Soul crystals were especially obtained by the elves. A piece of those crystals cost upwards of five thousand gold due to the difficulty involved. Not only did they store magic; depending on the characters inscribed on their surface or interior, they could amplify or, as in the case of Lilith's village, collect magic from their surroundings. But even the elves did not have so many crystals. Seeing a golem—more so six of them—living with that deceptive clumsiness unique to inanimate beings, each must weigh over half a ton of rock. They had no hands—just resistant pieces, geometric structures that gave the impression of being humanoid but limited to conducting themselves like lethal dolls.
The inertia of their blows put them within reach. The first struck downward. I moved to his side. Using the sword with runes was for convenience, but it was time to use what the dwarf king smith had given me. The dwarves who had traveled with the elves into exile were master smiths. They were not interested in conquering, dominating, or destroying anything. They only needed someone to bear their weapons—someone capable of filling the necessary magic to activate them, to be worthy of them. From the moment I arrived at his forge, he made me work with special hammers, with incredible temperatures, but more than anything, he taught me not to depend on my magic or protective enchantments. So even though it tired me, I had no trouble using both hands to give the sword good speed. The impact knocked off a splinter the size of the stone he wielded as a weapon. There was no time to admire—the second came, trying to kick me.
Their movements were so telegraphed that escape was easy. For the kick, a simple spin that ended with me on my knees and the sword striking the joint of his right leg sufficed. Lacking a spine or articulations, his attacks were limited. But at this rate, I would take too long. Taking advantage of the golems' approaches, I realized their attacks were only described in broad strokes. From what I read, their function was to stop whoever was here... Why would the elves deny exit to their greatest mage? Moreover, their pieces were reconstructing themselves. I had to finish this.
The third to attack tried to crush me between what, for lack of a better word, were his "arms." It was time to use dwarven magic. The runes on my back gave support and strength to my legs. The leap placed me atop the golem. Now, a little strength in my arms. Good—the sword was not as heavy as with the runes, but the magical reinforcement the dwarf warriors practiced worked. The blow knocked off the entire piece, leaving it split in half.
With similar strikes, I began to dismantle them all. When only two remained, their bright green color dimmed a little. I had feared as much. With a flash, the inanimate, broken, useless figures reassembled themselves, and even though the fractures were where they had been broken before, magic now united them. That was what made them so deadly. Even if I did not like it, I had to use drastic measures. This was taking my time. Not to mention the danger of a battle where magic enhanced my body—I could dismantle them each time but not eliminate them, and my body would exhaust itself in an hour or two. Not enough time to destroy all six with a single blow or disable the protection and self-preservation runes they surely had. It was time to play dirty. I prepared one of the special runes against mages and activated it against one of the dimmer-colored golems. The rune floated slow and lazily, but it would follow him. Since he was immune to magical attacks, this rune was practically immune to physical and most magical attacks. As soon as the rune reached his forehead, a torrent of magic flooded me.
Leech Mana was one of the most effective runes when dealing with entities that depended on magic to attack—in this case, they depended on it to survive. It extracted a great amount of mana and allowed you to fuse it with your own—very useful if the battle was prolonged. The magic I received was abominable. I had never felt such a disgusting sensation. It was magic, and I could use it, yet I must not. It was breaking several of my links to hard-to-maintain spells, destroying my balance. I felt that some of the bindings on the coffin no longer received my magic... This was very bad! I could not lose a second.
As the magic left that golem's body, color abandoned it, and in less than two seconds, it became motionless. As expected, all the others dimmed slightly to recharge it. They were noticeably slower. Yet I could not absorb magic from them. I risked my beloved waking. I had to use excessively exhausting magic. If I did not, I was in trouble.
Mana Siphon—the desperate measure. A small tornado descended and engulfed us all. It was a double-edged sword. I used my magic to extract theirs to the outside. I had to mix it, sacrifice more of my magic reserves. None of that mana must return to the golems. There was so much magic—almost all the energy I had went into it. I was sure that magic would wander for a few months until it dispersed. Since I had not let the rot of corrupted magic remain free, I hoped it would not generate abominations or apparitions. Unable to move or maintain my visibility field, my eyes found themselves contemplating the putrefaction mist again. At least I left enough magic for my face purifier. I advanced by touch. To quickly reach where I had last seen the elven mage's body, I had to cross the mountain of bones. From the deformities, I made out skeletons of many dwarves, several humans, and creatures I did not recognize. My boots made them crack beneath me. It was a nightmare place.
The mage was still clutching his book. I supposed his mind had succumbed before his body. In his hands, a malevolent book exhaled a little pestilent smoke, probably partially responsible for the miasma surrounding us. On the small table were some transportation runes. He had sent a message, but even though I suspected the recipient, I did not know what he had sent. What I did see was a pile of messages. Some must have kept arriving after he died. I took the least worn.
"Greetings, dear friend.
I know it was very cruel to leave you there with those disgusting humans and the lesser races. But it was necessary for you to continue creating soul crystals... Have you finished with the dwarven village we set for you? If so, let us know so we can send another village to your laboratory. The gems you obtained by crystallizing their spirits are of very good quality.
The plan is progressing perfectly. We have already sent my daughter with the key for your enchantment. As you indicated, we made all the modifications. Well does my god know that I hate doing this, but she had to die so that we could regain our glory.
Do not reproach me for leaving you locked in. It was important that you finish your work, my friend. I miss sitting on the balcony with you, sharing a few glasses of wine, talking while the mercenaries captured people—do you remember? Cheer up! Soon we will do it again. When I reach the towns, I have people working for our cause. They will bring you my daughter and the bastard escorting her. You are free to do what you wish with him. I only beg you to return our powers. Everyone here prays for your triumph.
Sincerely,
King Abalon"
I ran. I did not care if I stumbled. I did not feel the furniture I pushed aside with my sword, nor the bones I crushed as I ran. I knew they were bastards, but I did not believe they would go to such extremes. I had to return. I had to be there during the Blood Elves' attack on the keep. Life on the continent was in danger!