Mark of the Fool-Chapter 763: The Return of the General

Birger was all smiles as he stood at the controls, watching the Third Apostle and his weakening forces retreat, heading back to the entrance where the three statues were. To say that their numbers were flagging would be an understatement. To say that their demeanour screamed of inner turmoil was not an understatement. They seemed like the ghosts of the men and women whod first burst into the sanctumafterAlex. They had seemed proud, sure, filled with righteous anger in their shining plate, bright coloured tabards, and soaring spirits.

Now, that had all withered.

Their armour was dented, their tabards soiled from battle and blood, their high spirits seemed shaken, and they moved with the weariness of defeat. Had it not been for their miracles, even more of them would be dead now.

Their divinity couldnt help their brothers and sisters who theyd been forced to leave behind, lying broken and dead in pools of their own blood.

Birger almost felt sorry for them, almost. He could never forget the sight of Bjorgrund, with arrows piercing his young body, shot into him by those very same sad-looking people whod thought little of skewering him like he was nothing more than prey.

Rot in the hells, you bastards, he growled, turning his attention to another portal-window where the First Apostles troops were still chasing Alex. They were faring better than their counterparts, though theyd also taken their fair share of casualties.

Soldiers were fighting Alex's host of summoned monsters as they harassed them from all sides. Their holy leaders attention was split between attacking Alex, and saving his followers.

The fae was attacking the young wizard, laughing all the while.

Birger had already released trap after trap against them, watching as they cut down their numbers, killing many, though less than he would have liked. Now that the Third Apostle had decided to retreat, it was time to finish every last one of them off.

It was time to give the signal.

Birger leaned toward the window-portal leading to the room where Alex was dodging the Stalkers stormhe began to sing.

The room around him was a whirlwind of stone shards, dust, sanctified soil, and arrows.

Spells and divine miracles shot through the storm.

The Stalkers mocking laughter filled the air.

Alex Roth's face was a mask of fear, dismay and rage.

But, inside, he was having the time of his life. Training with Bjorgrund had honed his reflexes to levels he'd never known; where once he would dodge and think of clever ways to fight and keep himself and his companions from dying, now he felt good going head-on against that fae and those deadly church monsters.

Hells, he doubted he could have survived this whirlwind of knife-edged rock fragments, grit, and consecrated earth before.

The Fool of Thameland had barely survived a mana vampire attack when they were aboard The Red Siren not all that long ago. The Fool of Thameland had desperately danced on a beach, moving around Burn-Saws attacks, taking a deep scar on his left arm in the process, and coming close to being shredded to bits by the demon.

But, as the General of Thameland, avoiding these attacks was like child's play. He continued gasping and cringing away from the storm of chaos, feeding what they believed to be true about him; that he was weak, that he was nearly helpless, that he was the Fool.

Look at me! he thought. They aren't even touching me!

Yet, a cautious voice inside kept whispering, warning him not to get overconfident. So far, the First Apostle hadnt been able to put all of his attention to killing him.

Andjudging by his jolly laughterneither had the Guide. He was still enjoying himself, much like he was at a Summer festival playing games of skill and chance. The ancient Chosen of Uldar had been able to protect many of his followers with a golden shield of light that wrapped around them, protecting more of them than Alex would have liked from Keldas traps.

Their numbers had suffered, getting reduced by summoned monsters and death traps; together, theyd taken a significant toll on the secret church. When it finally looked as if the Third Apostles group was in trouble, it

Suddenly, singing came from a small portal at the side of the room, Birgers song reached Alex.

Okay, there it is, thats the signal, he thought. Things must be looking shaky for the Third Apostle. It's time.

Throwing a sly glance at his enemies, Alex teleported away, appearing where the Stalker would expect him to.

A storm of stone whirled at him, whipping the hem of his cloak, shredding it before he gasped and teleported away.

Almost had you there! the Guide chuckled. You're getting a bit sloppy, my fine quarry!

Alex cursed at him, then teleported to the nearest portal.

He began flying, moving quickly. Shit! They're gaining on me, if we don't get them with the next few traps, weve gotta get out of here! he shouted, loud enough for his pursuers to hear.

He sounded tense.

His enemies took the bait.

Oh, so you think you're gonna make us all desperate and shredded on your traps, huh? the fae shouted. Well, you won't, and that arrogance is going to cost you!

I warned you before, errant Fool, if you leave this place, we shall sweep over your people like a plague and strike them all down! None will escape! the First Apostle bellowed, his voice echoing through the sanctum. Our battle ends here. If you have even the slightest speck of honour or decency, you will stand against us here and now and not force us to make your loved ones pay for your crimes. So, if you possess any love for anyone but yourself, stay here, do not flee like you fled the great battle for Thameland! You called us cowards, yet you were the one who left the other Heroes and the good soldiers of our army to fight your battles! Striking that filthy head from your shoulders is more mercy than you deserve!

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Anger surged in Alex.He was tired of the sanctimony, the threats, and this murderer flapping his jaws like some brainless dog.

No, not a dog, that would be an insult to Brutus.

He was garbage that talked.

Alex wanted nothing more than to toss this garbage into the river.

Patience, he told himself. Wait until the rats are all together before you exterminate any.

He, Birger and Bjorgrund had weakened their forces, theyd gotten them to over-commit.

They'd made them overconfident.

They'd made them reveal some of their secrets.

And now, they would use what theyd learned, making their counterattack devastating.

Soon.

The fish were taking the bait, it was almost time to reel them in. He couldnt wait to show them what he was truly capable of.

For now, he would keep the chase going, flying and teleporting ahead of them through the sanctum. He cursed at them, luring them in, staying close enough to let them think they could touch him.Deadly traps sprang, lashing the hidden church with fire, acid, weapons, and magic.

