Tyverus opened his eyes to a world of chaos and blood-drenched savagery, all around him the ground was covered with still-burning embers, blood, debris, and dead bodies. It took a moment for all of his other senses to come back; the sounds of men howling with fury or screaming with pain, the bitter smell of gore liberated forth by the slashing of metal and the taste of his own bitter blood on his tongue. All around him was the doom that all of humanity brought upon its brothers and sisters. This savagery was the only true gift that the gods above had bequeathed upon all of mankind: War.

Without having to be conscious of it, Tyverus took a step forward and ducked under the blade that was sweeping across the air toward his head. The blade swung in mere inches from cleaving in his skull. Attached to that blade was a barbarian covered in furs, yelling at the top of his lungs. Bones of birds swayed from threads woven through the barbarian’s nose and up the sides of his face. His beard was matted with blood and gobbets of flesh. What was to be seen of his face beneath the splatters of blood and dirt, was painted in the blue clay paint that the Khollisthenna people — The Death Wolves of the North — were known to wear to war.

This particular warrior of the barbarian tribes had previously struck Tyverus in the face with his metal bracer, sending him into a moment of blackness. He didn’t need to be fully aware of his state, as he was trained well enough. Without needing to think, his body was reacting to every thrust and slash the barbarian warrior sent his way. The Khollis berserker had gotten in a lucky shot and it was now time for Tyverus to ensure it would be that warrior’s last.

Tyverus had dropped his blade a few moments earlier and since that had become quite enamored with the blade the barbarian had tried to kill him with. Keeping up momentum in his first step he dropped into a crouch and turned his back to the still-roaring barbarian. He let his left foot slip on the pool of blood at his feet allowing him to hit the barbarian in the chest with his shoulders. The momentum was enough to knock the wind from the howling man’s lungs.

A small command of earthen power was made as Tyverus channeled the energies of the ground below into his right hand. Rocks and pebbles formed along the leather glove he wore to reinforce him. With a downward thrust, he pummeled his fist into the swinging sword arm of the barbarian. Behind his right hand, his left greedily reached out to grab the hilt of the berserker’s sword. Tyverus’ impact was enough to break the warrior’s arm almost in twain. Bones shot up from flesh and a light sprinkle of blood covered Tyverus’ face.

Before the warrior could suck in air for a cry of pain, Tyverus had clutched and stolen the blade from him. With a swing and pivot, Tyverus took up his earlier stance before the man and sent the singing metal of the blade into the barbarian’s neck. As soon as metal impacted bone, the Khollis warrior grabbed Tyverus by the neck with his other hand. Meaty fingers dug into the knight’s flesh just above his mantle and for a moment it felt like the barbarian might lift him from the ground.

Tyverus knew how hardy and powerful these tribesmen of the northern lands were, but he never thought that such power could be held by a man who had his own sword embedded in his neck. Spouts and sprays of steaming blood-drenched Tyverus’ front as he continued to pull the blade through the warrior’s neck. Bone grated against metal as he managed to pull the blade downward and free. The grip on his neck hadn’t abated.

The sky-blue eyes of the warrior stared hotly with rage and judgment at Tyverus as he stood his ground and let the blade fall away to the ground. The grip on his neck began to loosen as each heartbeat brought more of the barbarian’s blood up and out of his body. Slowly the grip fell away and the warrior dropped to his knees.

“You fought well.” Tyverus spoke softly under his breath. “Join your ancestors and your kin in the halls of Olthenna.” He took a step backward as the warrior continued to stare at him hotly. The warrior did nothing to staunch the spilling of his own blood. Slowly his eyes closed as he knelt forward to grab up his sword from the ground with his functional hand and impaled it tip down into the steaming soil. He got back up into a full kneeling stance, leaning on the cross-brace of his weapon. The warrior opened his eyes once more to stare at Tyverus, with a look no longer of rage, but one of peace at dying in battle against a superior opponent.

The life soon left the warrior’s eyes, but he remained still in his kneeling pose. Tyverus turned away from the warrior and grabbed up his own sword in the grass nearby. The sounds of battle echoed out and a few explosions roared through the smoke-filled air.

Sword in hand, Tyverus launched himself forward into the fray, stepping over burning embers and dead bodies as he sought out more barbarians to send to the goddess of death. Ahead by a few hundred feet, he could see the silhouettes of warriors crashing arms against one another and he aimed there with his feet.

