"It is my duty to protect my people. Anyone who threatens that, will meet the same fate as my father."

You will die here.

Archibald could hear the small voice of his rapier, the sword's guard rattling impatiently.

You will die here. Accept your responsibility

"It won't matter. I'll die anyway," Archibald whispered. The image of Harris' corpse flashed in his memories, making him shudder. "Please… be quiet."

Delilah obeyed his plea, the sword's rattling ceasing. Still, Archibald couldn't help but flinch when the sound of footsteps filled the alleyway nearby. He wiggled deeper within the small crevice he was in, the collapsed building groaning as he did so. The elf took care not to move any of the wooden beams that made up his hiding spot, for he knew that a wrong movement could end with him crushed and lifeless, not unlike the bodies he had seen earlier.

The town was lost. Done for. It wouldn't be long until the orcs slaughtered every living thing on the island, their bloodied cleavers eventually finding him. Still, Archibald cowered within his small crevice. His hands shook with barely contained fear, his teeth chattering despite the lack of cold.

The footsteps in the alleyway stopped around where he hid, which made Archibald freeze with abject terror. He turned to the direction of the passing steps, his eyes focused on the shadows that flickered on the ground, the growing flames doing little to give him a clear view.

'Orcs? Here? Have they already killed everyone else?'

Had they found him at last? Was the elf doomed?

"The tavern should be up ahead," someone said, voice humanlike. "If we can avoid the main streets, we can make it without encountering more of those brutes."

Archibald perked up, his head turning toward the source. A group of Raven guardsmen, their boots shuffling as they passed by him. They continued on with their conversation, voices hushed as they tried to figure out where in the town they were. Archibald listened in, his ears straining to pick up their voices through the crackling of flames. As he did so, his hand accidentally rested on a weak beam, which shifted and sent out a loud groaning.

The voices stopped, and the elf froze. He stared at the opening to his hiding spot, where the boots of the Ravens went still. One of them knelt and peered through, his face obscured by the shadows. He muttered something to his companions, who all whispered in hushed tones.

"Sir Yevin?" the Raven asked after a moment, his voice loud enough for the elf to hear. "Is that you?"

Archibald opened his mouth for a moment, his lips dry as he considered what to say. After a few awkward seconds, he spoke.

"Y-Yes. It is I."

The Raven just watched him, probably waiting for an explanation as to why the elf was hiding there. When Archibald just continued to stare without an answer, the man sighed.

"Sir, you might want to come with us," he said. "We're heading to the tavern to group with the rest of the Ravens."

"Regroup?" Archibald asked.

'You fools… we're already dead. Can't you see?'

"Yes, that was the last message we received through the crystals," the man said. "Captain Arlo sent it before… before the longhouse was lost. You should still come with us. Staying here isn't safe regardless, and the flames will get to you before the orcs do."

'Maybe better that way,' Archibald thought, his hands clenching as he thought back to Harris' death. He shuddered, his eyes shutting as he tried to will away the image of that scene.

Go with them, the sword suddenly whispered. Archibald blinked. He looked down at Delilah, which didn't rattle. It just… whispered? Could a sword do that?

This is your Fate, Son of Yevin. Go.

"I… I…"

"Sir?"

Archibald turned to the Raven, who watched him expectantly. With a shaky nod, he began to crawl toward the opening. Even with the sword's prodding, Archibald couldn't help but feel as if he was walking toward certain doom.

'It was going to happen regardless,' he thought. 'I suppose quickening the process wouldn't be so bad.'

With that in mind, the elf exited his hiding spot.

Eilif gurgled as a spear's iron tip sank into his throat, blood flooding the respirator attached to his jaw. He looked at the pathetic man who tried to go in for an easy kill, whose fearful eyes widened at the sight of the Immortal's lack of reaction.

"Karl!" the blond woman, Helen was her name, shouted. "Get back now! Before he—!"

Too late. Eilif had already struck the spear's midpoint with his dagger, his enhanced strength breaking the wood with ease. Splinters flew as he rushed toward Karl, who tried desperately to pull out his own knife. Eilif didn't give him the chance.

His Light Carapace shattered into pieces as the three-pointed dagger tore into his throat. Karl coughed and gurgled, his hands gripping onto Eilif's mask, probably in an attempt to take it off. It was a vain action, for the mask was surgically attached to the Immortal's face. No strength short of an orc would be able to even remove the thing. So Eilif just stared at him for a moment longer before he pulled away, his dagger ripping out of the man's neck in a smooth motion.

Two more men had moved in during his little skirmish with Karl, their spears already thrusting toward Eilif. Eilif just sidestepped and pulled away, though not before receiving a couple lacerations by his arms and legs. Not lethal, of course, just annoying.

