Grand Game 372: The Death of a Lich (Patreon)

I made it into the vault with Loskin none the wiser.

Thanks to the harbinger and Adriel’s spells, the inside of the vault was exposed and unguarded, leaving anyone free to plunder it. Although, after seeing the contents, most would-be thieves would be disappointed.

The archlich’s most-guarded treasure house was less a vault than it was a mortuary. From one end to the other, the building was lined with bodies. Rows and rows of them, each meticulously preserved. Or, they had been. Many had since been tossed about and buried under the weight of broken shelves and collapsed walls.

I was in the very center of the vault, concealed by the ruined mess around and crouched next to one particular shelf. Behind me, lich and archlich battered away at each other’s shields, their animosity fueled by a centuries-old feud, while ahead, Farren and the remaining elites fought a losing battle against the harbinger.

My own focus remained riveted on the dusty steel box in my hands. It had been hidden beneath the shelf, and in every way, it was an ordinary looking box—not something one would ever believe to be the repository of an artifact as important as an archlich’s phylactery.

It was Loskin’s final defensive measure.

A last bit of subterfuge. An ordinary-seeming box opened by an ordinary-seeming steel key held by his chief of security. Formerly held, anyway. Taking in hand the key Farren had given me, I inserted the unassuming bit of steel in the lock and sprung it open.

The key turned with an audible click.

My actions triggered no Game messages—for which I was more than grateful. According to Regus, the box was covered in traps set by a master thief. No powerful spells would gain me access. Only the steel key would—of which there were only two copies. One that was kept by Loskin, and the other which had been left with his security chief for safeguarding.

This is it, I thought. Inhaling deeply, I cracked open the lid.

The phylactery was inside as promised.

It was a near replica of Adriel’s. Wasting no more time, I wrapped my hand around the thin glass vial and summoned mana.

You have cast darkness bolt.

You have damaged an archlich’s phylactery.

The vial cracked but did not break. “Damn it,” I cursed and drew more mana.

A slim black shape materialized in front of me—Loskin.

My head jerked up, but my hand remained wrapped around the vial, and I kept casting. Somehow, the archlich must have sensed the box’s opening or perhaps the damage dealt to his spirit vessel.

It didn’t matter. Either way, the construct of living flesh in front of me was only a distraction. The real Loskin—the archlich himself—was in the tiny vial I held. And only by breaking it would I kill him. “Your reign is over, Loskin,” I whispered. “Time to die.”

Loskin did not so much as twitch a finger or batter an eyelid. “Die,” was all he simply said.

The word was no ordinary word.

In the very instant that Loskin vocalized it, I knew that. It was a primal thing, a spell targeted at the core of who I was. The word held power. The power of Blood and the power of Death. And it was rushing toward me with palpable force. There would be no dodging. No clever evasive maneuver to escape. The spell was centered on my being. It would follow wherever I went.

And it had just ordered me to die.

In obedience to the primal command, the strands of myself frayed and split apart. My spirit began devolving; my flesh started melting; my mind lurched towards oblivion.

But then my void armor intervened.

And something else too: Farren’s almost forgotten buff.

The dissolution of my being reversed course. The shards of my spirit knit back, flesh firmed, and mind escaped the pull into darkness.

You have passed a magical resistance check!

You have resisted the self-dissolution command of a power word!

I shuddered. The battle for myself had only lasted a split second, yet it felt like an eternity. But, in the end, the efforts of my void armor and Farren’s buff sufficed to repel the brunt of the power word’s assault.

Unfortunately, the spell was not done with me yet, and a more mundane attack followed.

Power word second spell-stage triggered!

Gray, sickly tendrils of energy materialized between me and Loskin. Fat, wriggling worms flung themselves at me. There were thousands of the things, and as high as my death magic resistance was at the moment, the tendrils were too numerous to fend off entirely. Some still snuck through my defenses.

You have partially resisted the life leech effects of a power word!

Some, though, were still a lot, and in the next instant, near a score of the gray energy worms plunged into my torso, sucking me dry.

You have been life drained! Remaining health: 95%

You have been life drained!: Remaining health: 90%

…

…

You have been life drained! Remaining health: 5%

Quick mend triggered, restoring 20% of your health!

Void armor charge remaining: 61%.

Void thief failed to trigger! Your mana is currently not capable of learning power word spells.

In an instant, my health plummeted, emptied nearly to its dregs. But nearly was not good enough. I lived yet. Rocking back on my heels, I dropped the steel box but managed to retain hold of the phylactery—and my concentration.

Raising my eyes, I found the archlich Loskin was staring at me, thunderstruck. “How?” he demanded.

I didn’t bother answering. My own spell was ready, and I released it without hesitation or remorse.

You have cast darkness bolt.

You have destroyed an archlich’s phylactery.

You have killed Loskin! The final sector boss has been slain.

Congratulations, Michael! You have completed Draven’s Reach.

That, sadly, was still not the end of the matter.

The vial in my hand exploded, but contrary to my expectations, the shards did not behave like ordinary glass and my wayfarer’s gloves did nothing to stop the tiny slivers from slicing into my skin.

