After Danielle and the rest of the party left to face the impending darkness, Damien found himself alone in the desolate houses, meticulously searching for any shred of usable cloth to fashion into makeshift protection. The eerie silence enveloped him, broken only by the creaking of floorboards beneath his cautious steps. Dust danced in the dim light filtering through broken windows, adding an air of melancholy to the scene.
The abandoned homes seemed to hold memories of happier times, now tainted by the encroaching darkness. Damien's heart weighed heavy with the burden of loss and uncertainty. He stumbled upon some armor left behind, a stark reminder of the lives once lived here. Yet, he knew that donning such cumbersome protection would hinder his agility, making it a perilous choice against the relentless undead.
As he stood among the remnants of the past, the weight of his decisions bore down on him. The fate of the city, the lives of its people, and the memory of his fallen loved ones rested on his shoulders. This was not just a physical battle; it was a battle of will and resolve. To face the darkness, he had to be swift, nimble, and agile—traits that traditional armor would encumber.
After some time, feeling a growing sense of unease, he decided to send Aviora on a surveillance trip. She spread her majestic wings and took to the skies, disappearing into the darkness above. Minutes turned into an eternity as he anxiously waited for her return, but she was nowhere in sight and he continued his aimless walk until he began to think.
"Where would a necromancer first visit?" The answer was obvious. A cemetery. A real battalion for the master of resurrection. And there was only one cemetery in the Four Border City.
With a determined glint in his eyes, Damien cracked his knuckles, a nervous energy coursing through his veins. The weight of the impending battle ahead did little to deter him; if anything, it fueled his resolve.
"Alright, time to end this," he said to himself, trying to steady his breathing.
Despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily on his shoulders from the intense session with his sister and the emotional toll of the deaths he witnessed, Damien knew he couldn't let himself falter. His past mistakes, his little egos, and immaturity all echoed in his mind, but he forced himself to shake off those thoughts.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Focus on the hands at the table," he reminded himself, trying to push away the distractions that threatened to overwhelm him.
With a renewed determination, he propelled himself forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to sprint, to move swiftly like the wind, but his body protested. Instead, he found himself jogging, taking short breaks from moment to moment to catch his breath.
"I need an energy potion," he gasped between breaths, feeling the weight of fatigue in his limbs. The physical and emotional strain was beginning to take its toll, but he couldn't afford to slow down.
After several minutes of running, Damien finally caught sight of the cemetery, looming before him like a foreboding sentinel of death. Opposite the cemetery stood the largest and most decorated church he had ever seen. Its grandeur was awe-inspiring, standing tall and proud with its pristine white fa?ade and intricate stained glass windows that sparkled in the dim light.
As he approached the church, he couldn't help but marvel at its beauty despite the dire circumstances.
The scene before Damien's eyes was both unsettling and heart-wrenching. The undead roamed aimlessly around the cemetery, their hollow eyes devoid of life, seeking their next victim. Yet, they seemed to shy away from the church, as if an invisible force shielded it from their grasp.
Inside the church, huddled together, were the survivors – the wary and fearful people seeking refuge from the impending doom outside. Their faces were etched with a mixture of desperation and hope, their eyes darting towards the gates, where hungry undead lingered, unable to breach the sacred sanctuary.
Damien felt a surge of empathy for the people within the church, their lives forever altered by the darkness that now enveloped their city. He knew that they must be in desperate need of help and protection. However, he also realized that the necromancer's malevolent influence was spreading, and it wouldn't be long before the undead found their way inside the church.
Cautiously, Damien sought cover behind the shattered remnants of walls and abandoned wagons, his footsteps carefully muffled. He knew that drawing attention to himself at this moment would be unwise, as he was physically and mentally drained from the recent encounter with his sister and the burden of multiple deaths.
Breathing quietly, he peeked out from his hiding spot, observing the undead as they mindlessly roamed the area. Their grotesque forms sent shivers down his spine, and he reminded himself not to underestimate them. Even in their mindless state, they could be dangerous.
He waited for a moment and collected himself, then he walked ever so slowly and carefully, from wagons to walls, from walls to stalls. He knew that the church could be a potential source of health potions or other useful supplies, but he had to be discreet in his approach.
What baffling to him was the fact that there were no humans, nor elves, in fact, no living sentient creature on the road. There were only the undead and the survivors in the church which they surrounded.
Damien's frustration grew as he realized that there was no easy way to enter the church. The undead had the holy building completely encircled, leaving no openings for him to slip through.
He gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He couldn't just stand idly by while the survivors remained trapped inside. He needed to find a way in, but how?
As if the undead humans weren't enough, Damien's heart sank as he noticed the presence of undead animals among them. Their grotesque and menacing forms sent shivers down his spine. Some were skeletal, their bones jutting out from decaying flesh, while others still had patches of rotting fur or feathers clinging to their bodies.
New n𝙤vel chapters are published on fre(e)webnov(l).com