"Dad!" My emotions churned—a cocktail of anger, sorrow, and hopelessness flooding my heart. My father stood frozen for but a second, but it felt like hours before he crumpled to the ground. His eyes, open but lifeless, left me clutching at an air of warmth, devoid of breath. I swiftly nocked another arrow, but the necromancers had vanished. Only the corpse of the woman impaled on a stone spike remained as the crusaders battled the undead.

  "Quick, I need help!" I cried.

  "Captain! I need one of those elixirs of yours!" Davorn pleaded.

  "Go! I'll hold them off with Jeremiah!" Elleshar commanded, rushing to the frontline. He passed a vial to the Dwarf, who awkwardly fumbled with it.

  "Damn it, Davorn. Quit fooling around!" The captain barked.

  "Stop pressuring me, you twat! You're making me hairs stand!" The Dwarf raced over, gulping down the elixir.

  "Alright, let's see what I can do," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together. A golden aura surrounded them, but two armored zombies closed in. I readied my club and shield, prepared to intercept. My pendant glowed as I deftly parried the swing of the first, removing its head with a single stroke. The second's thrust met my shield, and a forceful bash threw it off balance, setting it up for an overhand strike that shattered its collarbone.

  I turned to check on my father, but he wasn't improving. Sweat dripped from Davorn's brow, his face scrunched from exertion. With each passing second, he grew paler, as if his soul were being drained. Suddenly, my dad's hand gripped Davorn's throat as he sat up. As my father opened his mouth, life returned to him, but the Dwarf began turning blue.

  "Dad! What are you doing?" I shouted. Davorn continued to grunt and squirm as my father stood up and held the fully armored Dwarf with inhuman strength, lifting him up with one arm. The Dwarf's legs kicked, and he continued to punch my dad's arm, but nothing would work.

  "He is no longer your father, boy. That is an Essence Wraith," Elleshar stated, firing stone spikes at the creature holding my father's body. The monster conjured a dark energy barrier, released Davorn for a moment, and leaped from shadow to shadow. It picked up my father's greatsword, striking Jeremiah from behind while he was surrounded. The heavy blow hit the back of his head, creating a loud clink and knocking him to the ground. The helmet remained unscathed, so I guess Veralien was right after all. But I knew that powerful sword would slice my armor and shield like warm butter. My father was possessed, and I grappled with my conscience on how to fight back.

  The Wraith dashed to Elleshar, who was now heavily outnumbered. Neither Davorn nor Jeremiah were getting up. I had no way to tell if they were unconscious or dead, but the zombies began to crowd the lieutenant.

  I bolted forward, stepping into the role of a guardian. With a commanding shield charge, I collided with two zombies, their bodies toppled under the impact. I delivered a powerful sideswipe to another zombie, the sound of breaking bones echoing in my ears. The blow left a significant dent in its steel breastplate.

  The lieutenant's mace and shield, both emanating empowerment from a golden gem similar to the blue one from my home, lay by my feet. I exchanged my weapons for those, feeling the energy course through my body.

  From behind, one of the zombies lunged at me with a pitchfork. The shaft splintered and shattered as it made contact with my new shield, allowing me to easily tear off its head with an upward swing. One of those creepy Wights came in, evading my horizontal swing and headbutting my abdomen. The forceful blow knocked my wind out, and it felt like it broke some bones. Blood spewed from my mouth, and I found myself lying flat on my back. The relentless demon pounced, yet I raised the shield just in time to prevent it from tearing out my throat.

  Desperation fueled my actions as I strained to reach the mace, my fingers barely grazing its cold surface. An idea sparked, and I drew the hatchet with the rope attached to it from my tool belt. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the makeshift grappling hook toward the mace, hoping to bring it within my grasp. The result fell short of my expectations – the mace merely turned, creating an opening for the Wight to sink its decaying jaws into my outstretched forearm.

  The protective padding of my gambeson spared me from the horror of losing a limb. Still, the deep gash made my arm practically useless. I fought off the relentless Wight with a frenzied ground scramble, delivering punishing blows to its deformed and bloodied face with my shield. Yet, before I could finish it, another wight tackled me to the ground, launching a frenetic assault that I could only parry with my shield.

  With the other Wight closing in, urgency gripped me. I reached into my storage pouch, pulled out my lantern, and smashed it forcefully against the side of the relentless attacker's face. The impact set the attacker ablaze.

  The Wight shrieked in pain, flailing its arms and moving about frantically. I took advantage of the opportunity to strike back. A speedy uppercut from my shield sent it staggering, and as another lunged forward, a powerful bash crumpled its nose, the sickening sensation of mush beneath my weapon signaling its end.

  With the immediate threat neutralized, I turned my attention to Elleshar, ready to rush to his aid. However, a sudden feeling of unease gripped me. In a heartbeat, my father's sword swung towards my throat. Desperation surged as I raised my shield, but the sheer force of the attack forced me back. My pendant guided my body just before hitting the ground, forcing me to turn with my shield to absorb the impact.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  As I landed, the evil presence loomed over me—a demonic figure wearing my father's body and wielding his sword. The face carried a pale blue pigment, bloodshot red eyes, and gray hair, resembling the banshee we had faced earlier. The devilish gaze conveyed the horror of facing a twisted version of my own flesh and blood.

  "Dad…" He stared at me, emotionless, before zooming straight toward me, swinging the great sword with inhuman strength. The blow sent me flying several feet once more. My forearm was bruised, and my shoulder felt as if it were going to be torn, but the true pain came from fighting my hero.

