Written by: Epicstu Wyyvernwriter

Pip looked straight up into the sky from atop Mount Crossing, a sacred peak where the first of his Religion’s prophets spoke with the Living God himself long ago. The rain fell heavy as he prayed to that God, “Oh Lord of the Living, grant me the strength to put your enemies to my blade. For there should only be you, My Lord. There is no room in this Universe for any other, but you.” He pulled a pair of binoculars from his bag and measured out the distance between himself and his target in his head, “Aroamourne, you will fall this day.” He put the binoculars away and loosened a pair of toggled strings from his armored robes before pulling them and unleashing a glider decorated with religious symbols. The wind picked up behind him, and he pushed off the top of Mount Crossing beginning his flight. He looked at the lightning of the storm he flew under with a raised eyebrow, “Purple? That’s new. Pretty though.” He was armed with his massive Blade, a Medallion with the Sigil of his God, and an Incense Burner that held the very Breath of his God. From high above the city he could see where the guards were posted atop the walls, but not where the Necromancer was. He would need to take him out if he hoped to purge the city successfully.

*          *

“Everyone knows, and the Village Leaders are preparing a defensive strategy,”  Harrissa had just gotten back from warning the townspeople. Unlike the race men, the Elven people never hate Death or the Dead of their world. Instead, they treated the Dead with the same respect they gave the living and accepted Death when it was their time to die, and this was not their time to die. “The Village Leaders request an audience.”

“And an Audience they shall receive,” Michael moved the headstones of Aroamourne’s Graveyard into an odd formation, with surprising ease.

“You’re a lot stronger than I’d thought you’d be,” Harrissa commented.

“The secret to Necromancy is Willpower,” Michael began to explain. “You must surrender your entire being to it, a Necromancer is only as strong as his Willpower.” He grunted as he nudged the final Headstone into place, “thanks, guys,” he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled. “Also the Souls to whom these Headstones belong helped out too.”

“I don’t see anyone,” Harrissa looked around frantically.

“Of course not,” Michael laughed, “You aren’t looking through your Will, you’re looking through your eyes.”

“What are you doing?” Harrissa asked.

“When the Dead found me, I was alone. They taught me the meaning of family and friendship, and the true value of Life,” a single tear slid slowly down Michael’s cheek as he smiled in remembrance of his past and the Dead who loved him when no one else would. “However it was not they who taught me how to utilize the Dead for defense,” he began drawing lines on the ground that connected all the Headstones to a single point in the center of the odd Sigil.

“I’ve never seen that one before,” Harrissa’s eyes grew wide with interest, “It’s nothing close to anything we Elves know.”

“That is because he will not have been born yet, nor will he be born into this or any other World or Realm that already exists,” Michael replied as he placed a single golden and glowing feather at the center of the Sigil. “Unfortunately, due to that fact, It will take seven days to summon him,” The strange Sigil began to glow with odd magics of black white and blue coloration. “Alrighty then, take me to your Leader’s, we have work to do.”

*          *

The rain fell heavy over Aromourne as purple lightning streaked the skies above, “You’re friend?” asked one of the guards standing watch with Michael as he pointed to the sky.

“No, pretty though,” Michael replied, “still keep an eye on it just in case it’s unfriendly.”

“Michael,” said another guard who was looking through a pair of binoculars. “You’re going to want to see this,” he handed the binoculars to Michael.

Michael looked toward’s where the Elven guard pointed, “There you are.”

“How is his glider still aloft in this weather?” the guard questioned.

“Because the Living God exists, Elf, and blesses the glider for him among other things,” Michael handed the Binoculars back to guard, “prepare yourself for a fight.” He jumped from the top of the Wall to a rooftop nearby and began following his old rival using a cloak of spirits to hide from the Warpriest’s vision.

From high above, Pipe picked his landing spot carefully. Pulling the toggled strings on his armored robes a second time folded the glider into his back, causing him to drop. He dropped directly in the center of the city, but was caught mid-air by Michael and forced through the wall of the third floor of a building there. “Necromancer,” Pip said the word with disgust as he slowly got to his feet.

