Forest of Extinct Souls

The day had barely begun, but deep in this small forest near the city, the light seemed hesitant. The sun's rays struggled to pierce the thick fog that hung between the trunks. Here, the gloom was not due to the density of the trees, but to an oppressive aura that seemed to ooze from the earth itself, a manifestation of the evil creatures that haunted these places. The air was heavy, laden with the smell of burnt vegetation and sulfur, and the ground creaked under every step, revealing blackened roots and stones covered with dried moss.

The battlefield was divided into three fronts. Felix, his eyes narrowed, stood facing Silas, the Greater Lich, whose icy aura made the air around him shiver. Marx stood ready against Damien, the Dullahan, his sword already gleaming with pure energy, while Kyle found himself once again facing the Zombie Dragon, a winged colossus whose every wingbeat stirred up clouds of ash and debris.

Kyle had almost gained the upper hand against the dragon when the creature let out a guttural roar that shook the entire forest. From the void sprang some twenty skeletal wyverns, their wings tearing through the air like hungry shadows. Their shrill hisses ripped through the silence, filling the space with an unbearable dissonance.

Yet, not a hint of emotion crossed Kyle's face. His gaze, fixed and cold, followed the monsters' every move. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready for the assault—his breaths short but perfectly controlled, like that of a hunter who already knows the outcome of the fight.

Without hesitation, he charged straight at the Wyverns. The sky above the forest transformed into a field of flashes and dark silhouettes. His white lightning enveloped his body, increasing his speed and granting him almost unreal mobility. The wind whistled around him, whipping his hair and the skin on his face, while black lightning burst from his hands, striking the creatures with precision. The skeletal Wyverns, though numerous, seemed almost clumsy in the face of his methodical assault. Kyle picked them off one by one, his analytical vision plotting their paths and anticipating their attacks.

He had just taken down the last creature.

A dark flash split the air—a fireball spat out by the Zombie Dragon.

 Kyle just had time to throw himself aside. The heat grazed his shoulder, the blast ignited the nearby trees.

Skeletal wyverns were pulverized in the explosion, sacrificed like mere distractions.

Kyle understood the dragon's strategy: to use his own reinforcements as bait. His concentration redoubled. Every flying movement, every flash of lightning, every dodge became vital. He had to manage two fronts simultaneously: eliminate the wyverns trying to surround him while avoiding the Zombie Dragon's ranged attacks. The forest around him seemed to disappear under the violence of the battle: splintered trunks, swirling ash, and the smell of burnt wood mingled with the electric tension of the lightning.

Every breath burned in his chest, every movement demanded surgical precision, but Kyle showed no hesitation. In the chaos, the dragon's breath resonated like a drum, hammering home his determination. His eyes, fixed on the creature, shone with an icy determination: he could no longer back down, every second counted, and the entire forest became the scene of this aerial duel, both deadly and hypnotizing.

Several meters away,

the duel between Damien and Marx had reached an almost surreal level. Their blades clashed with such speed and precision that each blow seemed like a sentence in a silent dialogue. Marx, using his mastery of blade handling and telekinesis, managed to maintain distance from the Dullahan, forcing him to retreat at times. Each movement was a deadly dance, each breath a challenge to his balance.

Yet, despite his many feats, Marx was merely human. His body, still bruised from the previous shock, was beginning to fail. His vision was blurring. The contours of the battlefield were melting into a hazy veil. Every muscle betrayed him a little more.

The danger was palpable. Damien approached, blade raised, ready to deliver the final blow.

The air vibrated with tension; the metallic echoes of swords resounded like thunder in the charred forest. 

Damien raised his blade, ready to deliver the final blow, but his arm suddenly froze, as if paralyzed by an invisible force. This blockage came neither from a spell nor from Marx's power; it was Damien's own body refusing to cooperate, as if his own will were in conflict with what he wanted to do. In that brief moment, Marx sensed a glimmer of opportunity and took a step back before launching a counterattack.

Marx's blade slammed against Damien's with a metallic clatter, but the Dullahan's force shattered the weapon into a shimmering shard of metal. Marx's ragged breath lifted his hair and stirred the dust at his feet. Damien, however, paused for a moment, surprised by the intensity of Marx's gaze. The young man, despite his fatigue, the blood trickling from his wounds, and his numb limbs, advanced with an almost supernatural determination, ready to continue even with his bare hands.

