The Fragment of Soul

He began to chant in a language of death and decay, pouring his immense power into the cage’s lock.

From the absolute darkness within, a single, massive horn of what looked like solidified corruption emerged, followed by a head larger than a carriage.

Ruinhorn stirred. It was an impossibly large quadrupedal beast, with veins of raw, dark energy pulsing just beneath its hide, which resembled cracked obsidian.

The air was heavy and thick with its presence as it lumbered slowly out of its prison.

Yarte looked up at the apocalyptic beast, “It is time to feast, Ruinhorn,” he commanded. “Go to Frola. And leave nothing but rot in your wake.”

Focusing on the relatively small lich, the monster lowered its massive head and eyes, two empty pits of swirling darkness.

Its chest emitted a low rumble, like mountains grinding against one another. There was a chuckle.

“Lich?” the Ruinhorn’s ancient voice echoed in their minds, dripping with a timeless, arrogant power. “Don’t make me laugh. What makes you think being able to control me? Your own life forces is draining.”

The beast took a heavy step, shaking the entire cavern, but it did not move towards the exit.

“That’s because I used it to accelerate the corruption… We cannot wait longer! I only have 1 days left to live.”

“Morvane bade me sleep and await the day of his glorious return,” it rumbled, its contempt for the lich lord absolute. “He did not tell me I was to awaken merely to take orders from one of his lesser servants.”

It then stood, completely and utterly ignoring the furious lich who had just set it free.

Desperate, Yarte made his final, most costly gambit.

“You are correct, great Ruinhorn,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “A mere servant cannot command you. But I am not merely a servant.”

He reached a skeletal hand into his own ribcage, phasing through bone and dried flesh. When he pulled it out, he was holding a pulsating, black sphere of pure, condensed darkness.

It was a fragment of a soul, radiating an ancient and familiar power that made the Ruinhorn’s head snap to attention.

“This is not my soul,” Yarte explained, his voice strained. “It is His. A gift, given to me so that I might achieve this form and prepare the way.” He held the soul-fragment out.

“Fascinating… How can a mere lich possess a fragment of the Master’s own soul?”

“Because Lord Morvane himself granted me this apotheosis,” Yarte explained, “Without him, this form, this lich, would not exist. My purpose is to corrupt this world in his name, to make it ready for his return.”

He then laid out his proposal, the final move in his desperate game. “Help me. Lead me to Frola, help me slay the king, and I will put this soul into the next prince. We will give Lord Morvane a proper, royal vessel to inhabit when he returns.”

The Ruinhorn took a step towards the exit, the ground shaking with its purpose. “Your plan reeks of human desperation,” it declared. “But its goal is pure. The Master’s return is the only command that matters.”

It turned its newly lit crimson eyes back to Yarte.

“Very well, little lich. You shall have your war. I will lead the charge.” A low growl built in its chest.

.

.

.

Anna is trying to held the pain, Demidicus blade aimed for a thousand tiny, herding cuts in her legs.

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” Demidicus said as he effortlessly parried a lunge from one of the Maren duplicates. “But what good is it? All your sword does just cut my clothes and broke my coat.”

“Meanwhile my blade is poisonous, little Saint. One scratch is all it takes to kill you… And let’s see…”

He feinted high, forcing Anna to stumble backward over a loose rock. “Hm… 2131 little cuts? Look at you all bloody and cute…”

Anna gritted her teeth, looking disgusted at Demidicus, “I will kill you…”

He just laughed, “No matter how strong you are, if you can't use any spells, you're just a normal human in a vampire’s body. You have the power of a god, but the skills of a terrified peasant.”

The three swords stopped their physical assault and began to glow with an intense, holy radiance.

“Anna, get back!” she warned.

The swords let out a massive, unfocused pulse of pure holy light with a single, united shriek, a wave of divine energy that was intended to burn the vampire noble to the ground.

Demidicus merely lifted a hand, a black shield of pure shadow appearing before him in a swirling vortex. He grunted as the holy light struck it, the raw power pushing him back a step, but the shield held.

Anna, however, was not so fortunate. Her skin was burning and her blood was boiling in her veins,  “Maren, Stop!!”

The holy light's pain was so much worse than the stab wound that she fell to her knees. The three Marens, horrified at what they had done to their own master, flickered and then merged back into a single, terrified sword that dropped to the ground beside her.

