Chapter 850 – The Calm Before The Storm [Part 2]

“Such ominous clouds,” Eldon said as he gazed out the window of his shelter. “It seems that the countdown to the end of the world has finally started. Do you feel that way as well?”

Lindir, who had visited the Dwarven Shelter so early in the morning, clicked his tongue in agreement and irritation.

“I hate being treated like a chess piece by people,” Lindir complained. “For someone of my status to stoop this low, I think I’m going mad.”

Eldon laughed as he walked towards his friend and patted his shoulder. “It’s good to be mad every now and then. Only the crazy people in the world can do the crazy things that people deem impossible.”

“You’re crazy, too!” Lindir hissed in anger. “Why are you being stubborn? I know that Dwarves are stubborn, but you are on a whole new level. I came here so that you could convince me to side with Morax, so that I don’t have to go through this madness!”

“You went to the wrong Shelter. You should have gone to Wade’s or Avril’s instead.”

“But I hate those two-faced bastards!”

Eldon shrugged as he sat on the chair opposite the raging Lizardfolk.

Lindir sighed before drinking the cup of water on the table. After quenching his thirst, he once again glared at the Dwarf who had started to play with his beard.

“Look, I’m not asking for too much,” Lindir said in a voice that reeked of anxiety. “Just, what are our chances of winning?”

“Close to zero.”

“F*ck this, I’m out!”

The Lizard stood up and walked towards the door. He then opened the door and turned his head to look at the Dwarf who was still playing with his beard.

“Aren’t you going to stop me?” Lindir asked in disbelief.

Eldon raised his head to look at the Lizardfolk whose green scales had started to change to red.

“Why would I stop you?” Eldon asked. “It’s your life, so it’s your choice. The last thing that I want to happen is to have someone scream in my ear, ‘I shouldn’t have believed in you!’ as I am facing death. You’re old enough, Lindir. You, I, everyone, need to take responsibility for their own choices. Whether it leads to defeat or victory, you should do it with the knowledge that it is the choice you made, and no one else’s.”

“F*ck this, I’m out,” Lindir growled as he slammed the door shut.

Eldon shook his head as he picked up the beer on the table. Just as he was about to enjoy his beer, the door of the room opened and Lindir barged in once again. Only this time he was not alone.

“Tell me, Dwarf,” Swiper said in a voice that reeked of anxiety. “What are your chances of winning?”

The corner of Eldon’s lips twitched as he looked at the Demonic Boar Kin and the irritating Lizardfolk who looked at him as if they would die if he didn’t give them a proper answer.

“Close to Zero,” Eldon repeated the answer that he had given Lindir.

“F*ck this, I’m out!” Lindir said for the third time as he walked out of the room.

“Damn! I don’t want to be on the losing side! I’m out of here!” Swiper declared as he, too, went out of the door and slammed it shut.

Eldon watched them go as he opened his canned beer with a pop.

The Dwarven Leader had just taken a sip of his beer when the door of his room once again opened.

Swiper and Lindir walked towards him with serious expressions on their faces.

“Hey, do we really have no chances of winning?” Lindir asked.

“Fess up, old dwarf,” Swiper glared in anger. “I hate to be on the losing side. If you think that you have a chance of winning, say it now or I swear that I will haunt you if I die here in the Deadlands!”

The Demonic Boar then grabbed the beer from Eldon’s hand and drank all of its contents in one go. After he was done, he crumpled the can and tossed it aside before glaring at the Dwarf who was looking at Lindir and him like they were dead people.

Eldon stood up from his chair and summoned his sledge hammer.

“You bastards!” Eldon roared as he gripped his weapon with both hands. “Stop asking me and think using your own goddamn minds!”

Eldon’s mighty roar reverberated inside his Shelter. He then swung his weapon, in order to pulverize the two pests that kept on pestering him.

Unfortunately, Swiper and Lindir had expected this to happen and had already started to run away.

Although the Lizardfok and the Demonic Boar had no redeeming features, neither of them would lose in the “running away for their lives” department, which almost made Eldon suffer from aneurysm as he chased after them with his weapon held high.

—–

Inside the Black Tower…

Morax gazed at the eight mirrors hovering in the air as they projected the images of the people in the Deadlands.

He watched with amusement as the enraged Dwarf ran after Swiper and Lindir with the intention of beating the crap out of them. The Dread Lord even laughed out loud when Eldon almost smashed Swiper’s face after the Demonic Boar accidentally tripped on the stairs, in his desire to run away from the dwarf whose beer he had drank without permission.

After having his fill of the trio’s antics, the Dread Lord gazed at William who was currently lying in bed with a beautiful Amazon by his side. Morax had labeled the Half-Elf as a variable in his plans, so he made sure to cripple him during the most crucial moment.

Now that the Half-Elf was out of the equation, he no longer felt any threat from the inhabitants of the Deadlands, even if they all ganged up against him.

Only William, whose Vampiric power could be boosted by the Black Tower, posed the most serious threat to Morax’s desire for conquest. As long as the Half-Elf remained asleep, no one in the world could stand in his way.

Morax shifted his gaze to the other mirrors, which showed him the people from the other Shelters still frantically looking for the last mirror.

The Dread Lord looked at them with appreciation because without their help, he wouldn’t have been able to collect them in such a short time.

Two hours later, the Dread Lord finally grew bored of watching the goings-on in the Deadlands and raised his hand.

The mirrors flew towards their respective pedestals and remained motionless. Only their surface rippled with power as they waited for their ninth brethren to join them to fulfill the purpose for their creation.

Everything once again settled down in the Deadlands as if the eye of the storm was passing through.

Morax knew that after that brief moment of reprieve, his dreams, and aspirations would finally become a reality.

—-

Three days later…

Lindir stood on the rooftop of his Shelter with his hands behind his back. He watched as a lone figure made her way in his direction under the cover of dawn.

Today was the promised day, and Lindir had to make an important decision.

He had spent the last few days trying to convince himself that he should just join Morax’s side and get it over with. But, something deep inside him was resisting and unwilling to hold hands with the Dread Lord that had tempted him with promises beyond his wildest dreams.

Lindir sighed as he gazed at Xenovia, who had landed a few meters away from him.

“I came here for your answer,” Xenovia said. “What is your decision?”

Lindir clenched his fists as an internal battle waged inside his head.

Xenovia crossed her arms over her chest and waited patiently for Lindir’s answer. Right now, the main actors were about to take center stage.

Whether this story would lead to a happy or sad ending, would all depend on how they played their part in the bigger picture.

Xenovia eyed Lindir with a devilish smile from where she stood. If Lindir agreed to their proposal then everything would be fine and dandy.

However, if Lindir backed out then they would go with Plan B.

Cathy had told Xenovia that if Lindir didn’t agree to their proposal, she had permission to beat the Lizardfolk up until he agreed.

This was their Plan B, no matter what happened. The only answer they would accept from Lindir’s lips was yes, or yes.

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