“Warpriest,” Michael replied in the same manner.

Pipe swung his sword, but before it could strike down Michael, a Geist in the exact likeness of the Warpriest blocked the attack, “What?”

“Like my newest friend?” Michael crossed his arms and gave Pip a stern look, “I found her among the Dead of the last Elven village you massacred. Your relics made her lose her own name and even her original appearance, but she can mimic any others. I call her Mirrors, the Many.”

Mirrors smiled at Pip with his own face. Pip backed off a few steps readied his Incense burner which was attached to his robes via a long chain and rushed at Mirrors with a massive sword swing that Mirrors dodged. Instantly, Pipe threw his Incense burner at where Mirrors would land, and the Geist disappeared into ashes. “Is that all you got?” He focused his attention back to Michael.

Michael smiled, “you really need to stop focusing on me.”

Pip dodge as Mirror’s image of his Blade fell where he had been, then Mirror’s image of his Incense burners flew at him from a completely different direction and wrapped around him. Then Mirrors threw Pip across the Village back to its open gate. Pip rolled to a stop and immediately got back up, ready for whatever came next. His back was to the open front gate and marsh beyond. Before him stood a small army of Elven men and women, armed with whatever they could find. “This is it, this is all you have to throw at me,” again Mirror’s image of Pip’s Incense burners wrapped around him, but this time they could not move him. He pulled the false chains forcing Mirrors to him at which point he drove his Blade through her gut and stabbed his Blade into the ground to hold the Geist there. “Almost too easy,” he swung his incense burners back and forth over and over again slowly as he stepped forward at a leisurely pace, “Now, Mirrors was it? You will watch as they all meet your fate.”

Michael jumped down from a rooftop and landed between Pip and the Elves trying to hold back the Living God’s Breath as it spewed from the Incense burners, “everyone back up! You do not want to breathe this stuff in.” The Living God’s Breath was too strong and broke through Michael’s defense knocking him out cold as it crept towards Harrissa and the Elves of Aroamourne. Purple lightning so brilliant and beautiful it could only be described as that of the kingdom of Heaven’s then struck between the Elves and the Warpriest purging the Living God’s Breath. A Sword with beauty equal to the lightning’s appeared, stabbed blade-first into the ground, there. Pip took a step back, and Harrissa quickly grabbed Michael, pulling back to the Elves who immediately tended to his unconscious state.

“Pull back and let us handle this,” said an angelic voice from above.

“My fires are burning hot,” said another voice from below, “You do belong to me Warpriest.” Paw-like hands of white fur and flame formed and gripped the Sword’s hilt as paw-like feet of white fur and fire built from the ground. Fur and fire of Beige formed a body with Ears larger than any Elf’s. The six foot tall, excluding the ears, the Fennec Fox of fur and flame pushed his Sword forward creating a trench in the ground and sending a wave of His fire and the Sword’s lightning at Pip.

Pip took the hit and shrugged it off before lifting his Blade to point at the Fox before him, “You must be Deceit.”

“We are,” the Fox replied. The Warpriest and the Wyyvern Knight stared each other down and readied themselves for mortal combat.

*          *

Suddenly Victor Wares rushes toward you, “Hold it right there reader, you almost missed something. Let’s rewind to the beginning of this episode, shall we?”

*         *

Pip looked straight up into the sky from atop Mount Crossing, a sacred peak where the first of his Religion’s prophets spoke with the Living God himself long ago. The rain fell heavy as he prayed to that God, “Oh Lord of the Living, grant me the strength to put your enemies to my blade. For there should only be you, My Lord. There is no room in this Universe for any other, but you.”

“I agree,” spoke the Living God from far away as He awoke from his slumber. “There should only be me, all others shall be purged,” He used the planets around him as stepping stones, “For I, the Lord your God am a jealous God and I will punish all those who bow to any other.” He lumbered from one galaxy to the next as he made the seven days crossing to the world from which the prayer was spoken.