Page 55 of Warlord’s Plaything
55
XYRON
T he plan is simple.
But simple does not mean easy.
Outside, the orcs hold the line.
Their roars shake the ground as they clash with Kaelith’s undead, hacking them apart, only to watch those rotting bodies drag themselves back together.
The dead do not die.
"Move!"
My voice cuts through the unnatural darkness of the temple.
Hira is beside me, blade drawn, eyes burning with the kind of rage that only comes when there’s nothing left to lose.
We dive deeper into the ruins, weaving through the shifting stone corridors, past walls pulsing with corrupted magic.
Kaelith’s power is warping everything.
The closer we move to him, the more the world twists around us.
The air is thick, syrupy, crawling into my lungs like poison.
The shadows are moving.
The ground shudders beneath our feet.
Reality itself is breaking.
"We have to strike now." Hira’s voice is steady, but I hear the urgency behind it.
"You’re persistent." His voice is too calm. Too amused. Like we are nothing more than an inconvenience.
Like we are already dead.
His skin is different now—no longer just dark elf obsidian, but cracked, like veins of necrotic fire are burning beneath it. His eyes are gone. What’s left is something hollow. Something not mortal.
Hira moves faster. She’s a blur, fast, brutal, precise. Her blade sings through the air, aiming for his throat.
For a moment, I think, Yes. We have him.
But then…
Kaelith doesn’t move.
Doesn’t dodge.
Doesn’t even blink.
He simply lifts a hand?—
And stops the blade mid-air.
It hangs there, frozen inches from his skin.
Hira yanks, trying to pull free.
Her arms strain, muscles flex, but the blade doesn’t move.
It won’t move.
Kaelith isn’t just powerful.
He is something else now.
Something beyond us.
"You still don’t understand, do you?" K aelith tilts his chin, studying us like insects caught in a web. "I am no longer bound by your laws. By your limitations."
He clenches his fist and Hira flies backward, slamming into the stone wall with a sickening crack.
I lunge, blade low, fangs bared. Power surging through my veins.
But Kaelith is faster. He sidesteps, barely lifting a hand, and suddenly I’m on my knees, body paralyzed, every muscle locked in place.
"Fools." Kaelith steps closer, his voice almost gentle. "Do you truly believe you can kill a god?"
A pulse of black fire erupts from his palm, racing toward me.
I try to move.
I try to breathe.
But my body does not obey.
I brace for the end.
Hira throws herself between me and the blast.
The fire hits her instead.
She screams.
The sound rips through me.
Hira collapses, smoke rising from her skin.
Her body twitches, spasms?—
And Kaelith laughs. "Brave, but pointless." He turns back to the altar, raising his arms, calling forth more magic. "You’re already too late."
The rift behind him expands, the ground trembling beneath us.
I crawl toward Hira.
She is still breathing.
Barely.
Her skin is hot to the touch, her pulse too weak.
My chest tightens.
Rage, panic, something dark coils inside me.
Kaelith thinks he’s already won.
He thinks we are nothing.
He thinks this war is over.
But he is wrong.
Because as long as I can still move?—
As long as Hira still breathes?—
We will not stop.
We will not fall.
And Kaelith will not become death itself.
Not while I still live.