The Chosen's Descent

By J. Walker

For millennia on the world of Hecsignum’s northernmost continent, Debanon, the realm has thrived on an ancient rite known as The Call where one gifted with magic is annually sacrificed to bring fertility to the cold land. Those who give their lives for this greater good are highly praised and respected. Yet the year’s chosen, Junior Mage Mathea, abandons duty and trust upon receiving nightly warnings from an enigmatic dream stalker who leads her to proof the rite is alarmingly deceitful. Deals with demons are among the greatest taboos, but she learns the The Call was created with demonic aid. Worse, at some unknown point after enough sacrifices, this vast spell will free demons from their compulsion to honor their bargains: the only honesty their kind’s obligated to provide. Unwilling to die under such implications and in desperate attempt to save Hecsignum from the ritual’s true purpose, Mathea and her closest peers escape the Legerdemain Order that holds and raises most of Debanon’s witches to serve the empire as living weapons, including those given to The Call. Only Senior Mage Daya, a prodigy shapeshifter, is given anything of significant value to help reach their goal in the form of a stolen ancient magical tome providing hidden details of the rite. They all regretfully part ways upon their first bouts of “freedom,” each struggling to survive as they face their own challenges on their quest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Walker
• Release date: Feb 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311912985

J. Walker

J. Walker, starving writer here. I got this idea in my head that you may want to read my novels. Crazy, isn't it? But feel free to cater to my wishful thinking. And don't forget to tip your authors. Wink.

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The Chosen’s Descent

Book 1

By Jason Walker

© 2016 Jason D. Walker

All Rights Reserved.

Illustration by Laura Redding

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents:

01. Prologue

02. The Call

03. Acceptance

04. Dreams

05. Ceremony

06. Discoveries

07. Friendship

08. Escape

09. Investigations

10. Pursuit

11. Reef Games

12. Predators

13. Unforeseen Encounter

14. A New Path

15. Prey

16. Sorrowful Regret

17. Recovery

18. Repercussions

19. Imprisonment

20. Strange Bedfellows

21. Sin’s Arrival

22. For Better or for Worse

23. Priorities

24. Moving Forward

25. Bait and Switch

26. The Dream Stalker

27. To Do What’s Right

28. Reflections

29. A Greater Evil

30. Destination

Prologue

Those with magical ability that deal with demons are either seen as extremely foolish or desperate by the disapproving and ignorant. Yet those who venture in this greatest of taboos and violations of human laws see a third reason: ambition. Reasonable ambition allows the wise to not fall under a demon’s influence, or worse, lose themselves to the creature they’d barter with. Such a mage can end up "ahead," rather than striving for neutrality; a sort of negative reinforcement that’s common with the desperate. Ambition easily turns to greed, and that is a bargainer’s downfall. Like the foolish and desperate, the ambitious can end in just as bad a place if greed’s addiction isn’t kept in check. Any weakness of these three, a demon will exploit. They relish off word-games for profit. After all, unless a bargain is reached, a demon is essentially powerless under most circumstances in the physical world besides what they can achieve through words.

Was it the third reason of ambition that compelled Master Mage Dux Quentin to converse with a member of those all his peers vehemently scorned his entire life? If only it were so. Ambition would have been the preferred reason, but it was in fact desperation. Any deal with a demon is a slippery slope, but desperation even more so. Being too desperate easily coincides with being foolish; a double negative.

Dux was at a moral crossroads when at the mere age of thirty-two, the dirty blonde-haired, hooked nose man was afflicted with apparent terminal illness not even a mage healer could remedy. When that happened, everyone assumed the worst: that death was inevitable. There was only one other magical alternative for seeking a cure that none would even dare to openly suggest: pursuing a demonic spirit.

He began strongly considering the option once becoming nearly bed-ridden; being mostly dependent on his wife Claire for basic needs, and realizing he’d soon not have the strength to contact a spirit even if he desired to. What choice do I have? He had thought. It’s either this or die. I’m so young. I can’t refuse the possibility of not leaving Claire. Anyone else would do the same, wouldn’t they? His fellow mage wife had a bastard son born before they even met, but they themselves had no children yet. Would he throw that prospect away? After an incident with some coughed blood and fainting, he made the decision to cross a line witches were told to never cross. But Quentin was not one for taking chances. With so little strength and limited resources, it was possible only one demon could be contacted, and so it had to be reliable.

