“Right! I want to see how the rest of you deal with this,” Jonathan said, pointing at the warriors from the Waste Warrens, Kendal, and two others that he did not know. One of them was an average looking elven man, with close cropped curly hair, and, a rarity for his species, a beard. He wielded two short swords, each of which was made from a strange alloy that seemed to absorb and reflect the faint light of the realm with equal effect.
The other was perhaps the oldest warrior Jonathan had ever seen in the Hells, not in terms of actual age, but appearance. A flowing white beard drifted down to the man’s navel, and it was braided to be kept out of the way. Wrinkles covered his face, but his stats had clearly not deserted him, as he held a massive hammer with a single hand, not looking perturbed at all. The weapon had to have weighed at least a ton, and although it was hardly out of the ordinary for a Tier 3’s strength, it certainly was for such a frail looking man.
Both men nodded, and spoke in unison. “Yes, Lord Harlowe.”
Clearly used to working together, the two charged into the fray. The hammer wielding one set the head of his weapon onto the ground, and his ally jumped onto it. With a roar, the wizened soldier catapulted his far spryer counterpart across the sands like a meteor. His twin blades danced around one another as he flew, threshing the air before him. The silvery metal that made them up glistened in the faint light of the sun.
The leonine undead roared, the noise coming from some place beyond anatomical logic, and it leaped into the air, its mane flying up to limn its entire form in its glory. Shards of green lightning cracked up and down the length of the monster’s body, and as it hovered midair, it let loose another roar. This one was imbued with so much power that it manifested a physical force, a shockwave sweeping across the ground. The grey sand beneath was blasted away, revealing the bedrock below. Meanwhile, the dual sword wielding warrior was slowed, but his overall momentum was enough to keep going. He let out a laugh, and flipped midair, bringing his weapons down upon the monster. A few bones chipped under the onslaught, but that was only the primary effect of his attack.
A shuddering wave of force rippled down his blades, and into the bones they were touching. The undead shuddered wildly as its bones were shaken at supersonic speeds, and the ones underneath the blades broke apart. Then the man kicked off his quarry, somersaulting over the head of the other fighter, who was charging in with his hammer held high.
As the monster reeled, the hammer wielder brought his mighty weapon down upon the weakened segment of its bony form, slamming straight through and into the desolate rock beneath. His hammer pinned it to the ground, and with a shout of fury, he ripped it back, muscles bulging as he tore his weapon through an entire ribcage.
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A mournful cry rose from the beast’s open mouth, and it stumbled forwards, snapping at its assailants. Another hammer blow came hurtling in from the right, snapping its neck nearly in half. While the beast wasn’t a Tier 4, it was still nearer to the peak of Tier 3 than not. What was happening here was highly impressive.
Jonathan crossed his arms, and watched the battle proceed, if it could even be called such. The two warriors from his army were absolutely dominating the fight, working in sync to achieve levels of power far beyond their individual reserves. One of them on their own would have been overwhelmed soon enough, but together, they wove a cage of steel around the body of the undead lion, preventing it from responding in a meaningful manner.
Thuds rang out as the bones of the monster splintered one by one, and before long, all that was left was a lonely skull, with fading flames of green burning in its eyesockets. The hammer of the older warrior came crashing down, shattering the skull into a hundred tiny pieces.
The two men clasped their forearms together and let out a roar of victory. Then they turned to Jonathan for judgement.
“That was…” Jonathan began. “Far better than I was expecting. I tend to ignore my subordinates. Perhaps that is a mistake. What are your names?”
The swordsman smiled. “I am Ansval. The old reprobate you see next to me is my father. He’s refused to die thus far.”
The other man scoffed. “My name is Hansel. This young man here is an ungrateful wretch. I am the only reason he’s reached so high on the ladder of strength.”
Jonathan nodded, a slight smirk on his face. “So I’m guessing that you are in a hurry to reach Tier 4?”
“Why-” Hansel began, and then realized who he was talking to. “Apologies, lord. I am used to talking to my son.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve lived far longer than I have. You have the right to share some of your wisdom if you ever need to.” Jonathan turned to the larger group. “That goes for all of you. I know I am supposed to be your lord, but lords make mistakes as much as any man. If I do so, please feel free to correct me.”
Arkanon gave him a disapproving look, but ultimately did not say anything. Jonathan avoided his glance, but stood by what he had said. He was hardly infallible. Hell, he sometimes made the wrong decisions, even when he knew the right ones. He was just a mortal man, one with power and responsibility that he sometimes thought he did not deserve. Had he still been on Earth, he would have been a living god. Nothing could have stood in his way. Nuclear strikes would have been a threat, but when he could move miles in a span of seconds, they suddenly became a nuisance rather than a catastrophe.
