The Battle Awaits
Arlan's Moment of Solitude
Arlan moved through the smoke-choked streets of Veyleigh, his every step weighed down by a mixture of guilt and resolve. The city was unraveling before his eyes. The Lich's influence spread like a disease, and the once vibrant city now looked like a battlefield, littered with the twisted corpses of the living and the risen undead. Arlan's breath came in short, shallow gasps, but it wasn't the smoke or the battle that had him on edge—it was the decisions he had made.
Guilt gnawed at him.
The memories of Mira, Tomas, Leila, and Beren flashed through his mind like ghosts, haunting him. They would have been invaluable in this fight, yet he had left them behind. He had to—he couldn't risk them being caught in this storm. But deep inside, Arlan wondered if he had made the right call. Could he have protected them? Or had he just abandoned them, leaving them to fend for themselves while he fought this battle alone?
The weight of his necromantic powers felt heavier with each passing moment. He could feel the city itself trembling under the Lich's power. It called to him, tempting him to join it, to embrace the dark path. But Arlan had to resist. He couldn't become like the creatures now rising from the earth. He wouldn't.
A soft growl broke his thoughts.
Vrekk stepped lightly beside him, his glowing yellow-green eyes scanning the surroundings. The undead hobgoblin's silent presence comforted Arlan. Then, there was Gorrick, the small undead Ratman, who was still as boisterous as ever, despite the destruction unfolding around them.
Inner Conflict:
Arlan's mind shifted back to the decision he made to leave his companions behind. They would've been invaluable in this battle—especially Mira, with her powerful fire magic. But he had chosen to protect them by cutting himself off. Could he continue to live with the consequences of that choice? He didn't know. He wasn't sure what the future held.
The City in Chaos:
Veyleigh was falling apart. Buildings burned, and the sky was clouded with the rising smoke of battle. The once-beautiful streets were now littered with the debris of destroyed barricades and abandoned belongings. Undead soldiers shuffled through the streets, their hollow eyes scanning for victims.
The weight of the necrotic energy in the air was suffocating. Arlan could feel it—pulsing, thrumming through the earth beneath his feet. He clenched his fists around his wand as a chill ran down his spine. The Lich's power was everywhere, and it was growing stronger by the second.
Encounter with a Small Group of Undead:
The sound of dragging feet and low moans filled the air. Arlan's sharp green eyes caught sight of a small group of undead soldiers—flesh half-rotted, eyes blank and lifeless—shambling their way toward them. They were a mixed group of men and women, all caught in death's thrall.
Arlan's hand shot out instinctively, raising his wand. He could feel the Shadow Bolt gathering in his hand, the dark energy humming as he prepared to launch it. But before he could act, Vrekk moved.
In a blur, Vrekk disappeared into the shadows, his form flickering as he used Phasewalker to slip between solid and incorporeal states. Arlan barely saw the undead hobgoblin move, but the first enemy was already on the ground, its head cleaved clean off by Vrekk's curved dagger.
Gorrick, meanwhile, glared at the spectre weaving his way through crowds of the undead "Me Stronger!" he yelled in his usual undead rasp.
Gorrick's "Almighty Cockatrice" Form:
Gorrick let out a loud, triumphant roar! that echoed across the battlefield. Arlan turned to see Gorrick's form shifting—bones cracking and reshaping, muscles swelling and twisting as his New form became something else entirely. Gorrick's body grew larger, and his form became more grotesque as his Ratman body stretched and swelled, turning into a massive bird shaped creture.
Gorrick's head grew larger, sporting an enormous beak, and a tail as long as a warhorse. His rat-like features became almost unrecognizable, replaced with an imposing bird-like form.
"BACAAAWK!" Gorrick screamed, as his monstrous tail whipped through the air, smashing several undead into the ground with ease.
Arlan stared, his mouth slightly agape. "Gorrick, what is this?!"
Gorrick grinned wildly, his sharp beak glinting in the light. "Almighty Cockatrice! Best form! Now we KILL!"
Arlan couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief. "Not again.."
The battle raged on. Vrekk struck from the shadows, his movements deadly and silent, while Gorrick tore through the undead like a beast, swiping with his powerful claws and tail. The streets became littered with bodies as Arlan finally released his Shadow Bolt, striking down the remaining undead with a blast of dark energy.
Arlan's Growing Control:
Arlan's heart raced. His power was growing, but it was still unpredictable. The Shadow Bolt surged from his wand, blasting undead into oblivion, but Arlan had to focus harder than ever to control the magic. He could feel the pull of the necrotic energy around him, urging him to let go, to embrace the darkness fully. But he couldn't—not yet.
"Stay focused, Arlan," he muttered to himself.
As the last of the undead fell, Arlan turned to look at his companions—his undead companions. Vrekk nodded, his glowing yellow-green eyes acknowledging Arlan's leadership. Gorrick, still in his absurd Cockatrice form, let out another victory cry, raising his clawed leg in triumph.