Off to his left, as he ran, he could hear another fray and with a look over he beheld several barbarians closing in on a prone knight. Each of the barbarians raised up their swords or axes as they plunged towards the disarmed and wounded knight. As soon as Tyverus couldn’t see the knight over the warriors closing in on him, he felt a slight breeze tugging at his matted, brown hair.

Knowing exactly what that breeze heralded, Tyverus dropped into a crouch and slid on his right foot. He pulled into a somersault to the right just as a fiery explosion went off to his left. Air drew in with hunger towards the explosion, and immediately after the heat of flames shot out at him. He lifted his left arm to shield his face. The flames hit him first, followed by the hail of scorched chunks of flesh and bone. It would seem that the fallen knight had decided to take the warriors with him into Olthenna’s grace.

Tyverus shook the heat and momentary disorientation from him for a moment and then got back up to a crouching position. As soon as his senses sharpened once again, he heard the whistle of arrows on the wind. Two heavy bolts the size of his forearm bit into the ground by his feet. The whistling of the third bolt ended with a hard impact to his left shoulder.

As soon as his left arm flew to his side under the impact, he raised himself back up to his feet. Without thinking his eyes darted into the smoke before him. By the sounds of the arrows and the direction of the impact, the archer was ahead and to the left. Given the size of the bolts, it was uncertain how far away they were, but he knew they would be notching more arrows within a few seconds.

Tyverus lifted his sword-arm, holding his blade forward and pointed at the source of the arrows. He closed his eyes to focus on his elemental commands of the air, feeling the wind whipping up around him. He opened his eyes to gaze into a small vortex of air reaching out from the tip of his sword like a lance of wind. The lance of swirling smoke spread forward and grew in size.

The whistling of three more arrows came at him and with a slight movement of his sword in his hand, he sent all three careening off in different directions. He focused hard and swelled the air in front of him to whip the smoke away. Before him, his vision elongated through the smoke, creating a spear of clean air. The moments seemed to freeze as he focused all his intention on widening and furthering the area he could see.

The spear of clean air stretched out almost three-hundred yards from where he stood. Ahead he could see several tree trunks and high grasses beyond a snowbank. He stretched the spear wide to create an elongated cone of visibility before him. That is when he could see the blue-painted archer beyond the first trees.

Tyverus couldn’t help but smile at the cleverness of the young woman that stood before him on the other side of the battlefield. She was one of the Khollis archers who were famed for their deviousness as well as the strength of their bow-arms. The woman had already notched another three arrows into her longbow and stood perfectly still to stare through the tunnel of cleared air at Tyverus.

The archer was painted in the same blue clay paint as the rest of the barbarians. Her golden hair, braided and held in check with gemstone beads whipped around her head on the air. Her arms tensed with a strength that most men that Tyverus had met in his travels, from city to city, would be incapable of. On her face was a look of cold determination to fell her prey.

It took only a moment for Tyverus to realize, despite the extreme distance counteracted by his heightened senses, that the woman had slightly pivoted her bow-arm to a sharper angle. The gemstone beads in her hair, trailing over her face, allowed her to gauge the intensity of the vortex Tyverus commanded. With precise skill, she had recalculated her trajectory and was about to loose her new arrows.

Tyverus had no arrogance or conceit about his abilities, knowing that these warriors were well-trained in fighting his kind over the last several years of this war. They had the determination of a people fighting for their home, and the cunning of the wolves that were their tribal namesake. He had to think fast as those arrows made their way to him. He couldn’t cover the distance in time to make it to her and he was on his own in this fight.

He turned his head slightly to see the burning crater far to his left. The elemental fires still burned among the chunks of fallen warriors. The embers of burnt wooden huts cast on the wind still glimmered at his feet. He would need to draw from this fire to take out this archer before she ended his life.

As soon as Tyverus turned his face to the fires on his left, the fires went out. Flames flowed on the air in rivers toward him as he reached out with his left hand to grasp them. The flames from the embers around him soared to life and raised up like fiery snowflakes to his outstretched hand.

One arrow struck the ground near Tyverus’ feet while two struck him in the armor of his chest. The two that hit him didn’t penetrate through, but the impacts caused him to reaffirm his footing. The fire met with his left hand and roared in his grasp.

Tyverus reached his flaming hand over and let the fires leap to the blade of his sword in his right hand. He still kept the sword pointing before him, and as the flames welled over his blade, he lowered himself and ran forth towards the archer in the trees. He kept his feet moving and he pivoted hard from left to right, swaying to the beat of war-drums in his own mind. He had to keep his steps as erratic as possible.