He could feel the viscous blood fill and clog his open throat and respirator, a result of the spear wound from earlier. Still, this was more of an inconvenience for the immortal man, as his Blessing of Potency bolstered his healing in a burst of power. It was completed when Eilif ripped the remainder of the spear out of his neck, his flesh steaming as it mended the damage. Everyone just stared at the Immortal as he healed.

No one dared to pursue him, especially not when his guard was up. Eilif glanced over at Dahlia, who watched him with a look of clear disdain. Still, she didn't break from her guards. She was smart enough to keep her distance for now.

'No matter,' Eilif thought. 'I don't need to kill her yet. I just need to get to the artifact.'

He could feel how his tracking crystal pulsed in his pocket, the magic pulling the Immortal toward the direction of the nearby hut. He glanced at it, watching as orcs and men blocked the way. If he could just…

"Entangle," Dahlia cast, her voice echoing despite coming out in a whisper. Eilif cursed and pulled away, barely avoiding the weak tendrils of green that tried and failed to grasp at his boots.

Footsteps crunched from both his left and right, prompting the Immortal to turn and swipe blindly. His dagger struck the spear tip of one surprised guardsman, whose weapon went wide as a result. The other one, who carried a sword, faltered at the sudden speed in which Eilif turned. It was a mistake that usually ended with one dead.

"No!"

Eilif didn't even have time to exploit the opening before Helen crashed into him, shoving him back with a shout of defiance.

"Annoying," he growled as he stumbled back from the crazed bitch, who tried desperately to land a killing blow with her sword. Eilif parried the strike, sending the nicked blade off to the snow nearby. He didn't even try to finish her off, instead opting to just sweep Helen with a kick, sending the disarmed veteran to the ground.

Ravens, guardsmen, tried to jump at the chance to get Eilif. They failed to hit the Immortal as he dodged and ducked their attempts, casually avoiding the incoming iron spear tips and worn swords. There was even a fucking orc in the mix, its brutish hands carrying a man-sized javelin. The creature tried for a thrust at Eilif, who simply sidestepped and jumped on the shaft, dagger poised for attack.

Another stab and slash later, Eilif found himself standing atop a gurgling orc, his black clothes stained with a dark mix of both human and inhuman blood. Men all around him watched warily, their expressions of fear making it clear that Eilif had succeeded.

"I'll give you all a choice," the Immortal called. "Stay and continue this worthless fight, or run off and leave me to my business."

Many buckled at his words, their weapons shaking as they contemplated. If Eilif could smile, he probably would have. However, even if he did have the blessing of working lips, that little sign of emotion would've been short-lived.

Alarms blared in Eilif's head, louder than anything he had experienced in recent years. He almost didn't process the incoming danger. He dodged to the side, avoiding a longsword that was aimed at his spine. As the Immortal backed away from the attacker, his thoughts finally caught up to his instincts.

"You're still alive," he muttered, dagger raising as he blocked another strike from the same sword. The person responsible stared at the Immortal with burning blue eyes, his rage clear through the visor. "James Holter…"

Lilith ran like she'd never run before, her legs growing numb as they pushed past their limits. She could hear the scuffing of orc boots and the threats of death they hurled, each one unintelligible through the roar of the flames that burned Yorktown to the ground.

She heaved and panted, her lungs burning as she took in more of the caustic air. Ash and embers struck against her skin, jolting her now and then during her run. That was one of the only things that kept her conscious enough to keep running.

Lilith was not having a great time. Her entire plan of attack hinged on taking out those green bastards one at a time, hiding within the shadows of the fire as she did so. In fact, she was doing just fine sneaking around. Until that bright pillar of light appeared out of nowhere and had every stupid orc in the vicinity turn to its direction, where Lilith just so happened to be.

Lilith was barely fit and capable enough to take on one orc. To take on a horde of the bastards? The young woman had no intention of making a last stand, not when people still needed her. Well, not when she still needed them.

'Run! Run! Run!'

She turned a corner and continued her run into a small road, hoping to lose them in the tight causeways. She didn't, for their heavy stomps grew louder and louder. Lilith scrambled as she turned another corner, stumbling across a burning street near the market district. She tried to keep going but only managed to fall onto the hot cobbles.

Her muscles felt like heavy weights, her chest tightening as the heated air failed to restore strength to her. Why was she so lightheaded? The shadows of the orcs fell upon Lilith like some squirming veil, the surrounding flames making them dance and flicker.