Desperation, boldness, and perhaps foolishness caused Dux to seek out one of the strongest of demons known to man: Massima, the harbinger of tears. There were no hierarchies among them, but from all accounts, this demon had far more power than any demon should. As far as Dux knew, demons could only gain power through deals made, being banished, sacrificial offerings by the foolish, and possession. They subsequently lost most power through deals gone wrong, rare encounters with mages that weaken them in the spirit realm, and most often being slain while possessing a human host. Regardless, a powerful fiend could potentially grant the greatest reward for the lowest price due to its ample strength. More could also go wrong.

Summoning a demon itself bore the risk of possession or even death in the real world if your spirit was slain, as you were essentially inviting the beast to your location. From common knowledge, Dux knew this could happen to the ill-prepared. Magical safeguards were vital for any summoning; even more so for a demon of legend like Massima. Yet any wizard involved with demons was at risk. The potential mayhem caused by a botched summoning of the ancient being Massima that resulted in it possessing a host was unthinkable. Not only would his own life be forfeit, but all those he knew would be in danger.

Quentin was no fool. He’d be prepared to ensure that never happened. His status as a master mage allowed him access to writings sealed away in libraries no lesser rank would ever be allowed to glimpse; books describing ways to interact with demons, their methods, cautions, and the potential outcomes. His rank even had allowed him to marry; a privilege generally reserved in his land for those without sorcery.

Demons have four known compulsions. They consider and usually respond to a summoning, always reveal their name upon request, honor all bargains on their end, and always want to possess. The last bore the danger.

Weeks were spent when strong enough, subtly but feverishly researching and collecting materials for the summoning. No one could know. Not even Claire. If and when he was cured of his illness, most would dismiss it as a miracle. The few suspicious would stay silent, as master mages’ actions weren’t heavily supervised. Quentin was more concerned of the demon’s price. He remembered thinking, It won’t be cheap. It never is.

Once all preparations were made and despite illness, Dux forced himself across his residence to the other side of Legerdemain where there’d be privacy in an abandoned sector of an old wine cellar. He’d kissed his oblivious wife, possibly for the last time in case something went wrong, before going. I do this for us, Claire.

In the dusty, dark, dank room, bones and a few dead animals were scattered around him in a circle as part of the ritual. There was mana in all life, especially blood, but only magic users could tap it. Practically, blood was the source of all magical potential. All spells, requiring blood magic or not, use its energy. The difference was blood magic consumed blood or even lives of targets. Remains also had some mana and could be used as a reserve. Quentin knew he’d be killed if anyone witnessed his dark ceremony, and he needed all his blood for his own strength. Thus his ritual had to be prepared alone in this form. Considering being a novice at entering the Aquadav, the realm of spirits, he’d command a spell from a tome on the subject to send him safely. The tome acquired was a giant book needing both hands to hold; adorned in blue leather with the image of a spiraling apparition on its front. Anyone without his influence would have to pay a small fortune for what he acquired to summon something so potent, safely. Luckily, a competent mage such as he didn’t need the massive energy from perhaps a blood sacrifice.

At increased peril, Dux decided to meet the demon in its realm rather than his. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing an invited demon’s apparition or hearing the conversation with one. The likelihood of contacting the creature was also greater if he went to it. It was more dangerous venturing in the spirit realm, as a mage could only withstand the environment for so long before losing all endurance. Then they would be forced back to the physical world. If the mage resisted letting their spirit return to their physical bodies for too long, they ran the risk of losing themselves permanently.

With everything in place, Dux Quentin readied himself for the magical overflow that would send his frail, dying body into the Aquadav. He sat, prepared to fall into a coma-like state if successful, took a deep breath, and used his powers to pull in all the available mana while reading from his spellbook. Visible energy surrounded him in an instant as his body shook, before everything went black.