  "Dad…" His gaze remained cold, void of emotion, just before he propelled himself toward me with unnatural speed, the greatsword cutting through the air with inhuman strength. The impact sent me flying several feet, leaving my forearm bruised and my shoulder screaming with the threat of being torn apart. Yet, the true agony emanated from the heart-wrenching realization of battling the hero who had raised me.

  "Dad, it's me! The man you raised!" I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, mingling with the grime, sweat, and dust that adorned my battered body. But his expression remained indifferent, barren of any recognition. He advanced, readying for another assault.

  "I will not fight you…" My resolve wavered on the edge of collapse. The demon pressed on, launching a relentless series of overhand swings. My knee buckled under the force, and I crumpled to the ground, wailing in excruciating pain. The final thrust aimed for my chest, and I braced for the inevitable, knowing I could not react in time. I closed my eyes to meet my end.

  Then, a vibrant clash of steel echoed through the air. "Get up, the fight is not over yet," a familiar voice commanded. Opening my eyes, I saw the lieutenant, his mace in hand, confronting my father.

  "I can't. How can I fight against my father?"

  "Then hand over my shield and let me handle it. This thing won't hesitate to take either of us out. It's a wraith, a demon, and with your father's skills, it's a notch above the banshee we faced earlier." The Wraith came in with blinding speed, striking the lieutenant with otherworldly rage. Jeremiah was unable to parry all its blows, but his magic armor prevented the blade from piercing his flesh. His mace started glowing with golden energy. A burst of light seared the demon's flesh as he swung it.

  It howled in agony, creating an opening for me to toss Jeremiah his shield. Their clash was a blur of movement, and I struggled to determine who held the upper hand. The lieutenant's skill in parrying seemed otherworldly, his movements defying logic as he fended off blows that felt like they were breaking my own bones. Still, I felt much safer with a shield. I rushed over to Davorn to retrieve his.

  I could no longer use my bow with only one working arm, and my melee prowess with only a shield would not likely be useful. Then, I remembered the tool Davorn used earlier, the small handheld one that made holes in Wights. I noticed it on his belt and retrieved it. It looked odd, but there was a little lever that looked like you could pull it with your finger. That must've been how it worked.

  I went to support Elleshar, who was surrounded by several wights and zombies. Pulling the lever, a loud noise erupted, blowing a hole into a wight's chest. As it turned towards me, it met its end as Elleshar beheaded it with his sword.

  "Thamolin, give me time to cast a spell," he shouted, swinging his longsword wide to keep the other Wights at bay. I went into my pouch and grabbed a molotov, my last one.

  "Get out of the way!" I called. Creating a fiery barrier that granted him some breathing space. Elleshar began chanting and waving his arms. After a few seconds, the walls shook, and the ceiling collapsed, burying the undead under tons of rubble. The captain, panting and covered in sweat and dust, rushed to aid Jeremiah.

  The two clashed against the Wraith, Elleshar's sword cutting through my father's mail coat and Jeremiah's mace pounding on his body. But no matter how often he was hit, he did not slow. Maybe because he was a demon, maybe because he defended all his important areas. Elleshar began to slow, and if I noticed that, so did the Wraith. It shoulder bashed Jeremiah, staggering him a few feet. The maneuver bought the Wraith enough time to backhand Elleshar, creating an opening. The demon grabbed the captain by the hair and began stealing his soul as he did to Davorn. His seared flesh began to form again, renewed, as the elf's began to wither.

  I pointed the magic tool at my father, or the demon rather, for I knew he would not want to harm anyone had he still been himself. "I'm sorry," I cried, pressing the lever repeatedly, creating multiple holes inside its body and causing the Wraith to screech. A clicking sound interrupted the loud bang as the dwarven tool seemingly ran out of its magic. I examined it for a moment, but the Wraith was upon me when I looked up. I raised my shield, successfully defending the blow, but I could do nothing against this superior foe. He was stronger than me and quicker. He had no fear or remorse and held no memories.

  Elleshar was coughing, kneeling, and battered as Jeremiah pushed forward with unwavering determination. My heart hurt with a strong desire to help, but my injured arm and almost empty supplies left me unable to do anything. My scream echoed in the chaos, tears mixing with the dirt and dust on my face.

  Using the last of my strength, I pushed myself toward the demonic enemy. A surge of energy hid my fatigue as I charged the Wraith with my shield, diverting its attention just long enough for Jeremiah to pierce his chest with a dagger. At that crucial moment, the danger was stopped, and a brief feeling of relief washed over me on the noisy battlefield.

  "Is everyone alright?" Jeremiah groaned, not hiding the pain behind his voice.

  "We need to fall back. If we continue onward, we shall perish." Elleshar stated. "Let's get the dwarf and begone from this forsaken place."

  I examined my father's corpse. Pale blue and withered skin, with his skull now shattered. A fragment of the man who raised me. I would never see him again. Never hear his scolding, never feel his embrace. But my eyes found no tears, for I could still hear his voice telling me not to dare cry. I was the future of the Tavis legacy.

  I stripped him of his armor to lower any unnecessary weight before carrying his body out of the catacombs.

  "Do you need any help?" Jeremiah asked.

  "No. I'll carry him out on my own."

  "Then hold for a moment. Allow me to heal your wounds." He laid his hands on my arm, and my strength fully returned to me in seconds.

  "Thanks," I murmured, gratitude tempered by grief. Jeremiah just nodded.

  "Let's go. The inquisitors will handle the rest."