Sophia paused, allowing the chilling implications of Beleth's manipulative truce to settle upon the assembled squad members. The air in the briefing room remained thick with unspoken questions and a creeping sense of dread. Her gaze swept across their faces - the veterans grimly accepting, the newcomers wide-eyed with horrified realization. The tale of the Necrofear was far from concluded, and the worst was yet to come. Her voice, when she spoke again, lowered, imbued with an unsettling gravity, as if she were recounting a personal nightmare rather than historical record gleaned from forbidden texts.
"...However," she continued softly, the word hanging heavy, "our Zephyros archives, particularly those held within the deepest vaults of the Central Cathedral and mirrored here at Estath, contain a fragmented addendum. A harrowing account from the aftermath, recorded under extreme duress." Her own hands tightened slightly in her lap, an unconscious echo of the recalled terror. "There is a record of what transpired within that blighted, plague-ridden fog."
She hesitated, drawing a deep, steadying breath. The faces around the table were rapt, leaning forward instinctively, caught between morbid curiosity and rising apprehension. The flickering lumen-light cast long, dancing shadows, transforming the familiar briefing room into something more ominous, more akin to a chamber where dark secrets were whispered.
"A senior Archbishop from Aerion," Sophia's voice dropped further, becoming hushed, almost reverent with remembered fear, "a Rank 6 Prelate renowned for his spiritual fortitude, ventured to the edge of the Birtoraz miasma. He employed a sacred artifact, the Eye of Mobius - a relic capable of piercing illusions and revealing truth - to peer through the swirling, diseased veil… And what he witnessed…" Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "What he saw nearly shattered his soul."
She met their eyes, her own gentle amber gaze reflecting an indescribable dread. "The Death Rising tower, Beleth's profane fortress, lay in ruins. A desolate landscape of decay and shadow. And standing amidst the wreckage, upon a skeletal steed whose bones clicked with unnatural life, was Beleth himself. The Necrofear."
Sophia painted the picture with words drawn from the Archbishop's fractured testimony. "His form, barely humanoid, skeletal thin beneath tattered robes. Two impossibly long, gaunt arms, blackened as if charred by unholy fire, extended from his frame. His face concealed behind a mask crafted from a polished human skull - revealing only two points of eerie, greyish light where eyes should be, burning with opaque red irises, radiating pure malevolence." The description was visceral, conjuring an image of death incarnate.
"The very aura surrounding him," Sophia continued, her voice barely a whisper now, "was described as pure, concentrated mortality. A chilling miasma of decay that seemed to leech warmth from the air, overwhelming even the Archbishop's Rank 6 defenses. The Prelate reported feeling… insignificant. As if standing before not merely a powerful Necromancer, but an abyss, a fundamental opposition to life itself."
Silence gripped the room. Even Jacobs's usual stoic composure seemed strained. Henry felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach, the description disturbingly resonant with forces he himself had only begun to glimpse.
"But Beleth was not alone," Sophia pressed on, her eyes wide, recalling the Archbishop's most harrowing observation. "Surrounding him, like grotesque sentinels, stood four colossal… things. Abominations towering six meters high, greyish-blue skin stretched taut over warped frames, like corpses dredged from some stagnant, unholy river. And upon their massive, malformed arms, embedded within the putrid flesh…" Her voice caught, thick with revulsion. "Countless faces. Rotting, screaming faces, locked in expressions of eternal agony, fury, sorrow. Some mere muscle stretched over bone, others liquefying flesh, still others bare white skulls infested with maggots… Their collective, silent screams formed a psychic chorus of torment that the Archbishop said threatened to overwhelm his sanity."
A shared shudder ran through the squad. The image was blasphemous, a violation of natural order.
"The Necrofear sensed the Archbishop's observation," Sophia stated, her hand trembling slightly now. "Yet, he displayed no fear, only… contemptuous pride. He gestured towards the four horrors, introducing them, boasting that they represented the next stage of Undead evolution. He called them… the Undead Host. And the Archbishop confirmed, each one radiated the raw power signature of a Rank 5 entity."