There were no words exchanged. Well, none that Lilith could hear. She only looked up at the creatures that began to close in, their crude weaponry raised cautiously. Even now, they held onto some fear of the Butcher. The same one who had torn their comrades to shreds back in Aldren.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Lilith couldn't help but feel a satisfied smile come over her lips. While she had very little in achievement, striking terror into those orcs was a comforting thought on its own. Even if that terror didn't last long.

'Seamus,' she thought back to her cousin, who was so much like her lost brother. She had promised to reunite with him once this was all over. She had failed in that regard.

'And Helen.'

That thought hurt the most. Helen had wanted her to be safe. She had even sent the young girl away with Seamus for that very reason. Yet Lilith had come charging back into the fray, like some bedtime tale of heroes and damsels.

'I'm sorry.'

Lilith locked eyes with the orc who had finally mustered the courage to approach closer. He had his cleaver raised, eyes glinting in the firelight with clear hunger. Lilith clenched her jaw and didn't falter as the bloodied blade fell upon her.

There was a rush of wind as someone grabbed the berserker, their hands bringing the young girl close as they snatched her from harm's way. Lilith didn't even process it until the sound of metal clanging against stone filled her ears. She blinked and looked up at the person who had saved her from certain death.

She almost stabbed her savior, for he wore a cracked mask that grinned a malicious smile. Thankfully, she was too weak to even unsheath the dagger by her belt.

'I know this man.'

Lilith furrowed her brow as she locked eyes with Miles, the mercenary from last year. He glanced at her hand, which had instinctively grabbed at her dagger's hilt.

"I expected a warmer hello," Miles said, his amber irises glinting with amusement. "But this will do, I suppose."

A commotion began to pick up behind the Chaos Follower from the orcs who were just surrounding Lilith a minute ago. Miles turned to them, a heavy sigh escaping from underneath his wooden mask. With a gentle movement, he set Lilith down against the wall of an unburnt building.

"Don't move from here. Your body has reached its limits, and it's clear that potion withdrawal has already taken effect on your muscles," Miles said. He unsheathed that strange foreign sword of his, the wrapped hilt weathered and ripped from past battles. "Best you rest for the moment while I deal with this rabble."

Lilith tried to bring up her hands to sign but failed. So, instead, she opted for pointing at the orcs, who were beginning to realize what had happened.

'You can't take them on,' was what she wanted to say.

Miles seemed to understand the gesture. He also didn't seem to care much about it.

"Don't worry about me," he said as he turned to the restless horde ahead of him. "I didn't come alone."

Lilith didn't have time to act confused before a contingent of guardsmen rushed in from the eastern streets, spears ready and shields raised. They all bore red and gold markings, a boar head painted on their armaments.

The young berserker watched with confused amazement as Miles led the soldiers to battle, their shouts overwhelming the orcs' own.

Dahlia stared at the sight of James, who was contesting blades with Eilif, the strange man who had proclaimed himself immortal. Her hope had been dwindling during these past minutes, her resolve chipping away as everything burned around her. Now, that small vestige of hope had flared back to life at the return of the man she once thought dead.

James' clothes were ragged and weathered, the bandages on his left arm dirty and stained with spots of oily blood. His armor was nicked and scratched, and the cloak—which Dahlia recognized as the one she had made for him—was torn, tattered tassels hanging over his shoulders. His face was obscured by the chainmail that hung from his helm. The only thing reminiscent of him was his eyes, which were smoldering with magical energies.

'Is this the real James?' she began to wonder. 'Or is this his vengeful spirit, full of rage and determination?'

Honestly, it could've been either, for all she knew.

James, the Draugr, pulled back with his sword, barely avoiding the small blade Eilif held in his left. Eilif advanced forth after that, throwing the knife. James dodged the projectile, kicking up the snow around him. There was another clash of iron and steel, and James won the contest of blades.

"Power Strike!"

Eilif's body jerked as James' weapon cut right into his neck, black blood spilling from the fatal wound. Dahlia blinked at the speed at which the young Jarl moved. It had happened so fast that she didn't even process it. Still, the strike was not enough to finish this fight. Dahlia had seen Eilif take fatal wounds before. She watched as flesh reformed and tendons reconnected as the iron blade passed through Eilif's neck. By the time it left, it was as if nothing had changed.

James backed off after the strike, avoiding Eilif's counterattack by a hair. Both men went on their guard, weapons pointed at each other. The formerly dead Jarl stared at Eilif with a deathly gaze, the glow of which seemed to flicker like flames.

"I see you've managed to find your way here. Lucky as—"

"Ice Lance!"

