Chapter 83: The Hunt
Dominic impulsively sprang into action. Before him, the ruins of the Tribunal sprawled out in a chaotic mosaic of shattered stone, twisted metal, and smoldering timber fragments, remnants of a fallen authority.
Above the devastation, the lich hovered menacingly, its tattered robes fluttering wildly in the scorching, sulfur-laden air, its cold, piercing eyes like icy arrows scanning the battlefield with the calculated poise of a victorious general surveying his conquest.
The risen dead shuffled listlessly through the wreckage, their vacant, soulless eyes fixed intently on the living adversaries.
But Dominic’s focus remained unwavering on the lich.
It was time to strike.
He propelled himself forward with a burst of energy, the Wobbly trait coiling tightly in his legs like taut springs ready to snap. His first leap cleared a fallen stone wall, jagged and partially crumbled; the second pushed him onto a leaning, shattered pillar, its once-ornate carvings now worn smooth by time and chaos; and the third carried him into the open air, his body soaring over the debris.
Florence’s battle instincts flared within him, rapidly mapping his trajectory, potential landing points, and the positions of enemies obstructing his path. Theresa’s empowering magic surged through his limbs, filling him with renewed strength, and he crash-landed atop a broken, jagged rooftop with a sharp crack that sent clouds of dust swirling into the smoky, suffocating sky.
The lich’s eyes locked onto him.
"You persist," it hissed, its voice pounding against his skull like a thunderclap. "Impressive, but futile."
Dominic remained silent, his mind already racing as he moved again, determination burning brightly in his eyes.
Florence rode fiercely, the Ghost Horse charging through the streets with thunderous might, its spectral hooves sparking against the cobblestones. Church soldiers scattered in chaos, their formations shattering as the colossal beast advanced. With lethal precision, Florence’s halberd swung and struck, each motion deadly and decisive.
She wasn’t merely fighting; she was orchestrating a retreat, corralling the enemies toward the outskirts of the ruins, away from the fleeing civilians and the stronghold where Frank and Lysandra protected the survivors. The horse flowed like water, weaving effortlessly around obstacles, vaulting over barricades, leaving only silence in its wake.
The Church’s elite tried to regroup. An SS-rank captain shouted commands, his blade crackling with corrupt energy. Florence caught his eye, and the horse reoriented swiftly.
Her halberd descended in a swift arc.
The captain’s blade rose in defiance, meeting her strike. An explosive shockwave rippled through the street as the impact collided. The halberd’s anti-magic edge ignited with radiant light, extinguishing the dark energy surrounding the captain’s sword like a candle snuffed by wind. His eyes widened in shock.
𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
"That’s not po—"
Florence’s follow-up strike beheaded him instantly.
The Ghost Horse trampled his fallen body and charged onward, relentless and unstoppable.
Theresa stood at the heart of the chaotic ruins, her presence commanding amid the destruction.
Before her, the Astral Grimoire hovered effortlessly, its pages flipping on their own, emitting an aura of mysterious power. Golden light swirled around her, warding off the shambles of the risen dead that staggered toward her, their forms incinerating inches from reaching her, like a lighthouse piercing through a storm.
Yet, her gaze was fixed beyond the chaos, on Dominic.
Through their bond, she sensed his pulse, driving fury, relentless pursuit, and the weight of exhaustion from channeling immense power. He was pushing himself beyond limits.
"Careful," she warned silently. "The lich feeds on the dead. The longer this drags on, the stronger it grows."
"Then we end this quickly," Florence’s voice broke in, fierce and quickening. "I’m almost in position."
"Not yet," Dominic replied swiftly. "We need Wobbly to find the life vessel. Destroying the body now will not really change much."
Theresa’s eyes steeled with resolve. She knew this wasn’t just battle, it was a trap, and the lich itself was the bait.
"Hold your ground," she commanded. "I’ll keep the dead at bay."
Turning a page, she unleashed a wave of radiant fire, engulfing thousands risen corpses in an instant. The lich’s rage twisted its face as it snapped its gaze toward her.
"You dare—"
"I dare," Theresa retorted, unleashing another spell, brighter and bolder than before.
