One of the greatest gifts a Seer can give is to take things away. Such as the pain of another and place it upon themselves and to relieve their suffering. We are ultimately well qualified to hold on to one's grief. But I warn those who attempt this that some suffering may be too great to contain. Even for us.

Halani Sasori, Seer of Denang

"We could sure use those reinforcements you promised." The impressive spear the cleric once held had since transformed into a less unwieldy sword of light.

Moments ago, she'd released her white dragon to fight on its own. While it had proven adept at combat with a rider, Daphney was not well trained in such tactics and believed it would fare better without her being a hinderance.

Overhead, her white-scaled ally issued a gut piercing shriek while clashing with a red and black simultaneously. The three combatants twisted midair in a flurry of claw and teeth—fire and ice. The white avoided the flames of the Imperial dragons, snaking in and out of the columns of fire. But its chilled breath caught the wing of the red, disrupting its ability to maintain flight, and sent the enemy spiraling hard to the ground.

Wielding her new weapon with the deftness of a military veteran, Dapheny pierced a mummified soldier in ancient elven armor. Its body burning as she slayed with remorse one who would have once been her ally under different circumstances. It and its fellow fiendish animations might have been long dead, but they still knew how to put up a vicious fight. Perhaps even more so than when they lived and possessed a concern for their own wellbeing and something to live for.

While swatting aside an attack from another of the undead hordes with her shield of the same divine energy as her sword, Daphney did not revel in killing the already dead. She would have preferred instead they had been left to slumber for eternity than be called upon again and against their will.

"She'll be here," Anthony tried to ease Daphney's concern as he cut down an Imperial soldier of the much more alive variety. The undead seemed drawn more to the cleric than to him. And the few he'd tried to assist with taking out didn't seem as affected by his sword of common steel.

Chaos reigned upon the mountain while forces from each side forming one singular living mass trying to consume itself. Perhaps if she had been able to observe it from above on the back of her dragon, Daphney might have seen some semblance of order as bodies brandishing weapons and seeking superiority over the battleground slammed into each other with the violent push and pull of war.

As it was, however, all she saw was the dwindling numbers of her own forces. And such prompted her to give a dire assessment of the situation. "I don't know how much more of this we can take."

In the sky above, five elves riding on green dragons took down a red, but only barely. And the Imperial dragon conquered two of them in the process; one via fire and the other with piercing talons. Knowing she could not help them, Daphney hoped the riders survived their nearly simultaneous falls, fearing that the loss of even one soldier at this point would cause their lines to collapse.

"We have to hold out." Anthony's plea had its own hint of desperation behind it. "Maybe you should be healing the injured instead of fighting?"

Daphney slayed another ghastly construct, it's partially decayed body crackling and burning as she cleaved it in half. "I'd never be able to keep up," she admitted sorrowfully. And then she took down an apparition of more black mist than substance. "I'm doing more good this way. These undead are not easy to dispatch by normal weapons."

"You need to get to Lady Noranda and take her out." Anthony pointed to their nemesis, who had found a place atop the carcass of a black dragon to survey and command the battlefield. The Red Witch was weaving an assortment of unholy spells and raising the dead as fast as they fell. All while hope was quickly fading for the coalition of elves and rebels.

"I'm trying to." Daphney lunged for another opponent. "Sort of been my plan all along, believe it or not. The problem is—" She killed a red-eyed shade in mid-sentence. "There's this throng of enemies between us preventing that."

A guttural roar washed across the land with devastation akin to a tsunami. It was unlike anything the cleric had ever heard, and the force of it alone carried the power of a fear that could never have been imagined until it was experienced. The moment it struck, some soldiers on both sides of the conflict began to flee. Others, those with heartier constitutions, stood their ground. Even if only shakily so.

Eyes lifting skyward, fearing the worst as she dared to take her sight off the battle raging around her, Daphney was relieved to see ripples forming in the air and Fairyways opening up above the mountain. Through them came a horde of monstrous, dragon-like beasts. But these were more fearsome in appearance and layered in thick dull gray scales. Some with wingspans fully twice that of any other dragon, save Daphney's white.

