Talus stood defiantly against the swirling tenebrous cloud of wraiths. Undeterred and Undaunted, he challenged their incorporeal form with his corporeal presence. To match the necrotic apparitions, Talus answered with a precise burst of torrential solar energy, encasing his hands and arms. The brilliant opulence of his glow was unmatched, even by the vile darkness of those wraiths.

Even at the distance, there was something elemental about Talus. Or rather, beyond elemental. While true magnificence was within the intricate whirl of his adamantine-hardened frame, it appeared to me that somehow, in the brightness of the glow from his fists, almost an ethereal realm between realms, his magnificence was amplified. As if the very form of Talus, embodied a unique elegance -- some force of primal nature binding the material realm to another, through the vastness of the void.

The wraiths renewed their attack, angered -- if any emotion could be attributed to them -- by his silent and non-somatic taunts. They attacked. With unrelenting fury. Rendering talons extended from the shadow of their tattered cloaks, raking their pointed nails across the very surface of his armour and attempting to puncture holes in places where there were joints. But despite their might, the metallic strength of Talus beat them back. Sweeping, piercing and grasping. With every hold, every touch and every contact of Talus, searing sunlight flowed through. Until the wraiths disintegrated in wisps of silvery smoke. No ashes remained.

The sounds of death wail filled the air around us like discordant thunder. Fiery gusts of untamed violence billowed from Talus's body, charging ahead, tearing through the dark cloud of wraiths. His iron stride made thunderous sounds as he ran with liquid grace and fast as thought itself. His thighs moved like two well-oiled pistons working in tandem with each other; pumping powerful thrusts forward. And when Talus brought his hands together in twin hammering strikes of sheer force and ruthless energy, it was akin to seeing sunsets and sunrises being condensed into one devastating display of spectacular grandeur. Even I, at such a great distance, was blinded and dazzled by the power. I now understood why Talus asked me to stay back.

"Forgive me for posing the question, Mother," said Talus while the brilliance in his hands slowly ebbed out as the last of the wraith disintegrated, "There is one with power. An Arch lich. I surmise, destroying the phylactery would lead to a quick victory. Would you agree to a change of plans?"

My first instinctive answer was to adhere to the initial plan. The Conjunct-Born would spread the plague, leaving the living non-undead survivors to spread the plague further. Yet, Talus's voice left little room for indecision. It rang clear in my ears, repeating what I must focus on. So, while part of my brain protested vehemently, my soul urged acquiescence. Yet, something nagged at the back of my head.

"It would serve our purpose, Mother," said Talus.

In the intervening narrow instant, cracks spread, leaching along the blackened grounds. Undead slowly, ever-so-slowly, rose. Skeletal warriors, wielding long rusted weapons and Zombies, with putrid decaying flesh hanging loosely around their shambling form, gathered in growing numbers. Then the steady staccato of marching feet pounded on my ear drums.

Talus turned his head and for a brief instant, the vivid red light of grim determination shone behind his eye slot. He tried to anticipate the undead's approach, but before the shambling totter exhibited by the mindless undead, he had little success. Lurching ahead, he crushed a few with kicks and punches. For as Talus cut down the scourge of rot and decay in front, we found more undead rising up around us. The undead rushed into proximity to Talus in a vague attempt to submerge him in a sea of bones and flesh. The metallic warrior obliterated with relentless counters. Yet, despite the frequency of his attacks, the flow of all undead remained steady and aimed at Talus alone.

My Urumi, Adjuration, susurrated. A low hum, growing with every single instant till its whispers overpowered any other noise. Adjuration begged. Bargained. Coaxed. Finally, demanded -- to be unleashed. A significant threat, one worthy enough for Adjuration to respond, is fast approaching.

The seven whip blades of Adjuration sliced the very air. The sound mingled with the senseless scream of the undead and the crunching of bone under metal. With the mounting cacophony, Adjuration severed bones, limbs and rotten flesh, delivering my wrath upon the advancing horde of undead. Even that failed to subdue the roar of Adjuration. Nor did my wanton lust for slaughter lessen. On feeling the comfort of swinging Adjuration, my ferocity only continued to grow.

