Dust fell from the ceiling, and the air stank of ash, blood, and burning.
"Is that it?" Dakin sneered.
"HAHAHA".
A spark of green fire leapt from his hand, streaking across the room before anyone could react.
It struck one soldier squarely in the chest.
The man screamed, a terrible sound that twisted in the air, as the flame didn't burn his armor but sank beneath it—burrowing through steel and flesh as though his very body was kindling.
Smoke rose from his chestplate, and the sickening stench of rot and charred meat filled the air.
The soldier collapsed to his knees, clawing at his own armor as black veins spread across his skin.
"NO!" another soldier roared. Rage drowned out his fear.
He lowered his spear and charged, aiming straight for Dakin's stomach.
His footsteps thundered against the stone, his weapon gleaming faintly in the firelight.
For a moment—for the briefest heartbeat—it looked as though the tip pierced true.
But the illusion shattered instantly. The spear splintered into dust the moment it touched the Warlock's robes.
Wood and steel dissolved like dry sand against his skin, scattering into the air. The soldier stumbled forward in disbelief, empty hands grasping at nothing.
Dakin's laughter rolled across the hall, deep and mocking.
"Your weapons crumble… your hope crumbles… your bones will crumble."
The words struck harder than any blade. Yet they didn't stop.
Two more soldiers leapt in, desperation painted across their faces.
One swung a heavy mace, veins bulging in his neck as he roared.
The other held a crooked staff scavenged from a fallen mage, blue sparks dancing wildly across its length.
They struck together, one crashing his weapon against Dakin's shoulder, the other unleashing bolts of raw lightning into his chest.
Stone cracked beneath their combined force. For a single heartbeat, it felt like victory.
But Dakin didn't even shift his stance.
He stood unmoving in the middle of it all, the flames swirling around his body flaring brighter.
The mace rang against him with a hollow clang, sending shockwaves back up the soldier's arm.
The man screamed as black veins burst across his skin, his flesh rotting as the weapon itself corroded and crumbled in his grip.
The soldier with the staff fared no better. His lightning bolts arced into the Warlock's chest, but instead of piercing, the energy turned against him.
His body jolted violently, blood spraying from his mouth as if the power had rebounded. He collapsed to his knees, trembling, his own magic eating away at his life.
The fifth soldier moved in behind them, faster and quieter than the rest.
His dagger flashed faintly in the firelight, hope burning in his eyes. With a shout, he drove the blade into Dakin's side. The steel sank in—he felt it connect.
The soldier's heart leapt.
"I—I got him!" he cried.
But then Dakin turned his head, crimson eyes lowering to the dagger lodged in his flesh.
There was no pain. No weakness. Only amusement. Slowly, cruelly, his mouth curled into a grin.
Then the dagger dissolved into ash, vanishing between the soldier's hands.
"You got nothing," Dakin whispered.
Before they could retreat, he lifted his staff. The skull at its crown flared with sickly green light, the runes carved along its length writhing like living serpents.
Then—an explosion.
A wave of necrotic energy burst outward, unseen yet heavy as stone.
The five soldiers were hurled across the room, their bodies slamming into the stone floor with sickening cracks.
Armor split. Flesh tore. Blood smeared the ground where they landed.
One soldier groaned, spitting blood onto the cracked stone.
He forced himself onto one knee, wiping his mouth with the back of a trembling gauntlet. His voice rasped but carried a desperate fire.
"He bleeds… the longer we fight him. I swear! I saw it!"
Another soldier, battered and barely standing, shouted hoarsely, "Keep pressing him! Even if it costs us everything—we'll make him fall!"
Broken but unyielding, the five dragged themselves back to their feet. Their armor hung in pieces, their weapons little more than scraps of steel—but still they surged forward.
Together, they struck again, screaming as their sword, mace, broken spear, staff, and dagger rained down upon the Warlock.
The dungeon thundered with every impact.
But the more they struck, the more they suffered.
The swordsman screamed as his own blade shattered in his grip, shards burying into his flesh.
The spearman clutched his chest as an invisible force crushed his ribs, blood bubbling from his lips.
The staff-bearer shrieked as his skin ignited, blue fire eating at him from within. The dagger-wielder gasped for breath as his lungs seized, Dakin's curse choking the life out of him.
Their bodies were breaking faster than they could fight.
And all the while, Dakin did not move. He did not block. He did not dodge. He stood like a monument of death, their attacks scattering against him like rain against stone.
For every blow they dealt, he returned agony twofold, feeding on their defiance as though it made him stronger.
At last, he raised his staff high. His voice rolled like thunder.
"Enough."
Above him, the green flames surged into a writhing inferno, condensing into an orb of shadow and fire that pulsed like a false sun.
The heat seared their skin.
"You insects, you think of yourselves warriors? You scream like birds, but you are children with sticks."
"The more you fight me, the more I will hollow you out—until your bones march in my army, your voices will be silenced forever."
The soldiers staggered, weapons limp in their hands. But not one turned to flee.
"If we're going to die…" one soldier rasped, coughing blood, "…then we'll die fighting!"
"HAH!" Dakin's grin widened, cruel and hungry. "Then come, Burn yourselves out against me."
With one final cry, the five hurled themselves at him, blades and broken bodies igniting in a desperate charge. Their strikes landed—but each was swallowed by darkness, each answered with agony beyond bearing.
"Waittt… nooo.." one of the soldiers behind me shouted.
Their screams rose together, a chorus of defiance drowned beneath the Warlock's laughter.
And as their voices faded into the storm, the truth remained:
The more they fought him…
The more they suffered.