They trampled through death and grave; heralding pain and destruction.

“The Heroes of Light,” The Lich hissed “more like the Harbingers of Doom.”

The party made their way through the decaying corpses and lingering spirits of the recently slaughtered. Rapidly climbing the floors of the Lich’s tower.

The Paladin waved his mighty sword, slashing through his foes with intrepid hypocrisy.
The Cleric chanted their doom, weaving blessed spells of pain and sickness onto the helpless undead.
The Rogue, hiding in the shadows of the fallen, marauded their very souls; pride tainted his blade.
And the Wizard, who was not present. He went missing after the massacre of Phaleron; never to be seen again.

It did not take long for the three Heroes to climb the tower all the way to the top, where the Lich - the last line of defense - protected the remaining undead who have been lucky enough to escape the merciless invaders.

The wails of the hopeless, lost souls filled the room as the three burst into the room, bringing the barricaded doors down. The Lich stood in front of his last followers; back against the so-called Heroes.

“You have achieved quite the feat, haven’t you?” Spat the Lich, locking eyes with every last undead in the small room. “I suppose the three of you must be elated! Have you congratulated yourselves already?”

“Silence, fiend!” Roared the Paladin, preparing a smite. “Your reign of terror ends today.”

The Cleric started chanting her sickening, entangled fabric of holy spells. The Rogue, in response, hid from the light radiating from her staff; taking cover in the shadows cast by one of the many pillars scattered throughout the dark room.

“My reign of terror?” The Lich scoffed, still refusing to turn around and look the group of murderers in the eyes. “I’m not the one trampling through innocent lives, spitting on their ideals in the name of false promises of justice!”

“You know nothing about justice.” Cried the Cleric with melodic voice. Vanity permeating even the simplest of her actions. “You’re nothing but a monstrosity afraid of the light of redemption!”

“Perhaps. I’m not arrogant enough to claim complete knowledge over such complexity that is the matter of morality.” The Lich kneeled, trying to calm down the crying ghost of a child. “And if I’m a monstrosity because of my fear of your so-called light of redemption, then what is the Rogue, who scurries away from it.”

“I’m nothing like you!” Shouted the rogue with wounded pride, revealing his position. “This is called strategy!”

“You haven’t changed at all…” Said the Lich.

“ENOUGH!”

The Paladin howled, charging at the Lich with righteous fury. Only to come to a complete halt as the Lich turned around to face him. It was as if confusion and surprise had punched the Paladin in the face.

For in front of him was not the evil warlord he thought the Lich to be, but the kind Wizard he once called friend.

The Cleric broke her chanting.

“I- I don’t understand.” She said. “You disappeared after the Battle of Phaleron.”

The Rogue had stepped out of the shadows by now, showering in the light. Reflecting sins and prejudice all over the place.

“That was no battle, it was a bloody massacre!” Cried the Wizard. “You murdered every single person in that damned village, down to the last soul!”

“But they were the enemy!” Declared the Rogue. “They were evil.”

“They were no more evil than us. No more evil than any other person who fought for survival! For the gift of life.”

“How could you?” The Paladin asked in accusation. “How could you become a wicked, unholy Lich?”

“How couldn’t I? These souls were begging for you to stop the slaughter, but you paid them no mind! When their pleas were ignored, they turned to me; imploring for salvation. They did not want such suffering to continue. And neither did I.”

Silence loomed in the room as if it were a physical threat. The soft wails of the dead keeping it at bay.

“I used their souls as catalysts to amplify my powers, and with their help I did the only thing I could. I brought them all back from the dead. The brutally murdered couple; the child whose smile beamed with the shells of slaughtered dreams; the old man who had been stolen of a natural death… all of these tortured, lost souls.”

“I vowed to protect them. Together we built a city, away from the cruelties of human civilization. Far from their judging eyes - for judging eyes saw only the death that loomed on the surface, but never the pains and regrets that rested beneath.”

The Heroes of Light avoided the harsh gaze of the Wizard, shame tainted their act. The Lich continued, voice trembling in sorrow and regret.

“But despite all we have done to forget the past, all of our efforts; you still found an absurd excuse to justify your hypocrisy and murder.” Sorrow turning to anger. “And, for a second time, you came here to haunt these people, like the ghosts of doom you are!”

The Lich screamed the last words with desperate exasperation. Once again silence reigned supreme, only the huffing and puffing of the desolate undead could be heard.

After a few moments of oppressive silence had passed, The Heroes of Light took action once more.

The Paladin dropped his sword, taking a look into the last of the undeads hiding behind the Wizard - with fear stricken faces.
The Cleric wept under the weight of her sins, mouth shut; no longer chanting spells of agony.
The Rogue, no more in the shadows, felt the gaze of all upon him - for far too long he has been the judge, now he ought to be the judged. His skin crawled and he wished he could hide inside himself.

As for the Wizard, he has finally been found. But he has never been lost, in fact.

