Fire

“Crossfire reporting. The Springfield Cemetery is a hotbed of necrotic energy. I’ve dispelled a few enchantments placed on the graves of weak Abyssals. My hypothesis so far is that the skeletons the necromancer creates are made even cheaper by using these as blueprints. I’ve seen some framework set up, but nothing that would create the loop of necrotic harnessing we’ve feared. Encountered no resistance ye-” Crossfire was interrupted when he walked into the domain of a barrier. Resuming the recording, he continued, “A barrier has been set up near the mausoleums. Probably the center of production. I’m going to enter it and collapse it.”

Dozens of skeletal hands burst from the ground, and Crossfire stabbed his greatsword into the earth beneath him. “Come to me - Flare Plate!” Chains erupted from the ground and enshrouded him before being burnt to a crisp by a massive pillar of flame, revealing the dark man clad in brilliant red armor.

Legions of undead sprouted from the ground, each infused with some sort of elemental ability. A hail of earth, ice, and flame rained against him, but had no effect on his armor. “There’s only peons protecting the production, I’ll have no trouble. Crossfire, out.”

He moved to slip the phone into his armor’s pocket space, but instead it was shot out of his hand and shattered by a stray icicle. “Oh, you’ll pay for that.”

Ripping his sword from the ground, he gave it a single hefty swing, a crescent of fire erupting in its wake and travelling forward, burning all enemies in front of him to a crisp. “Piece of cake.”

He started to swing his sword around again, but was interrupted by a blast of necrotic fire to the chest. Though it didn’t penetrate his armor, the impact pushed him back and broke his concentration. A lich rose from the ground, hands shrouded in green flame. “You… cannot leave.”

“Didn’t plan on it, buddy.” Crossfire’s sword slowly shrunk down to the size of a longsword, and he pulled a great red shield out of his armor’s pocket space. “You, on the other hand, I’m giving an express ticket to the Dream.”

“You will rot in the ground!” The Lich hissed, launching a stream of necrotic fire at its enemy.

Crossfire put his shield forward, the fire deflecting off it and leaving no visible damage. He advanced steadily, longsword aflame.

Strength walked through the compound the necromancer had built in their cave barrier using Fateweaver techniques stolen from the minds of a few unfortunate victims. When he had first arrived, there were simple rooms made of rock with exposed electrical wiring running between them. Now, it looked more like a modern workspace. As he walked into Nairis’ office, he saw a chess board on her desk.

He looked around the new room, seeing the rich oak bookshelves lining the walls and dark green carpeting. “You’ve copied The Magician’s study?”

“He has style. It looked comfortable… before you destroyed it, that is. Sit down, play a game with me,” Nairis commanded, and he was **** to do her bidding. He sat down in the chair and considered the fresh board before him, and what move to make first as white.

“We could spar instead, I’m not much for grandiose tactics,” Strength suggested, moving a pawn two spaces forward. Nairis laughed at his suggestion.

“Your power means less than you think,” Nairis replied, moving a black pawn forward, “your chances at this are far greater.”

“Even the power you’ve granted me?” Strength asked, moving another pawn forward, to protect his previous expenditure.

“What would be the point if I did not save the best for myself?” Nairis replied with a tight-lipped smile, developing her bishop. “You have a question for me. Ask it.”

“Why are you bothering with Springfield? There are easier and more populous places to establish a base in America, or even Europe. The Rider-Waites are putting much of their focus on America. I wouldn’t want to compete with them,” Strength explained, freeing his Queen to move throughout the board.

“America was a simple choice. You are biased. The Rider-Waites are powerful, but they also spread themselves thin. Your memories show that even with their teleportation magics, they have difficulty concentrating their power,” Nairis explained, staring across her desk at him. “Springfield was a happy accident. That girl you disposed of was my first host in a long time, and I learned much about the city from her life. I also learned it to be the perfect target.”

“How so?”

“The weakest branch of the Order of the Golden Rose resides within this city. An immature Warden and an old Warden-Lord. Many smaller guilds are trying to stake their claim here, and they are the perfect prey to become part of my legion. Your silly little guild establishing a base here was pure luck, but when they’re all overwhelmed, we’ll have a stronghold that is far removed from other larger abyssal influences but can move across Earth and the surrounding Kingdoms just by walking into a mirror. Then our influence grows, capturing city after city until America is ours.”

“Surely you don’t propose we prey on mundanes? That’s a good way to get every Abyssal and mundane organization on Earth knocking on our door. You don’t have the power to turn them all away,” Strength said, by now hardly paying attention to the chess game. He captured her bishop, and was shocked to see her knight then capture his queen.

