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Lich Lord, Chapter 166
🕑 Added 2024-01-01 17:00:04 +0000 UTCHarris Aeacus did his best to hide his disdain for the lower city. After all, the archbishop had sent him here to carry out his holy mission. He dare not wag his tongue about how the residents of the lower city were so far lost to their corruption that they were better off left to wallow in their filth.
Harris was an archdeacon the church of Olattee in the city of Maltis. He’d been offered a promotion to high priest to run a temple away from the city in a small town or village. Naturally, he had turned them down. Places like that did not deserve the ministries of one so pure as himself. He devoted himself to furthering Olattee and the great city of Maltis, as much as he hated the lower town, and felt it should be purged from the earth, his job was to minister to them.
Bishop Quintus was far too quick to suck up to the archbishop and had dispatched Harris to support Bishop Dolores in the lower city. The incompetent woman had let the lower city go so far that her temple was overrun by filthy people who couldn’t even feed themselves properly. Harris knew he was known for being too harsh, so he kept his divinely given insight to himself.
Truly anyone who knew the great god of Olattee would know that these wretched people were a stain on his name. They claim to follow the church, but clearly they did not. It was no wonder that wretched Friar Brown had lifted his hand against the great god of purity when even his own followers no longer walked the divine path.
But the day was finally over, and Harris was going to make the long trek back to his abode in Maltis proper. Crossing over the bridge would take time, but it was better than staying in the wretched cells of the lower temple. “Holiness,” the guards stationed at the base of the bridge acknowledged him. “Have a safe trip home.”
Harris did not respond as he walked past, trying to let the holy light of Olattee within shine and purify the lowly guards by his mere presence. He was just about to step onto the bridge when a loud caw drew his attention. He looked over in disgust at a large black raven that landed on the bridge.
Ravens were vile creatures who feasted on the dead and loitered with the unclean. More cawing sounded. Sweeping out of the night into the illumination of the bridge, a flock of ravens landed on the railings and the floor of the bridge.
Harris could hardly move as raven after raven appeared out of the blackness into the illumination of torches on the bridge.
“Filthy creatures,” Harris muttered, grabbing the scepter hung around his waist. It was made out of the purest silver metal, the perfect instrument of his divine judgment, one he’d saved up for years.
Yes, the temple provided their own with equipment, but those were made of poor materials, further proof of how far the church had fallen. Those who serve the pure one should have nothing but the best. The argument that the money was diverted to those in need was complete heresy in Harris’s mind. How could the servants of the pure one truly bring his light into the world with impure instruments of their will? How was one to reflect the purity of Olattee with something that was not pure itself.
White light burned in the head of the scepter, illuminating the holy symbol of Olattee. Archdeacon Harris would smite these vile creatures and rid the world of their filth. Just as he was about to unleash his divine fury on the ravens, he heard something.
The guards were already looking towards the lower city. A fog bank rolled towards them. Harris’ attention zeroed in, the night was too young for such thick fog.
At first Harris sensed nothing, it appeared to be just natural fog. But then something was there. His sense of the impurity in the world around him was far more developed and honed than even the lofty archbishop. There was magic in that mist, dark magic someone had tried to hide, but he saw through their weak attempts.
Harris smiled. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete waste. Some of the scum of the lower city had decided they needed a dire correction to their path. The power he was building in his scepter was redirected and flared out. A wave of white light sped down the road, expanding into side streets as it drove the fog back, breaking apart the impure magic contained within.
Lanterns along the street illuminated once again, as if they had been suppressed by the magic of the fog. And Harris’s eyes grew wide. Dozens, no hundreds of undead staggered down the street towards him, faint purple light burning in their eyes.
The guards cried in alarm and turned to flee back to their small guard house. “Do not move, you cowards,” Harris snarled, stopping them in their tracks. “Do you not serve the great god of purity, is it not your job to protect all from the vile filth that we see before us?”
“But how did they get in here?” the guard demanded. “We’re soldiers of the city, we must sound the alarm.”
“No! We must purge the un-pure we see before us!” Harris was already building another spell. He glared as the fog was already rolling back in, undoing his divine work. He did not care that the soldiers weren’t under his command, he’d sensed the power of the undead before him, and he would purge all of their vile nature by himself.
The incompetence of the guards of the city was on display right now. How did vile creatures get either over the walls or escape from the warehouse where they were held up. It didn’t matter after this, hopefully the archbishop could use this to leverage the general and the governor into giving the church its rightful place.
“I don’t take orders from you,” one of the guards said. “When the city is under attack, we sound the alarm.”
The guard turned into the guard house. A moment later, alarm klaxons began to ring out. The sound was picked up and bounced from guard shack to guard towers stationed along the bridge. Before long, the echoing sound could be heard in Maltis proper, but nothing came from the lower city.
Harris snorted in derision as he pointed his scepter and released a bolt of pure white lightning. He could not see the zombies, but he did not need to. The bolt of lightning found the nearest one, which was now only a dozen meters away. The bolt leapt from the first zombie to two more and then branched again and again. Within a moment, the fog bank crackled and pulsed with white light as his chain-lightning spread back through the city.
Harris poured huge amounts of magic into his spell, depleting his reserves, confident that his mighty power would end whatever this was. So much power was pushed in that it once again broke apart the fog. As the lightning ended, hundreds of zombies fell dead once again to the ground. The first zombie he’d struck dissipated into ash.
Using that much power exhausted Harris, and he drank a mana potion, trying not to let the weariness show to the guards who were staring at him in awe. As the fog began to roll forward, suppressing light and sound, a new sound reached them. The rhythmic thumping of feet. And then the sound of heavy footfalls.
In the distance, two orbs of bright, purple eldritch light burned through the shroud. A moment later, more of the purple light appeared as ribbons of flames. Distinct shapes took form as more of that unholy light appeared.
The fog seemed to lessen ever so slightly, and a solid row of figures could be seen marching down the road, the eldritch fire in front of them resolving into monsters mounted on horrific steeds. In front road a man with a single large scythe hooked over his head. His eyes burned with power.
The figures charged. The guards screamed and turned to rush toward their shack just in time to see a slender figure slipping inside. The door bolted and screams came from the inside. “Buy me time, you fools,” Harris snarled as he turned and fled out onto the bridge. “I must get word to the archbishop, the lich is here!”
Harris did not look back. The screams were cut off in moments and the sound of thundering hooves could be heard.
“You can stop running now,” a voice said, and the sound of feet landed on the bridge behind him. He looked to see the dreaded lich staring back at him with eyes burning with horrific power.
“You vile creature,” Harris hissed, noticing that the other terrible monsters that had accompanied the lich remained behind. This was his chance, the enemy that had been causing so many problems was by himself. Harris would smite him, and his army would come unraveled.
“I thought about letting you go,” the lich said. “But then Raven told me you were the prick she’d witnessed cut off a boy’s hand because it had some kind of disease. You and I both know you could have healed it, yet you told him it was because he was un-pure. I decided I’d rather spill your guts personally instead of watching you go.”
Harris sneered at the lich as he built a spell. “A vile creature such as you would never understand.”
“You’re the vile creature. My name is Ezekiel, you are an affront to the good people of this land, and I’m going to feed your corpse to those ravens so you can be turned into the bird shit that you are,” the lich named Ezekiel snarled.