Dux awoke after an unknown duration in a place unbeknownst to him. The scenery was undecided as if in a dream. It had to be the Aquadav. Despite read descriptions, the spirit realm was not as Dux pictured. It felt something like being underwater. It didn’t have the same distinguishable sounds nor was the atmosphere as thick as liquid, but it felt like being submerged. This very feeling drained his sick body. For a second, he feared losing consciousness before regaining his composure. My life depends on this. I need to endure. It was like holding his breath but there was no alternative. He only had time to look around briefly before spotting a bluish figure approaching him in the distance; almost swimming like a sea serpent. It took a moment to realize it had answered his call.

The spirit abruptly stopped to face him; floating a few feet away. It might have been considered almost elegant were it not so unusual, and without foresight into what it represented. The controversially feminine apparition continuously shifted in shape and color, yet it always maintained a sort of grayish blue. It had sharp oval eyes that appeared white, then black. Its mouth seemed toothless but for two small fangs protruding below the upper lip. It had many shifting arms yet no legs. Instead, there was something of a tail whose detail resembled water. But what caught Dux’ gaze most was the top of its head. A pentagonal crest towered on its brow like a high crown. The more Dux focused, the harder it was to identify its features. A type of artistic lining covered its body that shifted from something between black and white; just like its eyes. His readings didn’t give any such description for a fiend, but there was no consistency in their appearance to record.

Why did I come here? This is madness! Dux had never dealt with a demon before. There were supposedly rogue mages who spent their whole lives conversing and serving these beings, but Dux was completely naïve. He was panicking. Losing himself could cause the demon to overpower him despite his precautions, and that scared him even more. Then he remembered the thing that had been torturing him for months: he was dying. The fear lessened, and his first necessary action came to mind: to ask the demon its name. He had to be sure this was the one sought. It would be compelled to answer, and honestly.

W-What’s your name...? Dux asked nervously.

Massima, the demon answered flatly; never taking its eyes off the shrunken man.

He stuttered. I-I’ve come to make a deal. I’m s-sick and -.

I know why you’ve come, it said as if he was a beggar and it hadn’t been summoned. Dux knew from mere contact that demons could read into people; especially their desires. He might as well lay a welcome mat to possess him if he began resorting to begging.

Yes... I-.

I debated whether to answer your summon at all. So many come seeking my aid already.

Was that a lie? How many mages could be doing this? It was forbidden and the greatest of sins. Dux knew it was wrong yet was desperate. He was dying, by the Gods’ mercy. It brought a sinking feeling to consider that so many did this in secret. Demons lie. Don’t believe anything it says. Focus on what you need. Demons loved to converse but they were never your friend. It was safest for any mage to focus on business. That’s what he always heard.

Dux spoke up. "But you did come."

I did.

I thought all demons wished to converse with mortals. All of you are compelled to make deals.

"We do and we are, yet I’ve reached a point where I can be selective."

I thought demons couldn’t resist the compulsion?

It didn’t answer the question. I sensed your presence. I saw who and what you are, and it intrigued me. I see an opportunity... for both of us.

I’m not giving you my soul, Quentin blurted without preamble. It was a stupid thing to say. Demons didn’t overly desire souls. They’d certainly take them, often as punishment for when a party didn’t keep their end of a bargain, but they generally desired hosts far more for the apparent ecstasy possession brought. Books on the subject emphasized that demonic desires were relatively straight-forward. Their methods to achieve them were where the deception lied.

"I always get what I truly want, but patience. There will be time to discuss terms. It paused; considering him as it almost swam in the ever-changing mist. Time for me, perhaps. Mortals are so frail here. You even more so, given your delicate nature. You’ll need to depart soon."

Why is it telling me this? Why would this evil being warn Dux about the risks of staying here too long? Wouldn’t it want to overcome him? It was not a very useful warning since he was obviously aware of his fatigue, but still... Then he remembered something he’d read. Fiends give you a false sense of security. They’ll befriend you; telling half-truths and full truths to bring your guard down. But they were only compelled to be honest regarding the terms of a deal and honoring their end. Dux was beginning to understand just how deadly words could be out of the right mouth. Demons could read your very psyche and discover anything it would take for you to give them what they want, if there was a chance.