The archer watched him from the tree-line and with precise movements pulled another three arrows from over her shoulder and notched them into her bow. Time seemed to dilate as Tyverus made his way closer to her. He could see her slowly draw her bow-arm back to the full extent of her strength. The bow seemed to distort under the strain as the arrows were drawn to their heads.

Tyverus kicked up the flames around him from his sword. The heat licking at his face was enough to burn the stubble from his tired skin. The flames roared with more life and seemed to well up in front of him like a shield. The heat soon became unbearable, but he ran on. To offset the pain his hand and on his exposed flesh, he howled in rage. He began to yell like the Khollis berserkers would do before running into battle. The bellows of rage sent his mind behind him and the pain seemed to dissipate.

The archer loosed her arrows once again while holding her stance to watch them as they neared the screaming knight. The flames around Tyverus grew with an even more fevered heat. The arrows impacted the fires around him and burnt to cinders in the air.

The archer’s eyes shot wide open as the Guardian Knight covered more ground towards her. She didn’t reach for another set of arrows this time. She lowered into a crouch with her bow dropping to her waist.

Tyverus continued in his run and now needed to release the built up fire in front of him. With a flash, the fire abated and roared into a swirl around his sword. He raised up his sword and aimed it ahead of him like he would with a bow. The archer continued to stare at him, wondering what he was about to do, and that is when he unleashed the fires upon her.

A gout of flame erupted from the tip of his sword and flew through the air with a howl sounding like wyverns taking to the skies in hunger. The rippling plasma launched itself into the trees as the archer turned on her heels to run for cover. Her reaction didn’t help her as the forest around her lit up under the heat of the flames.

The sound of thunder went off around Tyverus as the gout of fire exploded and spread into the trees like dragon’s breath. He aimed the sword in front of him, stopping his run, and swept the flames from side to side. In the distance, he could hear the archer howl in pain as her body alighted and burned away.

Yes, Tyverus knew that the only true gift that gods gave to humanity was that of war and horror. When man fell against man and the seas turned red with the blood of the innocent, that was the only time the gods were sated. In all the horror he had unleashed over his short life, all the lives he had taken, each of them was a sacrifice to the hunger of the distant gods above.

* * *

Tyverus opened his eyes slowly, as each lid felt like he was lifting the entire weight of the world. It took a few moments for the blurry and dazzling light before him to become coherent images in his mind. He fluttered his eyes several times and the world returned to a focused state.

His gaze was upturned towards the destroyed ceiling above. Great rivers of water followed on the air between innumerable chunks of rock. Glowing crystalline lights continued to sway on nothing as they shot out erratic streams of lightning at nearby boulders.

The pain began to soar within him as he pushed against the rock floor to try and get up. He could feel the cavern wall against his head and he used it as leverage against his neck to get up partially. As his head moved, he was able to look down at the devastation of his body.

The rock and metal he had summoned as armor had fallen away into crumbled heaps around him. His body was fully exposed save for the plate and leather armor he usually wore. Both of his legs were broken in several places, his left arm was shattered beneath a large rock. His right hand was a mass of burnt flesh grafted to the metal slag that was once his sword. Somewhere inside of him, he felt a shudder and blood began to leak through the leather covering his abdomen.

He knew that he was mortally wounded and could no longer fight. He closed his eyes once more and reached out to the power of his mantle. The energy within surged back to him, dulling his immense pain enough for him to breath normally once more. The energies within his mantle were at their last dregs. He had enough power to either keep his body alive for a few days, hoping that someone might save him or for one last desperate attack. He didn’t know which would be the best course of action, but he knew being saved was beyond hope at this point.

Tyverus opened his eyes once more to the elemental chaos around him. He watched the sight before him and began to wonder if this was a vision of what Gehemol might be like: The realm of the damned, deep beneath the world-plane. For a few deep breaths, he remained motionless and lost in contemplation of his own mortality. That is until he saw some motion from across the cavern.

Something was shifting beneath a pile of rocks and skulls, between the shattered pieces of the altar at the very farthest edge of the cavern. Within a moment a hand reached up from the debris. Lengthy and skeletal fingers reached up to the chilled air above followed by a broken arm. The bones of the arm snapped back into place and began to push a nearby boulder away.

With an eruption of dark energy, the debris was blown apart and the broken body of Merithault was laid bare. Tyverus pushed himself up a bit further against the far wall in fear and preparation. As he did so, so did the monster before him. She raised slowly to her broken legs.