"Mother," shouted Talus as the unrelenting wave of undead crashed into him. Talus, then, struck down the foremost skeleton warrior, right in the chest, with a colossal blow. Shattering bones and ancient armour alike with ease. Shards of skeletal bone and splintered metal splattered everywhere.

"I am moving ahead," said Talus as his hands drove a hole straight through an undead heart and continued chaining his attack without a moment to spar. Bones cracked, skulls popped and limbs flailed. Yet the wounded undead merely staggered.

"These undead are stalling us," added Talus.

"Hold the ground, Talus." I ordered with the full knowledge that the powerful son of Lyria would undoubtedly reduce the phylactery of the Archlich to a piece of scrap and in the process would, inadvertently, rob Ar'krak and the Conjunct-Borns of their precious time to infect.

"Please, Mother, you should see the futility of this. I can put an end by advancing towards the Archlich directly." Talus glowed, a warning orange -- with a slight hue of contempt. He, then, took off running, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the blackened ground, the alloyed armour chipping obsidian-like rock beneath his strides. And, Talus led the lone charge.

Great. He has hardly seen one battle to the end, and he presumes to know more than his mother. At least, Lyria got that part of a boy's personality pinned precisely.

Adjuration let loose its terrifying wake of destruction. By sheer force of will, I was able to quell the murderous urge that desired nothing but demolition. To let my power lord over those who conquered death itself. All that existed, for me, was winning the war and keeping the hellish horde from reaching High-Crag Hold. But, Talus was already far ahead of me. And there seemed to be no choice.

By all measures, Talus might be invincible, but uncertainty is the nature of war. A simply lost footing, a single stray arrow or even a sneeze at the wrong time. One might lose the tide of victory just as easily as one might hold it in grasp. Should any misfortune befall Talus, facing Lyria was daunting. Her dark gaze would be sharper than an eagle's talons. Better face a horde of mindless undead and a host of Arch liches than a distraught Lyria.

"Commander, " Cosette's voice cut through the garbling of the undead, "follow him. We will hold the line."

"You were supposed to stay at a safe distance," I uttered, even as the interlocked shields of the dwarven mercenaries advanced slowly, undeterred by the surging wave of undead.

Cosette, realising the futility of her repeating crossbow against skeletal warriors, slung her weapon against her back and resorted to pelting rocks. Every shieldmaiden's eyes held a spark of grim determination. None could have missed the storm of resolution racing through their veins, or the steely grip with which they held their shields. However, abandoning or staying behind meant an insult to the bravery marked by their dwarven heritage. For the dwarven shieldmaiden, it wasn't life that rested in peril, but merely their precious sense of self. Well, maybe not for all. Inga, the only shieldmaiden not behind the shieldwall, ran ahead with mad glee.

Inga was quick. Too quick. With every swing of her deadly axe, countless maimed dead tumbled. Her own drunken brawler style of fighting was every bit unpredictable as the movement of the enemies she faced. Both parties were matched equally in unstructured combat. Her blond braids whirled around as she spun like a miniature whirlwind of carnage. Sprawling, hacking, she was a twisting mass of razor steel-wielding shredder.

"Inga, you are wandering too far. Come back," shouted a shieldsister.

"Be careful Inga," added another from behind the slowly advancing shieldwall, "they consume brains."

"They will be disappointed then," replied Inga as she abandoned her axe that stuck to the bone of an undead. "Ma always said I ain't got any."

Inga kicked down with her foot, shattering the leg of a skeletal warrior. Then she slipped out from under a swiping zombie arm, gripped her axe, yanked it free and buried it on the hip bone. Abandoning the axe for the second time, Inga rolled with nimble agility. Without a pause, she slammed another staggering skeleton. She then ripped a femur with a vice grip and wielded the same as a club to shatter the rib cage.

By the time, the paltry group of slow phalanx waded to her, an avalanche of ruptured zombies and skeletons awaited them. Donning a wicked smile, Inga charged ahead. More of the skeletal warband scrambled to corner her when Theko rushed in, swinging his huge maul. In less than five heartbeats, a macabre dance played out. Dwarven Shieldmaiden and young bugbear-goblin stood back to back, cleaving a path of utter decimation. There was no blood spilled, just the sheer noise of bones cracking.

