Lich for Hire

Lorencos looked at his old friend in his famed angelic form and couldn't help but wonder about what it had once meant to him.

There had been a time when the sight of that six-winged angel was the most reassuring thing in the world. By the time Roger Ángelo used this warform, the battle might as well be over. Nothing could stand against it.

But now, he was the one standing in its way.

This transformation was stronger than even most high-tier magical armor. The six luminous wings each represented a different enchantment: flight, protection from good and evil, haste, a healing aura, holy light enhancement, and the most formidable of all, resurrection. Even a killing blow could not put Roger Ángelo down for good.

That power didn't come from Roger Ángelo's holy light alone. Part of it came from the divine artifact he wore around his neck, presented to him by the emperor from three generations ago in recognition of his service.

Lorencos had no complaints about the terms. Being granted a one-on-one duel with Roger Ángelo at all was already an extraordinary mercy.

He knew he was going to die. He had known it for some time, actually. He should have died many years ago.

He turned to Alfredo. "Child, every mistake you have made in your life is mine to answer for. When you were small, I lacked the courage to show you the right path. As you grew, I never told you the difference between right and wrong. And now, at the end of it, I've dragged you down to Hell alongside me. Alfredo, I'm sorry."

"Father," Alfredo said, his voice breaking, "why won't you surrender? If you stay alive, there's still a chance. There's always a chance."

Lorencos shook his head. "This is my chance. In my life, I have faced tests like this many times. When Roger severed that child's head, I could have saved the family. In the wars that followed, I could have put a stop to slaughter that served no purpose.

"But I always used the same excuse: I had to survive. I was only trying to survive. So I kept hiding in the shadow of those crimes, telling myself I was untouched by them. I wasn't. I was corrupted long ago." He paused. "You will face tests of your own, Alfredo. Perhaps one day you'll come to understand that there are things worth more than staying alive."

He turned away and raised his twisted longsword.

Holy light poured from his body, shaping itself into silver-white armor around him. It was not as magnificent as Roger Ángelo's; it was thinner and rougher, without any radiant wings. But Lorencos struck first.

Sacred Slash was the most practiced and most powerful technique of the paladin's art.

By this light, let all evil be severed.

His holy light became a blade that swept upward at Roger Ángelo. It was met and shattered by a more powerful Sacred Slash in return.

Lorencos dodged the counterstrike and launched himself skyward, closing the distance between them.

The holy light swallowed both figures entirely. Those watching from below could no longer follow the battle except by hearing the repeated crack and ring of blades meeting. The crowd was forced steadily backward as the overflow of energy cratered the surrounding ground.

Two legendary paladins were fighting at full strength: ordinary people had no right to participate, and barely the right to watch.

The exchange lasted several minutes. Then, one figure fell.

Lorencos hit the ground hard, drenched in blood. A wound penetrated his chest so deeply that bone was visible. Try as he might, his holy light could not close the wound.

Those watching looked up. Roger Ángelo still hung in the sky above them, but one of his wings was gone.

He looked down at the ruin of his old friend. His voice was heavy. "Lorencos, you lost."

The old paladin lay where he had fallen and let the blood run freely from his chest and mouth. Even so, the corner of his lips turned faintly upward. "I am... a sinner. My death... is no loss. But my old friend... when will you... finally see the truth?"

"Fool! You are the one who was wrong!"

Roger Ángelo raised his sword in fury. A brilliant cascade of holy light descended, aiming to decapitate Lorencos.

Just then, a figure appeared from nowhere and shattered the Sacred Slash with a single blow.

Allen had arrived. When he saw the bodies on the ground, and Lorencos moments from death, he understood he was too late.

In a rough voice, he began, "I'm sorry. I should never have left on my own."

"No... This is... just fate..."

The light was already leaving Lorencos's eyes.

Allen felt as though he had been impaled through the heart. He gasped for breath.

"Allen Watson, you traitor! You're the one who corrupted him!"

Roger Ángelo recognized the young man immediately. Another Sacred Slash came sweeping down, this one aimed at Allen.

It landed on empty ground.

Allen had picked up Lorencos and flashed away in the same instant.

Then, after setting the body down, he flashed again—this time, directly behind Roger Ángelo.

The teleportation happened faster than the eye could register. Roger Ángelo's Sacred Slash had barely struck the earth before Allen's sword was already buried in his back.

Their holy light collided and detonated in a flash so bright it forced every witness to shield their eyes.

By the time they could see again, Roger Ángelo was losing.

The youth's command of holy light was no stronger than the Leonine General's—he couldn't call forth a celestial warform, not even close—but his swordsmanship was something else entirely.

Infinite teleportation combined with bladework so unpredictable it bordered on disorienting: in the span of that brief exchange, Roger Ángelo had no idea how many times he had been hit. More alarming still, Allen's sword could pierce through his celestial armor.

His armor surpassed even heavy plate in strength. How was Allen getting past his defenses?

If not for the healing aura steadily closing each wound, Roger Ángelo would have been riddled through long ago.

Allen had watched Lorencos die, but he wasn't overcome by rage. He used his mobility to its fullest, staying always just out of reach, never giving Roger Ángelo the chance to lay a hand on him.

It was remarkable how much had changed. Not long ago, Allen had been utterly dominated by the Dullahan Gareth, outmatched in pure technique and brute strength alike. After being put through the ground several hundred times by that particular "teacher," Allen had seriously begun to question everything.

But now Roger Ángelo, the hardened commander of an order of battle-honed paladins, was the one who couldn't land a blow.

Every swing, every thrust, penetrated through the magical armor. Roger Ángelo couldn't guard against Allen's anti-magic blade.

Given a little more time, Allen was fairly sure he could end his opponent.

That thought didn't last. The moment Roger Ángelo looked like he was losing, the paladins who had been watching from the sideline took action. They linked their holy light together in a single concentrated shockwave.

Allen flashed away, but the paladins weren't the only ones who had made a move.

The priests joined in with Human Stasis, Fireballs, Solar Rays—every spell locked onto him at once in a relentless volley, forcing Allen to flash away again and again. The instant he slowed even slightly, another barrage loomed.

No one could fight a trained army alone, not even a legend.

One lapse in concentration, and the spells would bury Allen.

But what concerned Allen most was not his own situation. He could escape anytime he chose, but he couldn't afford to leave behind Lorencos's body and his son Alfredo.

Alfredo had not moved since his father fell. He stood exactly where he had been, eyes fixed on the body, oblivious to the battle raging around him.

Even just saving one person would be enough.

But he didn't have the strength to do so, not yet.

Just as he thought he would have to watch Alfredo die where he stood, a mass of black fog surged outward across the entire battlefield, swallowing everyone within.

The thick, rotting weight of it was unmistakable. It was dark magic, the power of the undead.

"Master Megaman!"

Allen didn't hesitate. He flashed into the mist instinctively, trusting his memory of where Alfredo was standing, and drove his sword into the ground beside the boy. In the next instant, he had Alfredo in his arms and was through the black fog and out the other side.

As he fled, he heard Ambrose's voice from above. "Roger Ángelo, you hit me with a blast of holy light the last time we met. It's time I returned the favor."

Four meteors traced burning lines across the sky, each one wreathed in fire, all of them plunging toward the black fog below at speed.