Wait a moment please. Before we engage in near certain mutual destruction, I believe that it is important to my legacy, and yours, that you hear me out. As an incentive, if you stay your hands and your spells and listen to what I have to say, I will forgoe continuing this ritual until after I have spoken. Continue beating through the defenses of this castle, and I will continue the ritual. Your choice. Choose through your actions.

Ah. Good. I'm going to make some guesses about how you got here. You were minding your own business, getting food and ale at a tavern perhaps, spending hard earned coin from your last adventure, relaxing as you so well deserved. And then you were approached by perhaps a mysterious figure who offered you a great deal of money to help the kingdom survive a very serious threat. You then met in secret with a functionary of the king or queen who gave you an excellent story about a threat of terror and doom ahead. Then you met the king or queen face to face, perhaps under the cover of darkness, maybe in an ancient ruin, maybe in a secret passage under the castle. They confirmed the story to you, confirmed the legitimacy of the money, promising even more and great status within the kingdom if you were successful. The money up front was just for expenses after all.

The story you got was of the great undead hordes of the north, how their numbers have grown, how horrible necromancy is, and so on. But did you take the time to validate the story? Of course you didn't, not at first. There was no need. As you traveled north across the Erulid you began to encounter first hand witnesses to those who have seen the undead with their own eyes. The fear was palpable, as expected. Your resolve only hardened. You are the Heroes after all. But not even the most primal story really prepared you for what you found. Hamlets, Villages, keeps, castles, towns, cities ... absolutely stuffed with skeletons, ghouls, gasts, zombies, wraiths, ghosts and more.

You cut your way through them with some inconvenience to you. A thousand fell at your left hand and ten thousand at your right. But still you encountered more. And on you came.

I grieves my heart, and yes, I do still have one, it's over there on the shelf actually. You did not stop to really observe them did you? Not once did you apply any of that limited intelligence to anything you saw. Not the structure, the habits, the activities, the commerce ... the civilization you encountered. Ahhh... what do they teach in schools these days. It is as if the vaulted intelligence of the modern world is treated as a dump stat.

We are peaceful. Certainly many of us are armed with weapons, as we have our criminal element as do you. Plus with invaders from the south, one has to be careful.

The south.

You really don't understand do you? How we have grown so fast, how we understand the concepts of trade, politices, craftsmanship, and hospitality. Look out the windows at what is left of my city. Ask yourself one question first: Where did all of the undead come from? Who were they when they were alive?

Ah, yes. I see you haven't really considered that either. Every single being you destroyed was once alive. It is a tragedy that so few retain their vocal chords from the transition. What you hear as wailing is an attempt to communicate. What you hear as groaning is broken speech. They have been trying to tell you. Trying to reach you. Trying to stop you. Trying to make you see.

For we are your kin.

Suspicious, I know. But it is indeed true. Every death in your kingdom to the south adds to this nation. We carry on what we knew in life, but in a new place that makes sense with the limited grasp we now have. That wraith there? The spirit of Gravenrod the scribe. His immortal flesh you destroyed two days ago. He served your royal family faithfully for 60 years. This ghast was once Peg the beggar, starved to death by neglect. This zombie was Shellay, the fish merchant's wife drowned trying to help her husband salvage the catch from the broken nets. The ghost of Ultrinda in the rafters there, still traumatized by his unjust execution after being framed for a a crime he didn't commit, and the minor one he did do being buried with him to save the reputation of a noble's son.

We are your kin, your countrymen, your future.

What threat did we pose to you? It is not our fault that we are held thus. This nation has grown from necessity, beginning as nothing more than a place for all who cease to draw breath. It was chaos at first of course. My only hand in all of it was to provide structure, stability. Purpose.

It was not a bad death after all. One could look forward to the days and the time rather than just standing in one place hoping the way would reopen. Ah, you didn't know that either. Yes. They were not raised. They have been prevented from continuing. The past Beyond has been blocked. None may pass. We have not determined how or why. We can see the barrier, but we can not see the reason for it.

Despite your horrific destruction of my land, I would make use of you to find and remove the barrier. If you could lift it, then all of us remaining could move on. This interests you? Excellent. I was hoping it might.

There is just one catch.

You can not hope to comprehend the barrier while you live, and you can not hope to remove it if you die. Only by jointly functioning in both will to be able to prevail.

Ah. Hmm. Well, you see the problem. No one can be both alive and dead at the same time. But there are four of you, and you have worked closely for years? Decades? I suspect that if one or two of you were to cross over, you would be able to work with the others. Kind of a liason to work together across both realms.

Yeah, that might be a stumbling block for you I thought. I see no alternative though.

Which of you will die for the sake of all?

