The hawk carving felt cool and solid beneath Kerris's trembling fingers. It was a simple thing, a landmark she and Alaric, her party's fighter, had etched into the stone what seemed like a lifetime ago. A symbol from home. Now, it had become little more than a cautionary epitaph on an aging tombstone. She took a deep, shuddering breath, the stale, corrupt air of the labyrinth doing little to steady her nerves. "This way," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "They may be near." She searched the disgusting limestone floor, one massive black smear catching her eye. This was where it had started. She walked slowly, Zeek's eyes following her before waving on the rest of the party. Kerris' steps were shaky, her hands tight on her bow, steadying herself under the weight of her father's armor. With each step, more, and more black smears and drag marks. The scent of festering flesh permeated the corridor with a thickness that was almost as palpable as it was repugnant.
The chamber beyond the narrow passage was a mockery of a resting place. It was a wide, circular room, dominated by a cracked and crumbling fountain at its center, its water long since turned to a bloody, black, viscous sludge. There, scattered around the fountain, were the bodies of her friends, or what remained of them. Alaric, his powerful frame slumped against the fountain's edge, his dented shield still strapped to his arm. Lyra, the nimble rogue, lay in a heap near the far wall, her twin daggers still clutched in her skeletal hands. And Elara, the gentle cleric, was crumpled at the base of a pillar, her holy symbol clutched to her chest.
But they were not at rest.
As the party's light spilled into the chamber, a sickly black energy flared to life in the empty eye sockets of the three fallen adventurers. With a collective groan of grinding bone and tearing sinew, they began to stir. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, their bodies twisted into grotesque parodies of life. The corruption had not let them rest; it had turned them into disgusting traps, grim caricatures within their own tomb.
"No," Kerris breathed, a sound of pure anguish. Tears streamed down her face, hot and furious. This was the ultimate desecration. Not only had her friends been killed, but their very forms had been violated, turned into mindless monsters. The grief that had been a cold stone in her gut for months ignited into a white-hot rage. "Not like this," she said with a shaking breath, "Not like this."
She notched an arrow, her movements swift and sure despite the tears blurring her vision. "I have to put them down," she said, her voice terrified but sure. "I have to set them free."
The undead Alaric lumbered forward, swinging his longsword in a clumsy, predictable arc. Verris met the blow with Regalia, the clang of steel echoing in the dead silence of the chamber. He didn't speak, merely nodded to Kerris, his eyes filled with a grim understanding. He would hold the line.
The undead Lyra skittered along the wall, her movements unnaturally fast. She lunged at Zeek, who leapt back, his face a mask of guilt and disgust. An arrow from Kerris's bow took the creature in the shoulder, causing it to stagger. "Zeek, get back!" Kerris yelled. His knives had already flashed inches from the monster's neck as she'd skipped backward.
Heka stepped forward, her amulet glowing with a soft, golden light. "Spirits of the fallen, find your—" she turned into a cloud of smoke as Talla and Joren shot sickening rays toward her, passing through the wall of smoke that now stood in her place. The twins sauntered out of the shadows, grim smiles on their faces matching the gaping wounds on their necks.
"My Queen," Amon roared, the golden lines on his chest and arms burning. His forearms glowed with a magma-like mix of black and red, flames sputtering from the corners of his eyes as they, too, began to glow. Talla turned to face him, a gurling sound escaping her open throat. Ice crystals prickled on her fingertips as she pointed toward Amon before a bolt of frigid energy raced toward him. When the bolt hit its mark, an icy outcrop formed on Amon's chest, branching across his ropes and skin, steam forming underneath as the frost continued to creep across his frame.
Heka reformed herself, regaining her bearings, twisted black knives forming in her hands. "Amon!" She saw the ice creeping over him as his movements continued to slow under the frigid embrace. Her eyes darted to Talla, a fiendish smile plastered to her face. "Witch," she cried. Her eyes clouded with a dripping black some that began to pour from them. The twisted knives melded into claws as she took her Shu-Ra's bestial form. A black hood of smoke crept over her head, dropping a veil covering her face and shrouding her body in a pitch-black cloak of her own essence. Joren shot another sickening ray toward her from her flank, his face ever stuck, unchanging. She allowed the blow to land, dissipating on the exterior of her protective shroud.
"You will free my husband," it was a deep and guttural utterance. Before Talla could finish another spell to cast at Amon, Heka was a sinister black stream of smoke hurling toward her. She veered off as Joren cast a slowing spell between her and her target. From the diverted cloud came four sinister knives that met their mark in Talla's hand, ceasing her current spell. A small black sphere formed in the space Joren had slowed as he directed his dead eyes towards Heka's new position, his lifeless lips forming the words for yet another spell, a trapping wind to contain Heka.