Demidicus lowered his shadow shield, a look of ultimate triumph on his face. “You see?” he said, walking slowly towards her, his poisoned blade dripping with darkness. “Your greatest weapon is your own worst enemy. How deliciously ironic.”

He stood over her, raising the blade for the final, killing blow. “The game is over, little vampire.”

Demidicus loomed over her, the poisoned shadow blade raised for the final strike.

“You’re right, Demidicus,” she gasped. “I have no skill. But I’m a quick study.” Even on her knees, bleeding, a slow, calculating smile spread across Anna’s face.

The air in the cavern, already damp, grew heavy with sudden, unnatural humidity.

He paused, intrigued by her sudden confidence. He noticed the water vapor condensing on the stone around them. “Trying to push me into water?” he scoffed.

“A clever, but futile, tactic for a cornered rat. It won’t work on me.”

“I’ve already understood,” Anna continued, ignoring him as she looked around the vast, dark cavern.

“I know why there are barely any torches down here. It’s because during the day, this entire level can be made as bright as the surface, artificial sun with a holy radiance magic.”

Demidicus sighed, his patience wearing thin. “What is your point? Are you going to tell your little sword to turn on the lights? I’m not an idiot. I have—” He stopped.

His hand shot to the inside of his coat, then to his pockets, his expression shifting from arrogant confidence to dawning horror.

Anna’s smile widened. She slowly opened her hand, revealing the small, dark shard she had palmed during the chaos. Maren has successfully took it, “Looking for this?” she asked. She held up the veil stone.

“It’s a beautiful piece. I wonder how many humans you had to kill to make it.”

The vampire gritted his teeth, his mind racing. She was bluffing. She had to be. He had to stop the sword before she activated the sun simulation!

He focused his entire being, his every sense, on the single Ars Maren sword hovering defensively, ready to intercept it the moment it moved.

But he forgot one crucial detail. Saint X, is filled with holy radiance mana.

“No, wait…!”

It wasn't the sword that moved. It was Anna’s own hand, now radiating a faint but potent holy energy, that reached out towards a large, glowing rune on the cavern wall.

Seeing the wielder herself about to trigger the trap, Demidicus did the one thing his instincts screamed at him to do. He dissolved into mist to escape the coming light.

He flew right into the real trap.

“NIMA!!” Anna screamed.

The super-saturated air in the cavern instantly answered the call. A massive cloud of water particles coalesced from nothing, engulfing the black mist, trapping Demidicus in a swirling, inescapable sphere of pure water.

Anna collapsed onto her side, a real, mocking laugh escaping her lips. “There’s no such thing as a sun simulation, you stupid, arrogant vampire.”

From the shadows of a nearby tunnel, Nima stepped out, her hands raised. She brought them together as if crushing something small.

“Compress! Crystallization!”

The water molecules crushed in on themselves, causing the big sphere of water that held the trapped and helpless Demidicus to shrink with terrifying speed until only a single, exquisite, palm-sized blue crystal remained, and it fell to the ground. The Siren's Stone.

Maren, reverting to a single sword, zipped over to Nima. “That was amazing! You can used the water I created to do that?”

Nima picked up the small crystal, a look of wonder on her face. “I have used this to collect the souls of sailors for my grotto,” she said. “I never thought I would use it to imprison a vampire noble in a mine.”

“Thank you, Nima,” Anna breathed, lying on the ground, the pain from her wound finally overwhelming her. “You understood the plan perfectly.”

“It was my honor to be the current that carried your will, my lady,” the siren replied with a bow.

Anna tried to push herself up but the world was spinning. She was still weak, still bleeding. She collapsed back, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The victory was a hollow thing. Anna lay on the cold stone floor, the world a graying, spinning vortex of pain.

“Anna!!” Nima and Maren panicked, rushing to her side.

“Mnnaaa!! What should I do?!” Maren wailed, shifting into her small, human form. She reached out a hand to touch the gaping wound on Anna’s chest, but then pulled it back. “I can’t! I’m a holy weapon! If I touch her wound, my magic will just burn her from the inside out!”

Just as despair began to settle, the air in the cavern tore open, not with Yarte’s angry shadow, but with a brilliant, blinding portal of pure, holy golden light.

“Nyaa!!!”