Chapter 124 - Kingbreaker

  Lyonius didn’t hesitate. The moment I leapt forward with that stolen greatsword in hand, he charged to meet me, his own blade swinging into a ready position. The flames of his eyes brightened as he closed the gap between us, casting flickers of cold light across the bloodstained field.

  Our swords clashed mid-charge with a shockwave of force that rang through my arms and echoed across the field. His strike would have split an ordinary weapon—or a lesser fighter—in half. But I met his blow, held my ground, and shoved back.

  That surprised him.

  I saw it in the subtle jerk of his head, the slight hitch in his movements, and even the way his eyes narrowed just a fraction. He’d expected me to crumple under his blow. He was stronger than me, faster too, and a much higher tier. But I was done backing down. We needed to end all of this. Finish the battle. Finish him. And I had a new ally at my side to help me accomplish that.

  Carver struck next, his undead swarming past him like a tide to engage the zombie host. Carver had his blade out now, held in a high guard as he approached the King. My old prof moved with a calm, calculated precision that made even Lyonius pause. His first strike wasn’t flashy, but it was effective—he stepped in low and slashed across the King’s side, forcing Lyonius to twist away or take the hit. Damn! Who’d have guessed Professor Carver knew how to handle a sword like that? I suppose the Event changed all of us, at least all who survived this long, anyway.

  I pressed the opening with another swing of the wraith blade. It was heavier than I was used to, but the unnatural balance felt right in my hands. It cut through the air with a sharp whistle, forcing Lyonius into a defensive guard. For a moment—just a moment—we had him retreating.

  “You dare,” Lyonius snarled, voice filled with more fury than fear, still. But I heard it anyway—that faint waver in his tone as the first inkling of fear finally crept in. He wasn’t used to being hurt. He probably wasn’t even used to having someone fight back. “You dare to raise your weapons against me? I am a god of undeath! You are nothing but helpless mortals.”

  “I shit, now you’re going after religion?” I spat. “Nah, not impressed. Try again.”

  He roared in reply and lashed out in a wild arc. I caught the blow on my borrowed blade, but it jarred me back, skidding across mud and half-rotted grass. Carver dove in with his own strike, but Lyonius met it with a blast of necrotic energy that sent the older necromancer reeling. His armor took the worst of it, but I saw the grimace on Carver’s face. That hit hurt.

  I sensed that our time was running out. Carver’s sudden appearance bought me the breathing room to heal myself, and startled the Forgotten King enough that we briefly had the upper hand, but that wouldn’t last. I heard the crunch of feet behind me as the zombies pressed forward again. Carver’s troops engaged them, slowing the tide, buying time. But there were so many undead that his troops couldn’t possibly hold them forever, not even with my allies pitching in. If we didn’t end this, and soon, the rest of our friends would be overwhelmed.

  With Carver hurt, Lyonius moved to capitalize on his momentary advantage. He closed the distance between himself and Carver with terrifying speed, his blade poised for a finishing blow—

  I had to stop him, so I hit him with everything I had.

  Not a spell. Not a sword. Just raw, brutal, tier-five Strength.

  I slammed into his side, driving my shoulder into his ribs like a linebacker tackling a brick wall. Pain exploded in my arm, but it did the trick. Lyonius staggered—off-balance for just a heartbeat.

  Carver recovered quickly, stepping forward with a thrust that rammed his blade deep into Lyonius’s side. The King roared in pain from the blow. It wasn’t enough to kill him, not nearly. But enough to draw real blood, thick and black, the stuff hissing as it hit the ground.

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  Then the Forgotten King screamed. Not just in pain—in fury.

  His aura exploded outward, a pulse of death energy that knocked both Carver and me off our feet. My ears rang. My bones ached. I gasped for breath and tried to rise. Everything hurt. I’d been injured and healed so many times, I was having trouble keeping track of what injuries still remained.

  In spite of all that, I clambered back to my feet, using the wraith blade to lever myself upright. I cast another Drain on Lyonius, restoring myself somewhat at his expense. He in turn hit me back with a drain of his own—the spell stripped all the health I’d just gained and then some, but I managed to keep my feet under me

  Best of all, I saw that in spite of the Drain, Lyonius was hurting. More than that—he was scared. I don’t think he’d realized it was possible for someone to hurt him this badly. Not until now.