Massima continued. You are a master mage of the Legerdemain Order. Impressive for one your age. You oversee many of the junior and senior mages.

Yes... Quentin didn’t understand this banter’s purpose. They weren’t even questions. Does it want me to somehow give it another mage? The prospect sickened him. Dux didn’t want to hurt anyone, even though he suspected it would come to that if he wasn’t willing to give himself. He didn’t even know how to give an unwilling mage to a demon.

The demon didn’t probe further. You wish to be cured of your ailment, yes?

I do, he responded assuredly.

Your darling Claire deserves to grow old with someone who loves her.

It chilled him to hear it call his wife’s name as if merely mentioning Claire somehow tainted or endangered her. Yes... He said carefully.

I want to help you -.

You don’t, he interrupted; instantly regretting it. If he pushed it away, Claire would indeed grow old alone.

-in a way we both benefit, it finished. That’s no more shameful or harmful than two humans trading, is it?

I suppose not, Dux said doubtfully. Demons want you to believe they’re not pure evil and always a danger, or that the one you’re conversing with is the exception. Or was that his fear talking?

You know who I am. What I can do. I can grant your desire for a price.

What do you want? Dux asked; dreading the question.

What does any of my kind want? The demon rhetorically asked smiling as its many arms danced in the dark waves.

Initially, it did request Quentin’s body for a host as expected. That was always a demon’s end-game. Use a demon’s predictability against them, the teachings had instructed. No matter what it says or promises, always remember it will never sway from that desire. The demon tried several tactics to get him to agree to let it possess him, but he proudly held his ground. It bargained to have him in twenty years, then twenty years while providing additional services, and finally after thirty years. Dux was adamant to refuse; no matter the offer and temptation, and no matter its confidence. Then it suddenly relented. That surprised yet also relieved him. I’m doing it. I’m resisting the creature. He again remembered how demons could read into your thoughts. That made his stomach flutter. Does it know what I’m thinking right now? The creature smiled slyly; hovering there almost ponderously as the first heavy bouts of weakness of being in this realm hit Quentin. He couldn’t stay here much longer but had to agree on terms with this thing before being forced back to the mortal realm.

The demon continued to sway back and forth as it brought new terms in a suddenly commanding voice. "I’ll cure your ailment in exchange for two tasks. It glided two fingers delicately across its face. Far from trivial but I’m sure you’ll manage."

What are they?

I can sense you’re willing to spill blood so long as it isn’t your own. That’s what I’ll require.

"You mean kill someone?" He felt uncomfortable saying it aloud, although the possibility of it coming to this had been on his mind for quite some time.

Two tasks requiring two deaths in two fashions at two separate times.

A-alright. I’m willing.

The first must be done hastily upon your return to your realm.

How hastily?

Within the next few days. You will kill a junior mage by the name of Monica. Your method is irrelevant so long as she dies.

Just kill her? You don’t want-?

No.

His curiosity got the better of him. But why?

"The why is irrelevant. Do you want to be cured?"

Yes, of course.

"The second death is more delicate. You will kill your spouse Claire’s bastard son Joshber."

Just kill him like the junior mage?

No. You will give him to me as an offering.

You mean a sacrifice? What value was he to include in an agreement such as this? The boy wasn’t a mage; just a stable-boy allowed to be raised at Legerdemain upon his request as a courtesy for his wife. A non-mage sacrifice had small value to a spirit.

Yes. I will teach you a spell that will be used for his method of slaying. It will require you to take some of his blood prematurely to be magically prepared for the actual ritual.

When?

You will give him to me in one year’s time. I’d suggest preparing the blood and storing it sometime beforehand.

So I slay him a year from now?

