Defeat Elanor The Manipulative Sorcerer!
Insomnia plagued me, its cause unknown.
Perhaps the previous night is too intense?
It's been a hours, I'd sat vigil beside Sylvana, her slumber peaceful in contrast to my restless state.
Dawn painted the sky a dusky violet through the window.
Amidst the beauty of the incoming morning, I just remember the special item that important for me to my next venture.
It was the red key, my passport to the Abandoned Tower Dungeon's upper levels, burned in my hand.
As a key on the Abandoned Tower, of course it will elevate me to the upper floor, but Sylvana's account of the holy spring on the 1111th floor painted a daunting and long expedition for me to get those holy water.
She'd mentioned the key's potential to transport one hundreds of floors, not merely one.
The crucial question loomed: how many keys would this arduous ascent demand?
"Alstair...?"
Sylvana's voice, faint and fragile, broke the silence.
Her sleepy countenance revealed the slight gap in her blankets, a glimpse of skin
I instantly registered.
She hastily adjusted the covers, a blush blooming across her cheeks as our eyes met.
"Good morning, Sylvana," I replied, my tone nonchalant as I displayed the key. "I have it. Thank you for your assistance."
She paused, her hand furtively exploring beneath the blanket. "Ah...yes. The ritual...we both..."
She trailed off, a hand self-consciously touching her chest, her blush deepening.
"Is something amiss? Are you injured?" I asked, rising and preparing to access a healing potion from my inventory.
"N-no! I'm fine! I was just...checking...something!" she stammered, her voice laced with shyness.
"Are you sure?" I pressed, and her nervous nod was a confirmation.
To witness the usually resolute, powerful leader of the Lythandor clan reduced to such blushing timidity was unexpected.
Had last night's ritual been excessively exhausting?
"With the key secured, I shall depart to the next level Abandoned Tower floor, Sylvana," I announced, my gaze fixed on the red key.
"W-wait!" Her voice was laced with apprehension.
"Are you certain you wish to leave immediately? Without further preparation?" "I've made the necessary preparations. The key is all I needed," I responded, maintaining a calm exterior.
Her silence spoke volumes.
I observed her trembling form and worried expression.
"May I accompany you?" Her unexpected question halted my departure.
"I believed you would remain here, attending to the devastation at your clan's temple," I questioned, surprised by her request.
"I can delegate that to Faeral. My only concern on this floor was the Vorgruth clan, and their defeat clears the path for my ascent, for vengeance," Sylvana declared, her voice grave and determined.
"Revenge, for your sister?" I asked, the details of her tale flickering in my memory.
Sylvana nodded, her gaze resolute.
"Indeed. I have unfinished business with Elanor. You'll inevitably encounter her on the upper levels; she commands the clan there, holding the key to your further ascent." Her justification resonated deeply with my own desperate need to save my family.
I acknowledged the validity of her quest, but I don't want involved too deeply on her personal vendetta.
Sylvana, a formidable sorceress adept at the Obsidian Sword spell, had placed her trust in me; I saw no reason to refuse her company.
"My objective remains unchanged, Sylvana," I declared, "reaching the 1111th floor I will get the holy water to form Miracle Potion for my family, no matter the cost. Provided your presence doesn't disrupting our progress, you are welcome to accompany me."
A palpable wave of relief washed over Sylvana.
"Thank you, Alstair. I possess intimate knowledge of that battlefield, which should prove advantageous in confronting Elanor," she stated gravely, seemingly oblivious to her current sexy dress.
"Excellent. Prepare yourself, Sylvana. We can hardly allow your sister and her forces to witness you… underdressed," I remarked, a playful teasing in my voice.
The implications of my words slowly dawned upon her, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she realized her state of undress.
Wordlessly, she enveloped herself in a blanket, her face ablaze with mortification.
Discretion dictated I grant her the privacy she needed to compose herself before our dangerous journey resumed.
***
The Lythandor temple, still choked with the debris of the Vorgruth orc onslaught, throbbed with the presence of the Lythandor elves.