The Wobbly clones moved unseen through the chaotic destruction. They slipped like trickles of water, blending seamlessly against the debris-strewn streets, the billowing smoke, and the blood-stained stones of the shattered cityscape. Their search led them through the crumbling districts, hidden alleyways cloaked in darkness, and secret tunnels carved into the bedrock beneath the metropolis. Finally, one clone uncovered a concealed chamber, its entrance obscured by fallen debris.
This chamber lay deep beneath the grand statue at the heart of the empire, a towering monument carved from dark, weathered stone that had stood for over a thousand years. The chamber was ancient, hewn into the solid bedrock long before the city arose, predating even the empire and the church that now held dominion over the land. At its center, radiating an eerie, pulsating greenish glow, was the phylactery, a dark crystal encased within a complex mystical labyrinth of glowing runes and shimmering energy.
The clone hesitated, sensing the warded defenses that protected the chamber. Layers of glowing runes flickered with shifting patterns, magical traps shimmered with deadly energy, and invisible barriers, crackling with static, had been woven into the very fabric of the chamber. It knew this was no simple challenge; bypassing these enchantments would require more than brute force.
Desperate, the clone decided it must consume the energy within to succeed, drawing upon the dark power concealed in the chamber.
And through it, the other clones sensed where to come.
One by one, they arrived. Sliding through narrow cracks in the stone, slipping through shadows cast by flickering torches, flowing like water through ancient, weathered stone passages. They had been scattered across the ruined city, each searching for the same purpose. Now they converged, irresistibly drawn to the first clone as iron is to a lodestone. No signal, no communication, only an instinctual understanding.
They merged.
Fusing into a single entity. Each clone dissolved into the next, their bodies flowing seamlessly together, their energy combining in a dance of synchronized motion. The soft blue glow that had flickered across their separate forms now converged into a single, intense radiance. The merged clone grew larger, denser, and more formidable.
It extended its form, flowing over the first ward like liquid silver, the surface shimmering with reflected light. The magic crackled and hissed, attempting to burn it away with searing blasts of heat and luminous energy. But the clone absorbed the assault, drawing the magic into itself as if starved for strength. The ward flickered wildly before ultimately fading into nothingness.
With the initial barrier broken, the clone focused on the second, a far more formidable defense. It pressed its substance harder against the remaining enchantments, steadily feeding on the residual magic. The air grew thick with crackling arcs of energy, illuminating the chamber with ghostly, flickering light, as the clone prepared to claim its prize, the dark crystal pulsating in the heart of the labyrinth.
***
The prolonged battle against the ancient lich had persisted for what felt like endless hours, draining even the most resilient fighters.
Dominic moved cautiously through the shattered ruins, Wobbly swirling around him in a protective pattern, absorbing the brutal blows from the risen corpses. His blade struck with precision at the decayed undead that shuffled forward with unnatural persistence.
Meanwhile, Florence rode her spectral Ghost Horse in tight circles around the lich, her halberd slicing through shifting shadows that stretched out to entangle her. Her other hand wielded a shield shimmering faintly with enchantments, deflecting dark tendrils seeking to snare her.
Theresa’s golden flames blazed across the battlefield, incinerating the cadaverous bodies before they could reanimate. The lich’s formidable power was clear, strength that seemed almost limitless, but it was not invincible. Each time they felled its minions, it was forced to draw on dwindling reserves to summon new ones, and its once-mighty energy was visibly waning.
Around them, the once-chaotic cityscape had fallen into eerie silence.
Dominic sensed it first through Florence’s battle awareness, the way her focus flickered briefly to the perimeters of the ruined square, alerting him that something was now different.
The Church’s soldiers had fallen back or been defeated. The SS-rank agents, who had been relentless in their assault, were nowhere to be seen. Only the lich hovered, floating in the center of the devastation like a dying star flickering with fading light.
Florence reined her Ghost Horse around sharply, her halberd still dripping with the thick, black ichor of shadow creatures. Her breathing was labored, yet she grinned fiercely.
"It’s over," she declared loudly, enough for the lich to hear. "Your armies are dust. Your priests are dead. You’re the last one standing."
The lich did not reply. It merely turned slowly, its cold, unblinking eyes sweeping across the ruined cityscape as if seeing it anew for the first time.