The second last battle in Zul's story.
“Milites enim qui vitam dederunt… hoc sigillum a horroribus ultra hunc mundum defende… Sigillum Jaiharae, ” I read aloud from the slab before me.
That same language. Just like the lectern at the Graveyard Village. What can this be? What will it summon this time? More undead? A demon? A monster with eight heads? My water bolt circled around me. I was ready for whatever these Catacombs could muster.
“I already tried that,” a voice said from the darkness. Slow, calculated footsteps reverberated softly along the stone floor, their easy cadence sent a shiver throughout the otherwise quiet chamber. “Took you long enough to get here.” Of course. Of course he’s here. My chin lifted in defiance, though my hands trembled slightly. I shoved them into my pockets, and turned around.
“Dante.”
The Shadow Icelord stood lazily, leaning on one side with his hands casually clasped behind his back. Half his face was masked by the black shadow of a statue. Yet, when his eyes met mine, his piercing gray gaze shone, the whites of his eyes gleaming with an unsettling brilliance akin to the cold, distant twinkling of stars in the night sky. He smiled.
“Zul,” he whispered, his voice sweet like honey. I hate to end our little game of cat and mouse, but I knew, sooner or later, that it would come to this. I do have a bounty to collect, after all.” He ran his index finger along the edge of his sheath. Then, one by one, he closed his fingers around the hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
“Still playing mercenary?” I quipped, scoffing at him. My water whip cracked as though it, too, was laughing with me. “Only cowards kill for money. I thought you knew that.”
“Playing mercenary,” the words hissed out of his mouth. Taking a moment to compose himself, he cocked his head to the side. The smile splayed along his lips was disturbingly gentle. “This has been fun, I must admit. Quite the eye-opening experience for me, really. When I first met you on that ship, I walked away disappointed. The once all-mighty Winter Faithful, now just a pitiful spectator in the grand tragedy of your own making. What a pity! You let your magic fizzle out. You lost your business. Even your own best friend betrayed you. But honestly, who was surprised by that? You’re a hothead, a ticking time bomb, and a coward. All this failure… it wasn’t a coincidence, no. It’s a mark of your incompetence. Every crumbling brick in this place screams to me of your failure. It’s almost poetic really, the way you’ve become synonymous with despair.” He bowed his head slightly, clasping his hands as if he were at a funeral. “Tell me, Azurilina, whatever happened to that hero you pretended to be?”
With a smooth and purposeful pull, his blade slid free from its sheath. There was a subtle, resounding shing as the metal left its scabbard, then a moment of stillness before the sheath settled back into place. The air ruffled as Dante stood before me, armed, the sword an extension of his one, true purpose. That wasn’t any regular old iron broadsword—it was different, special somehow. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. The blade shifted, revealing eldritch symbols etched into the base. Swiftly, Dante sliced the edge of his finger along the tip, and droplets of blood beaded along its gleaming surface. “I have fed this sword all I could offer it. Treated it like a pet of my very own. And like a good dog, it has consumed everything I have given it.”
“It’s glowing.”
His shoulders shook as a peculiar sound emerged from deep within him. The laughter, if you could even call it that, started as a low rumble, gradually building in intensity. “Oh, it does more than glow, Faithful.” With his head thrown back slightly, he revealed a wide grin at odds with the dark amusement in his eyes. “Ever since I fed my blade its very first soul at the Graveyard Village, it’s practically been begging for more. Hopefully,” he paused, thoughtful, “that thing I found here in the Catacombs will be enough to satiate it for now.”
That thing…? Wait, does he mean— “You killed it?” I shouted.
“You couldn’t?” he drawled.
“That thing was a monster! An abomination! And you… you—”
“And y-you… you! Enough babbling, Zul. I’ve been watching your progress, and I’m impressed. You have gotten a bit better at splashing around. But it’s my turn now. Let me show you what I’ve been working on…” If you’re gonna try to kill me, just do it already!
I raised my arms to my sides, my water slithering up to my biceps. “Save your dramatic monologues for someone who cares, Dante. Let’s do this already. Magic on magic.”
A roar that could wake the dead thundered through the room, reverberating up and down the walls. Like a beast hurtling toward me at full speed, Dante held his sword high and lunged. His blade sliced through the air, forcing me to retreat. Effortlessly, he danced around the shield of water I’d conjured. The gleam in his eyes betrayed a fierce determination that shook me to my core. It was all I could do to keep up. His every movement was both unpredictable and fluid.
I scurried behind a stone statue and yanked out the rusty sword wedged between its cobblestone fingers. Another slash, the air vibrating behind it. I raised my weapon to meet his own with a resounding clang.
“It’s no use,” he whispered.
What the hell is he talking about? This fight barely started, and he’s already talking about how it’s “no use”?
“Save that line for when I’m done with you, Dante!”
The Icelord rushed forward, throwing all his weight into the movement as his blade clashed with mine. Again and again, he pulled back, then threw his sword down. I twirled, dodging where I could and blocking otherwise. But he was too fast. With a thrust I could hardly see, his blade slashed along my hip, and I staggered backward, instinctively clutching the wound.
“Legends rest in rooms like these,” the Icelord cackled. “What better place to die than in a catacomb?”
I whimpered. He’s only trying to get in my head. To scare me. I can’t be scared that easily.
Undeterred, I conjured a torrent of water, sending it surging toward him. He countered with a mere flick of his wrist and froze my bolt mid-air, just inches from his face. He looked surprised like I’d caught him off guard, but he said nothing. It takes a certain kind of skill to deflect a projectile that fast.
This strength. This speed. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. There wasn’t a hint of fear or exhaustion on his face. Nothing. He almost looked bored.
“I know I’m not the greatest swordsman in Jaihara,” Dante sighed, “but with the greatest sword, I am one step closer.” He flipped his white hair back, matching his teeth as it sparkled in the sunlight. “This was fun, wasn’t it?”
Faster than light, he moved.
In response, I summoned a swirling vortex of water around me, another shield. Dante frowned as he manipulated the moisture in the air, molding it into razor-sharp icicles. With a snap of his arm, he launched them at me and froze the ground solid. I flung more bolts at him. Circling around him, each one was frozen and cut down—the magic itself dying as quickly as Dante could swing his blade. He stood there, blank, not a hint of emotion on his face, and I wished he’d say something. For once, I wanted Dante to speak—to taunt me, berate me, something—all so I could feel like he wasn’t just some wretched demon possessing a human body.
Slowly, he crept toward me, each step methodical and calculated. I focused my energy, channeling everything I could into my magic and forming two glyphs, one per hand. I conjured a colossal wave, pulling everything I could from them. The torrent surged forward, ready to bury the Icelord like a watery tomb.
“I warned you.” Palms in front of him, he squeezed one fist shut, and the swell dissipated into mist. Dante was gone. I raised my sword, barely able to see it a mere foot from my face. In the distance, a sound, like rocks shifting. I turned, but he wasn’t there. Then, his voice sliced through the dissipating fog.
“It’s no use.”
I tried to react, but before I could, the cold steel of his blade plunged straight into my chest, and all I saw was black.