Chapter 4 Part 3: A Pathetic End

The Paldin stepped into the charge feinting with his great sword as if he aimed to cut the dwarf vampire in two. The undead Duke took the bait slamming the one handed weak strike down with a mighty blow from his howling polearm. The halberd howled as the plasma resting on the blade scorched its metal hide. Taking advantage of his opponent’s imbalance after thrusting his entire body into the blow, Xavos passed under the undead dwarf’s guard while holding Juradill to hold down the wolf halberd on his crossguard. In the other hand the old veteran from countless battles prepared a novice spell that none-the-less was devastating to the undead while not being taxing on his magical reserves. The Paladin released the spell just as he felt a meaty impact on the dwarf’s skull against his armored palm.

The sound of a rams horn echoed in the destroyed feasting hall as the vampire’s eyes were burnt from the inside out. The unholy consumption from their depths gone forever in flash of blinding starlight. Without missing a beat Xavos ignored the pitiful cries of the cringing Duke, and smashed the pommel of his sword into Ure’s nose destroying his face in a splash of fresh blood. A testament to the vampire’s many victims this day, as the undead vampires did not produce their own blood. Any in their body was rotting away unless they were freshly fed. That would have been the end of the contest if not for the last hound dragging his master back before the Paladin could cut the wench down where he trembled.

A wail went up from the fiend as tears were turned to gas in the intense light still burning in Ure’s eyes. The Duke could see his demise was at hand, and much like many a lackey of evil lost all his nerve at the imminent arrival of his judgement. The Arch Paladin was already in motion chasing down his cowering foe knowing the self centered nonsense the monster would spout.

“It’s not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair! Everyone bullied me! It’s not my fault I’m this way! You’re a monster like all the Paladins!” Whined and groaned the fiend who summoned every thrall and servant he had gained over his bitter undeath life draining his power and will in a rush. This time Xavos put power to Juradill till the blade shown so bright with burning plasma and light that staring too long would cause temporary blindness. Each cut now would cleave through the toughest of armor and burn through the terra itself. Xavos cleaved the endless variety of materializing undead slaves and spirits with massive smooth arks as he cut a path to his foe. Judgement burning in his good eye as bright as his sword.

As every horror came from their dark holes in the fabric of reality they were cut down by holy light, and the fires of the heavens. Summoned servants were always less powerful when still forming from their master’s will, and so the standard practice when contesting with a summoner of any skill was to none could stop the Paladin’s rush. Micath covered his rear flank while the acolytes finished off the stricken mass of monsters with spells and strength of arms.

There were zombified goblins who managed to smell more putrid than their still living kin, dwarves of every variety most with bleeding black eyes that cursed the soul with their sightless gaze, many, so many, maidens in tattered white gowns of every race. Xavos noticed even in the midst of cutting down the shrieking gaunt featured banshees all had a striking resemblance to the Shethane who Ure had craved. Necromancers truly were disgusting creatures no matter what form they took.

The last undead servant to be sundered by Juradill’s burning kiss was a scamp centaur growing to a monstrous fifteen feet of height that might have crushed even the kiloth oak boards beneath its massive hooves if the Paladin hadn’t of struck him down before he fully materialized on the physical plain. Xavos spied the great horse beast losing its head to Micath’s blade before the undead could retreat into the spirit world to reform himself.

To have gained this much power must have required the sacrifice of close kin, and the consumption of countless souls. Seeing Ure’s face while he struck at the Crown Prince told Xavos the cursed dwarf took pleasure in ravaging the innocent and upright. And so the Arch Paladin ended the fiend with a single stab through the chest without a hint of regret or pity in his heart. The fires of stars and the holy hosts of heaven consumed the foolish vampire from the inside out, still whimpering and shivering as he went. A pathetic end for a pathetic villain.

The spirit of the ark shivered with relief as the vampire was destroyed, and fresh wind from the shaft and ventilation behind them carried Ure’s cursed ashes away to be forgotten like the Spire of Skewers itself. As all wicked things perished in the end. None escaped the Almighty’s judgment forever. All they could do was delay his wrath.

A scream broke the Paladin from his revelry. Looking up from the demise of the vampire Xavos saw the goblins were being pinched between the advancing dwarves, and the approaching line of acolytes being led by Antain. Panic was flowing through the ranks of gremlins as they realized they were caught in a disaster. That this would not be the easy fight against overwhelmed defenders they’d been promised, and no endless feasting on young flesh for their twisted desires. Only death and judgement waited for them now.

Their keening once disturbed the Arch Paladin when he was a younger man. The noise truly was pitiful whenever the mean little creatures were driven to this state, but their lamentations had no effect over the now elder and far more experienced Xavos. After seeing endless massacres and cruelty done by the denizens of the inner deep, the Arch Paladin of Man had no more remorse or pity left in his soul. He even caught himself smiling at the destruction of the wicked at the height of what they thought would be an easy triumph and ravaging. A satisfying feeling indeed to watch those pining for such disgusting pleasures finding the axe of the executioner instead.

“Shall we attend to the stragglers my Arch Paladin?” Thoral asked while pointing his twin broadsword blades down at the shrieking horde.

Xavos nodded, and held back to preserve his strength. Though Ure’s foolishness had allowed him to save most of his depleted magic there was no saying what other enemies lay in hiding. There very well could be another threat requiring all his power who wouldn’t fall to a few barbs and a parlor trick.

So the Paladin let his acolytes gain further experience. Besides, Micath had earned a rest after pacing the Arch Paladin all night.

Xavos watched his students weave a tapestry of violence against their hapless foes that was almost a hymn of praise to the Almighty God of Heavens’ Armies. Thanks to the war and the loss of so many Paladins these acolytes were already hard bitten veterans, and had more war experience than most Arch Paladins had in their history. Xavos felt odd thinking of those misty happy times before the final war at the end of days when only occasional raids and Lich Hives had to be routed from Kaythane.

The acolytes were still young when it came to blessings, and the more subtle dark arts of the enemy which Paladins were called to contend with. Still, they would soon be ready for their mantles and holy relics. A little more seasoning, and no Paladin alive or dead would deny they had earned their place. Not that there was any left to complain or play politics over Xavos’ choices on the matter. A bittersweet reality to ponder.

Not a single goblin escaped, and soon the pounding songs of victory were echoing through the halls of the Ark of Xarmon as the many voices of the sea dwarves praised their creator for the unexpected yet prayed for salvation. Wonder upon wonder was added that day as the mule woman had held the airship, and not attempted to flee. Perhaps there was hope for this foolish generation who did not believe in the undead or talking ill of the wicked. If more intelligent fiends than Ure had risen in undeath they were going to need all the hope they could muster.

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