🔥 Lyssara – Dark Lord

In the ruins of Glast Heim, where walls hum with forgotten psalms, three adventurers descended into shadow — Lyssara Emberveil, High Wizard; Aurek Dawnveil, High Priest; and Kaien Wraithborne, Professor of forbidden theories. Their quarry: the Dark Lord himself.

Chapter I — The Library of Ash

Glast Heim’s library burned from within, the shelves wreathed in living flame. Lyssara traced runes in the air — Safety Wall, Quagmire — sealing paths for her allies. Shadows thickened at the doorway. The Dark Lord appeared, eyes like twin eclipses, chanting Dark Grand Cross.

“Aurek, bless us!” she shouted. The priest raised his staff, light shearing the gloom — Blessing, Assumptio, Kyrie Eleison. Kaien spun a blue sigil at his feet, Spider Web snapping into place as he charged his Mind Breaker. Lyssara’s voice turned stormy: Meteor Storm cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, meteors streaking like divine judgment.

Every impact shook the catacomb floor, but the Dark Lord did not falter. “Impressive, mortals,” he said, “but you are only light, and light burns out.” His scythe cut through their spells, draining color from the air.

Chapter II — The Circle of Three

Lyssara fell back, robes tattered, mana fraying. Kaien extended a hand, chanting the old trick — Dispell — shattering the curse that clung to her aura. “On my mark!” he barked. Aurek’s Magnus Exorcismus flared beneath the Dark Lord’s feet, a holy mandala burning in white fire. Kaien amplified it with Mind Breaker, and Lyssara layered Lord of Vermilion atop the storm, calling lightning that screamed like angels.

The floor cracked. The Dark Lord staggered, his cape ablaze. “Now, before he seals himself!” Aurek cried. Lyssara gathered every spark left, whispering the word that mages never speak twice. Storm Gust. The blizzard swallowed flame, shattered marble, froze the demon mid-chant — and then the world went silent, except for three exhausted heartbeats echoing in the ruins.

Chapter III — The Spoils Beneath the Ashes

When the last echoes died, gold shimmered among the rubble. A chest burst open, spilling relics etched in bone script: Dark Lord Card, Book of the Dead, a Staff of Destruction whose core still pulsed faintly with mana. Lyssara brushed ash off her gloves and smiled. “We did it. For once, we truly did it.”

Kaien’s grin was sharper. “And now,” he said, “comes the civilized part.” He unrolled a black vellum ledger, full of coded prices. “Black Market in Lighthalzen still owes me favors. Cards go to collectors; relics go to nobles pretending piety.”

Aurek frowned, yet his fingers traced the gilded staff with reverence. “And what of virtue?” he asked softly. Lyssara shrugged, eyes glittering through stray locks of silver hair. “Virtue doesn’t pay repair costs.” They all laughed — tired, victorious, half-damned.

They packed their trophies as the snow of frozen ash drifted down, each step away from Glast Heim echoing with the quiet jingle of coin. The Dark Lord’s throne smoldered behind them, empty for now — but the ruins whispered, amused, as if the demon admired their greed.

Epilogue — Sparks in the Ruins

Back in the taverns of Prontera, they were legends. Songs spoke of their synergy: Lyssara’s precision, Aurek’s faith, Kaien’s cunning. No one sang of the chest hidden beneath Aurek’s robes — the one holding the Dark Lord Card still bleeding faintly with power. He prayed it would fade. It didn’t.

As they toasted under chandelier light, the card whispered a promise only Lyssara heard. “Three souls bound by victory,” it said. “The next time you cast, I’ll answer instead.” She smiled into her wine. “Then let’s make it a good one.”