The black spire
He opened his eyes, and the icy rain pounded against his skin, pricking him with thousands of tiny needles. It felt like his body was being attacked by shards of glass in a violent hailstorm that refused to end. He closed his heavy eyelids again, the pain intensifying until it seemed as if his heart would burst within his chest at any moment. He was exhausted from the ceaseless nightmares that brought no respite. When awake he knew this world was cruel and merciless, but when he dreamed he could escape into another reality – only to be awoken and plunged back into misery.
With a soft groan, he pushed himself off of the hard stone floor and slowly took in the air around him. His head ached and pounded with each shallow breath he took, but through the fog that clouded his mind he could start to make out the world around him. He opened his mouth wide in a silent scream as it erupted from the dirt-covered ground. The massive black spire stood before him like some twisted shadow of death itself, beckoning for him to take its place on that cold throne. As if seeing it for the first time, his eyes slowly opened to let the tower into his consciousness.
Thus, he set off, inside the black spire. As he walked through the tower's dark corridors, the air grew colder, and the silence was deafening. The only sound was the clacking of his boots against the stone floor. The walls were adorned with grotesque carvings of demons and otherworldly creatures, their twisted forms seeming to writhe in the flickering candlelight. The tower was alive, alive with malevolent energy that made Moloch shiver. He felt as though he was being watched, and he could feel the weight of the tower bearing down on him. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling persisted. As he came to a stair case he began his climb.
He climbed the winding staircase, step after step, his sword clanging loudly against the walls. Each step echoed around the empty tower, taunting him with its silence. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his breaths came in short gasps as he pushed himself on, determined to reach the top. His arms and legs burned with exertion, but he didn't stop, didn't look back. He had to know what lay at the top of the tower, what secrets it held.
Finally, he reached the top, panting and heaving as he staggered to his feet. The room was dark and empty, save for a single figure sitting in a throne at the center. The figure was dressed in black robes and a hood covered its face, but Moloch recognised it. It was the same creature that led him here. The creature stood up slowly, and Moloch could see that it was taller than he had first thought. It towered over him, its robes flowing around its form like a dark cloud. Behind it, lay a corridor. The corridor, unlike this spire was entirely white. The creatures steps shook the spire. It suddenly let it's robe drop off it. Moloch's eyes widened in shock at the creature's true form. It was nothing like he had ever seen before,
The figure before him looked like it had been plucked from a forgotten tomb. The cuirass of ancient armor was discolored and dull, the gold detailing that once adorned it almost completely faded away. A few pearls still clung to the metalwork, like marks left by some long-gone battle. Metal gauntlets showed signs of years of wear, their pitted surface blunted by battles past. Even the shape of the pommel had been worn down over time, as if molded into its current form by hands unknown. The enclosed helm seemed alive, yet there was no sign of life behind its narrow slit of black…
"What… What are you?" Moloch asked once again, his voice trembling. He stared in disbelief as the earth suddenly rumbled and cracked open, and from it a thick circle of blood bubbled up to the surface. The vibrant red liquid rose like a fountain and pooled around him, and two letters became visible in its center: L and I.
Moloch watched as the burning embers in front of him shifted and swirled, taking shape into letters. He could see an 'I' slowly form, and then a 'C', followed by a 'H'. A chill ran through him as he read the unfamiliar word: 'LICH.'
Moloch's face was a study in concentration as the lich spoke. His eyebrows drew together in confusion and his lips moved as he tried to unravel the words. He shook his head resolutely, yet still failed to make sense of it. Gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow further, Moloch opened his eyes again in bewilderment. The lich, appearing to have seen this coming laughed at moloch, though this laugh was short lived as it gestured moloch to attack it.
Moloch hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to take the lich's bait. But his pride and curiosity got the better of him, and he drew his sword, lunging towards the creature with a fierce yell. The lich easily dodged his attacks, its movements unnaturally fluid and graceful. Moloch tried to anticipate its next move, but it was like trying to predict the wind. The lich's skeletal fingers danced across the air, and Moloch felt a coldness seeping into his bones.
