The streets of Orario burned.
Shadows stretched across stone walls as firelight clashed with moonlight, and the cries of adventurers rang out, steel clashing in the distance. Amidst the chaos, a single figure towered like an unbroken wall—an armored knight, heavy plates stacked on his chest forming a rib-like armor, a single purplish gem embedded in its center.
By his side, a warhammer pulsed, greenish hues bleeding into the open air.
Ketheric Thorm.
Once, he had been Orario's shield. A warrior of the Zeus Familia, a paladin whose name inspired both reverence and fear. But the man who stood now was no paladin—he was a revenant even before death, a twisted visage of what once was.
The air cracked as a dozen magic circles flared to life."Ljósta!" The chant of the Loki Familia's casters erupted, beams of searing light darting toward him.
Ketheric raised his gauntleted hand, and shadows swelled, swallowing the magic whole.
"This! Is real magic!" His voice rang out mockingly as his hand spread open, a shockwave knocking the spellcasting elf back into the smoke.
Yet more adventurers of the Freya Familia emerged, their captain at the forefront, eyes cold on his boarish face.
Behind them came the Loki Familia—their captain's scowl fixed as his eyes darted to where the elf had just been flung.
"Ketheric Thorm!" Finn roared, his silver spear leveled at the fallen paladin. "This ends tonight! Archers, prepare volleys! Frontline, brace!"
Ketheric laughed, though the sound was hollow. "Ends?" His grip tightened on his blackened warhammer, shadows crawling up its hilt. "No… It ended long ago. All that remains is ruin."
With a roar that shook the street, he charged.
The first to meet him was Gareth, dwarfish in height yet large in stature. His axe swung through the air, whistling as it did—only to be parried at the last second.
Pushing his hammer forward, Ketheric bashed him in the face, sending him crashing into the second line.
"Hold the left flank! Casters, cover Gareth!" Finn barked, dashing into position.
An arrow cut past Ketheric's ear as he tilted his body, priming himself for another strike.
"Volley—now!" Finn's voice cracked like a whip, and a hail of arrows darkened the sky, raining toward their foe.
"Divine Smite!" Ketheric bellowed, the green overflowing from his hammer and eyes as he twisted his body.
The shockwave sent adventurers flying, their blood suspended in the air.
"Don't falter! Second line, push him back!" Finn shouted.
"Firebolt!" A ball of flames flung itself at Ketheric's head, as he opened his mouth to bite down. Flames licked the edges of his face as the fireball imploded.
Following on from that, a muscled fist thrust itself through the smoke, cracking against his skull and sending him staggering back.
"Now! Press him! Spears, strike from the sides! Bete—flank!"
"Archers!" Finn's command rang out again as more arrows followed, embedding themselves in the gaps of Ketheric's armor. At the same time, dozens of spears pierced his flesh, while an impact from Bete crashed into his back.
Blood spewed from every orifice as he stumbled forward.
"You think this will stop me?" Ketheric's voice bellowed, emerald light bursting from his eyes.
Swinging his warhammer one-handed into an adventurer's skull, his other hand shot out green flames, igniting attackers in shrieks of agony.
"Ottar! Engage! Riveria, restrain him—now! Gareth, regroup!" Finn roared.
"KETHERIC!" A booming voice tore through the clash as the boar-like man lunged, grappling the warhammer.
Finn himself darted past the other adventurers, skewering Ketheric's hand with his spear.
Vines wrapped up Ketheric's arms as Riveria's magic surged, and Gareth's axe finally found its mark in the gap between his neck and helmet.
Light burst from his body, sending the adventurers flying as he continued his relentless march.
Wounds accumulated. Blades struck from all sides, spells tore into his body faster than he could heal. For every adventurer he felled, two more replaced them, until at last even Ketheric's towering form faltered.
Knees slammed against the blood-soaked street. His warhammer wavered in his grasp, shadows sputtering down past his knees.
Panting, Ketheric raised his gaze skyward—not at the gods who had abandoned him, but at the endless night above.
"Zeus… take me home…" he whispered.
But the god did not answer.
Instead, the combined blades of Freya's and Loki's strongest pierced through his chest. A shuddering gasp escaped his lips, and his towering form finally fell, crashing upon the stones of Orario.
For a moment, silence reigned. The city exhaled, as if relieved of a curse.
"Finally," Finn panted, his voice laced with exhaustion, his arm twisted unnaturally as he turned to fight other battles.
"Zald is left," Ottar's voice rumbled, already turning to follow.
But beneath the streets, far below where mortal eyes could see, his soul did not rest. The Dungeon embraced him, dragging his corpse into its abyssal depths, down where light had never reached.
And there, in the cold dark, a whisper stirred.
"Rise, Ketheric Thorm. Your death is mine to claim."
The Lord of Bones had spoken.