When the Dimensional Wound first opened up and demons began spewing out of it, corrupting the landscape, a crusade was declared to push them back and try to find a way to close the rift between our dimensions. It was successful for the most part, and was crucial for establishing a containment zone even if it didn't reach the wound. However, rumors began to reach us about an undead lord having risen to power within the wound's influence, killing members of the fifth crusade and raising them as undead. When we heard there was a failed coup from the living members of his court, we felt pressed to take the job.

There were four of us. Fara The Incorruptible, a terrifying woman full of self righteousness. Even her allies do not tread lightly around her. Broga the Ogre, one of the most intelligent specimens to come forward and don armor and weapon for king and country. Brutal fighter. Sean the Ranger, he fires faster than he aims, leaves most foes pincushioned. Finally, our fallen artificer. His chest was completely caved in and lungs splattered across the battlefield from an ambush of intelligent undead, a barbarian dealing the killing blow.

The door to his ritual chamber is ahead of us, Fara has been saving her healing spells for this, but our wounds sting with rot. The undead in the castle have been using hit and run tactics to pick away at us. We'd have wizards pop out of closets to cast open wounds on us, before teleporting away, archers fire at us from balconies and once, when we thought we had routed some fighting dead, we chased them into getting a bookshelf dropped on us. We are hurting.

"That's it. I'm out. You two better tough it up, the worst is yet to come." Broga speaks up. "All this death, how did nobody kill this arrogant fool sooner? This crusade is going to go down in history as a bloody nightmare." Sean will wince as he picks at the scabbed wounds on his hand. "Maybe we should take a rest, if we keep watch or find a side room maybe we can rest, I don't think I'm ready." "If we wait any longer, they'll pick us off. We've barely killed any defenders, so don't expect this to be easy."

As the three face the door, Broga takes a few steps back, roars and charges into it, breaking it clean off the hinges and crushing several undead in the throneroom. Barricades manned by undead shepherded by twisted vampires mocking human form separate the defenders from the attackers. Broga will sweep the field with his warhammer, sending bones and cadavers flying across the room in broken heaps. Sean is headhunting the most powerful undead wizards he can see and Fara is making the vampires burn under her holy gaze. The room lights up with magic as the foundation of the building shakes at the defenders efforts. It is only a single word that causes the entire battle to stop in an instant.

#"STOP."

The lich has entered the room. All eyes and eyeholes fall upon him. "If you care about a future where the world isn't ruled by demons, you will listen to what I have to say." The undead engaged by the party give them some room, moving to the sides of the room as the lich approaches the damaged barricade.

"You must think yourselves the heroes, right? That as soon as you kill me this crusade will join hands and sing as they drive back the demons to the hellworld they came from, right?" Fara speaks up with righteous venom in her voice. "Monsters like you and the demons are one and the same, the crusade will not fear you." The lich scoffs at her with matching contempt.

"Won't fear me? You belligerent harlot, have you even seen what demons do to people? I was there when they would swoop down from the skies, and pick up soldiers to skin them in mid-air. The kind of terror tactics that make men come home, shaking uncontrollably, crying in the night. If you were anywhere near an army, you'd know they are terrified. Fearlessness is for the zealots." Broga starts to interrupt his speech. "You killed them all, and you have the nerve to talk about how the demons tortured them?!"

"I'm not letting an army that could destroy the rift just leave with their tails between their legs as demons pick off the slowest that cry in the night. Demons take such pleasure in mortal terror, but undead do not feel any such thing. I have freed them from the chains of life, and allowed them to reach their true potential. I can offer you the same, willing undead can go through rituals to retain their intelligence. I have given up my humanity to save the world, join me so that we may succeed."

Fara's eyes burn with fury. She steps past her companions to speak directly to the lich. Sean and Broga look at each other, trying to gauge each others reactions to the offer. "My companions will not be swayed to your side. We will crush you, then we will crush your sinful army before swiftly crushing the demons. When we have finally rid the crusade of sin we will stride towards victory. Attack!"

She draws her sword and steps forward, but as she attempts to swing at the lich, Sean restrains her from behind. "What the hell are you doing?!" "I'm not about to let my brother walk into this hellscape when I could end it now before he's deployed." The lich watches with an unchanging expression on his bony face. "Broga, it's just you and me, kill Sean and we'll take the lich together." The lich speaks. "I have no use for the protected body and soul of a cleric. Kill her. It's dirty work but it has to be done."

Fara thrashes around in Sean's grip, steadily working her way loose as she drops her sword. Broga silently considers the consequences of his actions, and as Fara headbutts sean to free herself, before she can swing a gauntlet at him, she's sent flying by a strike from Broga, straight out a stained glass window. He gold threaded armor glitters in the sun as she falls, bouncing off a roof sending tiles flying as she tumbles into the sea.

"You did the right thing. Follow me, the sooner you start the rituals, the sooner you can reach your true potential." The two heroes look out the window just in time to see Fara bounce off the rocks into the water, a dark truth settling in their stomach as they realize what they have done. It's too late to turn back, and undead have no regrets.

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