Paladin Of The Forsaken Lands (Monster Crafting "Nature" Paladin Lit-Rpg) 136- Death From The Darkness

136

Willbur Right, Leader of Laurels Lancers—The Forsaken Lands

Willbur growled to himself, starting to form red and gold mana into thin lassos of intent that dripped down the stairs below him and through the feet of his guards. So far this excursion into the forsaken lands had been going well, too well, and right now he and his n were facing a fucking army of dark beasts and apparently a dungeon amid the hunt for the Paladin.

Wilbur had mostly dismissed the omnipresent tales of the Forsaken paladin as just bar hearsay and the tales of scared drunks. Right now he really wished he had been less dismissive. A wall of colorful canines crashed into his front lines below, fanged maws clashing against steel.

He spared one more glance towards the bloody sar and drifting pink mist that had been the frontmost squad. The loss of Litmus, the lightning mage, was a noticeable blow to his forces, but there was only so much he could do as a healer. Reassembling the drops left of that man was utterly beyond him.

A warrior scread as one of the scintillating beasts dipped under his shield and clambered onto his armored leg. Its feathers strobed with light and imbued a shimr to its entire body that focused on its jaws. Suddenly its teeth simply phased through the man's armor and dug deep into flesh below.

With contemptuous ease, Wilbur snapped a whip of mana; it cracked against the man's leg, rending the wounds from it and making him whole again. The warrior nodded thankfully, bringing his knee heavily into the beast's ribs. The creature yelped as its side caved in.

Wilbur ntally checked his list of healed injuries. A few punctures, a large gash, and one severed artery from an archer earlier. His class was an unorthodox one; he was a powerful healer who stole the wounds from his allies and granted them to others. It had obvious limits, but it was perfect for soone who wanted to fight on a battlefield.

He would be useless back in a field hospital sowhere; he had a definitive limit of wounds he could "hold" before they had to be inflicted upon soone else if he wished to heal again. Thankfully another warrior cried out in pain as a malevolent serpent-like beast rose from the foliage like a demon. Wilbur still has plenty of room to collect more wounds.

His optimism died as he got a good look at the creature. It was the thing he had heard whispers of in the taverns and dark back alleys. Hateful intelligent eyes, a bladed tail, and claws that could pry tal armor open like a fruit rind.

The n below had converged on it in terror, partially collapsing the battle line. It had an archer stuffed halfway down its gullet. Two claws raked at shield bearers, and its tongue trailed into the backline, sohow immobilizing one of the mages with but a touch. A great swordsman landed a savage blow against it, managing to cleave into its arm down to the bone.

The dread feast responded by moving blindingly fast, plucking the man apart like an insect, first the arms, then the legs, simply leaving his screaming torso bleeding out on the ground. Willbur's eyes went wide; this was his chance. He snapped both whips of mana out towards the mortally wounded man. His mana flared into a searing brilliance as he pushed his skill to the limit.

The man's arms and legs flew back to him, pulled by tethers of gold and red. Stitching back into place after blood found its way back into veins. Willbur gasped at the ntal effort and strain required to pull that off. Then he gave an evil smile, his gaze turning towards the monster savaging his n. He now had four dismbernts stored as wounds he needed to be rid of, and as luck would have it, the creature had an abundance of arms.

Willbur rolled his shoulders, his eyes taking on a malicious glee as he began sorting out the wounds he had, neatly arranging them to be used. He had an epic class, and no foe yet had been even remotely prepared for the insane dichotomy his skills presented. His whips lashed out this ti as pure red threads of mana linking his Vault of Trauma back into the real world. The whips cracked across the beast, first the top arms, then the next set; finally, they crossed to slash across its eyes.

Nothing happened for a mont other than brilliant lines and dots of red light across the beast. The n battling it recognized what was about to happen and fled back a few steps. Then all at once his magic took effect. A calamity occurred all across the dungeon-born dreadfeast's body. Four of its arms tore free like they were plucked by the hand of a god. The smattering of stabs pierced its face, culminating in one that blinded it and another that opened a vein in its neck.

Willbur let out another dark chuckle as his n hit it like a tide of steel skills and spells lighting the entire forest. Nearly a dozen full combat-class professional warriors laid into the beat. The creature didn’t stand a chance, half-blinded and barely able to pull its body along. A lance of crystallized ice shot down as the final blow pierced the top of the creature's skull.