Of the beasts call archeons, Daphney had only heard rumors and tales. And she never expected Reane's plan to work. Now, baring witness to their fearsome majesty firsthand, she understood their imposing prowess and how no words ever spoken could have done them true justice.

The gray-scaled beasts decimated several of the airborne ranks of red and black dragons ridden by the Imperial riders and taken off guard by the sudden appearance of the long-awaited reinforcements. With the force of their jagged and crooked toothed maws, the archeons downed their smaller opponents out of midair. They swooped upon the battlefield, ripping gashes in the enemy lines while leaving the defending forces mostly unharmed. There was, unfortunately, some collateral damage as they attacked in a reckless force of nature.

"About time," Daphney sighed her relief. "Nothing like waiting until the last moment. I just hope it's enough."

Downing yet another zombie soldier Lady Noranda had summoned into her service, the cleric shifted her tactics. Witnessing the effects of the fearsome new arrivals on her own troops, she took her sword and thrust its tip down into the rock of the mountain at her feet. Giving up the weapon in a flash of brilliant golden light, she put a calming aura over the soldiers supporting their side of the battle, both elven and rebel alike. It fell upon them and immediately protected them from the sheer horror the ancient beasts exuded as they descended on the bloody struggle.

"Told you. You just had to have faith." Anthony pointed skyward. There, clutching to the mane on the back of the largest of primal dragons, was Reane. Although she appeared as little more than a blond-haired speck. At her side, a small blue dragon soared as though it was as menacing as the creature it shared the sky with.

At first, Anthony could not tell if the woman he loved even saw him. But he swore she stole a glance directly at him as she flew by and even winked.

"Hope it's not too late." Daphney took her shield and transformed it into a glaive, replacing the weapon she had expended to bestow her previous blessing. But even as she resumed her slaughter of the undead, they continued to come upon them in waves. Unaffected by the fear generated from the presence of the archeons, she worried their forces would still soon be over whelmed by their stubborn ranks alone. She and Anthony, now back to back, were being forced to retreat rather than stand their ground as soldiers fell around them.

Pounding into the mountain's summit between them and the oncoming forces, crushing a throng of enemy beneath its weight, the archeon Reane rode wiped out several foes in its mouth of jagged teeth while pushing others back with the wind from powerful wingbeats. The seer slung her leg over and slid off the beast's back. Giving it a smack on its flank, letting it know she was clear, the largest of the archeons lumbered back into the sky and was off to wreak more havoc on their behalf.

A discarded sword laying upon the battlefield into her hand, Reane jumped right in to the battle. "Miss me?" Reane established a position between Anthony and Daphney while joining in the mayhem of defeating the invading hordes.

"Now's not the time, Reane," Anthony scolded, sensing her maneuvering was purely out of jealousy towards the company he was keeping.

Reane, distracted by things other than the battle, almost took a sword to the head. Had it not been for Daphney deftly swatting aside the attack and then running the enemy through, she would have.

Blinking away her astonishment at the assist, Reane could only say one thing as she regained her focus and twisted to block the strike of another opponent. "Thanks." She had no idea where the cleric had learned to fight like she was.

Daphney continued to engage in battle and resumed her assault of an enemy that would not relent. "I'll make you and Anthony a deal." Daphney's breath was beginning to show signs of how she was tiring, but also a possessed a resiliency that refused to fold. "When we all get out of this, and we've won, I get to officiate your wedding."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," Reane called above the fray, fending off attackers from all around. "If we don't get you up against Lady Noranda, I don't think anyone is going to survive this."

A bolt of lightning crackling from the hands of the Red Witch took an archeon out of the sky and trailing smoke from singed flesh. The sight emphasized that even with their might, the primal dragons were not invincible.

"I'm open to suggestions," Daphney said.

Reane, of course, had one. "I can get you there. Hang on to your robes!"

The seer opened up her thoughts, grabbing the cleric with an unseen psychic hand while every idea, passion, and fear from those around her tried to impede upon her consciousness and overwhelm her. But, while the threat of such would have been all too real in the past, there was a rage that had settled in her mind—a deep and ancient furor that fought them all back. Like the snapping of an archeon's jaws, it protected Reane and kept her safe from loosing herself to any of the unwelcome assaults and distractions.

