The creature rose from the dusty stone sarcophagus with halting jerking motions, as bones which hadn’t moved in hundreds of years popped and creaked in protest of their unexpected ambulation. Most of its skeletal form was encased in ancient and ornately engraved - if slightly tarnished and worn from disuse - Vashirian plate armor, save for the open spot in the helmet where the man’s face should have been. In this place instead was a bone-white alabaster skull with tendrils of wispy white hair falling over the creature’s fleshless face and its toothy mouth curved in an involuntary grin. Gauntleted hands gripped the cross guard of a mighty steel sword as the undead knight regarded them with eyes that were pinpoints of unholy fire that burned within dark, cavernous sockets.
The skeleton’s mouth did not move but the creature spoke nonetheless, its voice deep and hollow and tinged with what seemed to Lyric to be a note of regret. “I have been bidden to interrupt my slumber and charged with thine destruction.” As it spoke, the knight slowly lifted the giant sword, the blade of which did not show any sign of neglect from centuries of inattention; instead its razor-edge rippled cruelly in the violet light that bathed the tomb. “Flee whilst though canst, for I must do as I am instructed,” the voice continued as the creature slowly took a step out of the stone coffin at its feet and began moving towards them.
Lyric glanced around the room at her companions and shared nervous and uncertain looks with each before as they fanned out in a wide circle around the advancing knight, with Eros maintaining his position by the door as they prepared to fight this creature. The journey to this room had been fraught with peril and each of them still bore painful, bloody wounds from the battles that had preceded this one, and while she hoped it did not show on her face, Lyric was terrified about this impending fight. She could see the tendrils of dark smoke wafting off the creature as the sinister magic compelled it forward in defiance of death itself compelled it to bar their path. If the one known as Lord Soth, an ancient and powerful knight who had also himself thwarted death for hundreds of years, had set this opponent into their way himself, then defeating him would most certainly be no easy task.
Lyric breathed a sigh of relief as DD took a step forward and raised a hand towards the armored figure. “Sir Knight, I see by the markings upon your armor that you are a knight of Vashir, sworn by a code of honor that holds to you even in death. Stay your hand and abide by your Oath, for we are not your enemy!” DD called out in his most authoritative voice, the one he typically used to the berate lesser folk into submission.
The knight slowly turned its head to face the man, the burning orbs of its eyes flickering wildly as if her was considering the words though they did not slow its advance towards them. “The magic that compels me is too strong, it is wreathed in darkness and unholy might, and I am helpless under its sway.” The knight then raised its mighty blade over its head as it moved into striking distance of the Midknight in front of him.
“Worth a shot,” Duexdahl said ruefully, his twin daggers spinning in his hands, shooting a quick glance towards Arnie. “Let’s fl…”
A booming voice from behind them cried out, “You say that the power that compels you is too strong to resist, but is it more powerful than the will of the Gods themselves?” Eros’ voice was loud and clear despite the mask that covered his face, his words resonating throughout the stone crypt with an authority that was impossible to ignore.
The armored figure turned to regard Eros for a brief moment before responding, “The darkness, it calls to me. It binds me and controls me. It drives me to act, and I must heed its call.” The knight then turned its gaze away from Eros and back towards the four figures fanned out in front of him and he continued raising his giant sword over his head.
Undeterred, Eros continued, “Yes, you are but a puppet controlled by another, with magic that holds to you with dark chains, but I am the source of that darkness. It is I who pull the very strings that compel you to dance, for I am the divine conduit of the very will of the Gods themselves,” Eros began walking towards the knight, who fixated on the masked man with its fiery orbs that burned with rage. Eros ignored his glare and continued his slow stroll towards the knight, “The power of your master…” the last word laced with palpable, derisive scorn, “…is but a gift from me.” Eros' words were fortified with such authority, disdain, and contempt that it was impossible to ignore them. The knight did not move or act, it just fixed its gaze firmly at the masked man before him, the fire in its eyes burning like an inferno. Eros ignored his lifeless glare and continued with a dismissive tone, “And any gift given can just as easily be taken away. Return to your dreamless sleep and leave us be.”
And as he spoke, Lyric could see the dark, wispy tendrils of grasping smoke that surrounded the long-dead knight break free of their grip and waft towards the masked elf. And when the blackness reached him Eros did not shy from it; instead he embraced it and slowly inhaled the darkness into himself until it was gone. And as he did Lyric turned and watched as the lifeless form of the knight crashed to the stone floor in a jumbled heap of metal and bone.
Lyric turned back and stared at Eros with a look of awe and dread. She had known that he was a divine messenger of the Gods for some time now. She had felt the celestial glow of the man’s incredible magic knit her wounds shut and she had witnessed his miracles on countless occasions. She had always assumed that the God’s return to the land was a holy marvel of goodness and light, but she also aware that there was another side to the Gods, as the Redeemers had been fallible mortals before their ascension and had kept some of these worldly failings even in godhood. She recalled the tales of Oni’s wrath with the destruction of Raam and of Vashir’s singular drive for vengeance and retribution. She knew of the tales of Arnia’s military zeal and the armies that bore her banners had committed innumerable atrocities in her name. And David had subjected those born with an aptitude for magic to tests that had broken their bodies and minds and had sent countless of his acolytes to an early grave when they had proven unfit to wield his gifts.
But this...this was something else entirely. Eros had beaten the black magic that commanded and defied death itself not by harnessing the power of light and goodness, but rather by channeling the very same unholy energy, only doing so with even more authority over it. He had not defeated it but had instead devoured it and become one with it, and he seemed wholly undeterred by its malign presence within him. In fact, he almost seem to relish it. Lyric knew that the power of a God flowed through this enigmatic man, but it had never occurred to her until this moment to ask which God?