The Phylactery

"Ogre fingers, hydra scales, yeti heart..." "Soul-devouring grass..." "Banshee feathers..." The lich muttered frantically under his breath as he tore through chests and cabinets. Several severed, blood-drenched hands hovered and danced through the air, rummaging through shelves like living creatures to help him gather the necessary spell components. The entirety of Soulweep Castle was roused into motion. Wandering specters, armored death guards, flying skulls, and putrid zombies scurried in every direction, searching frantically on his behalf. By now, Orestes was utterly certain—that dragon had found him! A creature on par with a great wyrm red dragon was about to descend upon Soulweep Castle. Worse still, the red dragon held his phylactery in its claws. He had to prepare every possible countermeasure to survive this! Naturally, the lich had envisioned the extreme scenario where his phylactery was stolen. He had committed numerous insidious, venomous spells to memory, such as the shadowy incantation Deathly Pursuit, which was specifically designed to curse phylactery thieves and reclaim one's stolen vessel. "There's still a chance. There's still hope. This isn't an absolute dead end..." "It's just a greedy red dragon." "Dragons are the greediest creatures alive. Perhaps... perhaps all I need to do is offer a trivial sum of gold, and I can buy back my phylactery." He muttered the words aloud, trying to reassure himself. *Boom!* Suddenly, the ground bucked. Soulweep Castle shuddered violently, bottles and jars tumbling from the shelves one after another. Even the lich struggled to keep his footing. Loose masonry and chandeliers crashed down from the ceiling. "Wh-what is happening?!" "Impossible!" "Soulweep Castle is blanketed in wards! I personally laid over a hundred abjurations! How could anyone possibly breach them?!" He sensed a violent ripple in the fabric of space. Beside himself with fury, the lich rasped and roared. The bloody severed hands quivered in terror at their master's wrath, fearful they might be consumed to fuel his magic. Abruptly, all the undead froze, stiffening in place. "You useless wretches!" "Wait, this is..." Orestes cursed and whipped around, but his gaunt, withered frame froze on the spot, his entire body trembling violently. Before his eyes, the red dragon effortlessly tore through space, brutally shattering countless wards, and barged brazenly into the grand hall of Soulweep Castle. His colossal bulk occupied more than half the vast chamber, crushing innumerable specimens, potions, and enchanted apparatuses beneath his weight. Hostile spells triggered automatically one after another. Twisted spectral faces, blurry apparitions, and thick black mists surged from every direction, but the red dragon merely gave a languid sweep of his wings. *Arooo—* *Aaaagh—* *Wuuu—* An invisible force field flashed, and every surrounding curse dissipated into nothingness amid screeching wails and agonized shrieks. The red dragon loomed over the lich, gazing down from above. Clasped in his talons was an unassuming wooden box. —It was Orestes's phylactery, the wellspring of his immortality, the vessel binding his soul to the Material Plane, and the only means by which he could be permanently slain. Cassius parted his jaws, flashing a ferocious grin, and looked down at the undead caster with pale-gold pupils. "Orestes..." "We finally meet." "You seem rather fond of spying from the shadows." Clutching his staff, Orestes tilted his head upward. Upon that withered, rotting face, he actually managed to force a servile smile. "Y-You know of me... It is truly an honor." "Your Imperial Majesty, I believe there must be some misunderstanding between us. That tomb was merely the repository where I kept my phylactery. Those traps and beholders were placed only to ward off ignorant mortals. A magnificent existence such as yourself would surely not stoop to..." "No," Cassius cut him off. "There is no misunderstanding, lich. I came specifically for this." He toyed with the phylactery in his talons, every subtle motion making Orestes's heart leap into his throat. A single slip, and his soul would be utterly obliterated, reducing centuries of accumulated power to a cruel joke. Fraught with anxiety, the lich could feel his very soul trembling inside the box. "Your Majesty, what... what is it you desire?" "There has never been any grievance between us, so you must have arrived seeking something." "Whether it is gold, spells, or the fruits of my research, I am willing to offer everything I have without reservation—if only you would show mercy and return my phylactery..." He spoke with utmost deference. Cassius shook his head slightly and chuckled. "You are not in a position to set terms." "Past grievances are irrelevant." "The simple fact is that your existence is an anomaly to me—one that must be purged. I will not permit any uncontrolled power to exist within the borders of the Cinder Empire. Especially not a power capable of endangering the empire's security and unleashing an undead scourge." Orestes lowered his head and replied, "Your Majesty, you are being... somewhat overbearing. I settled in Anzeta several centuries ago, and I do not represent merely myself; I carry the will of the Lord of Bones." The lich stroked his staff, revealing the pale-white skull emblem carved into its head, its hollow eye sockets unnervingly deep. That weapon was Myrkul's Scourge Staff, imbued with a wisp of divine essence. He was reaching out to commune with the Lord of Bones, seeking the patronage of the deity who had granted him lichdom to confront the terrifying dragon before him. "Orestes..." The pale skull began to contort... "Heh." "Not even a god may reach his hands into the Cinder Empire." Cassius sneered. The might of the Imperial Domain descended, severing the staff's connection to Myrkul in an instant and casting Orestes into bottomless despair. Within the borders of the Cinder Empire, the Emperor possessed status and authority comparable to a deity, more than sufficient to shut out Myrkul's divine power. "Cease this futile struggling, lich. I will grant you only two choices." Under the lich's intensely nervous, panicked gaze, the red dragon lifted his claw and slowly raised the phylactery. "Submit to me, yield to the governance of the Cinder Empire, and surrender everything you have—including yourself." "Or..." Applying a fraction of his strength, the razor-sharp tip of his talon pressed against the wooden shell of the phylactery, on the verge of piercing straight through. "No—!" The lich could not stop a shrill cry from tearing from his throat, collapsing limply to the floor as his soul convulsed with pure terror—the primal dread of facing true death. Not since transcending mortality centuries ago had Orestes experienced such raw terror. He knew with absolute certainty that this red dragon truly dared to crush his phylactery! He would truly die! The instant that sharp claw punched through, the lich's soul would be obliterated, and the existence he had preserved for hundreds of years would crumble into dust. Fortunately, the dragon halted at the final instant before puncturing the casing. Cassius cast a disdainful glance at the prostrate lich and finished his thought: "Choose total annihilation."