The largest threat dealt with, he and his guards moved forward. The Daisies were dangerous but a poor match for his heavily armored front line. The one fire-attuned mage they had was systematically incinerating them after shield bearers locked them down with skills. The canines were steadily falling as well, and Wilbur made sure everyone stayed in fighting shape.

He frowned and pointed his guards left, shifting away from the right of his lines. The farthest squad was gone…and he hadn’t seen how it had happened. There was simply no sign of the mage and archer, only an empty suit of armor leaking rot and blood left from the small squad's frontliner. They kept pushing forward, making steady headway as he tried to see the threat on the right side of the lines.

Again sothing happened to the rightmost squad of three. A shieldbearer with defensive skills, a rather skillful longswordsman, and the ice mage that had landed the final blow on the dread feast. This ti Wilbur at least saw it.

A shrouded form seed to ooze from behind a tree; he impaled the mage from behind. A horrid black miasma rotted the man’s top half free before he could even scream. The swordsman tried to whirl and face the threat, but the Forsaken paladin's cloak enveloped him and forced its way down his throat. The swordsman choked to death while being drained; the paladin didn’t even look towards him; instead, he squared up with the final mber of the squad.

The Shieldbearer Tommond charged forward, his armor shooting out ahead of him like a mirror of himself made of steel and teal mana. It caught the paladin by surprise, managing to rock him back a half dozen steps in a shower of broken bark. Tommond slowed, squaring up again, then looked at his breastplate in confusion; a glowing pustule of green light pulsed above his heart.

"Ahh, glad that worked; didn’t know if it would stick to the armor projection. Very neat skill," rasped from within the paladin's helm. Then he just snapped his fingers, and Tommond's top half was consud in a flash of miasmic green light. Tommond clawed at his visor; Wilbur could see rot streaming from within it even from here. He snapped his whip forward to heal Tommonds ravaged face.

Tommond stopped scrabbling at his helm and exploded forwards the mont he was healed. This ti his shield flew forward to catch the paladin's glowing smite. The paladin let out a snarl and did sothing unexpected; he dived sideways into the shrubbery. It was like he suddenly disappeared into thin air. One mont he was visible; the next, the foliage practically bent around him, hiding his passage.

Tommond recalled his shield and then threw it like a buzzsaw where the paladin had disappeared, carving a path through the foliage and felling a short line of trees before it soared back into his grasp. He cursed colorfully and twirled his sword nervously as he turned in a slow circle.

Wilbur was utterly focused on the area Tommond was surveying; he fully intended to fling this rotten, blinding wound back upon the Forsaken paladin the mont he appeared. He pushed halfway past his frontmost guard to make sure he had a clear line of sight. The bushes near Tommond quivered, and he readied himself.

Instead of the paladin, the ruined corpses of the tommond’s squad bonelessly pulled themselves to their feet as thin white vines stitched their way through flesh and bone, pulling them in halting movents towards their forr comrade. Tommond shouted loud enough for the others to hear “Necromancy!” in a tone that bordered on sheer panic.

Wilbur didn’t get to see how he dealt with his animated compatriots because a voice behind him caused his blood to run cold. It hissed out like it was spoken through clenched fangs that didn’t know the aning of the word rcy. “Technically not necromancy…the feast father isn’t a fan of that…” Wilbur dived past his guard away from the voice, turning so his roll would let him see the speaker.

The Paladin was in the center of his guards, one guard's face rotting in his grasp, both hands stuffed into the man's foolishly open visor. The other was suspended a stride from the ground by the writing cloak he wore; individual roots snaked into his armor and eyes hooked into bone for purchase.

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The paladin let out a deep sigh seeing that Wilbur had gotten his two remaining guards between them. “That’s what I get for trying to be quippy; now I actually need to use the garden on the mooks. But you, Mr. Murder Healer, are far too dangerous to be left alive.”

The paladin and Wilbur acted simultaneously. Wilbur flashed his whip of mana forward, trying to pass the wound of rotten sight back onto the savage figure. The Paladin used the corpse of the guard he was smiting as cover and reached a hand out. The world around Wilbur seed to darken and sizzle. His skin burned and itched horribly as pieces drifted away from his hands and face, simply dripping away to his utter horror.

Before he could recover, the ground at his feet blackened, shriveled, and then sunk in upon itself into a brackish, lifeless muck. The whole jungle all around them was suddenly gone, and in its place a creature of darkness from fables of old rose forth.