 An almost palpable silence fell. Damien, moved by the young swordsman's tenacity and courage, wanted to break off the fight, to give this prodigy a chance, but his body refused to obey. His legs moved forward on their own, his arm rising toward Marx, blade poised to strike. The air around them crackled with concentrated energy; each breath seemed to defy gravity.

Marx, sensing Damien's strength approaching, clenched his fist, channeling the mana in his veins, feeling the energy vibrate along his arm into a closed fist. A shiver of adrenaline ran down his spine. He moved forward in turn, each step echoing defiance in the silent forest. Their gazes met, intense, unwavering, each ready to challenge the other to the bitter end.

The confrontation, more than a duel of strength, had become a battle of wills. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath: ash swirled gently in the air, the morning light cast ghostly reflections on the black trees, and the smell of metal and burnt dust filled their nostrils. In that suspended moment, it was clear that victory would be measured not only in strength or magic, but in determination and heart.

The duel was reaching its climax. Marx, every breath short and every muscle trembling, managed to find an opening in Damien's guard. In a precise, almost instinctive movement, his blade slashed through the air with a perfect trajectory... and struck directly at the Dullahan's heart. A heavy silence fell over the battlefield; the roar of combat gave way to a suspended breath.

Damien staggered, his massive figure reeling from the impact. His eyes, which had always been impassive, lit up with an almost human glow, a mixture of surprise and admiration. He smiled, a smile that seemed to contain both pride and satisfaction, and murmured in a voice that echoed through the ashen forest:

"Divine intervention... that's it... there is no other explanation."

Around him, a luminous halo emerged, materializing a dark blade, a symbol of what legend called absolute control over a weapon. His words were both a revelation and a farewell:

"At least... I'm glad I came back to life to see this..."

Then, with a breath of almost sacred wind, his body dissipated in wisps of black and silver smoke, evaporating into the scorched forest air. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the smell of ash still hung in the air, heavy and penetrating, while silence gradually returned, broken only by the cracking of dead branches and the panting breaths of the still-standing fighters.

 Marx, exhausted beyond human limits, collapsed to the ground, his hands stained with blood and soot, his body broken but his heart filled with silent pride. He had accomplished the impossible: vanquishing one of the most legendary beings, and feeling the materialization of a power few had ever been fortunate enough to glimpse. Every breath was an effort, every heartbeat echoing like a drum in the silence of the devastated forest.

The sight left by Damien, vanished into the smoke and dying light, floated in people's minds like a memory etched forever: the image of a legendary creature, of power incarnate, who had recognized Marx's strength and mastery before disappearing into the ether.

 A few steps away,

In a clearing bathed in a pale light filtered through the mist, Silas, the High Lich, and Felix, the former priest, continued to discuss in a strangely calm tone. The atmosphere, once heavy with tension, had transformed into a sort of fragile, almost intimate bubble. It was like a student listening to his master, or an old friend confiding in someone for the last time.

Silas's deep, raspy voice became more human when he spoke of his former life. He recalled his memories of the Holy Empire, the rituals he had known, the rigidity of the dogmas... but also small anecdotes, banal yet poignant, which reminded him that he had been a man before becoming a damned creature. Felix, arms crossed and looking detached, occasionally nodded. But his eyes, bright despite the shadows, betrayed an unexpected admiration.

After a silence, Silas turned slightly backward. His blue-flamed skull tilted in the direction Damien and Marx were standing. His gaze darkened.

"It's time," he said, his voice ringing like a death knell.

Felix sighed and replied calmly, "All right. Make it quick... and try not to hurt me too much."

A thin grin played across the lich's gaunt lips.

"Understood... And please know that it was a pleasure talking to you."

Felix didn't reply. He simply closed his eyes, as if to shut himself out, refusing to see the moment when Silas would end this semblance of respite. His lips trembled imperceptibly, but no words came out.

Then, instead of going behind him to strike, Silas stopped in front of him.

 "Open your eyes, Brother Felix."

Intrigued, the priest complied. Before him, the lich stretched out his bony hands, enveloped in dark flames.

"Cast the blessing of purification upon me... for one last time."

Felix's heart leaped. He shook his head.

"You know very well it won't work..."

But already, their hands had joined. Silas's cold, rigid skin contrasted with the flickering warmth of Felix's palms. A soft light rippled between them, tentative at first, then growing. A sacred circle appeared on the ground, its runes engraved with purity trembling in the air like invisible bells.

Silas began to glow. But this time, the light wasn't rejected by his body. On the contrary... it was absorbing him, engulfing him. His bones began to crack, to crumble into glittering dust.

"What... what's going on?!" Felix cried, breathless.

