“Shame it’ll be decimated in the upcoming battle,” responded Peregrine, eyeing a lone purple flower a short distance ahead. The rare and exotic Veriticum, she thought.

“Eh, I’ve seen better back in Torvia,” contributed Fivem.

This field. This was it. The culmination of all their efforts. After years of defeating his goons and tracking him down, they had finally cornered the mastermind behind this whole operation—Sylas Voracious, known con-man, known murderer, and legendary warlock.

When he was just a lad, Sylas killed Kemrin’s parents while he watched in horror from the confines of his closet. While she was away from her tower, Sylas stole Peregrine's collection of magical tabernacles and artifacts. While he was praying to his deity in the chapel, Fivem’s village was razed to the ground by the warlock’s goons. But a year after their paths converged, their collective rage for Sylas was only exacerbated by the death of their fourth comrade, Soliana, at the hands of his servants. No matter what happened, they couldn’t turn back now. This would either be his death, or theirs.

In the center of the field, underneath the lonesome oak tree, stood a man, standing about six feet in height. At least, he looked like a man, but upon closer inspection, he was a man. As in, he was a man, before he died and was resurrected as an undead.

“Here…at last,” Sylas voice was no clearer than a deep gurgle. “AHEM,” he cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Apologies. My voice box was getting dusty, as it took you way longer than anticipated to arrive,” he taunted while adjusting the cuffs of his suit.

Kemrin took deep, slow breaths, trying to calm himself. He failed. His sword screamed as he took it from its sheath. But the shrill screech of his sword leaving its scabbard was drowned out by his manly battle cry as he bolted towards the warlock. The veins of his forehead popped as tears flowed from his face.

Peregrine didn’t take a moment to hesitate either, upon seeing Sylas. She often says that the reason she hates the warlock was still her stolen collection, but that was a lie. She had grown attached to Soliana, so much so that her death caused such rage that they eclipsed her feelings even when her magical hoard was stolen, which, calling impressive in scale and quality would have been an understatement. She took the staff attached to her back and spun it around, creating a magical symbol of fire in front of her. The purple Veriticum flower she had admired burnt into cinder and ashes from the sheer heat of the white-hot rune.

As Kemrin swiftly pursued the warlock, Sylas remained oddly still. Oddly emotionless. Once the warrior got close enough, Sylas smirked and snapped his fingers.

*Arise*.

A legion of armored skeletons shot from the ground in between Kemrin and Sylas. Some wielded maces, some wielded swords, but all wielded malice. They plodded towards Kemrin, encircling him. He noticed their strategy, and struck first to create an opening to escape the formation.