Sylvana, her face etched with sorrow and steely resolve, announced her ascent to the upper levels – a pilgrimage of vengeance against Elanor's treachery.
A fervent tide of support surged from the Lythandor clan; their cheers echoing her unwavering commitment, even as she chose a solitary path, accompanied only by me, to Elanor's formidable palace.
While some, notably Faeral, yearned to join her perilous quest, Sylvana's decision remained resolute.
Having already entrusted the temple's arduous purification and the surrounding grounds to capable hands, she felt confident in her absence.
"Alstair," she declared, her voice ringing with finality after protracted farewells, "the moment has arrived. Let us proceed."
I offered a silent affirmation, retrieving the red key from the System's repository.
>Utilize the Key of 666th floor of Abandoned Tower!
>The gate toward 666th floor of Abandoned Tower had opened!
A system notification materialized, accompanied by a shimmering portal that materialized before us, revealing a spiraling staircase.
A staircase?
My query hung in the air.
Was ascension the key?
Sylvana's warning cut through my contemplation.
"The gateway is open, transporting us directly to a location under Elanor's tyrannical control. Be prepared, Alstair."
"No staircase then? I assumed an upward journey," I questioned, my curiosity piqued.
"That was merely a visual illusion," Sylvana clarified. "The portal offers instantaneous translocation. Elanor, renowned for her insidious magical manipulation, employs a devious enchantment, subtly coercing enemies into unquestioning servitude."
"So, no orcish presence in Elanor's stronghold?" I probed.
"Oh, there are orcs," she replied, "but they're subjugated, reduced to Elanor's slaves."
I absorbed this unsettling revelation.
The challenge loomed large, but Sylvana and I had devised a strategy for a secretive invasion.
We equipped special elven cloaks, imbued with an invisibility spell, a crucial tool for infiltration.
With resolute determination, we stepped into the portal.
A brilliant azure light engulfed us, the intensity yielding to a blinding white radiance, before depositing us in the town square.
Instantly, Sylvana activated our cloaks, shrouding us in invisible state.
The sudden dissonance of approaching footsteps felt like a jarring spatial displacement.
My initial assumption of elven patrols proved wrong.
Instead, a throng of orcs, each wielding axe, mace, or hammer, filled the square. Their gaze was keen, their vigilance palpable, as if guarding against some unseen threat.
Astonishingly, their eyes weren't the customary blood-red, but an emerald green, mirroring those of elves.
"Elanor's manipulative spell has warped them," Sylvana murmured, her voice a hushed whisper that answered my unspoken query.
Just like Sylvana said, those orc had lost it's nature to fight for their tribe, but forcefully become Elanor's slave.
As I done observing those orcs slave, my focus shifted to the surrounding buildings, sensing a flow of mana energy in there that go up rapidly in the sky.
The potent surge of magical energy emanating from them was unmistakable, a clear indicator of elven sorcerers at work, even though it located in the sky.
The sheer density of this arcane power confirmed my suspicions.
This was a formidable bastion indeed.
For a fleeting instant, barely a second, the illusion wavered.
I glimpsed several elves, momentarily stopped their invisible state, observing the town square from above.
Their method of moving was mesmerizing: they moved through the air, each step seemingly creating a tangible platform beneath their feet.
Sylvana, leaning close, explained, "Those are Elanor's sorcerous detachment. They maintain the orcs' subjugation under Elanor's enchantment. Besides their distinctive, flowing robes, they wear enchanted boots that generate ephemeral footholds, allowing aerial movement."
Just as I expected from my last observation.
Elanor's elven unit functioned as aerial sentinels, surveying their dominion from the heavens.
Sylvana continued, "This invisibility cloak facilitates our infiltration of the town, though Elanor's palace presents a formidable challenge due to her sorcerers' heightened vigilance. Alstair, perhaps we should meticulously observe and formulate our strategy before proceeding?"
I acknowledged the wisdom of her measured approach.
However, fate intervened in the form of a system notification, delivering a request so audacious, so breathtaking, it stole my breath away.