The lich slowly looked up at him, and for the first time, his gaze seemed free.

"It seems... I've lost our confrontation... congratulations on your victory."

Felix stood frozen, unable to comprehend. All he could do was stare at the inevitable. Silas's form was disintegrating, piece by piece, consumed by the holy light.

"It was... an honor to have known you..." the lich's voice whispered, now trembling, almost human. 

A dazzling glare engulfed him, and his body dissipated in a sacred halo, leaving behind only a trail of luminous dust carried by the wind.

Silence returned abruptly. Felix, still frozen, felt his chest tighten. Only a few hours... and yet, the loss left a bitter taste, an emptiness. Perhaps grief. Perhaps something else he refused to name.

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then knelt down. His hands clasped mechanically, his lips murmured a prayer for Silas's soul, even though he knew no god would listen to an undead man. It was paltry. But it was all he could offer.

After a long silence, he stood up, brushed the dust from his clothes, and continued on his way. His gaze, however, remained fixed for a moment on the luminous void where Silas had disappeared.

 Then he turned away, his jaw clenched, and went in search of the others.

The charred forest seemed to vibrate under the incessant assault. The zombie dragon spat its dark fireballs, while the skeleton Wyverns appeared from all sides, their jaws snapping in morbid silence. Kyle, suspended in the air, could feel every muscle screaming with the effort. Exhaustion burned his legs and arms, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His white lightning crackled around him, increasing his speed and strength, but each burst of light drained more of his energy. A force field surrounded him like a fragile cocoon, detecting the attacks, but even this protection was beginning to tremble under the pressure.

The Wyverns launched a series of frontal attacks, claws and jaws striking with precision, while behind him, the zombie dragon pounded the sky with fireballs. Each impact was a blast of heat that seared his skin through his protection. His force field was already flickering, quivering like glass about to shatter. Kyle felt his heart pound, his veins pulsing with adrenaline, every breath becoming an effort.

Then, a flash of lucidity crossed his exhausted mind.

"Might as well risk it," he thought.

His eyes fixed on the zombie dragon, a huge, rotting black silhouette that seemed to feed on fear itself. It propelled itself forward, closely followed by the Wyverns. The air vibrated around it, charged with electricity and the smell of burning flesh.

Reaching range, Kyle reinforced his force field to withstand the dragon's frontal assaults and fiery breath simultaneously. The barrier trembled under the power of the attacks, crackling lights running across its surface. Each second seemed like an eternity. To gain a little respite, he unleashed concentrated spears of light in all directions, which exploded on the enemies like so many fleeting beacons. The creatures retreated for a moment, allowing Kyle to breathe a few more moments, his body saturated with exertion.

 Then, concentrating with all his might, he fused the Black Lightning and the White Lightning in his hand, creating a sphere of unstable energy, half light, half darkness, that trembled and crackled with chaotic power. The wind roared around him, his hair and clothes whipped by the storm of energy. With a final gesture, he released the entire sphere. A wave of shadow and light swept across the sky and ground, engulfing the zombie dragon and the skeleton Wyverns in a blinding whirlwind. Metallic shrieks and screams rent the air as the devastating energy consumed everything in its path.

When the wave dissipated, Kyle felt his body collapse. He fell heavily to the ground, flat on his back, arms outstretched, panting, his heart still beating like a drum. The forest around him was in ruins, the sky illuminated by the last glimmers of his magic. The taste of effort and victory, mixed with pain, filled his mouth. He let out a raspy breath, and a wide, satisfied smile lit up his face, a silent reflection of his determination and success.

Then, exhausted beyond measure, he let his eyes close. The world went black, and Kyle fell into a well-deserved sleep, his body seared with energy, but his soul filled with a strange contentment.

The heavy silence of the forest was broken only by the rustling of leaves and the cracking of trees blackened by battle. Minutes, perhaps hours, had passed since Kyle had slipped into unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, a dull burning pierced his chest, but he realized with shock that his wounds were now nothing more than a memory, thin pink scars on his skin. The air he inhaled smelled of ash and damp wood, almost suffocating.

To his right, someone lay, breathing evenly: Marx, fast asleep, still marked by the exhaustion of the fight. Further away, a motionless figure stood, scanning the dark horizon. Felix. The pale light filtering through the foliage reflected on his stern face.

Kyle sat up, a dull ache running through his muscles, as if his body still remembered the zombie dragon. Felix approached, his heavy footsteps crunching on the twigs.

"You're finally awake," he said in a neutral voice.