Yes. I will embed the magical knowledge onto you as you leave this place. It abruptly twirled. Agree to do these two tasks as instructed, and upon your return to your realm you will be healthy once more. Failure to comply after agreement sanctions me to possess you any time I choose. If you refuse these terms, we have nothing more to discuss.

Just accept the terms and leave this awful place. He couldn’t come this far only to turn back; knowing beforehand this wouldn’t be clean. ...I agree to your terms, Massima.

Eagerness glimmered in its eyes as it approached. The demon gently caressed his cheeks with its many hands which then emitted a hazy, light blue mist. "Be healed, it echoed. Massima’s numerous hands seemed to enter and leave him in various parts of his body. Dux felt suddenly different. The spirit slid away. Good luck, Master Mage Dux Quentin. I will be watching."

Nearly a year later...

And now, on the present cold night, it had been a year tomorrow since Dux sold his soul’s virtue by dealing with the demon Massima. Dux Quentin stood healthy and cured here in the year EB-5119 in Debanon; the northernmost continent of Hecsignum. He was on his balcony looking over the rest of the Legerdemain Order; the stronghold where mages were molded into living weapons. Most didn’t have his luxuries. Dux had cheated death and, as predicted, none had been the wiser. The questions resided more in him; especially immediately after his bargain was made.

Why would a demon have wanted him to kill another mage he never even knew? This girl simply had to die; no particular method, no sacrifice for a demon for her body or soul, nothing... It just didn’t make sense. All his life, he heard demons always wanted human hosts. Could they be lies?

Shortly after being cured, he learned just who the girl he had to murder was. She was one of the chosen; a mage for the most part randomly selected to be sacrificed for the empire’s annual, ancient ritual known as Debanon’s Call. It was the most powerful passive spell known to man and few, if any, knew exactly how it worked besides it requiring a witch sacrifice to function. No mage would think it possible, but apparently the ritual brought magic back to the entire continent. This spell supposedly was responsible for the plentiful harvests that have saturated Debanon for several thousand years. Ever since this practice has occurred, there has never been one bad year for the soil despite Debanon being the coldest continent. Logic deems yields should be smaller than the five southern, warmer landmasses, yet the opposite was true. Many ordinary people didn’t believe sorcery was involved; suspecting it to be magical propaganda, and dismissing their fortune to luck or something geographic they didn’t understand. Even many of the mages like Dux wondered if the sacrifice truly did all it was said to, yet they couldn’t deny the power involved.

At the very least, Dux acknowledged the land had magic. All mages could feel its presence in others, objects, and terrain. Stories told all the lands once had magic but it was taken away by The Six, the Gods who created us, because of men’s sin of inviting demons into the world; corrupting it. Perhaps Debanon was just the last continent to have it, maybe it always was the only one, or maybe the Gods deemed it worthy of their blessing again.

Whatever the case, learning of Monica’s fate made killing her seem better and worse. She was going to die anyway as a sacrifice of the greatest honor for Debanon. None were more appreciated than one who was chosen. And yet, killing such a person for his own survival at the behest of a demon made him disgusted. The deal is made. Massima kept its end of the bargain. I have to keep mine. Failure to comply or any attempt at foul play on Dux Quentin’s part would result in Massima being free to possess him. The wretched creature will win.

Another notion brought despair. Even though the girl would die either way, taking her life required someone else to take her place as chosen. Every year, the ritual had been performed at roughly the same time; never skipping a year. The Legerdemain Order certainly wouldn’t forego it with ready access to so many mages. There’s no other choice. I have to do this. It’s too late now. Allowing any mage to become possessed would be a greater danger and disservice to the world than killing any of them. Possessed mages have managed in rare cases to kill hundreds of people before being stopped.

And so as commanded, Dux had killed the girl nearly a year ago; two days after making his contract in the spirit realm. It was easy, quick, and clean. As a master mage, he could travel through all wizard quarters without scrutiny. It was the simplest thing to enter her room at night with a master key, slit her throat, and walk out. And since master mages had heavy push in wizardry investigations, no suspicion would ever fall on him. Legerdemain’s people mourned the loss of their chosen, fruitlessly searched for the culprit, quickly found another to sacrifice, and moved on.