Eilif's left shoulder jolted as the icy projectile struck flesh. He didn't seem to register the hit, for he moved to block James' upcoming stab. Despite using a dagger, the immortal man managed to guide the attack away, steel scraping against iron as he used this chance to get close. James' eyes flared in that moment, and he let go of the blade.

Dahlia felt a shout die in her throat as she watched Eilif bring his dagger up, its crimson-stained tip aimed for a gap in James' armor. There was a loud shout, the words coming from a raspy throat far from the conflict. Eilif stopped his attack, another knife appearing in his left hand as he turned and threw it at the source. Dahlia flinched as the knife flew past her, missing the Frue by a meter or so.

The knife made a thunk as it struck the skull of someone half lying in the snow, the blade sinking deep within their eye socket. It did nothing to phase the caster, for they were already undead. Marion, the raised corpse that Eilif had dispatched earlier, was staring at him with raised hands. Her fingers didn't falter, and the runes became true.

Dahlia's eyes widened, and she watched as a half-rotted corpse burst from a snow mound nearby, its hands grabbing at Eilif. There was a moment of stunned silence after the appearance of the undead, who was accompanied by another of its kind.

'Malik,' Dahlia realized, remembering the corpses the necromancer had buried around the island.

Eilif dispatched the first one with a swipe of his dagger, severing the zombie's arm and then its head. It was done in the blink of an eye, nothing challenging to the immortal man, mainly because the creature did not carry a weapon. The second one, however, did. Eilif blocked the rusty sword that swung his way, his left arm taking a hit as he buried his dagger's point into the zombie's skull.

James took the opportunity to rush forward, his right unsheathing a backup sword. Eilif reacted quickly, barely managing to catch the shortsword between the prongs of his strange weapon. The immortal man twisted his dagger around, forcing James' weapon out of his hand and disarming him once more.

Before he could advance upon James, however, Dahlia had finally made her move. She rushed toward the immortal man without thinking, ignoring the sudden shouts of her guard. Eilif faltered in his movements, his goggles turning over to the approaching Frue. It was too late for him. Dahlia's dagger glinted as it stabbed into Eilif's skull, the blade driving straight through the left side of his head.

Eilif stumbled back, his body crumpling almost instantly from the attack. It was there, as Dahlia forced her weight into the stab, where her eyes met with James' own.

He stared at her, the glow behind his helmet dying down a little. His blue eyes, his real ones, expressed a mixture of emotions. Dahlia couldn't help but smile, her heart fluttering with relief and adrenaline. He wasn't an undead abomination, a draugr raised for the express purpose of revenge. He was still alive.

The moment between them only lasted for a second, however. Eilif's limp body tensed mid-collapse, his body shuddering. He twisted in place, still very much alive despite the several inches of steel that was embedded in his skull. Dahlia didn't even have time to react before the immortal's dagger flashed.

Someone screamed, and another shouted in alarm. The world seemed to take on a different hue, colder than the reddish haze that began to fill the snowy forest. Dahlia coughed as the taste of steel filled her mouth. Her eyes blinked, and they focused on the hilt that was inches from her chin, where red scarlet ran down its strange guard.

The blade was pulled back, and the scarlet spattered over Eilif's facemask, whose cracked goggles looked at her with what seemed to be disdain. Dahlia fell back after that, her body growing weak as blood flowed from her lips. She never got the chance to look at James as her world blurred and dimmed around her.

Darkness came a second later.

"Just a little bit farther," Kate said as she and Dirk traversed through a burning Yorktown. The guardswoman didn't dare look at the buildings that were in flames, especially the ones that were once the homes of townspeople. She didn't want to chance seeing someone she knew.

The soldiers from the Boar clan stuck close to the two Ravens, their red and gold tabards glinting in the firelight. They almost seemed to blend in with the flames, like harbingers of a greater fate. Kate shook her head at the comparison. The heat was getting to her, its forceful aura bogging her down with every minute. They would have to hurry in their escape, especially if they wanted to get out of this burning town.

"Kate," Dirk said as they turned into a tight alley, leaving behind a burning section of buildings. The air here wasn't much better, but at least they weren't being assaulted by the waves of heat from the fires.

"Yes?" Kate asked. She turned to her friend, who was dragging along Seamus' unconscious body. She even stopped her walk halfway through the alley, her fist rising to the soldiers around her. They stopped as well, taking a break.

"Switch with me. I'm getting sore," Dirk murmured, his teeth gritted.

"Seriously?" Kate hissed. "That's the important reason why we had to stop?"