>Quest Activated: Defeat Elanor's Orc Units (0/150)!
>Quest Activated: Defeat Elanor's Sorcerer Units (0/30)!
Two consecutive quest in one time, asking me for obliterate all of Elanor's unit.
Never thought the System's want me to do a massive genocide in here.
"No need for observation, Sylvana." I said while preparing myself with Magician Magnification.
>Magical Magnification Activated!
>Triplet damage output for the next spell ready!
Unseen by the orcish horde, I prepared my devastating Frost Bite spell – a technique consistently effective against large numbers of the creatures, especially orc monsters.
Sylvana, however, registered my intent and recoiled in terror.
"Alstair! What madness is this?!" she cried, her voice trembling.
"Seeking vengeance, are we? Consider it served," I replied, laced with a touch of bitter irony.
My target: Elanor's stronghold.
"Are you insane?! We haven't even assessed Elanor's ultimate defense! There could be catastrophic consequences!" she hissed, her apprehension palpable.
My resolve, however, was unshakeable.
The System's mandate was absolute, overriding her objections.
My family's survival demanded this reckless gamble.
"Forget it, Sylvana," I retorted, the Frost Bite spell fully formed. "I'm Zeta's cursed vessel. 'Crazy' is my operational mode."
Regardless Sylvana's protest, at this point, there's no time to look back and doing too much observation will just put me to aimless on this fight.
I had to move faster than them to gain momentum!
However, it's unfortunate for me to see those Elanor's elves had move faster than I initially expected.
Sylvana's protest died on her lips as Elanor's elven sentinels materialized in the sky, their staves ablaze with a blinding silver light.
The illumination, almost instantaneous, shattered our invisibility.
In a heartbeat, the square erupted in a dissonance of orcish rage.
Their eyes, hundreds of them, were fixed on us; Elanor's forces had cancelled our invisible state!
Escape was impossible; we were encircled, trapped like birds in a snare.
"Sylvana!" I shouted, pulling her close as I conjured a fiery bulwark – a wall of searing flames.
That split-second decision proved vital, the Fire Pillar deflecting the brutal onslaught of axe and mace.
The din of battle was deafening – a maelstrom of steel and fury.
We were besieged, pummeled by a relentless tide of savagery. It appeared hopeless.
Yet, amidst the chaos, a new System notification offered a glimmer of hope.
>The Fire Pillar Defense rate: 85%!
>Due to constant attack, the Fire Pillar Defense had collected the energy from incoming attack!
>Collected Energy from Fire Pilar: 35%!
The Fire Pillar's energy absorption, a boon from deflecting relentless blows, proved a double-edged sword.
Its magical barrier, weakened by those constant attack from damn orcs precariously.
A complete collapse meant certain doom for both Sylvana and me, leaving us utterly defenseless against the savage orc onslaught.
"Alstair! What will you do?!" Sylvana's terrified shriek pierced the dissonance of orcish roars and the relentless attack.
"Frost Bite's an option, but..." I hesitated, weighing the tactical implications. Elanor's elves, perched like vultures in the sky, had already spotted us.
"Then use it! Alstair, your composure is unnerving! We'll be slaughtered if you delay!" Her desperation was palpable.
I understood her fear, yet I remained resolute in my pursuit of optimal spell efficacy.
But a sinister glint in the eyes of the Elven observers—a malevolent intent far surpassing the orcs' brutality—sharpened my focus.
Then, a colossal orc, a monstrous behemoth, charged from the north, his deadly axe a harbinger of death, his shadow engulfing us.
His aura of malice, potent and chilling, altered my strategy.
I would cancel the Frost Bite, leveraging Magical Magnification to bolster the Fire Pillar's defenses.
Sylvana's scream died in her throat as I pulled her close, our reinforced barrier anticipating the imminent strike.
The orc commander's axe crashed down with earth-shattering force, pulverizing nearby orcs.
The Fire Pillar, its defense tripled by Magical Magnification, withstood the blow, but the impact hurled us through the air.
We slammed into a building in the town square, the wreckage raining down upon us.