Gabrians shield held, protecting most, but not all.

And, they followed, stoking themselves into a greater fervour.

Behind their leader, holy warriors flung taunts and curses at Alex. They called him cowardly. They called him an apostate. They called him a fool.

He didnt answer, just letting them say what they would.

The more they mocked him, the better it was.

It would make what was to come all the sweeter.

Gabrian tried to force down the doubts that were rising in him.

He told himself that this choice was the right one. He told himself that this was Uldars will. Yet, every instinct still screamed that he might be wrong.

Hundreds of years agowhen he had been a young Chosen of Uldar, struggling against the Ravener alongside the other Heroes of his timehe recalled how certain dungeons made his gut clench and his skin crawl.

He remembered the feeling he would get whenever they entered a dungeon far more dangerous and sinister than theyd expected. A dungeon with elements that were veiled and teeming with more life than they knew. A place where monsters somehow knew to expect them, and were prepared for them.

In those dungeons, disaster would usually strike. Ravener-spawn would be ready, waiting, claiming the life of one of his companions or some of the soldiers following them.

He felt that same way now.

We guessed that the Fool was attempting to trap us, he thought. Have we seen everything that he's prepared? Are we following him into our doom?

As he defended his followers from springing traps, he kept focused on the Fool.

It does not matter, he thought. We will destroy any trap he brings against us, and crush any allies here with him. No matter what he brings, he will still die.

Gabrians eyes narrowed. When he is convinced that he has won, that will be the time we strike. My attention has been divided, focused on protecting the children of Uldar, and slaying his enemy, but when the Fool finally reveals where he expects this chase of his to end, thats when I will turn every ounce of my power against him to strike him down. He will die just when he believes he has triumphed, then we can leave this place to be with Uldar.

This room is familiar! a holy warrior shouted. We're near the entrance! I think this is where we left the First Apostle!

The group paused, forming a small defensive perimeter around Izas. Oh, holy Uldar, he called. Find the path! Reveal the way to your greatest Apostle!

He lifted his hands to the heavens, and between his palms, an orb of light formed. The sphere shimmered, transforming into an arrow that pointed toward

What? he muttered.

The glowing arrow was pointing to the room where the statues were. Toward the entrance chamber.

Yet, the First Apostle had left by the portal opposite that one.

Izas looked at the arrow carefully. Is this some trick? Why would he be back at the entrance?

His instincts screamed for him to move.

We must go quickly! he cried. Something is wrong! Forward!

Both Apostle and followers charged into the entrance chamber, coming to a halt beneath the ruined statue of Uldar. Only one other portal led from the room.

The arrow pointed to the other portal.

This couldnt be a trick, he whispered. The miracle is meant to find those with a strong and direct connection to Uldar. It cant be deceived or interfered with, so why would

Suddenly, the Fool teleported into the room, looking at them in surprise.

He was closely followed by a tornado of stone dust, soil, and shrapnel that tore inside the room right after him, whipping about, looking to block him from all directions as he teleported around it, flickering from place to place.

Heartbeats later, the Stalker emerged from the portal, his laughter echoing through the air.

That laughter paused when he saw Izas.

The First Apostle and his followers came next, coming to an abrupt halt when they saw their brethren waiting there. Their numbers had been whittled down as well.

What is Izas murmured.

Realisation struck him.

This is what it had been all about.

Theyd been led through those death traps merely to weaken them.

Now, they'd all been herded into a single place, like sheep surrounded by wolves.

Holy leader! Izas shouted. We

The statues, my hounds, watch yourselves! the Stalker warned, pointing behind Izas.

The Third Apostle turned.

A whoooom sound built within the statues as power gathered in their eyes.

Horror ran through him down to his very bones; he knew the sound, it was familiar, it was the same as the fire-gems in the Fools golem. Heat and a blinding light was growing.

Uldar, protect us! He called on this divine power, strengthening the shield around his followers.

Outside of that shield, the world turned to flame.

This was his chance.

The statues on other side of the ruined image of Uldar were unleashing their fury. Fire-beams lashed at the protective aura of Uldars divinity. Floating above them was the Fool, he was smiling.

So this was your trap, Gabrian thought. It will also be your undoing!

He called upon his reserves of strength, empowering himself with divine might, and putting haste magic on himself. He sprang at their hated enemy, blurring in divine light, metal and the promise of death.

His sword was raised: poised to cut the Fool down with the same weapon hed slain the Ravener with so long ago.

He was beside his quarry in the blink of an eye, the sword dropping before the Fool could even think, or teleport away.

Alex Roth turned, but there was something wrong.

His eyes were steady and calm.

His lips were moving.

He raised his staff and Gabrians sword met the end wrapped in cloth, metal rang on metal.

The Fool twisted his staff, turning aside the First Apostles blow.

The cloth fell away, revealing what hed been concealing; the blade of a sword. A sword was fused to the end of the staffcreating a stabbing weapon.

Gabrians heart nearly stopped.

In a blur, his enemy swung the sword-staff upward, driving it into the pit of his shield-arm. Searing pain spiked through the First Apostles body as chain-links split, and flesh parted.

Impossible, you cannot wield a weapon, you are the Fool! he cried in shock and pain.

Not anymore, Alex said coldly. I remember at Uldars Rise you only had one arm, I think you looked better that way.

Energy poured down the sword-staffs blade, releasing a flash.

Searing pain became an explosion of agony.

Blood fountained from Gabrians shoulder.

Once again, his arm was gone.

Impossible! he shrieked, clutching at his shoulder.

If you think that was impossible, Alex said. Watch this.

He looked the First Apostle dead in the eye, doing something the man knew no Fool should be capable ofnot without punishing effort.

Yet, somehow, the Fool of Thameland seemed to be casting a spell.

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