Twisted branches that shivered in excitent, the ends clicking open and shut with enough force to move the air. Bark that was strewn with streaks of glowing erald light that nearly looked like blood. And a single hateful eye as large as his head.

It wasn’t even the size of the abomination that made Wilbur realize he needed to run. Nor the way his nearest guard spattered across him, far beyond any hope of healing. It was the look in the creature's single eye as it took a life.

Wilbur had adventured for years, dungeons, military campaigns, and even forays into the southern wastes filled with undead. The look in a creature's eyes told you much about them. Most monsters looked feral or hungry. So more intelligent beasts could show glimrs of rage and fear. Things like the undead simply showed nothing, a blank slate powered only by the will of a long-gone master.

This tree of all things held none of those glimpses. Instead, it seed almost satisfied. Even a bit excited as it turned towards his final remaining guard. This creature wasn’t being forced to kill, wasn’t doing it out of hunger; it was doing it because it wanted to. Wilbur threw a lasso of mana behind himself as he ran, trying to help his final guard last that little bit longer.

He aid straight for the largest collection of his n ahead. They had cut through most of the beasts, but their numbers had dwindled down to half of those who entered. Wilbur glanced back over his shoulder, his heart hamring in his chest. The paladin scoffed and faded into the nearby jungle once again, his visage locked onto Willbur's fleeing form.

Willbur expected to die at any mont as he pushed himself as hard as he could. He was far faster than a classless individual. But as a mage, his investnts in physical enhancents were minimal compared to a warrior's. To his pleased shock, he tumbled past one of his n and into the comforting embrace of his warriors.

His arrival caused confusion, mages and archers whipping around to see why the healer had run to the frontline. Slowly people realized all his guards were dead and saw the unnatural tree thrashing its way forward.

Wilbur knew he needed to take control of the situation or else they would be whittled down to nothing. “Circle up! The paladin is here!”

The press of bodies was a confusing swirl as nearly two dozen warriors shifted, trying to make sure they were covered from every angle. It didn’t help that jungle ferns and draping vines were everywhere. Tripping and blocking easy footing. Wilbur felt his breath ease as the wall of steel with a core of magic and arrows ford around him.

His eyes caught movent farther into the jungle, but it was just the damned Ricktus shambling ahead on his own. He looked around curiously before descending the staircase to the next level. Willbur cursed; they needed the Ricktus’s help. If the stories were true, he should be a match for the Paladins' evil.

Wilbur summoned two glowing cords of power that wrapped around his arms, ready to be used. “Push forward!” The formation began crashing forward; they would step, brace there shields, form the ranks, and then step again.

They continued this shuffling shield wall across the jungle, crushing the remnants of beasts that still dared to attack them. They ca within a stride of the staircase down when it all went wrong. The towering tree they passed under quivered slightly before its top began dripping downwards in a brown sludge; the upper half seemingly lted.

At its peak, a single massive dandelion shimred with a nearly blinding light. It looked far different from the ones he had seen before. This one undulated, each of its many limbs bending sinuously and pulsing like a beating heart. Before Wilbur could scream for the mages to burn the Extinction Diver, it blurred.

The piercing light flew straight down at the nearest lightly armored archer. He let out a slight gasp as the thing slid through his skin along the collarbone, practically slittering into the man. Wilbur watched in horror as the archer clawed at his collarbone, then toward his chest and abdon as sothing bulged inside him.

From slightly outside the circle of warriors, a fell voice emotionlessly counted out loud. “Six, seven, eight. Sorry to use that one, but…” The archer exploded in an inexplicable shower of gore. Wilbur trembled as he wiped his eyes clear and looked at the being now standing two strides from him.

In the archer's place, a nearly translucent being in the shape of the dead archer’s veins twitched its eyeless shape, turning towards the nearest mage, who backpedaled, flailing a wall of fire towards it. In his haste he doused one of the warriors as well as the creature in fire, and all chaos broke loose.

The burning creature sizzled as it dived into the mage, his blood snuffing out the fire threatening it. The circle was collapsing around them. No one knew what was happening, and fire burned in the center of the circle.

Wilbur took a deep breath as he heard the haunting counting begin again. He knew now this wasn’t a fight they could win; hells, he didn’t even know if this was one they could survive. The forsaken lands had produced a new dark lord, and the world needed to know. “Full retreat! Full retreat! Leave the wounded!” Wilbur scread, already breaking from his ranks to rush back towards the stairs out.

