| Marc Pelzer | Reynal Juliandy
It seemed almost unimaginable to him how he and his comrades fought against a seemingly endless horde of mindless puppets, who, unarmed and with the sheer force of their numbers, threw themselves at the armored guards. Although these puppets posed no threat with weapons, they tirelessly attempted to drag their opponents to the ground and pull them into the portal from which more and more undead emerged. Gemon heard a desperate scream, the voice tinged with fear and shock. It belonged to Jörn, a very young lad who had only joined the guard a few months ago. That such a horrific battle had befallen the boy so soon was sheer madness. He thrashed, kicked, hacked, and stabbed at the flesh of his adversaries, but they relentlessly pulled him toward the magical hole in the ground until his shrill screams were forever silenced within it. Gemon also realized that they would not hold out, scattered and without formation, against the ever-growing horde. The mage was nowhere to be seen amidst the writhing masses of combatants. His fortune was that most of the puppets threw themselves at the guards near the portal, while he only faced five opponents on his side. Thus, he whirled his sword around as best as he could in the damaged structure, slicing deep into their flesh. Time and again, he severed vital tendons, bringing the undead to the ground. More shrieking cries filled the air—they had claimed another guard. Just as Gemon turned his gaze toward the portal, he noticed dark red smoke beginning to rise in steady streams from it. Like the previous magic outburst, but much stronger, alternating waves of piercing cold and unbearable heat swept through the corridor, nearly knocking him off his feet. Then came the fearful sounds of the mage, who was now visible again as he shot nearly uncontrollable spirals of flames around him. One of these spirals suddenly shot across the corridor toward Gemon, forcing him to throw himself to the ground to avoid being burned. Damn it! He landed on one of the undead lying on the ground and slipped, which turned him onto his back—a terrible position for defending himself. Immediately, more of them threw themselves upon him, and he had to kick wildly to fend them off with his thick leather boots.
As soon as possible, he got back on his feet. The first thing he noticed was the sound of the wooden door, through which Yaena slowly entered the corridor. She seemed to have recovered somewhat, although her face bore signs of extreme exhaustion. The second thing he noticed was a sudden hissing sound, followed by a scream that shook him to his very bones. The mage’s head was engulfed in flames. What was going on?! The captain stared in shock at the absurd scene. Suddenly, a voice rang out in the room, louder than the combined cries of warriors in battle: "What a foolish worm you are, Krähenklaue! Yes, you are a capable mage, but despite all your power, you lack divinity. You have opened the gate for me, in your idiotic hope of taking my world. The only thing I cannot do myself. Now I will take yours from you!" The flames suddenly began to spread, and within seconds they had eaten through to the bones.
No one was visible who could have spoken these words, only the heat-spreading magical mist in the air and, in contrast, the cold radiating from the portal on the floor. Gemon mustered all his courage. He was still standing in exactly the same spot and didn’t want to leave it. After taking as deep a breath as his shock and fear allowed, he shouted, "Who’s there?!" No answer came. But the mist seemed to be moving toward him. Bravely, Gemon held his ground. The mist grew denser, forming a large skull before him. Just as it became recognizable as such, the spots where the eyes should be glowed a bright red. "My name is Gron, human. I am your god. I am Death!" The heat in the air intensified, threatening to melt Gemon's skin. Panic set in. His body could take no more. He collapsed.
Yaena observed the situation but was powerless to do anything. Her magic was exhausted, and in any case, it would have been of little use here. She clung to the door that had opened into the corridor with her left hand, to avoid sinking to the floor in exhaustion. She noticed that her surroundings were becoming quieter and quieter. Had she suffered hearing damage? Was this the work of that god? The sounds faded more and more until she could hear nothing at all. Then, a voice echoed in her mind—not as loud as Gron’s, softer and somewhat gentler, though still commanding and imperious: "Mage, you must stop Gron to save this world. He does not belong here. I will use you as a vessel to banish him back to his realm, for as a god, he cannot die."