Coughing, I pushed myself up from the debris. Sylvana lay beside me, pale and frail, her body ravaged by the brutal impact.
A system notification flashed, quantifying the devastating damage inflicted by the orc commander's axe.
>Warning! The Fire Pillar Defense rate: 15%!
Supporting Sylvana to her feet, I observed the hulking orc.
He resembled Vorgruth, yet possessed a stockier frame and powerfully muscled forearms.
The blood-caked battle-axe he wielded spoke volumes of his lethal efficiency in dispatching his victims.
Despite his ferocious strength, his eyes, a chilling emerald green, betrayed a weariness that spoke of prior, exhaustive battles.
That same haunted green glimmered in the eyes of the other brutal orcs dominating the town square – a testament to Elanor's insidious control.
Sylvana gasped, her voice laced with anguish, "Damn it! Elanor has even controlled Cayaska! The chieftain of the Cayaska clan!"
My prior suspicion was confirmed: this imposing orc was, indeed, a clan leader, mirroring Vorgruth in stature and authority.
"A commendable display of might, Cayaska," I remarked, maintaining a composed demeanor.
Sylvana's voice edged with panic.
"Alstair, why the unnerving calm?! We were nearly annihilated by that orc commander! Your Fire Pillar was shattered near to destruction! Another blow, and we're finished!"
"I understand," I replied, my tone even, as I began to prepare another potent spell.
This time, my strategy would abandon the chilling embrace of Frost Bite.
Instead, I would unleash its fiery antithesis.
A swift glance at my magical interface confirmed my preparations for this counter-intuitive spell, a tactical shift born of calculated necessity.
>Due to constant attack, the Fire Pillar Defense had collected the energy from incoming attack!
>Collected Energy from Fire Pilar: 95%!
A grin spread across my face as I absorbed the potent mana surging from the Fire Pillar.
My senses confirmed the Pillar's energy – a vastly superior fuel for another fiery incantation.
A Firestorm spell was my unequivocal choice.
"Alstair! They're advancing!" Sylvana's terrified embrace tightened as Cayaska's horde – hundreds of Elanor orcs – marched relentlessly into view.
I raised my Dragon Scepter, casted Fire Storm spell.
Instantly, a maelstrom of fire erupted, a raging inferno that consumed the town square and its environs in a destructive vortex.
The azure sky was instantly obliterated, replaced by a crimson hellfire choked with acrid smoke as hundreds of orcs were immolated.
Even the elves observing from the heights were not spared.
Panic seized them as the fiery tempest scorched the heavens, flinging them to earth like blazing meteors.
The once-pure air became a stifling shroud, thick with the ash of incinerated orcs and elves.
The casualty count, flashing across my internal systems, provided stark, undeniable proof: my strategy was devastatingly effective.
>Quest Activated: Defeat Elanor's Orc Units (130/150)!
>Quest Activated: Defeat Elanor's Sorcerer Units (20/30)!
I gulp down a mana potion and a health potion, then resumed the hunt.
My victories were substantial, yet one foe remained: the looming specter of Cayaska.
He roared, a sound of agony, his armor, flesh, and skin consumed by searing fire.
Though crippled, this orc commander, kneeling, crawled toward me, a testament to his grim determination.
He attempted to raise his scorched axe, but it clattered to the ground, his burned hand unable to grip it.
He could only drag himself forward, his legs rendered useless by the flames.
Like Vorgruth before him, Cayaska embodied an unwavering resolve, a commitment to his duty that transcended even the approach of death.
Having battled countless orcs as a sorcerer, I understood their brutal ferocity. Yet beneath that savagery, I perceived a profound sense of honor, a dedication to their mission that filled me with a strange respect.
The only stain on his valor, a bitter contrast to Vorgruth's unwavering loyalty, was his subjugation by Elanor.
It was a tragedy to see him—and his entire clan—destroyed by the Fire Storm, victims of a manipulative tyrant's cruel machinations.