Without giving Daphney a moment to prepare, the seer hurled the cleric upward and through the air with only a thought.

Daphney, finding herself instantaneously flying and on the verge of out of control, flailed with one hand on her weapon. The other fought against her clothing that tried to go in wrong and indecent directions. Only at that point did she understand the seer's warning.

About half way through her unnatural flight, just as she hit the apex of her arc, Lady Noranda spotted the surprising sight of the cleric hurtling towards her. The fallen angel stumbled off the corpse of the dragon she was using as a platform and fell, most unceremoniously, into the dirt.

Daphney wasn't sure what the Red Witch thought of the sight as she landed with stumbling strides of her own and was ultimately unable to keep her feet. But there was definitely surprise on the face of the Red Witch. If not fear.

Golden glaive in hand, Daphney rose.

As did the fallen angel who served at Lord Hedric's right hand.

Both women faced each other, but neither seeming to know what to do. The surrounding battle appeared content to them to settle their differences one on one and without any interference, and both quickly realized now was the time fate had deemed for them to face one another.

There was no discourse between the women. Only action. Noranda regained the dark forces she controlled and sent them upon Daphney. The cleric responded by summoning divine strength and lunged with her blessed weapon of light.

Cassandra spit out saliva carrying the stain of blood as Lord Hedric struck her with enough force to break two more ribs. Still, she suspected he was holding back. Even as her right eye swelled and threatened to close and she began to lose her perception of depth.

Those suspicions were confirmed when she crumpled to her knee and he failed to move in and decisively finish her off. The hesitation gave her time to recover slightly. "What's the matter?" she taunted, standing again as her body healed. Her legs shook, threatening to collapse, but remained underneath her. "Can't decide whether you want to kill me or not?"

She lunged for him in his moment of hesitation. However, the arc taken by the silversteel blade in her hand was wild. It ultimately missed due to a throbbing pain in her right arm that hindered her range of motion. Normally, she'd have switched to her left, but the bruises purpling the skin under her armor on that arm were worse than on her right.

Lars knocked her to the ground with an annoyed swat while the force he assaulted her shook her sword loose from her fingers and sent it away from her grasp. In her mind, she sensed her father and mother cry out to her at the forced separation. Even with her father's supernatural guidance, however, she'd not proven a match for the Blood Lord.

Not that she expected to be. While she was linked to him and drew strength from the bond, Lord Hedric was tied to some two dozen others as well as her through their own Blood Bonds. Those not only gave him added power, but as the nexus of that power, he would always be supreme.

Moving in, fingers wrapping around her throat, Lars lifted Cassandra up to her feet and then off the ground entirely. She clawed at his choking hand with hers.

"You don't understand," he snarled at her. "I don't want to kill you, or anyone. I never have. But I will, if you stand in my way and make me."

"You mean like my parents?"

The Blood Lord growled at her like a tiger. "I know the pain of loss. I know it's no consolation, but if things would have gone correctly, you wouldn't have survived to even know what happened that day. For that, I'm sorry for what I did to you. But it had to be done."

"Sorry doesn't bring my parents back." Cassandra's voice was barely a hoarse whisper as she tried to speak against the pressure he applied to her larynx with a single hand fueled by dark forces. "Did you know the Tear couldn't return the dead to this world?" she asked with a strained grunt as her lungs fought to draw breath. "Was that a purposeful lie? Or did Lady Noranda just promise without knowing."

"I have seen the Tear do many wondrous things. No one knows what the limits of the Tear's power is, child."

"I do. My parents told me." She looked to the silver steel blade she had lost and reached for it. Even though it was far from being able to be grasped. It was as though she tried to will it into her hand.

"Ah," Lars said, following her eyes and understanding. There was a presence about the sword he could sense. Two of them, in fact. He perceived their life force, although weak and not any longer bound to a corporeal form. And he understood what the elves had done upon finding the dead that day. "Well, lucky for me, I don't want to bring the dead back."