“I won’t need to. Any who draw near will be corrupted by their own desires. Our only problem then would be the Golden Rose. Their pesky blessing prevents any of my influence from affecting their mages and soldiers. Thus, killing as many as possible in our first attack will deplete their resources, while ours only grow.” Nairis sat back, a smug smile on her face. “Go now, intercept the intruder. I’ve seen enough from you.”

Batting aside a green fireball with his shield, Crossfire lunged forward and sliced the lich’s left arm off. The creature hissed in pain and launched a lance of necromantic energy toward the pyromantic knight, who deflected it with his sword.

“You will never win!” the lich roared, sinking into the ground. Eight shadows appeared around him, and out of them rose eight identical images of the lich, all ready to roast him alive.

“I’ve been told that a lot,” Crossfire replied, leaping into the air in the center of the circle and putting his shield away. “You’d be the first one right!”

“Die!”

More emerald flames flooded toward him, and he slid his ironclad index finger over the center of his blade. A swirling blaze surrounded him, absorbing all the fire around him and growing larger. Releasing his grip on his blade, the improvised shield erupted outwards, bathing the entire barrier in a brilliant incandescence and destroying the lich and its seven illusions.

Sheathing his blade, he punched through the stone door that led deeper underground. As he was let out into the cavernous underbelly, he saw a violent mass of black necrotic energy, kept contained by sigils made of bone. “Really wish I could take a picture of this.”

Bones littered the floor, and they slowly drew together, clicking into place and showing the outline of a great winged beast, fragments of skull coming together like puzzle pieces to take the form of an undead dragon. “This is nonsense! There hasn’t been a dragon in America in hundreds of years!”

The dragon, uncaring of his disbelief, let out a ferocious roar despite lacking lungs. A bolt of lightning surged out of its mouth, colliding directly with his chestplate. The instant the attack struck, his armor melded together into one big piece of metal, allowing the lightning to pass through it harmlessly to the floor below. By the time he was ready to move again, the segments had separated.

Every second I’m here is another second hostile reinforcements have to arrive. I need to kill this thing, destroy a sigil, and get the fuck out of here. Unsheathing his blade, he sprinted forward toward the dragon. It swiped at him, and he slid below its great bony claws, thrusting his sword upwards into the underside of the beast’s jaw. “Crossfire Injection!”

Flames poured out of the tip of his sword and filled the inside of the dragon’s body, blackening the bones therein. Rearing upward, the dragon blew him back with a few beats of his bony wings, the overwhelming winds picking him up off the ground and slamming him into a nearby stone wall. There he lay, embedded inside.

The dragon approached, and his vision swam as he looked onward at his foe. It thrust a single bony claw at him, and the attack screeched off his armor, knocking him loose, rubble falling all around him.

Rolling out of the way of another lightning bolt, he sprung to his feet and sprinted toward his sword. It floated up into his hands, and he used it to parry a swipe of the dragon’s tail.

The beast let out another roar, the shrapnel on the floor rising into the air. Stone and bone alike hailed on him at bullet speeds, pushing him back as he grit his teeth.

“I didn’t live this long… just to be killed by something like you!” Crossfire let out a roar of his own, his armor fading away as his sword grew. The debris rained on his body, tiny cuts littering the litany of scars already present. The blood-red aura around him fed into his blade as it grew, its size rivaling the dragon. “Flare Blade - Giant Slayer!”

Bringing his sword down, he cut the undead dragon clean in half, the reanimated monstrosity immediately going dormant. Crossfire fell to his knees, his sword shrinking to a dagger as his armor coalesced around him once again. “Done…”

I’ve breached their defenses and killed their guards. If I leave now, no doubt it’ll be twice as fortified on the return. I have to take care of this now. Destroying one of the sigils should release all of that energy… but chances are the uncontained energy will explode outwards. He walked toward the four bone sigils, each a tower three times his height and twice as wide, a structure comparable to enormous dreamcatchers.

Swirling beams emanated from each sigil to the center. “Flare Plate - Bulwark Form!”

Crossfire stabbed his sword into the ground again, and his armor bulked up around him. Thicker plates seared on instantly, his sword a zweihander when pulled out. He hugged the entrance, as far from his target as possible. “Crossfire fissure!”

Fire exploded out of his blade in a great vertical slash, cracking the ground beneath him and sending a volcanic eruption forward. Lava spilled out, coating the nearest sigil and making the bones fall apart and turn to ash. “...and done.”

Even a hundred meters away, the resulting necrotic explosion threw Crossfire off his feet, battering him against the stone staircase behind him. He felt the negative energies seep through his armor, piercing his skin. The necrotic energy drained his life away, and still he smiled. “That’s taken care of. I need to get back and report in, there were no signs there would be so much necrotic energy stored here. Enough to raise an undead army.”

A shadow was cast over him, blocking the moonlight that seeped through the entrance to the mausoleum. Steadying himself on the hilt of his sword, he looked up and saw a giant towering over him.