The mage inside the circle ruptured, and in its place an even larger amalgamation of translucence and light hungrily snatched up two more n to continue the cycle of devastation. Those who could followed him in a full rush towards the exit. Ignoring the screams of those left behind.

***

Vraxious: The Forsaken Lands

Vrax watched the “Healer” rushing away from his extinction diver, followed by his trailing compatriots.

Man, that guy is like a freaking cockroach; he just won’t die! Don’t think I need to worry about him for at least the rest of this battle, though.

Vrax looked down from his perch hidden in the boughs of a tree at the devastation he and Malaketh had wrought on the room. Sars of blood and gore and patches of rot dotted throughout the room. Overall it had gone well. Vrax had only used two of the creatures in his nagerie, and the bulk of the enemies' low-leveled at shields were in full retreat.

That just left the real threats that Slev had dragged out here. So far the evil little shit was doing a fine job leading the bad guys where Vrax wanted them without getting himself killed. He had made it easy for him, but at least he had played along. A truly smart commander would never have let his n enter this place.

Vrax watched the last of the n trickle up the stairs; one more was lost to the mangler tree that was still crashing around near the entrance. He had a mont of stillness to decide how he wanted to play this. The only sounds were the scream of a violin and the mangler tree settling its roots into the stone.

The Ricktus, Vrax had overheard that na during his last day of spying on the advancing forces. That creepy bastard had descended alone; Vrax hadn’t even seen him fight yet. He had simply wound his way through the trees while everyone else was embroiled in carnage.

He was certainly a very dangerous individual; all the rcenaries had been scared of him. And Vurune wanted him dead. Vrax made up his mind and dashed towards the staircase heading down.

He was going to try and neutralize that threat before Slev andered down here with the damned squad of assassins he was following like a lost duckling. It was a handful of leaps and bounds before Vrax rolled to his feet at the base of the stairs on the second level. He ca up short, raising his weapon defensively.

The Ricktus was only twenty strides from the stairs; a circle of devastation surrounded him where lurkers and retrievers' hives had been; now the ground was simply covered in claw marks and spilled sap. He slowly turned back towards Vrax, his features still hidden by his cloak.

Ahh shit, it's never good when they are confident enough just to wait for you out in the open.

The gaunt figure raised a hand almost in greeting. “Paladin, we et finally.” The words sounded more like they climbed from sowhere dark rather than being spoken, each ending in an unnatural whisper.

"Finally? I didn’t know you guys were a thing until yesterday. So what did you want to ask? No one waits nacingly in the center of the room, just for dramatic effect. Well, I do sotis, but usually there are traps too.” Vrax joked, but as always, it growled out from his armor like a demon gnashing its teeth.

The Ricktus let out a sound that might have been a laugh. “I wanted to see what your magics truly were. Rumors of dungeon domination, demon summoning, and even necromancy have been whispered about you."

Vrax circled towards a thick patch of jungle; he knew he had so surprises hidden in. "Oh, and what have you found out?”

“Hmmm, it's what I haven't found… There are no traces of the twisting of souls upon you…there isn’t even the touch of things beyond the veil that would show you parlay with the beings of power.” The Ricktus pulled back his cowl, exposing his jarring features. The right half of his features dripped down towards his neck like lted wax, and the left was exposed muscle and jaw with a vertical line of three eyes. He barely even looked human anymore.

“Oh shit, you might want to see a healer.”

The Ricktus let out another noise that was a laugh devoid of joy. “If I cannot discover through the traces of mana what powers you call upon. Which of the dark gods you truly serve, I will have to force your hand.” His three hands flew up, forming a triangle in front of him.

“I can just tell you, man! It's Vurune; just use identify, it's kind of on the label; hell, it is the whole label.

The Ricktus growled as shimrs of flickering red light began appearing in the air behind him. “It cannot be that simple that old god should have simply faded by now..."

Vrax laughed, actually laughed. "You should et him soti; he's too an to die.”

“If that is the whole truth, so be it.” The Ricktus said simply, his arms suddenly twisting in an unnatural way as a small slit opened in the air behind him.

Vrax stiffened as his armor sprung into uncontrolled flas that gouted from the seams in the bark. Sothing evil began pulling its way through the tear in reality that the Ricktus had summoned. Vrax let out a quiet curse as he got his first look at a demon and wished he had just left this guy for Duchess to chew on.