Ventren's lungs burned as he raced forward. His mind was a cyclone of fury and caution as he darted through the caverns guided by the panicked voice of Martin ahead of him. The boy had charged recklessly towards where the goblin shaman was.
This dumbass kid is going to get himself killed!
Martin was standing in the centre of the cavern facing a grotesque figure hovering slightly above the wet, moss-stained floor.
The creature was small and draped in tattered green robes that seemed to writhe with an unnatural energy. Its eyes glowed sickly yellow and it introduced itself in a voice that was both high-pitched and deceptively calm.
"Heheheh… Valkrins! I am Shakaraul, kneel before me!" the shaman hissed.
Before Ventren could respond a shimmering barrier rose from the cave floor. It was a transparent wall of jagged crystal, suffused with a poisonous green aura that twisted the air. Ventren charged instinctively but the barrier held firm as it hums with energy.
The shaman's grin widened as he flicked his hand. Poison crystal shards erupted from the floor and ceiling like hail, spinning through the air toward Martin. The boy flinched and barely parried with his makeshift sword and kettle helmet but the next volley tore through his gambeson. Ventren could do nothing but watch, powerless, as Shakaraul toyed with the boy.
"Pathetic little human, heh," Shakaraul sneered. "Do you think you can play hero here?"
The shards twisted to form deadly pincers and sliced at Martin. The boy tried to dodge and retaliate but the shaman was simply keeping him alive for now as entertainment.
Ventren's chest tightened as he saw Martin stumble back, clutching a wound across his side. Before he could intervene, a crystal impaled Martin from the floor, driving through him in a brutal fashion. Martin's eyes widened in shock and pain and then he collapsed. Silence fell in the cavern for a heartbeat—broken only by Ventren's ragged breathing.
Anger ignited inside him. His hands clenched over the hilt of his axe but the shaman mocked him.
"Careful, knight," Shakaraul taunted. "I wouldn't want you to get… hurt. Hehehehehe!"
The shaman's gnarled hands trembled slightly as he lifted a stone, its surface etched with jagged green runes that pulsed like living veins.
That was the scourgestone.
"This stone," he hissed, voice dripping with venomous pride, "grants me more mana than I would ever wield naturally. Fear me, fool!"
A sickly green glow bathed the cavern, casting twisted shadows across the walls as the poison-laced air seemed to thicken, responding to the surge of magical energy. From the darkness of the cave, he could hear the voice of the witch speaking directly to his mind. Her voice was laced with disappointment. "Hey, what are you doing, buffoon? You are immune to the poison. Ram straight into the crystal wall and get that stone!"
His mind focused and without a word, he rammed his colossal frame with full focused force against the poison crystal wall. The barrier shuddered and cracked as he surged through it, his momentum unstoppable.
Shakaraul's mouth fell open in surprise.
"Meh," the shaman muttered, raising his hands to fling more poison-laden crystals. They exploded in the air like jagged fireworks, cutting through the damp cave air. Ventren did not need to dodge or avoid the attacks, using the the bulk of his plate to absorb the impact. Each step forward was a battle against magic and gravity. He could feel the moist floor squelch beneath his boots, the stagnant water a perfect medium for the shaman's poisonous manipulation.
Shakaraul's control over the cave became evident. Pools of water erupted, spitting shards of deadly green poison while jagged crystal walls sprang from the earth with inhuman speed. Ventren swung his axe to smash shards into splinters and cutting through the poison constructs though each strike was met with a flurry of retaliatory magic. He dodged a stabbing spike from the floor, rolling across slick stone and coming up with a slash that disintegrated another crystal.
Martin's death burned in his mind like a brand.
"You piece of shit, you fucking primate!"
He shouted, cursing the shaman and striking with everything he had.
Shakaraul was a sorcerer not a fighter and therefore did not have to fight Ventren head-on. Ventren found himself overwhelmed by the magic.
Shakaraul's final strike was swift. He surged forward, vomiting a storm of razored crystals. Ventren's axe snapping in two and his world sheared apart with it. His head left his shoulders in a clean merciless arc.
Darkness swallowed everything for a brief moment before sensation returned.
Not pain—weight. A dreadful, intimate heaviness cradled in unseen hands. Ventren was aware of himself from a place he had never existed before as sight drifted and balance wrong. His body was distant—the realisation struck like a bell tolling inside his skull: he was still alive without a body while beheaded.
Horror gave way to instinct.
His gaze found Shakaraul and the goblin shaman recoiled with his eyes wide. His severed form lurched toward him drawn by what seems to be magic. His bone, sinew and soul realigned and flesh sealed without blood. Head met shoulders with a wet, final click.
Ventren stood whole once more.
The truth settled cold and irrevocable in his chest. He was cursed to be a Dullahan—death had just failed to claim him.
So thar's what it was.
"What?!"
Shakaraul staggered back with eyes wide, screaming in terror as he had never seen such a creature. Ventren's voice rumbled with unnatural power as he rose, the stub of his axe still gripped in his hand.
"You… you are… a dullahan?!" the shaman stammered, taking a step back.
Ventren advanced, unstoppable and immovable. He rammed through the remaining poison crystal walls as though they were paper as shards shatter against his armor and sliding harmlessly off his massive frame. Shakaraul hurled every crystal, every shard but Ventren's momentum was inexorable. With a supernatural roar that echoed through the cave, he plunged the broken stub of his axe repeatedly into the shaman. The poison crystal armor shattered with each strike and the goblin's body was reduced to an unrecognisable mass.
Breathing heavily, Ventren finally released the shaman, stepping back to survey the destruction. His eyes caught the faint and eerie glow of the scourgestone clutched in Shakaraul's remnants. He grabbed it, feeling the surge of dark energy vibrate through his hands.
As he turned to leave the cave, the sound of approaching voices caught his attention. A squad of soldiers had finally arrived. Ventren caught a glimpse of the girl he had rescued, her eyes scanning the cave warily. Yet he did not stop; his mind was consumed by one thing: Martin.
A crushing weight of guilt settled over him. The boy's life had been snatched away and no matter the glory nor the magic or the victory, he had allowed it. Ventren laughed but it was a hollow, painful sound that mixed anguish with a bitter, self-directed ire.
The soldiers spread out with weapons ready as they advance into the cave. Ventren observes them from a distance and his crazed laughter ceased.