A destroyed archlich’s phylactery has injured you.

A destroyed archlich’s phylactery has injured you.

…

…

I stared at my hand in wordless horror. Each cut, while small, bit deep and eked away a little bit of my life.

Loskin’s final revenge? I wondered, a sickly dazed grin pasted on my face. I knew I should do something, anything, to stop the ongoing damage, but my thoughts were foggy and for a moment I was at a loss.

Quick mend... cast... quick mend, I thought. Gathering my scattered concentration, I tried to do just that, but my mind had suffered one shock too many, and my maligned body had had enough. My limbs giving way beneath me, I slumped to the floor.

✵ ✵ ✵

“Prime! Prime!”

Slowly, I came to. “I’m… awake, Ghost.” I paused, my thoughts moving as slow as molasses. “What... happened?”

“I don’t know!” Ghosts exclaimed. “It seemed like you were out forever, but locked up in this cloak, I can’t tell how l0ng it’s been,” she moaned. “This wasn’t a good idea. I should never have let Adriel put me in this thing. What was I thinking?”

“Slow… down,” I rasped, struggling to follow her.

“Sorry,” Ghost said contritely. “Did you... did you die?”

I shook my head. “I don’t... think so. At least I don’t remember that happening.”

“If you say so,” Ghost said doubtfully. “But maybe—”

Another voice interrupted. “Michael? Are you awake?”

I knew that voice. It was Adriel. “Adriel is here, Ghost. We’re alright, I think.”

“Thank the Wolf!” she said fervently.

“I’m going to need to talk to her,.” I said, feeling my thoughts sharpen. Whatever had knocked me out, it seemed its effects were dissipating.

“I know, I know. But make sure you tell me everything afterwards,” Ghost said, retreating to the back of my mind.

“I will,” I promised her fading awareness before turning my attention outwards.

“Michael, are you in there? I saw you move.”

I opened my eyes, then groaned as the harsh white light of a mage globe hit my eyes.

“He’s alive,” a relieved-sounding Adriel said.

“What happened?” I muttered.

“Told you he’d be too stubborn to die,” another more caustic voice remarked.

I turned my head to the right, tracking the familiar sounding voice and saw a stout-looking dwarf. He was not anyone I knew, though.

Then I spotted the unforgettable maul across his back. “Regus?”

The dwarf grinned broadly. “Looks like he is all there, too,” he said in an aside to Adriel. “This one is sharp as a tack. Can’t sneak anything past him, can you?”

“What happened?” I repeated, ignoring Regus’ mockery.

“Well, what with the battle,” the dwarf said, “there’s been a sudden shortage of bodies, and this was one of the few undamaged ones available—”

“Not to you,” I interrupted. “To the harbinger.”

“Oh. Right,” Regus said with a sly smile. “I’ll let Adriel answer that.”

The security chief, I suspected, executed his own measure of revenge. No doubt he blamed me for his latest incarnation—a dwarf, of all things.

Deciding to get in a jab of my own, I said glibly, “I like your new body. It suits you.”

Regus’ eyes narrowed to slits, but before he could retort, Adriel appeared in my line of sight, her face grave. “The harbinger is gone. He fled not long after Loskin perished.”

My amusement died. That was not good, not good at all. I wanted to demand all the details there and then, but first, I had to see to my own body. Sitting upright, I took stock of my surroundings.

I was in a luxuriously appointed bed, in one of the villas, presumably. Looking down, I examined my limbs. Nothing was wrong with them, and according to the Game, my health was full. Someone had healed me while I was unconscious.

So, why had Adriel sounded so worried? “Is something wrong with me?” I asked.

Adriel smiled. “Nothing. You’re fine.”

“But?” I asked, knowing there had to be one.

“But,” Adriel conceded, “you just endured a power word. You seem to have shrugged off its effects, but sometimes the survivors of such spells don’t always emerge fully… intact.”

“She means your mind’s not turned into a puddle,” Regus chipped in helpfully. “Your limbs appear to be fully functional, and your spirit is whole. We were afraid one of those might not be true.”

“How nice to see you care,” I said with a hint of a smile as I swung my legs off the bed. I glanced at Adriel. “What’s a power word?”

“A blood memory, a powerful one,” Adriel answered.

I nodded. It confirmed my own guess. “Was the spell you used on the wards also a blood memory?”

“Correct.”

I stood up and flexed my limbs while I considered the implications. Both spells had been exceedingly powerful. “What about the other possessed? Have they also retained their blood memories?”

Adriel shook her head. “No. Only us lichs did. The others lost theirs when they swapped bodies.”

“Ah, I see.” Letting the matter drop, I checked my gear. Nothing was missing. “How long was I out for?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe less,” Adriel said.

I exhaled a relieved breath. “Then there’s still time.”

“Time? Time for what?” Farren asked, stepping into the room. Before I could answer, he looked me up and down and added, “I see you made it through in one piece. Congratulations. That was good work with Loskin.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You didn’t fare too bad against the harbinger either.”

“Other than for letting him get away,” Farren said. “That’s what you’re leaving unsaid, right?”

