A crowd of Frost Rim soldiers formed a circle at the base of a hill that would serve as the dueling grounds. A small retinue of Undergrowth soldiers and a few Valley warriors stood nearby as well to bear witness to the duel that would decide the fate of thousands.
At the center of the clearing, Lord Edil Aldine sat cross-legged, eyes closed. The soldiers whispered amongst themselves, rumors of what had occurred in the command tent quickly spreading. Suddenly, voices went silent as all heads turned to the arrival of Veres and their retainers.
Lady Gale led the small procession, clad in black armor with gold trim, the colors of her House. Her hair was a stark white and her eyes mismatched colors of red and lilac. The Ebon Lady and Aspirant walked behind Gale, alongside a hooded stranger who carried a massive scythe on her shoulder. Lord Gian and a centaur armoured in the red and black colors of House Veres guarded the rear. The entire group struck an imposing figure, even surrounded by hundreds of enemies.
More tales had been shared in every tavern across Frost Rim about this small group of people than any soldier there could count. The Sword Paragon, the greatest swordmaster the Ebon Realm had seen in centuries. Lady Gale VIII, mistress of the most deadly swordmasters in the realm. A vampiress who had not only held back a horde of valley warriors at the city gate during the siege of Hollow Shade, but had later met the warlord’s leadership in battle and slain them. Her strange appearance was almost otherworldly and whenever she glanced at a soldier, they quickly looked away, unable to hold her stare.
The Ebon Lady was nothing like the soldiers imagined. She was not a vampire, but a goblin. Yet her hair was a white that gleamed almost gold in the morning sunlight. Though she was short of stature, she commanded a domineering presence in the way she walked and held her head up high.
The hooded stranger besides Lady Veres was a mystery, but her black scythe had the distinct glassy sheen of orichalcum. Only the most powerful of lords and mages could boast such a weapon.
Even the centaur, though none knew her, was quickly becoming a figure greater than life in the soldiers’ minds. Stories of her origins were being spun up as the soldiers asked about the mysterious warrior. Where half a dozen centaurs ordinarily served as the guard of such a high-ranking noble, only one was needed for the Veres, for her skill must have been equal to a dozen centaurs, or so the Frost Rim men surmised.
The Ebon Aspirant, swathed in a cloak of white petals, was the center of most rumors in the past few months. His rise to fame in the Undergrowth Tourney had only been the beginning. He had led the charge of the Sylvan across the fields of Hollow Shade and defeated the combined forces of the Valley Tribes and Undergrowth. And now reports were arriving from the south that he had led the Sylvan in victory against Murkton as well.
Instead of waiting for the crowd of soldiers to move, Lady Gale strode forward, eyes narrowed, almost as if daring for someone to stop them. The soldiers parted as Gale walked past.
“For Lady Lilith!” screamed a drow soldier as he broke through the crowd, sword and shield in hand. His shield was emblazoned with the Lilith’s coat-of-arms, a woman strewn across an icy throne.
Gale’s sword flashed in a blur of steel and the drow stumbled to a halt and fell to his knees. He dropped his weapons and clutched at his gut, blood pouring out. Gale sheathed her sword and continued walking. The rest of the soldiers took a healthy step back. Few had seen her draw her blade, let alone seen the strike.
As Stryg walked past, he casually drew his dagger and stabbed the drow in the neck. The dying man seized up as if electrocuted. Stryg withdrew his dagger and continued walking, never breaking his gait. The drow collapsed with not so much as a twitch left within him.
Lord Edil waited for them in the clearing. Gale and the others stopped at the edge of the ring of people, while Stryg took his position across from Edil.
“Do you always meditate before a battle?” Stryg asked out of curiosity.
“It helps to take a moment to understand your opponent. If you’d like to do the same, I will wait for you,” Edil said.
Stryg shook his head and drew Krikolm, the red blade sending a new ripple of whispers among the soldiers. “I prefer to end things quickly.”
“Is that why you let Lady Lilith bleed out on the table?” Edil asked.
“She was a problem that needed to be dealt with. Sometimes the best way to deal with a problem is to drive fear into your opponents. Other times it is simply to kill them.”
Edil smile. “In that case, if you defeat me, I ask that you make my death quick and painless.”
Stryg knew the old vampire was patronizing him but he didn’t mind. “Alright. I make no promises about what happens afterwards, though.”
Edil uncrossed his legs and stood to his feet. “You know,” he brushed his robes, “There is one thing I don’t understand. How did you manage to drink Sera’s blood? She is a vampire. We cannot drink each other’s blood without getting very sick, very fast. Was it some sort of trick? Did you vomit as soon as I left?”
“Oh. No. There’s no trick. I’m just not a vampire.”
The old vampire cocked his head to the side and looked Stryg up and down. For not the first time this morning, he found himself re-evaluating the young Aspirant. “Then what are you?”
The young man smiled, it was free from anxiety and uncertainty. “I am me. And I’m quite certain I’m the only one.”
“...You are an odd one.”
“So I’ve been told,” Stryg replied, unshaken.
Aurelia raised her hands and conjured a dome of red wards over the clearing as was customary. Edil looked up at the red-tinted sky and nodded in approval. “This will do. Shall we begin, Lord Veres?”
Stryg took the granite stance, legs partly spread, arms and sword in a defensive position. “I’m ready.”
“As am I.”
Stryg didn’t wait. He shifted his legs, ready for any incoming attack, or at least, he tried. His foot wouldn’t move. He glanced down to find his own shadow darkening and twisting around his legs like rampant vines. He had never seen a mage capable of controlling another’s shadow before. But the time for admiration would have to wait.
