Overlord Rising

Footsteps echoed through the hallways of the citadel. A company of Dark Elves marched, each one wore silver armor and navy capes. Long black spears were clenched in one hand, while the other carried kite shields. Lysander walked ahead of this company, leading them.

Despite being over three-hundred years of age, he retained the appearance of a young man only reaching his thirties. Like the rest of his company, Lysander had pointed ears and his hair like pure silver. He had eyes like unpolished rubies and his skin colored like ash.

However, unlike his company, Lysander wore something a little more unique. Rather than silver, his armor had a surface of gold, and seemed more suited for commemorative purposes. A long crimson cape flowed from his back, rather than a navy one.

As they marched through the hallway, the elven officer glared at the walls of the old structure. There was once a time that he believed it to be an honor to walk through such a place. Nowadays, he regrets ever thinking of it. These halls reminded him of the miserable defeat and anguish that his people had suffered centuries ago.

As they marched, Lysander took a quick glance at his company. About thirty soldiers followed him obediently. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hall with perfect harmony and unison.

Lysander didn't like the idea of bringing this many soldiers with him. In fact, the number should have been quite sufficient for fending off against small hordes. However, they weren't going to face just any foe.

Ironically, Lysander would have preferred fighting against small hordes, rather than this one particular target. Although they would not engage in battle immediately, they still needed to be ready. If dialogue worked, then many of these soldiers would live to fight another day. If it failed, Lysander would have a few families to personally speak with.

They arrived at a large wooden door furnished with decorations of iron. Layers of dust covered the door, replacing the brown surface with a coat of grey. Lysander stared for a moment. A few seconds passed. As much as he would like to delay, he knew that he would have to ultimately face her. With one deep sigh, he recited a short prayer, and pushed.

The doors slowly opened inwards. A rusty sound creaked from the hinges. Stepping inside, the captain and him men met grand hall that could have fit over a thousand people. Black columns held the ceiling, while unlit braziers sat at the corners. Torn banners of various factions hung on the wall. Lysander recognized most of them. Sunlight faintly beamed from the shattered windows and the hole on the ceiling, providing enough illumination for the hall.

A giant throne of smelted skulls and bones sat at the end of the hall. The design and details of the throne looked too accurate to have been from the imagination. However, what caught his Lysander's eyes was not the throne, but the person who sat upon it.

She sat quietly, leaning one elbow on the armrest. She wore a black coat with feathers and a grey robe underneath. Dirty strips of cloth bandaged her hands and feet, while a visor masked her eyes. Like the young captain and his men, she was Dark-Elf. She had the elven youth and appearance that would have made humans hearts swell at the very sight of her.

"Lady Mycelia," Lysander simply addressed, as he gave a quick bow.

The seated elf's ears twitched when she heard her name. Slowly, she turned to her visitors "Captain Lysander, what a pleasant surprise," she said. "How goes the empire?"

A soft smile appeared on Lysander's face, while his heart rested a bit easier. Those few words brought much calm to him. At the very least, she seemed in the mood for friendly dialogue. "You can see for yourself when you return," he replied.

Mycelia shook her head and chuckled a little. "You know all too well that I can't," she replied. "My vision has brought me here, and I must stay until I can truly figure out what my vision has in store for me."

"I see," Lysander murmured. His smile slowly disappeared from hearing these words. He knew all too well about her decision. He had hoped that a few years of solitude would change her mind. Apparently, it hasn't.

"So, has the emperor sent these soldiers to aid me?" Mycelia asked, as she lurched forward and carefully inspected the company. "This isn't what I asked, but I suppose they will do."

"Actually, that isn't the reason why they're here," Lysander said. His fist slowly clenched. One of the more difficult part of the tasks drew closer.

"If they are not here to aid me, then why are they here?" Mycelia asked.

Lysander swallowed. Lying would have been preferable than what he had to say, but knew that he had no choice but to tell her. "We're here to collect our treasure from the vault," he finally replied.

A long moment of silence passed by. Lysander kept his eyes firmly set on Mycelia. He paid attention to her every movement. Not even the slightest twitch escaped his sight. Everything suddenly felt slow as he waited. He heard his own heart race, as he steadily breathed through his nostrils. His fingers slowly flexed, while his left arm subtly moved back for his sword.

Soon, he noticed Mycelia's lips move. Was she about to cast a spell? If she was, he needed to stop her. If her first words were unrecognizable, then he would draw his sword.

"Before I lose my temper, let me understand something," Mycelia spoke. Lysander let out a small sigh of relief, knowing that she was not going to resort to violence just yet.

"I have been guarding this citadel for almost a century," she began. "I've fought monstrous beasts, carnivorous plants, and even dealt with a Nephilim. I've made it my duty to keep all of the citadel's contents in place, and now my own brethren wishes to simply take something? You do understand why I would get a little upset, correct?"

"Lady Mycelia …," Lysander paused and took a breath. "Mycelia, the treasure originally belonged to us Dark-Elves. We are simply taking it back."

"The treasure is tribute to our former master, the Overlord," Mycelia retorted. "I understand that the empire now wishes to distance itself from him, but we cannot just take it!"

"Mycelia, the Overlord is dead," Lysander snapped. "Nothing will change that. Our alliance with him was the greatest mistake our people has ever made. Fortunately, it ended centuries ago and we no longer need to show any loyalty to that madman."

Mycelia bit her lip. "Why do you even wish to take back the treasure?" she asked. "I have not been home for a very long time, but I'm certain that the empire still has a vast amount of wealth."

The captain shook his head. "We have received word that soldiers of the Dwarf Kingdoms have been located near our borders," he explained. "We can only perceive this as an attempt to claim some of our territory."

