WMDF/ELVINA/LICH.
“What the fuck is this thing?” Rictor said under his breath, most audible to the blonde beside him. The tarry black substance coated his sword and making his grip slippery, the armour slick. His holy attacks were powerful, but the monster was so quick – the Lich moved like an insubstantial breeze, rippling away from his attacks. He had noted Divina’s conspicuous lack of Deathbringer. He watched Lex and Darius turn their white magic to offensive use, the searing white light striving to rip the creature apart from the inside. Watching the battle unfold with the eye of a seasoned corporal, blinking through the exhaustion, Rictor wondered what he could—
Oh, he thought.
And he started chanting.
It was an old language, his Kerwon accent barking out the words in hard, clipped tones, shearing off the consonants, rolling over the vowels. He spoke and the words took on strength and power—which then started to winnow away at his own. He felt sealed cuts opening up and gaping wider, warm blood starting to trickle down his temples, his strength seeping out as if there were a leak, as if someone had slit him open and were draining him slowly. Each word was another pinprick of pain that Rictor ignored. Needles in his chest and in the palms of his hands. “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand,” he said in the old tongue.
This was a spell normally used to heal allies. But now he saw the way the Lich recoiled from it, the energy ripping free of Rictor and shuddering into the monster instead, making it howl in a tinny noise that made his teeth grate, his bones vibrate.
And a small voice in the back of Rictor’s head: This is like the Dark, is it not? Shedding one’s blood in order to damage another. It all came back to blood. He staggered slightly, but soon regained his balance. Be exalted, O Lord, in your strength; we will sing and praise your might, he thought.