  “I have ruled empires beyond memory,” he growled, limping slightly as he turned to face us again. “I have shattered armies. I have consumed cities. And you…are nothing. Specks. Insignificant. Useful only as more fodder for my forces.”

  “Guess that makes this extra embarrassing for you,” I said. “Seeing as how we’re still kicking your ass.”

  Carver laughed beside me, and I realized that—somehow—we weren’t losing anymore. We were winning. It was slow. It was ugly. But piece by piece, we were dragging the Forgotten King down to our level. And we weren’t done yet.

  The pause as we all caught our breaths let my Drain Life reset, so I threw a quick cast of the spell at him—not so much for damage as to top off my health. Carver did the same a second later. Then we moved together. Synchronized. Not with a plan, not with practice, but with shared instinct.

  Carver took the left. I took the right. Lyonius tried to parry both.

  He failed at both.

  We were just too fast for him to block either of us while trying to parry both blows. My blade bit into his arm. Carver’s cut a burning line across his thigh. Lyonius roared again, swinging wildly—and this time, I was ready.

  I ducked under the blow, stepped inside his guard, and drove the wraith blade straight through his chest.

  His body jerked. The flame in his eyes dimmed for a second. I saw that flicker and was sure, for just a moment, that it was over. We’d finally won. That blow was the final one, and he was at long last going down…

  And then—

  He grinned.

  “You cannot kill me,” he hissed. “Not like that.”

  Black tendrils of magic erupted from the wound, forcing me to let go of the blade and leap away. The sword stayed buried in his chest, but he didn’t fall. He didn’t even stumble. He stood there, looming, shadow-wrapped and impossibly tall, magic flowing off him in waves.

  “I am the Forgotten King,” he said, louder now, voice echoing across the battlefield. “I am—”

  Carver’s voice cut in, sharp and clear: “Not anything, anymore!”

  Then he fired another Shadow Bolt—point blank, straight into Lyonius’s heart. The impact sent the King flying. He hit the ground hard this time. His body smoked. His cloak shredded. The wraith blade tumbled from his chest with a heavy clatter, but the creature still wasn’t destroyed, not yet.

  Filled with dark fury, Lyonius sprang back up, launching himself at Carver. Before I could intervene the King landed a flurry of blows, each one crashing down with bone-breaking force. Carver blocked more than he missed, but he was pressed hard, backing up one step after another, blood trickling from wounds where the blows rent his armor apart. Worse—Lyonius was backing him up right into the zombie horde! Another moment and Carver would be surrounded by ravenous zombies. In the shape he was in, I didn’t think he’d survive that.

  I had to act, so I raced in, snatching the wraith blade up from the ground once more. I put everything I had into that rush, hefting the massive blade above my head, using every iota of Strength I had left. Every scrap of energy, every bit of myself that I had, I poured it all into that one blow.

  My sword sang through the air, and Lyonius sensed it just in time. He whirled away from Carver, facing me, his sword blurring as he strove to parry my sword.

  He missed.

  My blade cracked into his skull, shattering his helm and driving deep into what lay inside. His skull broke, black mist pouring out, spreading like a mist, and then fading away. His form—once majestic, once terrifying—collapsed to the ground, where he lay crumpled and still.

  I didn’t believe it at first. I readied my sword for another blow, but my arms shook with exhaustion. I truly had nothing left, but if he was still kicking after all of that, I’d still fight to my last breath, if that’s what it took.

  Then I felt the pressure vanish. The crushing weight of his aura disappeared. The zombies around us faltered, their steps slowing. Some collapsed entirely, while others began to wander aimlessly, leaderless and confused. The remaining wraiths shrieked their anger, but fled rather than engaging us, their cries fading into the night as they flew away.

  It was over. Lyonius was dead.

  We’d won.

  I sank to my knees beside Carver, too exhausted to stand. Too battered to speak. But inside me, something burned bright. Against all odds, we’d killed the Forgotten King.