Completing the second task was of little consequence despite being more personal. Dux had nothing but ill feelings for Claire’s eight year old bastard son. He was a constant shame and reminder of her lack of chastity prior to their meeting. Getting the blood was easy. It was taken a few months prior and stored in a locked chest in his quarters. The real difficulty was managing to ready him for Massima’s intrusion beforehand. The sacrifice was to be tomorrow night. Dux planned to pay him an untimely visit and escort him to a nearby stable; away from peering eyes. It had some risk, but witnesses seeing the two together to go to a faraway location could raise questions.

His death would be hardest on Claire who loved the boy. She never learned anything about Dux’ dealings with Massima, and learning this would crush her. Even if Claire did learn, perhaps she’d understand the necessity in time after grief passed, and how the baseborn child dying was in their best interest. And who was the better husband: a living sinner or a dead honest man? Dux intended Claire to never have to ponder that. Just one more night and this will all be over. A part of him felt he couldn’t rejoice in his renewed longevity until all ties with demons were behind him.

Claire was already in bed. She had been noticeably quieter the last week or so, and confessed to not feeling well. Quentin looked out over the East Bay that led to the ocean. Legerdemain soldiers and mages would use it when travelling by ship. He just noticed the fall of snow flurries when there was a knock on his door.

Who is it? Dux asked.

A recognizable voice answered through the door. It’s Captain Sanders, master mage.

Quentin let him in. "Captain, this is a pleasant surprise, I hope."

Even heavily dressed, the captain was clearly comforted by the room’s warmth. He instinctively trudged towards Dux’s fireplace. If only. Warming his hands, he continued. You remember Senior Mage Adelfo.

Of course. Adelfo was his senior by ten years, but had been friends and close confidants. Adelfo was given retractable freedom to live outside Legerdemain jurisdiction for research. It was bending the rules at its best.

I hate to say this but ...I think he’s possessed.

"Possessed? How can-?"

That or he’s gone mad. He’s been screaming in the cemetery.

Grave robbing. Dux retained plausible deniability, yet knew Adelfo’s necromantic studies almost certainly involved the practice. Dux paced the room. Has he hurt anyone?

One of my men was hit in the arm with an ice spell. We managed to save it before we’d be forced to cut it off.

How do you know it is possession? Dux prayed there was some other explanation.

I can’t be sure, but considering how suddenly this happened.

Was it a coincidence that someone close to him became possessed now, of all times? Dux sighed. Thank you for coming. I should see this for myself.

It goes without saying we’ll need your assistance to stop him if this can’t end peacefully.

...I understand. I’ll do what’s necessary.

I’ll escort you now.

Have your men ready. If your suspicions are valid, I fear this won’t end well. It almost never does.

Quentin and ten others treaded out of Legerdemain’s fortress walls. They walked nearly fifteen minutes until hearing the screams shortly before seeing the graveyard. It was a terrible sight. His friend Adelfo was underdressed in the cold and behaving like a madman. His insane jubilation suggested Sanders’ assumptions were correct, and demonic corruption was sensed.

Adelfo was likely foolishly conducting magical experiments with spirits; perhaps using a trapped demon as a subject. Even if the demon was extremely weak, one misstep could cause it all to backfire. Now what was once a proud, powerful mage was nothing but a husk for a spirit crazed by the ecstasy of the mortal world. Not just that, but even weak fiends in a host could wreak havoc at will without the bindings of deals to safeguard mortals.

Adelfo told him of his magical curiosity but Dux prayed it wouldn’t end like this. I should have stopped him, regardless of what he did for me over the years. He was never completely sane. There was no greater shame and example of error than a wizard becoming possessed. It just proved the common people’s fears.

The area was covered in dead, fallen leaves which resulted in a crackle sound with every step; making a stealthy approach across the graves impossible. They were also walking uphill. Adelfo watched their approach and calmed a little. Dux, my fellow mage!

What are you doing, Adelfo? Dux asked with caution and concern.

The hour is near! Soon, we will be free! He pointed at Dux. And we have you to thank!