“That’s not what I—” I began.

Farren smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “Relax, Wolf, I’m only teasing. But go on. What were you saying before I came in?”

“I was saying, there’s still time to catch the harbinger.” I paused. “And kill him.”

Regus barked out a laugh. “Ridiculous!”

He was the only one amused, though. From their grave expressions, the lichs were taking my suggestion more seriously.

“It’s been twenty minutes. He will be back in the nether by now,” Adriel said quietly. “And is likely already nesting by the void tree as we speak.”

“I realize that,” I said. “But we can’t give up. Not when we’re so close to achieving what we set out to. We have to kill the harbinger now.”

Farren shook his head. “It can’t be done.”

“It can,” I insisted.

The lich held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying we shouldn’t take the fight to him. We should. But we must marshal our strength first. We tried a quick strike. It failed. Now it’s time to revive the dead and gather allies from New Haven. Only then should we march on the stygians.”

“Farren is right,” Adriel added gently. “I want to see this done as much as you do, but the wisest course right now is to regroup.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “How badly was the harbinger injured?”

Farren and Adriel exchanged glances, then the male sibling answered. “I couldn’t tell exactly, but I would say he wasn’t far from death. But before you get too excited, that may only have been wishful thinking on my part.”

I frowned, struggling to reconcile Farren’s report with what I’d seen myself earlier. The harbinger had been winning. What had changed? “So, it wasn’t just Loskin’s demise that spurred his retreat?”

Adriel shook her head. “After Loskin died, I joined Farren and the surviving elites using my… other form. Together, we turned the tide.”

Farren chuckled. “My sister is being too modest, and at times, I think she doesn’t know her own strength. There is a reason the other possessed fear her. When she is roused, Adriel’s wrath is fearsome to behold.”

Rolling her eyes, Adriel jabbed an elbow into her brother. “Now, you’re just making fun of me,” she said before turning back to me. “Tooth and claw seemed to do more damage to the harbinger than either Loskin or Farren’s spells could manage.” Her look turned thoughtful. “It is perhaps something to remember. The harbinger appears to shrug off ranged spell attacks more easily than he does melee ones.”

“That rings true,” Farren said, his eyes narrowing. “And goes a long way to explaining why he was particularly harsh in his response to our own fighters.”

“But Michael,” Adriel said, returning to the original subject, “no matter how close to death the harbinger was, he would have healed himself by now.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded. “But do the stygians recover in the same manner we do?”

Farren frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do they need sleep to replenish their lost psi, mana, and stamina? Look at your own energy reserves, Farren. You too, Adriel. How depleted are they? Won’t the harbinger’s reserves be as low—if not lower?”

The two fell silent, thinking it over.

“The Wolf has a point,” Regus interjected. “The harbinger is weakened, and if he was here right now, I would support a renewed assault.” He shook his head. “But he isn’t here. The stygian is in the nether and surrounded by a swarm of minions. He will be impossible to defeat there.”

The two siblings exchanged another round of long glances. “You may be right about the harbinger, Michael,” Adriel said. “But as you just pointed out, our own reserves are similarly low. Neither of us has had time yet to channel mana and recover. How can we take the fight to the stygian like this?”

Mutely, I removed a double handful of items from my backpack and placed them on the bed one at a time.

You have lost 6 x rank 4 nether protection crystals, 2 x full mana potions, 6 major mana potions, 2 x minor mana potions, 1 moderate healing potion, and 2 full healing potions.

“Are those…?” Farren asked, his eyes widening.

“They are. This first pile consists of nether protections crystals. They will reduce the nether toxicity you suffer in the fog to tier two.” I pointed to the next pile. “These are mana regeneration potions. You can use them to replenish your mana before and during the fight. The last are health potions—for emergencies.”

The lichs said nothing for a moment, but I could see the sparkle was back in Farren’s eyes and Adriel was smiling again. Still, her next words dashed my hopes. “It’s a good idea, but it won’t work.”

I stared at her. “Why not? There is nothing stopping you from using the potions, even as non-players.”

“That’s not it,” Farren said. “The potions and crystals will definitely help. But aren’t you forgetting about the void tree? It’s not as powerful as its elder kin, true, but is still strong enough to keep us from venturing too close. It will serve as a secure base for the harbinger to retreat to if he starts losing, something, mind you, that we ourselves will lack. No, it can’t be done the way you mean.”

“But—” I protested.

“We can still kill the stygian Power,” Adriel interjected, her smile broadening. “But it will require some careful maneuvering.”

My eyes flitted from her to Farren. “Then, you’ll do it?”

“How long will it take us to get to the void tree?” Farren asked, shooting his sister a sideways glance.

“About as long as it took the harbinger…. twenty minutes.”

Farren smiled as he turned back to me. “Then yes, we’ll do it. But the harbinger already has a twenty-minute head start. So, if we mean to do this, we have to move now.”

“Agreed, but what about—” I began.

“We can discuss the details on the way over,” Farren cut in. “You’ve got what you wanted, Wolf. Now, hustle. We leave immediately.”