Yaena tried to respond, but even her own words were swallowed by the silence that surrounded her. She could do nothing but listen. "I will give you a mighty gift, a small portion of my own divine power. For I am Zera, the goddess of light, and my light shall shine through you! Direct it at the portal once you have driven him back. And remember, if you misuse what I give you, I will come for you." In an instant, all the sounds returned: the creaking of the damaged roof, the screams of the last fighting guards, the undead rushing at them. And she felt something else, an unimaginable, seemingly inexhaustible power, as if her entire magical potential had multiplied. Her next thought brought her back into focus. She had to trust this Zera and obey her. There was nothing else she could do at this point. So Yaena extended her arms. She concentrated her magic as usual and tried to form a rune. But even before this could happen, such a strong light poured from her hands that it banished the mist from the room. No rune, no materialization, just pure, sun-like light flooded the corridor. It pierced through the undead, the mist, and everything in its path—even the guards twenty paces away, who couldn’t move out of the line of attack fast enough. After all the mist had dissipated, she directed the light at the portal on the ground. It shrank, but it seemed to resist. Slowly, if at all, it grew smaller. Then Yaena gathered all her remaining strength, causing the beam to turn bright white, and with a final scream, the portal closed. Where the floor had been, the stones were deformed and broken, the corridor unrecognizable, the outer wall also breached. Completely exhausted, Yaena sank to her knees. She looked at the ruined structure and then at Gemon, lying before her. Her body finally gave out, and she collapsed, powerless.
As soon as possible, he got back on his feet. The first thing he noticed was the sound of the wooden door, through which Yaena slowly entered the corridor. She seemed to have recovered somewhat, although her face bore signs of extreme exhaustion. The second thing he noticed was a sudden hissing sound, followed by a scream that shook him to his very bones. The mage’s head was engulfed in flames. What was going on?! The captain stared in shock at the absurd scene. Suddenly, a voice rang out in the room, louder than the combined cries of warriors in battle: "What a foolish worm you are, Krähenklaue! Yes, you are a capable mage, but despite all your power, you lack divinity. You have opened the gate for me, in your idiotic hope of taking my world. The only thing I cannot do myself. Now I will take yours from you!" The flames suddenly began to spread, and within seconds they had eaten through to the bones.
No one was visible who could have spoken these words, only the heat-spreading magical mist in the air and, in contrast, the cold radiating from the portal on the floor. Gemon mustered all his courage. He was still standing in exactly the same spot and didn’t want to leave it. After taking as deep a breath as his shock and fear allowed, he shouted, "Who’s there?!" No answer came. But the mist seemed to be moving toward him. Bravely, Gemon held his ground. The mist grew denser, forming a large skull before him. Just as it became recognizable as such, the spots where the eyes should be glowed a bright red. "My name is Gron, human. I am your god. I am Death!" The heat in the air intensified, threatening to melt Gemon's skin. Panic set in. His body could take no more. He collapsed.
Yaena observed the situation but was powerless to do anything. Her magic was exhausted, and in any case, it would have been of little use here. She clung to the door that had opened into the corridor with her left hand, to avoid sinking to the floor in exhaustion. She noticed that her surroundings were becoming quieter and quieter. Had she suffered hearing damage? Was this the work of that god? The sounds faded more and more until she could hear nothing at all. Then, a voice echoed in her mind—not as loud as Gron’s, softer and somewhat gentler, though still commanding and imperious: "Mage, you must stop Gron to save this world. He does not belong here. I will use you as a vessel to banish him back to his realm, for as a god, he cannot die."
Yaena tried to respond, but even her own words were swallowed by the silence that surrounded her. She could do nothing but listen. "I will give you a mighty gift, a small portion of my own divine power. For I am Zera, the goddess of light, and my light shall shine through you! Direct it at the portal once you have driven him back. And remember, if you misuse what I give you, I will come for you." In an instant, all the sounds returned: the creaking of the damaged roof, the screams of the last fighting guards, the undead rushing at them. And she felt something else, an unimaginable, seemingly inexhaustible power, as if her entire magical potential had multiplied. Her next thought brought her back into focus. She had to trust this Zera and obey her. There was nothing else she could do at this point. So Yaena extended her arms. She concentrated her magic as usual and tried to form a rune. But even before this could happen, such a strong light poured from her hands that it banished the mist from the room. No rune, no materialization, just pure, sun-like light flooded the corridor. It pierced through the undead, the mist, and everything in its path—even the guards twenty paces away, who couldn’t move out of the line of attack fast enough. After all the mist had dissipated, she directed the light at the portal on the ground. It shrank, but it seemed to resist. Slowly, if at all, it grew smaller. Then Yaena gathered all her remaining strength, causing the beam to turn bright white, and with a final scream, the portal closed. Where the floor had been, the stones were deformed and broken, the corridor unrecognizable, the outer wall also breached. Completely exhausted, Yaena sank to her knees. She looked at the ruined structure and then at Gemon, lying before her. Her body finally gave out, and she collapsed, powerless.