of life from the earth. There was a swelling of manna here now – when a man died and the flesh slowly rotted, the life force would be returned to the earth slowly, in time, so as not to cause a buildup of manna too great which could cause a new font to spring up spontaneously… or worse, create a snarl that would create some sort of hideous new creature.
Panting, he fell to one knee. He could feel blood trickling from several minor wounds, but he could not identify a mortal wound anywhere on his body, or even a dangerous one. The swarm of corpses had nearly driven him to the ground, and he would have had no recourse left in the dark… if they’d gotten his sword away from him too, all could have been lost.
The sound of slow applause drew his attention. It was a dry sound, with none of the moisture of the applause of men. He shuddered at the sound, a twisted mockery of the appreciative sound made by the living.
“I am truly humbled by that display,” said a thin, rough voice from the darkness.
A figure stepped forward, ringed in a dull red light that illuminated a visage not unlike the other corpses which he had just fought. In the pinpoints of light within the empty skull though, D’Arden could see not only the angry red light of corruption, but a firey light that told a story all too clear.
The corrupted manna had created life – life out of death.
“Your existence is a lie,” D’Arden snarled, regaining his feet. “You are nothing but a construct of evil, of darkness.”
“The manna is both good and evil, light and dark, Arbiter,” the corpse rasped. “It created you, and it created me. Even that which you worship as pure will cause men to scream and die unless properly treated.” A horrific image stretched across its face that might have once been a grin. “Unless they are created… like you.”
“I will return you to oblivion,” D’Arden said calmly, leveling his blade at the creature. “You have no right to walk this land.”
“Admittedly, you have verily decimated my army of the undead, Arbiter,” it said, with what might have been a hint of humor in its centuries-old voice. “But no matter. There are still corpses here that remain yet cold, bodies of those which might still be put to good use, once you are destroyed. Perhaps… even yours.”
With a snarl of rage, D’Arden leapt forward, swinging his blade out in a deadly arc. The corpse jerked like a puppet whose master had pulled too hard on its strings and moved aside too quickly for his strike to make a connection.
It laughed, a sound that resembled tearing parchment. “Strike a nerve, did I, Arbiter? You do not wish to join my army of the everlasting?”
Without answering, he brought the blade around in an upward arc, slashing viciously. As he did, he released one hand off of the hilt of the crystal blade and thrust it outward sharply, delivering a blast of azure force that very nearly connected with the corpse and would have consumed it there and then, but missed narrowly and splashed harmlessly against the stone floor a few feet away, instantly vanishing.
“Your skills are lacking,” the corpse taunted. “How many beasts have you slain, Arbiter, and yet you cannot defeat me?”
“I shall defeat you!” D’Arden said, driving his crystal blade forward in a powerful thrust.
The creature almost seemed to vanish before his very eyes before reappearing a few arm’s lengths away. “Too slow, Arbiter. Come, destroy me! Send my corruption back to the earth! Purify this place, if you can!”
D’Arden made another cutting attack, but once again, his strike fell short. The creature shook its head – a motion that threatened to dislodge the skull from its perilous perch atop the decayed shoulders – and sighed heavily.
“Very well,” it gasped. “If you cannot defeat me, then I will defeat you!”
Red light began to build up around the corpse as it drew the corrupted manna inward. D’Arden fell a step backward – it had been many months since he’d faced down a construct so powerful, and he found himself almost in awe of the horrible sight before his eyes.
“Now die!” the corpse breathed.
The corrupted manna shot forth from the skeletal fingers in long, sinewy ropes. One looped itself around his sword arm, the other attaching itself to his left ankle. Immediately he pulled taut against them, trying to pull the corpse off balance and within reach of a fatal strike, but his efforts proved in vain.
“Do not take me for such a weakling,” the beast said, sending out two more tendrils that wrapped around his other arm and neck. They tightened, and suddenly D’Arden found it difficult to breathe. “You’ve lost, Arbiter. I’m going to snap your puny, fragile neck and use your corpse to eat the citizens of that city alive!”
D’Arden pulled hard against the magical bonds, and then rolled himself over his shoulder directly at the corpse, bringing up his sword in a sharp arc as there was suddenly slack available. The thing shrieked and pulled backwards, cackling dryly as it pulled the bonds tightly around him once again.
“Good try, but not enough!” it laughed.
He closed his eyes as the bonds tightened around them. He was beginning to feel dizzy from lack of air, and the agony of the pressure on his windpipe was making him desperately want to cough. He could feel the strength being sapped out of him as he struggled in vain against them.
There was no way to breathe and draw the manna inward. His sword hand was immobilized.
Expelling what little remained of his breath, he focused all of the manna remaining within him on his right hand – his all-important sword hand. If only he could get that free, he might escape this grisly demise. Power collected around his wrist, and he focused the entirety of his will on that single spot.
For an instant, the bonds loosened.
An instant was all he needed.
Immediately he yanked his hand free and cut through the glowing rope holding his neck in a single stroke. It separated at the point of contact and the blue flames leapt forth from the sword, traveling quickly down the severed connection towards the living corpse. It shrieked and dropped the connection immediately, loosening the rest of the bonds attached to him.
He drew in a breath, the death-scented air tasting sweeter than any other.
“It’s time for this to end,” D’Arden gasped, charging forward.
The corpse seemed stunned by the fact that he’d escaped the deathtrap that he’d fallen into, and barely moved as he brought the sword up, separating the desiccated skull from the shoulders. The skull flew through the air and hit the ground some feet away – D’Arden could hear the powdery crack as it struck the stone floor with enough force to shatter it.
The manna fire leapt from the point of contact and began devouring the dry and dusty corpse. There was no shriek, no sound of protest as the blue fire burned almost brightly enough to illuminate what appeared to be a truly massive chamber.
When the corpse was gone, the fire leapt outward still, through the air with nothing to keep it afloat, purifying the corrupted lines of manna that flowed through here and were caught in the corpse’s web. D’Arden breathed slowly and smoothly as much of it flowed through him as a vessel for purification, passing through his spirit and his body in its search for purity. It was a blissful agony, one he always endured.
The fire popped and crackled in the air around him just as it burned in his veins. His muscles strained against the misery inflicted by the massive amount of corruption that needed purifying, and worse, the knowledge that it would only remain pure for so long, unless he was able to find the demon in the city and destroy it once and for all.
He let out a long, low cry of pain.
When finally the pain subsided, he fell to his knees. The crystal sword dropped from his hand, and immediately its light was extinguished as the contact from his flesh was broken. It clattered to the floor, forgotten as he struggled to draw breath through his damaged throat.
All was dark.
His mind slowly returned to normal as he felt the collection of manna begin ebbing into the earth. The twist that had caused the corruption had been unraveled, and now the manna would begin flowing back in its usual patterns. The lasting effect still might drive up a font here, but if that were the case he’d simply have the citizens of Calessa board up the mausoleum and build a new one so that there would be no chance of anyone being harmed by accidentally venturing down here.
He picked up the manna blade, and it immediately lit up once more, buoyed again by the life force flowing through his veins. It was his torch as he made his way back across the stone floor and up the steep stairway, back