Shadow tendrils condensed and formed an arsenal of sharp points, similar to spears, hovering over Edil’s shoulders. With a snap of his fingers, the spears shot out, long sharp tendrils extending from his silhouette. Brown mana flowed into Stryg’s veins. He ripped apart the shadows holding him back and swung Krikolm at the incoming spears.
When they met, Krikolm swept right through them. The spears continued and crashed into Stryg, a barrage with the force of a giant’s hammer. He flew backwards and crashed into the red dome. Pain burned across his chest and he wasn’t certain if he was bleeding. Blossom began to regrow petals where the spears had pierced the cloak and the clothes underneath.
Before Stryg could get up, shadows wrapped around his limbs, holding him to the ground. Another arsenal of spears was already forming above Edil.
“I’m surprised you’re not dead. Had it been stone, my shadows would’ve punctured right through it. That Thorn cloak of yours is quite something. I, however, prefer my own cloak.” Inky shadows wrapped around Edil, forming a cloak of darkness.
“I prefer daylight,” Stryg spat. He channeled white and summoned the brightest orb of light he could manage, forgoing any raw substance in exchange for brightness. The light spun to life above him and exploded in a wave of energy. His irises expanded, covering the whites of his eyes completely, while his vertical pupils turned into round black pools. His vision snapped into a world of black masked in silver outlines.
The shackles of shadows on his limbs melted away in the midst of the light blast. Yet the shadows surrounding Edil remained, much to Stryg’s surprise.
“I never cared much for necromancy. I find the shadow spell-form far superior,” Edil mused as a dozen more spears emerged from his cloak. “With enough skill and dedication, you’ll find a single spell-form is greater than all ten chromatic colors.”
The vampire’s words struck a chord in Stryg. He was reminded of the story of his sister, Melantha the Blue, when she fought against the prime archmage that had conquered her hometown. The story had ended poorly for the archmage.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Stryg muttered and dusted the dirt off his pants.
“I’m glad we see eye to eye.” Edil waved his hand in a sharp snap and the spears followed.
Orange flowed into Stryg and he dashed out of the way with agility magic. The shadow tendrils turned sharply and chased him down. With nowhere to run in the small clearing, Stryg summoned his own shadows to block, but the spears pierced through them with ease and struck him.
This time, Stryg was prepared. Yellow scales covered his body. Yet the force of the blow still sent him crashing into the ground. Blossom was covered in several more holes. Though the protective scales had stopped the brunt of the force, they had all cracked if not outright shattered.
Stryg leaned back on his shoulders, placed his palms flat on the grass, and kipped up, landing on his feet. But Edil was already firing another volley. Ignoring defense, Stryg summoned blue and shot a bolt of lightning.
Shadowy hands sprung out from Edil’s cloak, latched onto the ground, and yanked the vampire to the side, evading the blue bolt. The shadow spears struck again. Stryg rolled with the attack and threw his arms wide, bathing the entire clearing in orange flames. The red dome swirled with fire before slowly dying out. When the smoke cleared, Stryg remained standing, his breath short.
A dire wolf of writhing shadows stood amidst the last of the smoke and charred ground. Edil emerged from the wolf’s body, sitting above it as if in a saddle. “You are full of surprises, Lord Veres, but it won’t be enough to save you.”
Stryg wiped the soot off his cheek with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. How long do you think you can last without air? Because I’m guessing I can outlast you.”
Edil frowned as he realized he was having trouble breathing. The fire had consumed most of the air in the small dome. “...I see. Very well.” He sank back into the dire wolf. A black orb emerged from its fur and rose to the top of the dome, bathing the clearing in darkness, like a black sun.
Four shades materialized from each cardinal direction of the dome and swam through the air towards Stryg, singing a haunting note as their eyes latched onto their prey.
Stryg didn’t hesitate. He shot beams of light at them, but the dark atmosphere weakened their power and the beams fizzled before they could do any real damage to the shades. It only served to anger them.
Black shackles, this time much stronger, leaped out from Stryg’s own shadow and held him down. He channeled brown and tried to escape, but every time he tore at one of the shadows, another reformed.
The shades surrounded him, running their hands close to his skin, almost caressing him, waiting in anticipation for the order to devour. The shadow wolf stalked forward and Edil emerged, standing in front of the kneeling Stryg. He looked down at him with a cold countenance. “The age of the Ebon Lords is over. It will not return.”
Stryg bared his fangs and hissed. “I’m not an Ebon Lord.”
Edil’s lips curled in a small smile. “Kill him.”
The shades sang in delight and plunged into Stryg. He froze, his muscles going rigid. The shades suddenly leaped out from his body, screaming in agony before burning away into nothingness.
Edil’s smile fell. “What is this…?”
Stryg smiled, the cold touch of chaos flowing through his veins. “Yeah, I know.” He ripped his arm away from the shackles and struck Edil in the chest.
The old vampire went flying and scattered on the ground, a skipping stone in the ash. The shadow sun above dissipated alongside the remaining shackles. Stryg marched over to Edil, his gait filled with purpose.
Edil was hunched over, struggling to breathe between his coughs and shattered ribs. He noticed Stryg’s approach and staggered to his feet, but a sudden rock jutted out from the ground and tripped Edil. Stryg released green and channeled grey, writing several curse sigils with a deft hand, then tossed them at Edil like a whip. The grey arcane words flared and locked the vampire’s muscles in place, forcing him to his knees.
Edil looked up at his opponent, fear in his eyes. “Wait—”
Stryg stabbed Nameless into his eye, the broken blade sinking into the socket. The vampire went stiff, then slack, and finally crumpled over, blood pooling down his face.
The soldiers stared at their lord’s corpse in stunned silence.