WMDF/ELVINA/LICH.
By the time warnings were plastered across the network, Elvira was halfway out the door, already alerted by the ruckus outside her window. What dared to wander close enough to disturb her at that hour merited an investigation at the very least, if not a reprimand. The holy knight, in her usual light armor, searched alleyways for information, avoiding the fray she heard meters away in the neighboring streets (As a child she learned to be seen and not heard. As an inquisitor, she took it a step further and, contrary to what she would have nobles believe, avoided being seen and heard.)
The battle came to her eventually. Grip steadying on her sword, Elvira swung around to see the moaning and creaking knight approaching her. However, just as it raised its unwieldy greatsword to deal a blow, it crumpled under the weight of Deathbringer.
When Divina raised her eyes to see whom she’d saved, a scowl marred her features before she hastily schooled them into a mocking smile. “What do we have—”
Suddenly, the undead knight rose with a deafening screech. There was no damage where Deathbringer had fallen, and its carriage seemed more powerful and imposing than it had been sheer moments prior. Did the Dark not work? But, of course, it wouldn’t, Divina realized, at once ashamed of her oversight. The waves of Dark energy rippled off these creatures in waves. If the Dark could nourish Divina, how could it not nourish these Undead? Swearing rapidly under her breath, the fell knight sheathed Deathbringer and fell into a berserker stance. How she wished she had Bravura on hand, or even her Hell Claws! Not for a moment did she trust Elvira to return any favors.
“What do we have here?” Elvira’s gaze skipped from the fell knight to the undead rising to the nearest escape, leaving the subject of her question vague. The corners of her lip twitched, more out of amusement at Divina’s failed attack than of annoyance at her appearance.
Divina didn’t respond, instead acting on pure instinct. As soon as she was struck by the impulse, she unfastened Deathbringer, still in its scabbard, and held it aloft, an improvised club. The blade was unexposed, its Dark properties thus contained. It was logic boiled down to its crudest form: intuitive and unthinking—Divina’s fighting methods exactly.
Without further ado, she raised her unorthodox weapon high, bringing it down upon the undead’s head in Helm Smash. The flimsy, antiquated headgear shattered upon impact. Sheathed Deathbringer landed brutally on the undead’s skull. Howling its displeasure, the undead turned to Divina with its greatsword at the ready. Seizing her chance while it was distracted, Elvira struck its rearing head with her sword, now glowing with Holy magic as she mouthed a prayer—Judgement Blade—to her god.
The undead froze in its place, mouth gaping open as if it was trying to scream in pain, before falling to the women’s feet as dust and bones. Elvira pursed her lips at the heap, holding back the curious “hm” rising up her throat. Without another pause, without a call for Divina to follow, the holy knight made her leave.
Upon her exit, the holy knight found herself facing more acquaintances—business acquaintances—and hovering between the two groups was none other than the undead army’s leader. Elvira turned to the fell knight, acknowledging her properly the first that night, and back to the Lich. At this, Divina, who had been preoccupied with looting and acquainting herself with the fallen zombie’s greatsword, looked up. A wide smile spread across the fell’s face.