What is he talking about? Sanders asked.

Quentin shook his head. I don’t know. Adelfo, are you in there?

Not Adelfo. Not anymore, the possessed man said; holding his head as if having a migraine.

He’s a skin demon, Dux confirmed.

Possessed people, known as skin demons, were twisted forms of the people they possessed rather than the coherent, devious apparitions encountered in the spirit realm. It resembled how an illness would corrupt an otherwise healthy person. Thus it was no surprise a tortured, weak demon possessing an already unbalanced man would result in this sad creature. And unless the demon gave its location in the Aquadav, there was no way to exorcise it.

If you’re possessed, then what is your name? One of the men asked.

Adelfo growled in frustration as if trying to resist answering. "...Mahalath..."

You know of it? Sanders asked Dux.

Dux shook his head. No.

You know what we must do?

Regretfully, he agreed. There’s only one course. I’ll set up a magical barrier. Your men move in.

As they approached with drawn swords, Dux raised his staff and emitted a nearly invisible magical curtain around them to ward off hostile spells. Adelfo watched docile for a time before suddenly and violently swinging his own staff at the ground; sending a dark red ray to the right of the men. At first, it appeared he used a spell that completely missed, until they realized there had been a pile of corpses half-buried in leaves that suddenly rose.

Even the dead rejoice! Adelfo yelled.

By The Six’s mercy, one man said as the undead began lifting weapons that had been beside them.

Kill them! Go for the head! Sanders ordered as he and one other attempted to get near Adelfo, with Dux close behind. Apparently, Adelfo had planned for this fight. In the chaos, the men spread out too far for Quentin’s barrier to help them all, so he followed Sanders.

That was when the corpses began chanting while combatting in voices that resembled a twisted version of Adelfo’s.

"Come young and old before this vacant hole

In this realm, there’s room for another soul

So conduct yourself, one at a time

Organize your souls in a docile line"

Each corpse began reciting a separate lyric; all directed at Quentin even as they fought others.

"This is destiny"

"This is eternal"

"Leap eyes closed in our sanctioned inferno"

Adelfo began shooting ice down on the men. One went downhill after being hit in the leg. This made the others raise their spell-resistant shields. One blocked another ice blast with it. All this compelled Sanders to move quicker.

"Through this door, there’s no judge

High or low, any can take the plunge"

"We’ll be kings of oblivion; queens of the ash kind

There’s no more certainty a mortal dare find"

The swordsmen could swing far quicker than the weapon-wielding corpses, but most blows besides those that amputated were wasteful. Gashes meant little to the dead. One man was punctured in the left shoulder after slashing a corpse nearly a dozen times. With the zombie’s blade stuck in his shoulder, he used the sword in his right hand to freely lop off its head. The corpse’s body instantly collapsed.

"We will embrace you

This is Eternal"

"They call us demons

We’re just infernal"

A soldier lost his footing; causing his longsword to fly out of his hand. As an undead reached for him with both hands, he pulled an unmarked tombstone from the ground and swung it over his head onto the zombie’s. Out of the ground, the tombstone was much longer; like a tooth.

"Nurtured and loved, but dead you still be"

"Gnarly love is here for the unwary and wise "

"Food for the crows and lure for the banshee

Acceptance will guide you to suckle our guise"

Sanders was jumped by a corpse on their approach. Ice and lightning were less effective on the undead, so Quentin carefully hit it with a fireball. It slowed but didn’t stop it. They were compelled to keep an even greater distance as it slothfully came at them afire. It tried to grab them with fiery hands. The dry leaves below it also caught fire.

"This is destiny

This is eternal

Spring two steps into this final nocturnal"

Sanders moved around the burning ground to find a fitting stance. He delicately sliced off hands, then elbows, and then its entire arms with the corpse still aflame. Finally, he finished it off with the head.

"Allow chills to kiss your skin in the abyss"

"You won’t deny these hellish fish their wish"

"Now come master mage"

"Join the eternal"

"Why you stall? "

"But you can’t hide!"

"It’s your destiny! "

"And you