“See how little you are to me,” Cyric said, and with a flick of his fingers Jerico flew backward through the air. When he hit ground the air blew from his lungs, and he silently screamed as he rolled along the dirt. When he came to a halt, Darius was there, reaching down to grab his arm and pull him to his feet.
“Least that put out the fire,” Darius said to him, and Jerico grinned, despite the terror of their situation. Still laboring for breath, he looked to Cyric, who approached with his arms at his side, his crown glowing so fiercely that even in the daylight he looked like a vicious red star.
“You are nothing!” Cyric cried to them as Darius’s eyes drifted to the sky. “Nothing to me, nothing to a god! You are mortal, human, pathetic.”
“Perhaps we are,” Darius said. “But how do you feel about birds?”
And then from the sky plummeted a white dove, its left wing malformed. Mere feet away from Cyric’s head the dove transformed, becoming the silver-armored, long-cloaked, furious Valessa. Her hands were white, and they shone with brilliance as they slammed against Cyric’s head. With all his power he screamed, denying her, and against that Valessa flew, her body twisting so that she landed not far behind them.
The crown broke, and all across Cyric’s face and forehead there was blood. On his knees he crumpled, and his whole body shivered. Behind them, the undead collapsed, marked with heavy sighs as their souls found relief. It blew across them like wind.
“If you’re a god, then I’d rather be human,” Valessa said as she struggled to her feet, fighting through the magic of Cyric’s attack.
With his crown broken, his undead crumbling, panic flooded across every feature of Cyric’s body. Jerico raised his shield, the light shining over the mad priest, mocking him. But Cyric, god or not, bleeding or not, refused to admit defeat. He stood, and with a particular strength given only to the frightened and the fanatical, he let his power roll.
“I am Karak!” he cried, a wellspring of rage and fury bursting. “I am your god! Now kneel!”
It hit them all like a wave. Even Jerico felt the impulse, an irrational desire to fall to his knees and beg for mercy. He resisted, for never would he bow to Karak, not an imposter, not even the real deity if he stood before him with blade raised. He took a hesitant step forward, then glanced over his shoulder. Only two others remained on their feet: Darius and Valessa. The other paladins and priests knelt, some weeping, the rest crying out in anger or confusion.
With his domination incomplete, Cyric turned and ran into the forest. Jerico gave chase, and each step made it feel like bricks were falling off his legs. Valessa soon caught up with him, having shaken off Cyric’s blow. Darius was not far behind.
“Give him no respite,” Valessa said. “His power is still great.”
As they stepped into the cover of the trees, Jerico saw many catching fire, the mad priest no doubt burning them to stall his pursuers. Weaving through the smoke and flame, they ran until stumbling upon Cyric on his knees, his back to them. Blood covered his body, and around him was a ring of fire. Most frightening of all, he was laughing.
“Do you understand now?” Darius asked between labored breaths. “You’re no god, Cyric. You’re just a man. Now turn and die like one.”
Cyric glanced back, and the madness in his eyes was in full control.
“No,” he said. “I’m no man. But I bleed. I hurt. I understand now. I cannot be Karak, not in this pathetic mortal shell. The demon legions will not tremble before me, the Abyss will not worship its true ruler, until I assume the proper form.”
His skin rippled as if boiling water bubbled in his veins. His hair burned, and the bones in his body began to shift and break.
“Darius?” Jerico asked, taking a step back.
“No idea,” said the other paladin. “So kill it.”
Jerico rushed forward, but the ring of fire surged into a towering wall. Jerico staggered back, and Darius had to shift aside to avoid him. Only Valessa passed through the flame unharmed, but she came flying back out, having been struck by something great. She flew through a burning tree, then fell through the ground itself, her momentum carrying her far below the surface. Jerico held his shield before him, its glow the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely to terror.
Cyric grew taller as words streamed off his tongue, each syllable painful to hear. Their rhyme and rhythm put a deep sense of wrongness into Jerico’s chest. Cyric’s bones twisted, his flesh darkened, and then cracks of fire burst through his molten skin. Larger and larger he became, his fingers extending into claws, his muscles molten rock, his eyes twin chasms of burning coal. Any unlit leaves about him curled black and fell. This beast that had been Cyric took a step forward, and the footfall sent a tremor through the dirt.