"Commander, go," yelled Cosette.

Without further hesitation shackling me, I sped with ophidian celerity towards where Talus stood. Nothing remained in his wake except a pile of rotting limbs and shattered skulls. Wherever I placed my footing, the remains of the offending corpses littered the area. Throwing myself at the ironclad wall of undead, I lashed with vicious ferocity. Repeatedly. Bones, sinews, putrid flesh and limbs, all severed as if cut with a searing hot blade. Tendrils of black smoke, the release of necrotic bindings, poured forth from each of the cuts.

My urumi sang, a song of dire warning. At the distance, a brilliant purple arc flared into existence, revealing the reason for Adjuration's distress. An arcane ritual, the magnitude of its threat fathomless enough for Adjuration to be awakened, was being performed. In distance, beyond the veil of unnatural mist and draped in a cloud of eldritch glamour, the robed figure of the Archlich hovered. The curved horns, a serpent-like writhing reptilian tail and split cloven hooves, made the Arch lich stand apart.

I quickened my pace. My fears are real and Talus would need every help. Sensing my distress, Adjuration churned violently.

My cursed luck always catches up. Among all the Arch liches, it had to be her. Phaedra Cindercrest, the Ever Ghast!

A name spoken in hushed whispers even among the dark elves. Our only contact with her made the dark elves revise the strategies. Her attempted incursion in our nether realm brought our armies to their knees. Only a petition at the council for the prompt deployment of the Sequestered Conciliators saved Matron Arianella's House from complete ruin. Even then, the toll of the assault forced her to retire from the political board. And now, Talus stood against her while her cavalry of Death Knights assembled, standing between Talus and their Queen.

Phaedra considered Talus sharply. The very essence of madness rested in her eyes. None, save Talus could have held those stares and retained sanity. She screamed out a name at Talus. Hissing. More words, incomprehensible and uttered in spasmodic agony spilled from withered lips. It was hauntingly uncomfortable to hear emotions in an arch lich's words.

The Death Knights drew their weapons, lances and flails of tempered steel made stronger by necromancy. A feral gleam danced in their crimson eyes, hidden behind dark steel visors. Their armour was imbibed with the sorcery of the forbidden kind. It appeared dappled grey on its surface with a dull sheen of reddish bronze beneath. Grooves of ebony runes etched on the centre held the necromantic energy bound to the corporeal form.

Their undead horses, shambling masses of raw corruption, snorted steam from their nostrils. Shadows draped along their shaffron and flanchards while dark hair trailed lifelessly, flowing along as if dragged by spectral chains. Riders and mounts together swallowed all sense of reality by the horror of their presence. Bone-chilling cold washed over the intervening space, born from dread and the sickening feeling of the cavalry of Death Knights. A lone Death Knight rode forward, advancing on Talus, he urged his horse closer and drew closer still with increasing momentum.

The impact! Death Knight crashed against Talus. Like a ball of wool thrown against a wall, the Death Knight bounced back. His necromantic magic-enhanced armour cracked and crumbled like a piece of parchment. Talus stood, still and unflinching.

Adjuration writhed, vehemently. Phaedra Cindercrest hissed at Talus. Words more clear and with more seething emotions. Yet, Talus resisted in defiance.

"I warn you! It is a grave folly!" Phaedra shouted.

What was so special about Talus?

Phaedra gave a signal with the flick of her bony wrist and the column of Death Knights charged. The thrumming of steel-encased hooves rose higher. Dark Armour quickly closed in on us. Death and decay mixed together with grit and dust. All converging on our position. The crackling purple flare cast eerie silhouettes of the Death Knights projecting a shadow of pallid terror.

My body jerked violently, every muscle contracting as my Urumi strummed with sharp insistence.

My Urumi sang first, reaving through the leading Death Knight. The rider and horse disintegrated. The seven whip blades of Adjuration slashed like blood-starved vipers seeking fresh prey. Abruptly, their deadly tails snapped. Slithering towards the lifeless Knights, piercing through their armour and liberating whatever essence lay trapped beneath. With the flick of my wrist, I let the whip blades strike, cutting Death Knights deep and shredding them into a shower of splintered scrap metals and bones.