The image of her body was unfathomable both in the damage he had done to her, but also in her inhuman resilience. No creature could have survived such an onslaught of energies. Yet, here she was crawling up to a standing position on legs that were nothing more than broken bones and pulped flesh. He couldn’t understand if it was telekinetic energy that was keeping her aloft, or some ability to completely remove pain.

Merithault was on her feet, such as they still were, and she lurched forward a few steps on broken limbs. Each footstep echoed out with the crunching of shattered bone and torn sinew. Her arms were useless and her body was sundered in several places. Portions of her skull were impacted and her jaw hung at a strange angle.

The beast continued to make slow and agonizing steps toward Tyverus. With the first few steps, the monster managed to snap portions of her legs back into place beneath her. A few more steps as she neared the crest of the bridge let her snap her arms back into place. Several more steps saw her use her clawed hands to snap her jaw back into place. A few more allowed her to heal portions of her skull, or snap bones back into place on her chest.

It was obvious that the previous element that Tyverus had assaulted her with was not sufficient for killing the creature. He only had enough in him, if he sacrificed everything, for one last attack. If blades, strategy, the powers of the air, the earth, and water itself weren’t sufficient to kill her, he only had one last recourse to try.

Tyverus painfully lifted his sword-arm up and set the heavy blade on his shattered knee. He kept his eyes locked on the icy stare of Merithault as she continued to near him with each slow step. He closed his eyes once more and reached out to the last bit of energy within him and his mantle. He turned off the enchanted safety mechanisms that held his body together. He tore through the last runes instilled in his mantle and let the raw energy cascade through him.

His eyes opened and he could see himself glowing. Tongues of plasma danced along his body, the fires burning the top layers of his flesh away. Rage pooled up inside of him once more and with a smoke-filled breath, he launched all of his excess energy through his blade and outward from it.

Tiny strokes of lightning jumped from his body to the metal of his blade causing the air around the blade to ignite. The energy quickly ripped into a frenzy of crimson bolts that soon shot out from the sword.

The air around Tyverus squealed and then roared as the flames were given life as they bolted at Merithault who was only a few yards away. The flames struck her in the chest, bowling her back a few steps. The first impacts only seemed to stun her, but the second volley of flame melted her in place.

The fire continued to roar from Tyverus’ body, through his sword and out into Merithault. The flames roaring forth began to spread out like a dancing river of plasma let loose. The smell of burning flesh, bone, and ichor welled up on the smoke from her body. She gave a loud scream of pain as the flames dissolved her unholy flesh.

Merithault dropped to her knees as the flesh was flayed from her bones. The waves of flame continued to wash over her as her bones began to sizzle and char. Her screaming ceased as her body collapsed to ashes and smoldering shards of burnt bone.

Tyverus kept the energy coursing through him even after he saw the Mad Oracle’s body collapse. Fire still roared through him as the flames began to melt away to the rock before him. His body went cold as the last vestiges of energy were sucked away. Pain filled his mind and his breathing slowed.

His sword gave one last sputter of lightning and flame and then went quiet. He gave a few pitched breaths, feeling the last bits of energy leave him. He could feel his body dying and growing cold now. He gave one last look at the charred heap of ashes and blackened bone on the ground before him before he closed his eyes.

In the darkness behind his eyes, he could hear the slow beating of his heart. The time between each beat grew longer and longer. The pain coursing through is body began to numb. In his mind, he reached out to whatever was beyond life and wished for it to finally take him away from this world of the living.

There came a sound of soft pattering from in front of Tyverus. At first, it was hard for him to hear it over the beating of his own heart, but as he began to realize the sound, he opened his eyes once more. Before him, he gazed a humanoid form coalescing from the smoke of the cavern.

Slowly the form took a feminine shape and stepped toward him. The first features to become visible were the opened green eyes that looked down at him with tears. Next came the familiar smile and beautiful features of Isilda.

The female form divested of clothing knelt down over Tyverus and reached out to his chest with a hand. An ephemeral feeling of cold penetrated his chest and seemed to reach around his heart. Energy crackled from Isilda’s ghostly hand to his heart, reviving his life energies. He could feel a feeling of soothing calm spread over his entire body. In his mind, he could feel love like he was finally free of all this pain, this rage, and immense suffering.

“You gave everything.” Isilda leaned in to whisper into Tyverus’ ear. Her voice was like a choir of the gods singing a hymn to the righteous fallen. “Know that you have fought well.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tyverus’ eyes began to well up with tears. He wanted to reach up to her and hold her, but both of his arms were ruined beyond use. “I failed you. I let her take you away.”