"Rest, Cayaska," I murmured, readying another spell, "I will end your suffering, and liberate your clan from this insidious bondage."
Raging Tempest coalesced in my hands.
His final roar was devoid of menace, yet resonated with profound sadness.
With a desperate surge of adrenaline, he lunged, his burning body a testament to his defiance.
But I was faster.
Raging Tempest unleashed a whirlwind of razor-sharp wind, slicing through his veins and piercing his heart.
He collapsed, his body ravaged by the relentless fire, his form dissolving into ash.
The orc commander fell, followed by his remaining comrades, the system's stark announcement confirming their demise.
> You get 300.000 Monster Diamonds!
>You get Spirit of Berserker!
Yes!
A magnificent reward!
Yet, my recent battles have depleted my resources.
The cost of mana and health potions has skyrocketed, a completely baffle escalation.
Is this an effect of my growing power, requiring more significant and faster recovery of health and mana?
Each use of my amplified spells necessitates a costly mana replenishment, a significant drain on my funds, though still manageable.
Regardless those kind of expenditure, I shift my attention toward the flaming sky that covering current town square.
The orcish threat subdued, the aerial elf assaults have ceased.
Judging by their disrupted magical currents, they fled the town square, evidently routed by the searing inferno and devastating gale of my Fire Storm.
This respite allows me to restore my vitality, replenish my magical reserves, and fortify my protective barriers.
During this brief interlude, I noticed Sylvana's awestruck reaction to the carnage: hundreds of incinerated orcs and scores of elves, reduced to ashes by my enhanced Fire Storm.
"Alstair," she breathed, a mixture of admiration and apprehension evident in her voice, "your power... it's terrifying."
"Sylvana," I responded calmly, "Zeta's curse bearer were never to be considered foes. I warned you."
She nodded, her apprehension palpable.
Then, an unexpected downpour arrived, gradually extinguishing the flames in the town square.
But this was no natural rainfall.
"That's no ordinary rain, Alstair," Sylvana observed. "It's magically conjured."
My Fire Pillar barrier sprang to life, shielding us from the enchanted flood.
The purpose of this magical rain remained difficult to understand.
Elanor's forces wouldn't simply deploy a downpour to quench the fires.
Both Sylvana and I observed the unnatural rainfall, searching for its meaning, until it ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
Although the Fire Storm's intensity waned, the lingering heat rapidly vaporized the rain, creating a dense, obscuring mist.
The mist thickened, a palpable unease settling over me.
A strange wind stirred within its depths, raising the suspicion of another of Elanor's deceptive spells.
I grasped Sylvana's hand.
"Sylvana, are you alright?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.
Sylvana didn't respond.
My grip on her hand tightened, yet she remained motionless.
Alarm surged as I pulled her close, only to find her vanished into the swirling mist.
The magical realm beneath it pulsed, expanding, threatening to ensnare me in its illusions.
"Alstair." A voice, ancient and serene, yet brimming with familiar comfort, reached me.
It was the voice that had roused me countless mornings, the voice that had always urged me to eat – my mother's voice.
"Mother?" My gaze swept the scene, finally settling on a figure emerging from the dissipating mist.
There she stood, my mother, in her everyday clothes, her face illuminated by a smile I'd rarely witnessed these past months.
The sight of her, awake and smiling, was breathtaking, transporting me to a realm of pure fantasy.
She took my hand, her smile warming me.
"It's alright, dear. I've recovered. You've done remarkably well, fulfilling your duty. I'm so proud of you, my son."
Her touch, a gentle caress on my cheek, mirrored the tender affection of my childhood.
"Brother!" My sister's voice rang out from behind.
Before I could react, Arlene embraced me, her warmth echoing my mother's reassurance.
"Brother, it's alright! Mother and I are awake! We're so grateful for your help!" Her voice vibrated with relief and fervent gratitude.
The weight lifted from my shoulders; the anxieties that had gnawed at me vanished with my mother and sister's return from their prolonged unconsciousness.
I couldn't comprehend the relentless pounding of my heart during those perilous quests, fueled solely by my desperate need to save my family.