Four Rank 5 abominations, serving a Rank 6 Necrofear. The sheer concentration of power was staggering, unthinkable.
"Then," Sophia's voice dropped to a horrified whisper, "Beleth even boasted that he was nearing completion of the next evolution, a more powerful creature called the Primal Undead, and another upgrade reaching Rank 6 that he called his masterpiece - the 'Frenzied Bastard'. The name itself was vile, hinting at unimaginable horrors in its creation.
"The Archbishop," Sophia concluded, her voice strained, "could bear no more. The psychic assault, the sheer spiritual pressure… it overwhelmed him. Blood streamed from his eyes, ears, nose. The Eye of Mobius artifact nearly shattered. He collapsed, his life force critically drained. Only the most skilled healers at the Central Cathedral, employing powerful restorative magic, were able to pull him back from the brink of death."
She finally finished, letting out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the recounted horror leaving her visibly shaken. The room remained utterly silent, the squad members processing the terrifying implications. Beleth hadn't just been powerful; he had been pioneering new, horrifying echelons of undeath, creating individual monsters comparable to high-ranking commanders.
"What… what happened after that?" Melly finally broke the silence, her voice small, trembling.
Sophia shook her head, a deep sadness, a sense of profound mystery, clouding her eyes. "No one knows for certain. Approximately three months after the Archbishop's observation, the plague-fog abruptly dissipated from the Birtoraz region. Scout patrols venturing cautiously back in found… nothing. The ruins of Death Rising remained, crumbling under the elements. But Beleth, his four Undead Hosts, his entire legion of twenty thousand… vanished without a single trace. No signs of battle, no indication of where they went or how they departed. It was as if," she murmured, "the entire nightmare had simply… evaporated."
Henry frowned, the gears of his mind turning. A being that powerful, that cunning, capable of creating Rank 5 entities and aiming for Rank 6 constructs… simply vanishing? It felt wrong. Too neat. Too unresolved. Had he achieved his goal? Ascended further? Moved his operations elsewhere? The lack of an ending felt more menacing than a confirmed defeat.
"He achieved everything he set out to do," Sophia stated, her voice laced with bitter irony. "He stopped a war between three superpowers through sheer terror and manipulation, carved out territory to conduct his profane research unhindered, cowed anyone who dared investigate, and then departed utterly unscathed, leaving behind only fear and unanswered questions." She sighed. "And the ultimate, cruelest irony? While Beleth himself faced no direct repercussions, his actions, the sheer terror he instilled, forced the hand of the nations. Fearful of another such entity arising, they collectively issued draconian edicts. All practitioners of Necromancy, regardless of scale or intent, were to be hunted down, declared enemies of life, executed on sight. His evil," she concluded softly, "cast a long, dark shadow that persecutes others to this day."
A cold, cynical smile touched Henry's lips, unseen by the others. "Then this Rank 4 Necromancer in the Bandit graveyard," he murmured under his breath, "has indeed chosen his specialization… most unfortunately."
The grim conversation lingered for a few more minutes, the weight of Beleth's legacy casting a pall over their own impending mission, before Jacobs formally dismissed them to begin their three days of preparation. While the others dispersed, discussing requisition lists and strategies, Sophia quietly excused herself, her steps turning towards the familiar, comforting path leading back to the Estath Cathedral.
She needed artifacts. Against the Undead, even a comparatively weak legion led by a novice Rank 4, holy magic and blessed items were invaluable force multipliers. And Archbishop Ralph, her mentor, her confidant, held the keys to the Cathedral's armory of sacred relics.
As she walked through the familiar streets, the grandeur of the Cathedral rising before her, a sense of peace settled over Sophia, overlaying the lingering unease from the mission briefing. This place… it was more than just a center of faith; it was her sanctuary, her second home. Orphaned at a young age, she had grown up under its protective arches, finding solace in the quiet cloisters, knowledge in the vast, ancient library, and a sense of belonging amongst the priests and nuns who had raised her. Archbishop Ralph, in particular, had become a surrogate father figure, recognizing her keen intellect and nurturing her insatiable thirst for knowledge.