Kyle forced a tired smile, then sat up, placing a hand on the cold ground.

"You're the one who healed me... Thank you."

But Felix looked away, as if his words meant nothing. His silence weighed more than any answer. Kyle, embarrassed, stood up and walked toward the edge of the forest, his eyes scanning the threatening darkness that gnawed at the afternoon.

A few minutes later, Marx groaned as he woke from his sleep. His eyes widened as he saw his body intact, without a single wound, as if the blood and pain had been nothing more than a nightmare. He saw Kyle and Felix standing side by side, and a look of relief softened his features.

"You're alive... that reassures me," he breathed, moving closer, a genuine smile on his lips.

"Okay," Felix replied dryly.

"I'm glad you're okay too," Kyle added, more warmly.

Marx bowed his head slightly.

"So... the danger is over?"

Felix looked up at the sky. Marx followed suit, and his heart sank. Despite the late afternoon, the clouds obscured the world as if it were the dead of night. A veil of darkness stretched, oppressive, almost tangible. 

"See for yourself," Felix said coldly.

Marx clenched his fists.

"What's left for us to do?"

Kyle took a deep breath, his jaw clenched.

"Find the king... and defeat him."

Felix let out a bitter chuckle.

"Without me. I've already done enough in this battle."

Kyle turned his head toward him, his eyes shining with determination.

"I'd like to do it alone... but obviously we have to work together."

"My answer is still no," Felix said, his tone as sharp as a blade.

He turned away from Marx, his gaze even harder.

"Now that you're awake, I can deactivate my protective circle. Stand by."

As soon as he spoke, a vibrating wave rippled across the ground. The circle of runes, invisible until then, scattered into the air like bursts of dying light. And immediately, a collective roar rose in the distance. Hundreds of shuffling footsteps were already echoing, the ground shaking under the armada of undead rushing toward them.

Kyle gritted his teeth. At his side, Marx summoned a short, dark, shimmering blade, as if forged from a star fragment. Kyle's eyes widened.

"Impressive..."

Marx gave a tentative smile.

"Thank you. It's a new ability... I'm still not quite sure how to use it."

Behind him, Felix leaned calmly against a tree, his arms crossed.

"I'll watch you do this. After healing you and maintaining this circle of protection for so long, I'm running low on energy."

"I understand," admitted Marx.

But already, a grotesque figure leaped from the shadows. An undead creature with sagging flesh, its eyes glowing with a morbid gleam. Marx stopped arguing and charged forward, blade raised, his battle cry piercing the oppressive silence.

Kyle raised his hand, his fingers lighting up with arcane electricity.

"Then let's go!"

Their two forces unleashed themselves in perfect synchronization: Marx struck with suppressed rage, each blow releasing a metallic flash, while Kyle unleashed lightning and light to cover his rear. The corpses collapsed one by one in a din of broken bones and charred flesh.

And in the shade of the tree, Felix watched wordlessly, his gaze dark and unfathomable, as if he were already searching for the next step in a game whose rules only he knew.

The last monster collapsed with a foul gurgle, and silence fell for a moment, broken only by the rapid beating of their hearts.

"You're finally finished," Felix affirmed, remaining motionless.

He approached slowly and raised his hand. A soft green glow enveloped Marx and Kyle. The benevolent warmth of the spell made the cuts disappear, soothed the dull ache in their muscles. Kyle inhaled deeply, feeling a burst of freshness restore his strength.

"Thank you," he said simply, sincerely.

 Marx, for his part, wavered for a moment. His gaze calmed, his breathing steadied. The murderous aura that had enveloped him faded, and the sword he had conjured evaporated in a shower of luminous ash.

Felix, staring into the distance, raised his hand and pointed in a direction.

"It's that way. If you move forward, you'll run into him. The monarch."

Kyle frowned.

"How do you know that?"

The priest didn't look away, his face impassive.

"He probably looks like a jumble of souls and carcasses, a mix of human and dragon."

His words sounded like a prophecy.

Marx simply nodded.

"Thank you, Felix. Without you, we wouldn't be here." 

Then he set off, his boots crunching on the ground stained with dust and necrotic blood.

Kyle didn't take his eyes off Felix.

"I repeat my question... where are you getting all this information from?"

A silence. Felix met his eyes, a faint, but unenthusiastic smile on his lips.

"I have my sources."

"Hm... okay," Kyle finally said before following Marx.

As Felix turned away to head back toward town, his legs froze. As if his steps refused to go any further. A shiver ran down his spine. And the words he'd exchanged with Silas came flooding back to him. He inhaled sharply, and without understanding how, he found himself already catching up with Marx and Kyle... then striding past them.