An odd sensation tickled upon my senses. It felt familiar, yet different, somehow. As if I was forced to listen to two beings conversing through a locked door. One was the Adjuration, nudging me to grasp what was mine. While the other promised me something that was not mine, speaking with tones of understanding and fondness. The same tone that whispered when I faced the tenebrous weaver, and the same promise -- to yield and reap the rewards. As much as I desired to dismiss the strange sensation, even I must admit, there was a soothing compulsion to the unknown entity. That knowledge did nothing to ease my mind as my thoughts raced to discover the identity of this second separate entity.

As I strained, so too did the spectral voice. Possessing a latent power of undeniability, it drove its promises to greater depths. In my mindscape, Adjuration sparked into existence. A grand and ancient tree. Its roots coiling above the grounds, striking at the invading dark mist of the alien whisper. Great branches spread overhead, branching off in all directions until its canopies formed a sturdy shelter against the promising whispers. Slowly, very slowly, the second voice retreated -- defeated and forced away by Adjuration.

Meanwhile, Talus shattered Death Knights one after the other. Being outnumbered did very little to hinder his progress. Not once did he flinch or falter. A savage aura surrounded him as he craved and tore, metal and bones with relative ease.

Each Death Knight fell without resistance. Those who managed to avoid his death knell found themselves sliced by the caress of Adjuration. The stillness of a slaughter fest seemed to wash over the battlefield. The necrotic energy fuelling the enemy before us slowly faded away. Gone was the dire cavalry assembled against us, promising fear and death. Where Talus stood and fought, sheer demolition reigned.

And where I stood, even mindless Death Knights, instinctively knew to avoid me. Deep in the calmness of slaughter, it incongruently dawned on me that Adjuration was not simply cleaving hardened metal to release confined necrotic potency but somehow, implausible as it might seem, consumed existence itself.

Phaedra Cindercrest, the Ever Ghast, hissed at Talus with words more clearly spoken. "Mother forgot us -- for long."

The voice of the Archlich was ancient, yet it was the way she uttered Mother that caught me off-guard. Pain laced in her words as she strugglingly uttered the word. The almost child-like plea was incongruous to the venomous tone of an Archlich. But it was her next words that made me pale.

"Our Mother Lyria abandoned us." Phaedra shrieked. "Curse you Rylonvirah. You seduced our mother with your charms. Forced her to slew her children."

"Lies," I screamed back. Anger seethed inside me. "Lyria is the purest creature to grace the world."

"I curse the ground where you walk and the lands you rule. May your womb fester for maggots to crawl," continued the Arch lich.

Fury surged to a searing wrath. The implication of her words for Delyn unshackled all manacles of self-restraint in me. As if channeling my rage, Adjuration pulsed with brilliant cerulean lightning.

"Curse the Stormaires for poisoning our Mother," howled Phaedra in a fierce snarl. "They denied us our right to exist. Mother aided them. Our selfless Mother was tricked"

"That cannot be," I growled in retort, wondering what madness she had fallen under.

"You can never be forgiven. You led our Mother astray. Your conniving words and rotten kisses have turned our loving mother into a ruthless slayer. Your bones will rot in a maggot-infested mound and I will trap your soul for the vilest of vermins to torment. Your fate be damned for even demons to fear, Princess Rylonvirah."

"Princess?" I repeated at her curious choice of title for me.

"Ignore her, Mother," said Talus as he pummeled a Death Knight to a sheet of flattened metal. "Her mind is fractured. She cannot process as her cognitive has fallen. She is trapped in a loop around the dominant memory of her last moments."

"We have a change of plan, Talus. Capture her Phylactery. We are taking her to Lyria."

Just as I finished my words, the purple flares died out and Phaedra Cindercrest screamed her success. With the ritual completed, the portal opened into the crepuscule of the realm of Scourge Warren. Frighteningly real and inherently malign, the multitude of carapaces and mandibles scurried behind. Hurrying, parting to give way for the Zor'Amoth, the prime demon of the Scourge Warren to step through.

"I have come to correct an affront." Zor'Amoth sniffed the air. A hint of malicious mischief and curiosity amalgamated in his face as he asked, "But do answer me this, I sense the stench of a circle prince. What did he entice you with?"