That agonizing pressure dissolved, replaced by the unwavering support of these two incredible women.
"Mother, Arlene, you can't imagine how happy I am to see you safe," I breathed, a wave of relief washing over me. "And, oh, I acquired a considerable amount of Monster Diamonds! I'd love to treat you both to a luxurious vacation."
My mother smiled.
"Thank you, son. A holiday is long overdue; we've been so consumed by work."
Arlene chimed in, her excitement bubbling over.
"Are we going to a concert, too? I know a fantastic venue with a concert! Let's go!"
Triumphantly, I declared, "Yes! Let's do it. Mom, Arlene, we're buying a house! No more landlord's wrath!"
Their joyous smiles were my reward.
Was this paradise?
My quest to liberate Elanor, my knightly duties—all faded into insignificance.
Then suddenly, the system interface materialized, cruelly flaunting my magical prowess.
A chilling dread, the palpable animosity of Zeta Maurer, washed over me.
Zeta Maurer, a skeletal figure shrouded in a voluminous black robe, materialized, the infernal flames licking his form, instantly shattering the idyllic vision my family held.
"The choice is yours, Alstair," Zeta rasped, his voice a chilling whisper from the grave.
"Embrace this manufactured bliss, abandon your struggles, or confront my hellish system, forging your path to ultimate power." He continued, his tone laced with bitter irony, "Heaven's allure is undeniable, yet few dare the arduous ascent to true liberation."
I inhaled deeply, battling the unwelcome intrusion.
These ghastly specters had shattered my hard-earned respite.
"I understand, Zeta," I responded, my voice firm. "The road to my family's salvation is long, but my resolve is unyielding. This artificial paradise cannot deter me."
"Prove it, Alstair!" Zeta shrieked, his laughter echoing like a death knell. "Let the System judge your efforts! Even death may be the cost!"
With Zeta's departure, I unleashed a "Raging Tempest," a furious cyclone that banished the insidious mist of illusion.
Reality crashed back—the ravaged town square, the smoldering remains of battle, the ash-choked ruins.
Yet, my victory was bittersweet.
Sylvana, kneeling beside me, was vacant, her eyes devoid of life.
"Sylvana, can you hear me? Wake up!" I shouted, desperate to rouse her.
She stirred, her lips forming a whispered apology.
Tears streamed down her face, her anguish palpable.
The insidious spell of Elanor had left its mark, but I could not decipher its nature.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself, then sharply slapped her face, forcing her consciousness to surface.
My slap stung Sylvana's left cheek, painting it red.
It was a gentle strike, a far cry from my full force.
She cradled her face, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"You… you slape me?" she stammered, utterly bewildered.
"Finally, you acknowledge my existence," I retorted, firmly pulling her to her feet. "You can return the favor later. For now, let's focus on the mission!"
As Sylvana rose, surveying the ravaged town square and the charred remains of the orcs, a flicker of understanding dawned.
She rubbed her temples, the manipulative spell's hold finally breaking.
"Oh gods… the chaos… I remember now," she gasped, gripping my shoulder.
My smile mirrored her dawning comprehension.
But our shared awakening was immediately overshadowed.
A fiery crimson circle materialized in the heavens, drawing our attention.
Both of us recognized the sigil of a potent incantation in progress.
Ten elves, survivors of Elanor's elite sorcerer corps, hovered at the circle's edge, their arcane prowess evident.
At its heart stood a young woman, a striking elf with fiery red hair, draped in a pristine white robe, her footwear imbued with spells of invisibility and levitation.
She bore a striking resemblance to Sylvana—smaller, less curvaceous—but the familial connection was undeniable.
This was Elanor, the sister Sylvana had spoken of.
"Elanor!" Sylvana warned, her voice sharp as the red-haired elf descended, her gaze locking onto us.
Instantly, Sylvana drew her magical flying sword, ready to counter any attack.
Yet, Elanor remained motionless, a hand raised, signaling her aerial cohorts to stand down.
A conversation, it seemed, preceded any conflict.