While Heka continued to battle Joren and disable Talla's incantations, Amon continued to glow under the frost that had encased him. The small black orb Heka had left sprouted slow, writhing tendrils that traveled along the floor, making their way to Amon's feet. While Talla still held one frosted hand, continuing the encasement spell the regenerated over Amon, small black spirals began to form on her fingers, cracking the frosted exterior.
Joren cast multiple hurricane spells around Heka's monstrous form, countering her smoky composition, making her movements easier to ready and luring her into more, and more confined spaces. It seemed as though the pair had met their match in the twins, but a rumbling had begun under the ice. Without warning, the black coils around Talla's fingers snapped, rending them into putrid, flowing ribbons of decaying flesh and bone. Amon burst from the ice in an explosive wail, a smoking black scythe forming its bar under his palm. In a flash, Talla fell into two ashen pillars behind Amon's fearsome slash. Heka, nearly bound, whisked herself to his robes, forming a reaper's cloak and cowl around him, strengthening his movements as Joren was, once again, snuffed out, the cleansing flame spewing from where his frame was torn beneath the scythe.
Kerris was a whirlwind of motion. She fired arrow, after arrow, each one a prayer tied to a wicked curse. She disabled Lyra, pinning her to the wall with a series of well-aimed shots as Zeek swept his daggers across her breastplate. With a sickening pop, Lyra dislodged an arm as she pried herself from the wall, batting away Zeek's advance with her dislocated limb. Kerris slung her bow reverse over her back as she closed in to cover Zeek. Though his blows had been deflected, his movements flowed with a silent grace, green crystals falling from his sleeves, cracking on the floor into growing acid pools. Lyra moved, clunky but sure, the remnants of her boots sizzling, drops of acid jumping onto her armored torso. Kerris met the moment with precision, firing an arrow from under her are before driving her hunting knife into the bubbling opening in her armor. Lyra's body sagged, slowing as Kerris tore through sinew and tendon, Zeek delivering a final decisive slice through Lyra's neck.
Kerris turned her attention to Elara. Verris held Regalia steady, the blood from the earlier fights still encasing her bloated core. His swings clanged against Alaric's blade, the warrior's strength was impressive in life, even more so in death. His body weaved unimpeded, even as his blade shattered under Regalia's weight. Alaric's corpse looked upon the shattered blade with vacant eyes before dropping the hilt entirely. Verris watched the sword drop, his attention momentarily straying from his target. In that short time, a heavy grieved fist slammed across his face, and a second, then a third. Verris swung Regalia toward the ceiling, crushing Alaric's arm entirely. He took in a ragged breath, spitting blood on the floor, "It's about time you put up a fight." With a roar, Verris rushed the one-armed giant, Alaric throwing another fist toward him. This time, Verris was focused, a beast clothed as a man, unleashing an animalistic assault with Regalia, then, his bare hands. He caught Alaric's punch in one hand before bringing Regalia down with the totality of her swollen core. His next swing was pure devastation, caving in his opponent's chest before tearing into the armor, ripping out its undead heart. Regalia lay beside him as he shouted in blood lust, drawing in every stray drop of blood. For a moment, a raging madness had almost overtaken him; Kerris tapped his shoulder, vaulting over him to reach Elara.
With the twins and two fighters down, only the cleric remained. She stood swaying, her head lolling on its broken neck. Kerris walked forward slowly, her bow lowered. She stood before the shambling form of the woman who had been her friend, her confidant. She saw the tattered remnants of the cloak she had helped Elara mend. She saw the familiar silver ring on her finger.
"I'm sorry, Elara," Kerris whispered. She drew her hunting knife, and with a single, swift movement, ended the mockery of her friend's life.
Silence fell, absolute and profound. The green light faded from the eye sockets of the fallen. They were finally still.
Kerris fell to her knees, the rage and adrenaline leaving her in a rush, replaced by a hollow, aching grief. Verris placed a bloodied hand on her shoulder. No one spoke. There were no words for this.
After a long moment, Amon began to gather the unburned bodies, placing them together at the center of the room. "They should not be left like this," he said, his voice softer than usual. He felt Heka beneath his raiment, nodded in understanding.
Amon summoned his fire, not the usual raging red, but a brilliant, cleansing white. The pyre consumed the bodies, leaving no trace of the corruption behind, only clean, white ash.
Kerris watched, her tears finally spent. She felt a sense of peace settle over her, a painful but necessary closure. She walked to the pyre and retrieved Elara's silver ring from the ashes, its metal now warm to the touch. She slipped it onto her own finger.
"Thank you," she said to the party, her voice thick with emotion. "All of you."
Zeek, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal, looked down at the map in his hands. In the center of the chamber, where the funeral pyre had burned, the bloody path etched by Grigor's soul was pulsing, harder than it ever had. It pulsed with a soft, silent acknowledgment, a sign of respect for the fallen. Grigor's soul, trapped within the cursed artifact, had borne witness. And it approved.