"But I did."

The Blood Lord frowned. "Again, I'm sorry you can't have your wish, child. But that's not my concern. It's not too late, though. I don't want to kill you. You just have to stand aside."

"You mean you don't want to lose the strength you gain from our Blood Bond. Admit it. That's why you hesitate to kill me. Because of power."

"Fool." The Blood Lord's grip closed like a vice. "Once I have the Tear, I won't need you. I'll be mortal again. And I won't require the blood of others to sustain me anymore."

"Then kill me. Get it over with."

Once more, the hand on her throat tightened. "If that is your wish, child." With muscles powered by the life forces of others, Lord Hedric heaved Cassandra across the room. As though she were nothing more than a child's ball.

The sensation of sailing through the air only to hit the ground was not all that unfamiliar to Cass; having already done that once today. Still, the second time hurt no less than the first.

Cassandra came to a stop between the legs of one of the otaur statues. Her body just laid there. Despite the will to move, her muscles failed to comply and only intensified in their defiance as Lord Hedric stalked over to her. He halted only long enough to kneel and retrieve the silversteel blade Cassandra had dropped on the floor.

The sound of his skin sizzling as he touched the metal was sickening. But Lars did not let it go as the sword attempted to defend itself and repel him. He bore the pain. "If you will not join me, then you will have to die," the Blood Lord proclaimed, lifting the sword up over his head. "As will your sister."

Closing her eyes as he prepared to strike her with the very blade possessed by the spirits of her dead parents, Cassandra figured it was a fate she deserved. A destiny earned from a life of pain and suffering inflicted upon others without mercy. Her failure accepted, Cassandra only hoped she had bought Sheala enough time.

But when steel rang against steel, she dared to peak through her one remaining good eye. What she saw astounded her.

Intercepting the fatal downstroke of the elven blade was the oversized sword of the otaur statue that stood over her. It had moved to guard her, as though it were alive.

Lord Hedric retreated, the silversteel sword still in his hands and still burning him.

Slowly, another one of the lumbering statues stepped forward, brandishing an axe. And then another, and another; all with weapons at the ready. As the living monuments lumbered towards the Blood Lord, at first there was a confusion in his eyes. But it was one that quickly subsided.

"Just delaying the inevitable," he growled. Then he leapt into battle against the stone animated guardians.

Man, elf, dragon, archeon, and undead all fought for supremacy underneath a sky darkened by wicked magic.

The two armies colliding were so intent on their current enemies, both failed to notice as a new potential threat strode upon the battlefield. Cresting the trail leading to the top of the mountain, Carmon Dagarth stalked onto the field of battle with an air far too casual to befit the flow of bloodshed staining the sacred peak around him.

The scent of the dead and dying mixed with those still alive danced within his nostrils. He could tell the exact state of all upon the mountain just from their smell.

The day having been turned to night was a welcome surprise. He'd figured it would have been hours more before he and his own minions could have joined in the pandemonium now raging.

Clearing a path for him were fully one hundred pale and hungry dwarfs craving the life of the living and feasting as though they hadn't fed in a lifetime. In their ravenous vampiric lust for blood, they salivated while their desires hung heavy in the air and stunned those whom they descended upon.

At times, their assault even caused enemies to join forces, if even to only delay the inevitable.

As his servants rended their prey apart in sprays of blood and guts, Lord Dagarth felt his power swell to heights it had not obtained in many years. Each time they fed, he too gained strength.

On his legs of uneven length and limping with his hunched back, Krane stood by his Lord's side. He was not as consumed by an uncontrollable craving for blood, having been given fresh meat more recently than the others. "Master?"

Carmon Dagarth raised a lone finger meant to silence the dwarf, scanning the field of battle for what he sought. In the direction of the temple's entrance, a stunning blast lit up the sky in a shower of magic both holy and dark.

Dagarth smiled upon locating his prey, smelling the blood he wanted more than any other. And he would have it. Along with its power.

"Krane," he said.

"Yes Master?"

"See to it that I am not disturbed while I feed."