"Sylvana! I believed Vorgruth had annihilated you and your pathetic clan! Yet here you are, groveling before a Zeta's curse-bearer! How utterly pathetic!" Elanor sneered, her voice dripping with venomous contempt.
"Silence, Elanor!" Sylvana roared, her voice thick with righteous fury. "You committed unspeakable acts, shattering our family!"
"Family?" Elanor scoffed, her anger flaring. "Lythandor perished through their own negligence and weakness! I'm not bound by their failings! I command orcish and elven legions! None can defy me!"
Her confidence, however, masked a simmering rage, particularly whenever her eyes fell upon me.
A crimson aura blazed around Elanor as she unleashed a torrent of furious insult. "You wretched, accursed mortal!" she shrieked, her voice a venomous hiss.
"Your triumph is a delusion! This conflict is far from concluded! The treacherous deceit you perpetrated, plunging this entire city into anarchy, will be your undoing!"
It was premature, reckless even, to demand the key to the tower's upper levels—those beyond the 666th floor—from Elanor directly.
However, a newly assigned quest, issued by the System, inextricably linked my fate to hers and the remnants of her elven army, demanding my immediate attention.
> Quest Activated: Defeat Elanor the Manipulative Sorcerer!
"You have big words, Eleanor, I give you that," I challenged, "but actions speak louder."
Eleanor, with a sudden, decisive gesture, raised her scepter, its ruby tip gleaming.
With blinding speed, she and her ten elven sorcerers conjured shimmering chains, laced with razor-sharp blades, that whirred towards me.
I countered immediately, my Fire Pillar defense a blazing bulwark against Eleanor's assault.
"Alstair, beware!" Sylvana cried, launching her own aerial blades to intercept the deadly chains.
A furious clash erupted – steel screamed, flames crackled – a maelstrom of magical energy.
The intensity suggested a near-equal contest of power between Sylvana and Eleanor.
Yet, a disquieting premonition gnawed at me.
My gaze fell upon a newly formed magical circle on the platform, a mirror image of Eleanor's.
Before I could fully deploy my Fire Pillar, chains erupted from this new circle, ensnaring Sylvana, silencing her magic.
My barrier deflected the attack, but my ally was helpless.
"Cursed chains! I'm trapped!" Sylvana's desperate struggle was futile.
Before I could unleash my Raging Tempest to sever the spell, the elves snatched her away, dragging her like a captive towards Eleanor's fortress.
"Alstair…!" Her panicked cry spurred me into action.
I invoked Gaia's Endowment, bolstering my strength and speed, and pursued her relentlessly.
The chase was a blur; I saw the elves vanish into the palace, their flight swift and silent.
I retaliated swiftly trying to keep the pace with those darn flying elves, until I finally reached the palace.
Surprisingly enough, as soon as I came in, Eleanor's palace gates slammed shut, sealed by a formidable barrier.
Her fury was palpable, yet her cunning was undeniable; she had lured us both into a deadly trap.
The chaos escalated.
Eleanor's dark sorcery unleashed ten hulking orcs, clad in surprisingly light armor yet wielding fearsome twin blades. Their powerful physiques and predatory green eyes spoke volumes – these were no ordinary brutes; they were Eleanor's elite shock troops, ferocious and agile.
The battle was far from over.
Elanor's boast echoed, venomous and triumphant.
"The fight is decided, spell-wielder! Consider yourself fortunate that my elite orcish legions were necessary. One more incantation, and your precious Sylvana will be pulverized by my magical restraints!" Her condescending tone reeked of superiority.
Annihilating Elanor and her forces would be trivial.
A simple deadly spell with wide range of attack or might be a simultaneous quick casting spell would suffice.
But such a victory came at an unacceptable cost.
Sylvana, bound and defenseless, would perish instantly.
Damn it!
Should I risk Sylvana's brutal demise for a swift conquest?
Or is this a calculated gambit by Elanor, a desperate attempt to avoid the full might of my magic?
Regardless, surrender is not an option.
Victory, for my family, is important.
I will win!