"They are, are they?" Mycelia spoke to herself aloud. "Even after ten centuries, the dwarfs still bear the grudge against us. What are the humans doing about this?"

"The humans?!" Lysander let out a jeer. "The humans do not care! All they remember is that we were once their enemy and that we do not have the power to properly retaliate. Despite us clearly being the ones wronged, they will not intervene on our account."

"Are we that despised?" Mycelia asked, as she pressed one finger on her forehead. "So what exactly do you plan to do with the treasure?"

Lysander growled a little, before giving an answer. It was something that Mycelia would not agree with. If anything, he didn't like it either.

"We plan to hire mercenaries, both human and goblins," he eventually replied. He spoke as if he had just tasted the dirt under his boot.

"What?!" Mycelia snapped, as she sprang from the throne. The soldiers jumped from her response and immediately put on a defensive stance. Lysander raised one hand, commanding them to stand down.

"Mercenaries?!" Mycelia continued. "You cannot be serious! Has the empire fallen so far that we must now resort to hiring brigands?! That is-!"

"Our only option!" Lysander interrupted. "I do not like it either, but that is the situation we now face! It is the consequence we must face for siding with the Overlord."

Mycelia slightly jerked from the interruption. "But my visions…," she uttered like a child that had just lost a gamble to an a.d.u.l.t. "We need the Overlord…"

Lysander frowned at Mycelia's uncertainty. He couldn't take it. The lid was now about to be taken off.

"Mycelia, I know your visions are important and bear great meaning!" Lysander yelled. "However, at the moment, the empire is in great danger and is in dire need. We may have known each other since we were younglings, but if you stand in the way of my duty, I will not hesitate to cut you down!"

Without a second thought, Lysander drew out his sword. The blade gleamed as it slid out of the scabbard. He held up his weapon and pointed the sword at Mycelia. It was a clear threat.

"Make your decision, Sightless Sister!" he boomed. "Will you impede and forsake your people for your own visions, or will you allow us to the vault and give your people what they need?!"

Mycelia glared. "Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?" she asked. "You, a mere soldier, dare threaten me?!"

Her voice turned into thunder. Her shadow extended and stretched throughout the entire hall. The soldiers raised their shields and spears, as they watched the light disappear all around them.

"I am a Sightless Sister," Mycelia bellowed. Great power blasted in her voice; one that made the soldiers shrink, making them feel like ants. "I can pluck the very light from your eyes and leave you all in eternal darkness and anguish!"

"I know fully well what you are capable of," Lysander replied, holding his ground. "I know how powerful you are and am aware of the terror you can cause. It is because of how much I know, that I was sent to deal with you."

Despite having said all this, Lysander found himself sweating buckets. His legs quivered in his boots, as his heart pounded madly. Lysander knew that he could defeat her with his company. However, he also knew that he could possibly lose an arm and a leg in the battle.

He quietly waited for the next move: some twisted spell of darkness, or a magic that would rob them of their senses? Let it be done! Although not eager to meet her magic, Lysander did want this standoff to end.

Finally, Mycelia moved. She gave a pressed sigh and slumped back on the throne. Her shadow retreated and the power around her voice disappeared. "Very well," she g.r.o.a.n.e.d in defeat. "Take what you need."

A great weight fell from Lysander's shoulders. He felt just about ready to drop and praise whatever deity that currently looked down upon them. However, as a captain, he still needed to maintain a look of dignity. So instead, he nodded firmly and kept his sword.

"Thank you, Lady Mycelia," he said, returning her title.

"However, I am warning you-."

Before Mycelia could finish her sentence, a loud explosion erupted beneath them. The citadel shook. Cracks suddenly formed around the walls and floor, as bits of stone and gravel crumbled from the ceiling.

Lysander fixed his balance and inspected his surroundings. The hall appeared to be intact, for the most part. No one was hurt, but the blast was something of concern.

"Mycelia, what happened?" Lysander asked.

"I don't know," she replied, as she stood up. "This has never happened before. Not unless…"

Mycelia didn't reply and froze for a while. Her gaze then swelled. A thought came to mind.

"What is it?" Lysander said.

"You may want to follow me," Mycelia said, as she began to walk towards the door.

Questions such as, where are we going, or what is going on, were among the few that he wanted to ask. However, he decided to keep them to himself for now. Grabbing two soldiers, he followed Mycelia out of the hall, while the rest remained.

They wandered around the citadel, passing through the many areas that he had not come across. Soon, they walked down a staircase that had steps made for giants. As they descended underground, Lysander felt the temperature gradually rise.

Before long, they arrived at a cavern that rivalled that of the citadel's grand hall. There they found a massive lake of fire and molten earth. Burning bubbles popped on the surface, as the searing heat played with the air. Lysander wanted to undress himself and let out the steam that had begun to build in his armor.

"What are we doing here?" Lysander asked, as he wiped a handful of sweat from his face.

"Over there," Mycelia pointed at the lake.

Several bubbles were rapidly popping at one spot. Something was breathing in the lava. But what could it be? The young captain immediately assumed it to be either a salamander or phoenix.

The bubbles began to move, making way towards them. Lysander had no idea what it was, but he was not about to label it as anything friendly. He drew his sword and readied to defend himself.

Slowly, it emerged from the burning lake. Lava spilled from its body as it crawled onto the earth. It coughed and wheezed for air, as its body finally appeared before them. To Lysander's surprise, he found a human, a woman. Her eyes resembled amethyst spheres, her long hair raven, and her tanned skin unblemished from the lava.

"What is this?" Lysander asked.

Mycelia approached and kneeled before the woman. "Are you well, my Overlord?" she asked.