It was that thirst, that relentless study within the Cathedral library, that had inadvertently prepared her for the life she now led. She devoured ancient histories, religious scriptures, bestiaries detailing the myriad horrors of Tehra, treatises on arcane theory and monster lore. She remembered countless details, possessed an astonishing capacity for recall and analysis - skills honed not for ambition, but initially, secretly, out of a fierce desire to understand the dangers of the world, the better to help protect the quiet, intense boy named Henry who had captured her heart years ago in the shared hardship of the garrison's lower ranks. Her knowledge was her shield, her contribution, her way of standing beside him.
Archbishop Ralph received her warmly in his study, his earlier gravity replaced by gentle affection. He listened patiently as she explained the mission parameters and her need for specific countermeasures. Understanding dawned in his eyes, mingled with concern for her safety.
"Facing the legions of the night, my child?" he murmured, stroking his silver beard thoughtfully. "A perilous task. But the light shall prevail." He rose, moving towards a heavily reinforced chest bound in silver and engraved with holy wards. "The Cathedral shall lend its strength to your cause."
He returned bearing four items, each radiating a soft, pure luminescence. Sophia's eyes widened slightly; these were not minor charms, but artifacts of significant power.
"First," Ralph presented a pair of silver emblems, intricately engraved with stylized angel wings. "Light Emblems. Blessed against darkness. They will significantly reduce the effects of necromantic curses and poisons upon the wearer, and actively suppress dark creatures of Rank 3 and below within a five-meter radius."
Next, he offered a delicate necklace of white gold, its pendant shaped like a miniature, exquisitely detailed winged angel. "The Angel's Chain. A potent defensive charm, but its true power lies within." He tapped the pendant. "Once per day, it can be activated to unleash an 'Angel Strike' - a focused blast of holy energy dealing damage equivalent to a Rank 4 offensive spell."
Finally, he produced a pair of elegant platinum rings, each set with a milky white opal that seemed to glow from within. "And Holy Light Rings. Doubly useful. They possess the 'Holy Blessing' ability, capable of mending moderate wounds on allies, or," his eyes glinted, "inflicting corrosive holy damage upon creatures of darkness, comparable to a Rank 3 attack. Each ring holds two charges per day."
Sophia accepted the precious artifacts with reverence, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Your Eminence. This generosity… it is more than I could have hoped for. It will significantly aid our chances."
The Archbishop placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Use them wisely, child. And return safely. All of you." His gaze softened further. "I pray for your squad's success, and for your protection under the Angels' wings." He paused, a fond, almost paternal smile touching his lips. "And perhaps… selfishly… I pray for more peaceful times ahead. I confess, Sophia, I truly cherish both you and young Henry. It would bring this old priest great joy, one day, to have the honor of officiating your union under the Cathedral's arches."
A warm blush stained Sophia's cheeks, but her eyes shone with a gentle, profound happiness. "I… we would be deeply honored, Father," she whispered, the title slipping out naturally, affectionately. "I look forward to that day with all my heart. I hope… you will indeed be the one to bless us." For Sophia, Ralph was more than an Archbishop; he was family, the closest thing to a father she had ever known.
"Yes, yes, my child," the Archbishop replied, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes reflecting her affection. "I eagerly await the day my two beloved children stand together, ready to build a life under the Angels' benevolent gaze."
Sophia bowed deeply once more, gratitude and affection welling within her. Carefully securing the precious artifacts, she quietly departed the study, leaving the Archbishop to his prayers. As she stepped back out into the twilight-painted streets of Aerion, her heart felt lighter, buoyed by the Archbishop's blessing and the tangible power she now carried. Worry for the dangerous mission ahead still lingered, a cold counterpoint to the warmth in her chest, but it was mingled now with a stronger sense of hope, and a quiet anticipation of the future she desperately longed to share with Henry. The light, she resolved, would indeed prevail.