He swung his sword with all his might, but the lich merely sidestepped the blow and reached out to touch him. Moloch felt a jolt of pain shoot through him as he stumbled back, his sword clattering to the ground. He tried to get back up, but his limbs were numb, and his mind was hazy. The lich stood over him, its eyes glowing like fiery orbs. Ultimately, the lich, did nothing, allowing moloch to get back up before telling him to try again. Moloch's eyes blazed with determination as he picked up his sword once more, ignoring the pain that still lingered in his limbs. This time, he was more cautious, more aware of the lich's movements. He circled the creature, watching it intently, waiting for it to make a move. The lich remained still, its eyes fixed on Moloch, as if daring him to try again.
With a fierce cry, Moloch lunged forward, his sword flashing in the dim light. The lich evaded the attack again, smoothly getting out harms way.
Moloch gritted his teeth in frustration, feeling as if he was chasing a ghost. But he refused to give up, refused to let the lich get the best of him. He swung his sword again and again, each blow missing its mark by mere inches. The lich seemed amused by his efforts, its skeletal face contorting into a wicked grin. Moloch could feel his anger growing, a fire burning within him that refused to be quenched. He screamed in fury, his sword glinting in the dim light as he swung with all his might.
This time, the lich didn't move. Instead, it reached out and grabbed Moloch's sword, stopping it dead in its tracks. Moloch's eyes widened in shock as he felt the lich's grip tighten, the metal of his sword creaking under the pressure. With a sudden twist, the lich wrenched the sword from Moloch's grasp, sending it flying across the room to embed itself in the stone wall. Moloch stumbled backwards, his hand clasping his wrist in agony as the lich waited for moloch to gather his bearings and to stand again.
Moloch slowly got back on his feet, his eyes blazing with anger and frustration. He glared at the lich, his hand flexing at his side. The lich merely laughed, its skeletal frame shaking with amusement. Moloch felt a sudden surge of energy, his muscles tensing as he prepared for another attack. He launched himself at the lich, letting out a fierce cry as he aimed a punch at its face. The lich, stumbled backwards, its hood falling back to reveal a hollow skull that glowed with an eerie light. Moloch took advantage of the lich's momentary weakness, throwing another punch at its face. This time, the lich managed to dodge the attack, its bony fingers closing around Moloch's wrist and swinging his body away. Moloch landed hard on the ground, his breath knocked out of him as he felt the impact reverberate through his bones. He struggled to get back up, but the lich was already upon him, its bony fingers closing around his neck. Moloch gasped for air, his hands clawing at the lich's arm in a desperate attempt to free himself. But the lich's grip was too strong, its fingers digging into his flesh like icy steel. He felt his vision begin to fade, his body growing weaker with each passing moment.
But then, the lich let go, as if it was telling moloch he was not allowed to die. Moloch lay on the ground, coughing and gasping for air as he looked up at the lich in utter confusion. The creature merely stared down at him, its glowing eyes flickering with amusement. Moloch struggled to get back up, still feeling weak and disoriented. The lich watched him with a curious expression, as if studying him closely. Moloch couldn't shake the feeling that the creature was toying with him, playing a game that he couldn't possibly win. But he refused to give up, refused to let the lich have the satisfaction of defeating him.
Pain splintered down his back again as he rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the lich's glowing orbs. He reached for his sword, but the lich acted, and then all pain ceased. His blood boiled within him, filled with rage and power. The power settled deep in his bones and spread through him like a heavy oil. Moloch watched as streams of blood came from the black spire, and formed into sentences. "You have learned enough. Come back when you are stronger." The lich's withering hand pointed toward the skull throne. "When you can claim that throne for your own, we will talk again." The blood slowly dropped down rejoining the black spire.
The lich's touch was cold and dry, like a desiccated tree branch. It pressed its fingertips against his chest, and he felt a spark of energy surge through him as if he had just emerged from a deep dream. His whole body shuddered with the suddenness of it, and he opened his eyes to find the relic staring back at him with a mix of pity and anticipation. Within moments, he awakened in the same room where the erephor had talked to him.