"Wait... you don't want to go back?" Marx asked, surprised.

Felix smiled almost cynically.

"If we get this over with, I can go back to the city... and enjoy even more of what the city will offer for my heroic deed."

"I don't know what made you change your mind..." Kyle began.

But before he could finish, Felix accelerated, his footsteps slapping against the parched earth. Kyle and Marx exchanged a glance before running to catch up.

Very quickly, the air became thicker, stickier, as if each breath burned their throats. A rotting stench filled their nostrils. The surrounding trees were nothing more than gray carcasses, their gaunt branches cracking in the wind. The cracked ground exuded the stench of death.

Each step brought them closer to an invisible oppression. The sky itself seemed to darken. 

Then, in the distance, a shudder.

The darkness stirred.

First, dislocated silhouettes: zombies with hollow eye sockets, ghouls with sagging skin, skeletons armed with rusty blades. Behind them, Wyverns with bony wings spread like webs, their shrill cries piercing the air. And floating above them, translucent specters, their faces frozen in eternal agony.

And behind this army... he appeared.

The monarch.

A colossal abomination. A draconic body with torn wings, formed from a tangle of pulsating flesh, broken bones, and screaming souls whose faces appeared and then disappeared into the mass. Its eyes, two livid embers, slowly opened and stared at the three adventurers. Its roar made the earth vibrate. 

Felix blanched, taking a step back.

"Finally... I think I've changed my mind. It's best if I go home."

He was about to turn on his heel, but Kyle looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes.

"No way we're running away. This is the moment... the big epic battle. A classic of the genre."

Marx clenched his fists, his hands trembling slightly.

"...I understand, Felix. I'm scared too."

The priest turned his head towards him, his pride stung.

"And who told you I was scared?"

A moment of silence. Three men facing the impossible.

Marx summoned two short swords in a flash of energy.

 Kyle raised his arms, his body illuminating with an unstable aura: on one side, the crackling black glow, on the other, white lightning, his body floating slightly above the ground.

Felix, his eyes closed, stretched out his hands. A shower of sacred symbols descended on his companions, granting them new strength and light.

Kyle took a deep breath. A clear thought dawned on him.

This was why he had wanted Felix with him. Not for morality, not for faith. But for symbolism.

The swordsman.

The mage.

The priest.

The perfect trinity of RPGs.

And together, they would face the horror.

…

The night was heavy and silent, stifling. Under the dark canopy of the forest, the adventurers advanced slowly, their flickering torches casting golden halos that mingled with the darkness like drops of light in a black ocean. Their footsteps crushed the still-damp dead leaves, each crack echoing like an invisible threat.

The miasma that had prevented access to the forest had disappeared, but the absence of attacks, growls, or even the slightest rustle of an animal made the air even more oppressive. It was an unusual silence, almost supernatural, and the further they advanced, the more this emptiness awakened fear in their stomachs. Several glanced nervously around them, gripping their weapons, panting.

Then, suddenly, their torches revealed a ravaged expanse: an entire section of the forest reduced to gray and black ash. The trees were nothing more than charred skeletons, rising like accusing shadows toward the starry sky. The ground, still warm in places, exuded a pungent odor of burnt wood mingled with that of dried blood. Everyone froze, petrified. The same thought crossed their minds: what disaster could have occurred here?

No one dared speak. The silence weighed like a burden, so heavy that some adventurers began to back away, murmuring that it would be better to return to the city. But the most daring moved forward despite the fear tightening their throats. Curiosity drove them to understand, even if each step seemed to bring them closer to a truth they dreaded.

After long minutes, their torches finally illuminated a form lying on the ground. A human silhouette. Hearts pounding, they rushed forward, weapons in hand, before discovering... an unconscious young man. His chest rose slightly: he was still breathing.

Barely time to recover from their surprise before two more figures appeared in the flickering light. Three young men lay there, scattered across the ravaged area. Skinned, exhausted, but alive.

A shudder ran through the group of adventurers. Relief was immediate, but tinged with dizziness: what battle could have left behind such a field of desolation and returned only these three survivors?

Without wasting any time, the strongest men hoisted the lifeless bodies onto their shoulders. The torches resumed their slow dance through the night. Not a word was exchanged: each felt they had just witnessed a mystery greater than themselves.

 And so Kyle, Marx, and Felix were brought back to town, unconscious but still alive—the silent survivors of a battle whose story no one yet dared to tell.