“She didn’t take me away, Tyverus.” Isilda continued to smile as she raised her other hand up to lightly caress his cheek. Her skin felt ghostly and cold. “I’m here. Bhergom is here. All of us are here. You will be here with us.”

“I will join you beyond the veil of death? I will join you in Olthenna’s grace?” Tyverus could feel Isilda’s cold hand gripping his heart. His life ebbed and flowed for a moment as pieces of his consciousness left his body.

“Beyond the veil of death, yes.” Isilda’s eyes began to glow brighter with each moment that passed. It was hard for Tyverus not to be drawn to her eyes. The rest of her form seemed to darken and distort as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. “As for Olthenna’s grace, such is not meant to be.”

“I don’t care about the gods. I just want to be free of this pain. I want to be free of this world.” Tyverus choked for a moment and blood welled up in his mouth. He spat it out over his chin and tried to breathe once more. “I just want to be with you.”

“Good. You will be. Forever.” Isilda’s smile began to widen and reveal teeth. It took a moment for Tyverus to notice the strange silvery gleam her teeth had. As her smile widened, he could see sharpened fangs peek over her bottom lip.

Tyverus pushed his sword-arm against a boulder and squirmed upward. The world was darkening around his vision, but something felt off about how Isilda looked. There was something wrong with the cadence of her voice. It was familiar but not filled with the same life and joy that made ice vibrate and dance like before.

He lifted his chin slightly, feeling the cold grip of Isilda tighten a little more around his heart. She continued to hold his cheek, but he shook his head free of her hand. He looked below him, past his feet at the charred ground. It took a moment for his mind to grapple with the realization that the charred remains of Merithault were no longer to be seen.

“Hush now. Don’t worry. The pain will be gone and you’ll soon be at peace.” Isilda grasped Tyverus’ chin with her free hand and pushed his neck back. Her earlier ephemeral feeling was much more solid now. As she pushed against him, he could feel the sharp bite of long claws against his cheeks.

Tyverus let his face be pressed back against the rock and slumped down to lying on the ground once more. As he did so, he shifted his broken leg slightly causing his body to convulse with extreme pain. He lifted his sword-arm up very slowly and pushed his elbow into a nearby rock.

He stared up into the glowing eyes of Isilda as she continued to smile. His eyes moved from her eyes to her lips, and then to her body. As he did so, he pushed the tip of his blade into her ribs with all the force he could muster.

Isilda reeled back in pain and screamed out. Her voice stopped being the soothing and familiar sound but changed into an inhuman howl of pain and betrayal. Tyverus kept his eyes fixed on her face as it melted away like a dream-like illusion.

Before him, he could see the charred and burnt flesh of Merithault. As she opened her eyes he could see the inhuman and icy cold hatred in her stare. He had driven his sword between the blackened ribs that stuck out between her cracked and blistered flesh.

She reached out with her free clawed hand to snap the blade in half. The force shattered Tyverus’ wrist and sent his arm to fall at his side. She reached into her side and pulled the jagged and melted metal shard free.

“You can’t just let things be.” Merithault threw the shard of metal away and turned to gaze at Tyverus. Her earlier smile had morphed into another predatory snarl. “I try to give you peace, and you won’t accept it. To your last breath, you fight.”

“I’ll kill you.” Tyverus spat up at Merithault. He lifted his chin up and returned the same snarl that Merithault had upon her charred lips.

“You have spirit. I should expect such from one of the Guardian Knights of Morrthal.” Merithault tightened her icy grasp on Tyverus’ heart causing him to sputter for breath for a moment. “I once had a son when I was mortal. He left to become a Guardian Knight, like yourself.” Her snarl turned into a sadistic grin. “He put up a fight, just like you. I killed him all the same.”

“Monster!” Tyverus lifted his head up again while trying to jab at Merithault with what was left of his sword-arm. The fiend grabbed his neck with her free hand and held him down. “So many innocent lives were taken by you. You do not deserve to exist!”

“Poor boy. Poor deluded boy.” Merithault crooned as she leaned in closer. “No one upon this forsaken world is innocent. You have no idea the horrors I have glimpsed for all of us. The death that I grant is a mercy. Every life I take saves the world from its ultimate destruction. It is only when I don’t take lives when those of my blood somehow create new whelps to inherit my sin, that is when horror and bloodshed are truly released.”