"Hey, don't get mad at me!" Dirk shot back. "I shouldn't even be carrying him. He's your b—"

A soldier bumped Kate's shoulder. She straightened, turning to where he gestured. Her heart stopped when she saw a group of silhouettes at the other end of the alley. She was about to instruct a retreat when she noticed their size. They were too short to be orcs…

"Survivors," Kate murmured. Then, louder, "Hey! We're friendly!"

The silhouettes stopped their cautious movements, their forms straightening as they approached Kate's group. The young woman felt relief flood her chest when she recognized the Raven patches on their tabards.

"Arno, right?" she asked the leading man, who carried a spear. He looked haggard, his clothes tattered and covered in blood. There was a look in his eyes that told Kate that he had seen more than he ever needed to. She could relate to that, unfortunately.

Arno nodded at her words, his hand gesturing to the rest of his group. "We were at Nodes Three and Four when they fell. We've been trying to get to the longhouse since then."

"The longhouse has fallen," Kate said softly, her eyes averting Arno's gaze. "We're going to the tavern to regroup. You should come with us."

The squad leader contemplated on that, his expression going pensive as he turned to the rest of his group. As he did so, Kate recognized another of them. He was hiding in a way, keeping to himself the rear. The name came to her once she recognized those pointed ears.

"Archibald?" she muttered.

'If he's there… Where's Harris?'

Before she could ask the elf, a hand fell over her shoulder. She damn nearly jumped from the sudden touch, her head swiveling to face the soldier who had grabbed her. He was pointing silently toward their rear, where they had come from. Shadows cast from the flames danced with the shapes of hulking orcs, which began to grow closer.

"Shit," Kate cursed. She turned to Arno, who also began to back away from the other end of the alleyway. Her blood froze when she saw another group of orcs enter the alley.

"They followed us!" a Raven cried, already trying to hide behind the others. The Boar soldiers hurried to take formation in the cramped alley, attempting to cover both ends. Yet even Kate knew that despite their numbers, fighting two groups of orcs in a cramped alley was borderline suicide.

Arno began to order his group to ready their weapons despite half of them being injured or weaponless. The situation was already beginning to devolve by then, as the orcs on both sides seemed to realize their advantage. They approached the scrambling humans, who shouted and argued amongst themselves. Even Archibald, who was a seasoned mercenary, cowered and crawled to the center of the alley, where Kate and Dirk were standing.

Kate found herself shaking as she looked around, her mind racing with ideas and plans. Nothing seemed solid. They were cornered like rats, with no healers or spellcasters for support. Even the soldiers they brought alongside with them were few in number and low in strength.

"We're all going to die," a voice whispered. Kate turned to the source. Archibald was there, on his knees, as he tried to cover his ears. He looked terrified, his eyes darting around like a frightened animal. Kate wanted to say something, maybe to say some words of comfort but stopped when she noted the rapier on the elf's belt.

It rattled in its sheath, the guard clinking as it shook. No one but her seemed to notice it. Kate didn't even have a chance to point it out before a soft, angelic voice cut through the arguing and chaos.

The time has arrived. The words of prophecy have rung true. Arise, Son of Yorn.

The air around her went still. Everyone went silent. Dirk looked toward Archibald, who stared back with fearful eyes. He lifted a shaking finger in the direction of Kate. At least, that's what it looked like at first. Kate blinked and turned around, realizing that Seamus was slowly stirring, his body hunched as it began to stand.

Everyone watched him, their silence only adding to the tension that thickened the air. Kate managed to snap out of it, if only to look at the orc that had arrived at them. He had a spear raised toward them, his ugly expression hard to read. Morbid joy was the best way to put it.

"It'll be just like spearing fish in a barrel," he said, his voice on the edge of smug laughter. He stopped when he noticed that most of the humans weren't reacting with screams or begging. His eyes glanced over to Seamus, who had somehow grabbed Dirk's sword without the man noticing.

There was a quiet that filled the alleyway at that moment, one that somehow managed to drown out the roaring of flames and shouts of orcs. Kate heard as Seamus took in a deep breath, his body straightening as he faced the closest of the creatures. Then, two simple words echoed in the alley, loud as thunder.

"Flash Strike."

Kate sucked in a sharp breath as Seamus disappeared from her sight, the air all around her rushing in a roar as it tried to fill in the spot that was left void. Dust and ash speckled everywhere, rustling tabards and kicking up debris into the air.

A blink later, Kate found herself staring at the fallen corpse of an orc, a crimson stump in place of a head. Seamus stood above the corpse, bloodied sword in hand. He raised a hand, his fingers forming an unfamiliar rune.

"Haste."

Kate Rowan could only watch as Seamus Halvorson, son of Yorn and the last of his blood, tore through the orcs that threatened his only home.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.