting of a Cardinal. The liars in the Trunk have allowed you to wield one of their messenger’s weapons. By all means, try your worst,” a subtle difference in Apotho’s voice made his next words a seductive offer, “come down.”

Remezan had to strain his entire body to not fall prey to the unnatural charisma within those words. Even the Warlock’s voice was a weapon, able to manipulate people into doing things they would normally put off as quite bad ideas. Rather than let these talks continue any longer, the Cardinal drew his arm back, his salt-and-pepper beard waving in a sudden breeze, then he tossed the weapon with as much force as he could muster.

Apotho turned his body at a speed nobody that had the physique of an eighty-year-old man should have been able to. His feet dug a semi-circle into the grass, the spear dug into the dirt not far from there, then dematerialized, leaving a perfectly straight line.

“Is that your plan? Try to throw your spear at me until I tire out or you score a lucky hit?” the man who had reached the pinnacle of Dark Arts mocked. “Do you take me for a fool? That I just ran here so I could have a little fight with you?” Raising a finger in a lecturing fashion, Apotho let out a series of demeaning sounds. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, I know perfectly that you would try to get people out of the firing range in case you failed here. The population of Haralry is currently being evacuated. Among the rim of the world, I bet. You would have sent them off the Leaf entirely if you thought people would survive that journey in such an unprepared mass.”

It was exactly what Remezan had planned to do and what he had yelled at all the guards that he had come across on the way here. The accuracy didn’t distract him. He materialized the spear again, drew back his arm and threw it. Again, Apotho dodged with ease, dragging his foot through the grass.

“Nothing forces me to fight you here,” the Warlock continued, side-stepping a number of more spears while he talked. “I could just walk north or south and absorb the dim-witted population you swore to protect. It would be a mercy, really. Becoming part of me is a much greater gift than to live, sleep and die by the will of some uncaring creators. I could have done any number of things before facing you, my greatest obstacle here.” Yawningly taking a step, this time without dragging his feet, Apotho dodged one last spear before threatening. “If you don’t come down, then I will simply leave. You can’t have that, now can you?”

Although the Cardinal could see that he was obviously being goaded, the fact was that Apotho also didn’t leave him with any other choice. With a mighty leap, the Cardinal catapulted himself down the cliff. The tip of a new spear glinted in the sunlight.

There was a surprised look on the Warlock’s face, as if he hadn’t expected such speed. With hasty steps, he managed to dodge. Too hasty for proper footing. Remezan seized on the moment, whirled around the moment he landed – and drew blood. A shallow cut along Apotho’s arms, nothing that was cause for concern or jubilation, but a successful hit regardless. Invigorated by this first success, the Cardinal redoubled his assault.

Step for step, he forced Apotho back, who struggled to regain his balance. With dragging steps and desperate backwards stomps, the Warlock continued to dodge. Drops of his blood fell into the soil, dripping from ever-more shallow cuts.

Above, Apexus was watching the happenings intensely, trying to follow it. The movements were too quick for him, he could only really follow the slow moments between strikes, but the general direction of the fight seemed clear. Only a few times did it seem like Apotho had a fighting chance, throwing out an assault of green fire that forced the Cardinal back. Each time, it was a sloppy attempt, only hitting the floor and searing a circle into the grass. One, two, three, four times, such an attack was made. Each time it failed to give Apotho the breathing room to pull off something greater.

So entranced was the slime by the battle, so focused Remezan on his seeming success, that neither of them noticed what was really going on until it was too late. Although Apotho really had no chance of beating the Cardinal in close quarter combat, the wounds he took were genuine, his resistance was not as strong as it could have been. That was because the Warlock wasn’t looking to win an exchange of blows, he was going to win the fight.

The surprise that he had displayed on his face suddenly turned into a renewed grin. Immediately put off by this, the Cardinal tried to put some distance between them, only playing once more into Apotho’s hand by doing so.

The grass under Remezan’s feet withered and crumbled into ash as the lines in ground, drawn with their feet and the slices of his spear, flared up in a bloody red. ‘He drew a summoning circle with the fighting movements,’ the Cardinal realized quickly, analysing the runes with his limited understanding in the short time he had. Even with that, he realized the impossible ambition of the circle.

Ethereal chains darted out of the four scorched marks from the ‘missed’ firebolts, wrapping themselves around Remezan’s limbs and preventing any sort of counterattack. The endless dance of the fight was suddenly over, but the Cardinal felt relieved, even as he was immobilized. This was because of the fact that Apotho, as well, was inside the circle and the glow was too intense to escape it now.

“You’re going to be killed by your own spell,” Remezan declared, happy to give his life if this was what it accomplished.

“Killed by my own spell…?” Apotho asked, now honestly surprised, blinking in confusion, then laughing maniacally. “Did you lose the description of my Art, Cardinal? Was it lost in time, eroded just like I eroded the conditions of my prison?” The Warlock grinned as his body began to leak life energy into the circle, changing its colour to a sated, bright green at a quick pace. He was giving more, so much more, than was sucked out of the Cardinal.

However, where Remezan’s haired turned grey, the wrinkles in his skin became deeper and deeper, and his muscles withered, Apotho was unchanged. “H-how?!” the Cardinal groaned, stemming against the forceful removal of his lifeforce. He could slow it tremendously, for the moment he had only been robbed a few years, if he slipped, his entire life could be gone in a few seconds.

“My Art is Deathless Greed,” Apotho revealed, grinning as he fuelled the spell more and more. “It’s a rather simple ability, with wide reaching consequences. Describable in one sentence: I cannot harm myself, your ‘holiness’.” To demonstrate and to give more fuel to the circle, Apotho rammed his fingers into a cut on his arm and pulled the skin back. Skin was peeled off muscle, muscle from bone, no self-preservation instincts kicking in, as the shallow wound was forcefully widened into a disgusting gash.

Blood overflowed when the Warlock reached his artery. The life sustaining fluid landed on the groundand then crawled towards the lines of the circle like small maggots. The second the warlock let go, the wound reverted back to the small slit it had originally been.

“No action I take can hurt me. I could cut off my own head and it would reattach itself. I could swallow the vilest poison, as long as I do it knowingly, it will heal. Indeed, if you were so weak that you couldn’t harm me unless I let you, I could even run into your weapon and the wound would close itself. More importantly, no matter what spell I weave, it will come to no cost of my own life. I am a Warlock with an infinite supply of power, the only thing that limits me is preparation and the boundaries of flesh,” Apotho raised a hand against an invisible resistance, parts of the circle rose off the floor, making the previous linework a thing of three dimensions. The scorched marks from which chains had come turned into swirling black pits that lead elsewhere.

“Well,” the Warlock continued his lecture, “there is another thing that limits me. My rituals are fuelled completely by my own power, but the demons still hunger, your ‘holiness’. They want flesh that has its worth from sacrifice and on this measly little Leaf, only you’re worthy to call back my Hounds of Tharnatos.”

If Remezan’s skin hadn’t already become pale from the energy drain, that series of announcements would have done it. A Warlock that didn’t have to sacrifice lifeforce had infinite mana, could keep as many demons under his command as he could convince to make a contract. Even one Tharnatos class demon would have been as much as a normal Warlock around Level 100 dared to summon and Apotho spoke of numerous.

The warlock raised a second hand, more of the summoning circle expanded into the air. Particles of ash whirled around, obscuring the sun, as the presence of dreadful creatures made the entire Leaf tremble. A giggle could be heard, alluring and distant, a corrupting seductiveness under even those presences.

All of those sounds and feelings were interrupted when over a hundred kilograms of slime broke through the ash and crashed gracelessly into Apotho.