“You’re mad! The eons you’ve spent as an unliving abomination have rotted your mind as well as your soul.” Tyverus glared hotly up at Merithault. He pushed back against her hand with his throat in defiance. “Isilda saw your weakness. Isilda knew that the last of your lineage must live. Your secret is known, beast!”

“You think that blood-haired little witch is your savior?” Merithault gave out a cruel laugh, loosening her grip on Tyverus’ heart for a moment. “I’ve seen the future. Ullthos, himself, gave me the knowledge of what is come millennia ago. If she lives, she will be all of our ruin.”

“The only one that needs to die is you.” Tyverus felt Merithault grip at his heart with cold fingers once again. He began to sputter up blood. He kept his eyes fixed on her despite the pain.

Merithault let go of his neck and began to stroke the top and side of his head with her free hand: A caress like a mother would to her son. “You poor boy.” She leaned in again, whispering in his ear. Her cold breath made Tyverus shiver. “You think all of this about you, don’t you?” She pulled back and stared down at him. “You’ve dare to think this is all about you. Your story. Your life.”

Merithault shook her head slowly and smiled. “This isn’t about you, not one bit.” Her smile grew until her fangs were fully visible under her healing lips. “This story is about me. You are a pawn in fate’s hands, and I am the one who guides that hand. I always have.”

Tyverus remained quiet while beaming his rage up at Merithault. He pushed forward again and was gripped in painful convulsions as the Mad Oracle seized upon his heart once more. He could feel the life leaving his body as his sight began to grow dark.

“Embrace the darkness and give in.” Merithault’s voice was less like a predator and more like a concerned care-giver. “I can feel within you the desire to be reunited with the one called Isilda. If you just give yourself to me, like she did, you can be together again.”

“Lies. Isilda never gave in to you.” Tyverus pulled back, but Merithault clutched at his heart again. His vision was now nothing more than pinhole of light.

“She gave in when her soul was freed by me. You see, your feelings towards the gods are correct, young knight.” Merithault gave Tyverus a jolt of more energy to keep him alive just a few moments longer. “The gods you know have forsaken you. They have forsaken all humanity. When we pass beyond our mortal coils, there is nothing be the realm of shades. Beyond that is oblivion. It hungers for us all.”

Tyverus stared up to Merithault with a look of genuine fear. He wanted to fight against her words, but his lack of faith resounded with what she said. If there was nothing but a realm of echoes and dissolution beyond death, maybe what she offered was the closest to the here-after he could find.

“Good. Your feelings are correct.” Merithault began to draw her free hand over his face and neck. She stopped and felt the cold metal of his drained mantle, her fingers gliding over the dead runes. “You will see once I kill you that there is nothing beyond. You will be drawn to me like Isilda was like Bhergom was like all my children were. There, I will drink of your souls and keep you with me. Oblivion won’t take you.”

Tyverus wanted so badly to be reunited with Isilda, yet for all his doubt and pessimism in life, he could not bring himself to believe in the monster’s words. She was an abomination; an unholy thing, a monster beyond reckoning. The choice between being a pawn of a devil or being cast to nothingness was simple, he would not be a pawn.

“Take your offer of immortality…” Tyverus lingered on his words for a moment as his eyesight passed into darkness. “…And fuck yourself with it!”

Merithault snarled and roared like a predatory beast. She leaned in and clutched hard on Tyverus’ heart. Her other hand tore the metal mantle from his chest. Coldness and pain soared through Tyverus and then was engulfed by blissful numbness. He could feel himself spiraling away into a deep abyss.

The roaring of the monster faded away to a distant echo. He was barely aware that the fiend was ripping his body asunder, but he no longer cared. He had fought to his last breath and that was enough.

As he fell into the cold abyss beyond life, he could reach out beyond his senses to feel a glimmering purple light. He didn’t perceive this light with his eyes, but with the ephemeral perceptions of his soul. Slowly the light grew and took on the form of Isilda.

The woman reached out her ghostly hand towards Tyverus and as she did so, he was aware of his own ghostly hand reaching out to hers. He could feel the energy within her as their astral bodies touched. She leaned into him and embraced him. Crackles of energy shot between them.

“I’m here to take you away.” Her voice resounded with love and comfort. Her voice had the same vibration as she had in life. A voice that could make the ice dance and sing. “You suffering is finished.”

Tyverus embraced her deeply, getting lost in her arms. Their energies melded and then faded away. The fighting was over, and Tyverus could finally find peace. The expedition was lost and the suffering had been immense, but the concerns of the living were not for him any longer.

Version 4.0.02