The Legend of Fatality

Jeffrey Huntington surrounded the altar and looked closely at the three goblets. After a while, he nodded again and took out a thing wrapped in a leather bag from a pocket in his coat. Even Earl Robert flinched at the suggestive appearance of the thing in the hands of the wizard and tried to tell himself that the bag was made with the paw of a monkey. Jeffrey Huntington opened the bag that had been tied to his wrist. He carefully poured a layer of black powder from the bag and poured an equal amount of powder into each cup.

When he finished, Jeffrey Huntington drew a machete from under his jacket. He put the edge of the blade on the palm of his hand and turned his eyes to Earl Robert. "Do you understand the purpose of this ceremony?" He asked, with a tone of pressure on the child.

"I know this will avenge my sons," robert de Toulouse growled. "Now you should consider your spell, wizard!"

"This is the grave of the Duke of Blood Eagle," Jeffrey Huntington said to Count Robert.

"The greatest monster and the greatest swordsman ever spilled blood on the land of Aquitaine." He smiled when he saw this uncovered truth disturbing the arrogant nobleman.

Like all knights, Earl Robert knew nothing about magic, and never thought he would be taken to the resting place of the soul he called.

"This monument was built to imprison the soul of the Duke of Blood Eagle. He was trapped by the magic of the Lady Prophet of Dawn. Over the years, the Prophet of Beckinsale used ancient magic to keep the soul of the Duke of Blood Eagle in In this marble pillar. This is the power we are fighting against, the power of Ms. Liming. This is something that blocks you and your revenge, my lord. "

Count Robert looked at the ground, filled with shame in his heart. The evil wizard punctured his words like a dagger into the earl's heart, piercing his last disguise. If Earl Robert thinks he can summon black magic while maintaining his faith and maintaining the knighthood of Burtania, the wizard Jeffrey Huntington will give him no choice. What he asked for was evil power, the power opposed by the lady and the knights who served her.

Now, Count Robert knows he can turn around. He saw the expressions on his companions' faces pleading with him, begging him to sever ties with the group of villains, and while they still had a little honor, hurry back to the castle. But at this time, the old hatred climbed into his heart again, and the bitter hatred could only be satisfied through bloodshed.

Count knew that there was no need to worry about the doubts of his men. They are all loyal knights, and even if they die, they will not disobey their oath to the emperor. He also understood that perhaps his previous words angered the **** necromancer, so he would avenge him in words. But the necromancer is right, he must make a choice.

"If this lady does not allow me to take revenge," Earl Robert whispered, "then I will deal with gods who are willing to help me take revenge."

Gissel listened to the nobility and smiled slightly. Jeffrey Huntington nodded coldly to salute them.

"Giselle's magic can lift the protective magic that the female prophet released on the grave." Jeffrey Huntington said. "Then I will summon the soul of the Duke of Blood Eagle. The memory and skills of swordsmanship in his soul will be drawn out and lead to the container that is ready to accept this power."

When Jeffrey Huntington scratched his dagger blade onto his palm, he flinched. Blood dripped from his injured hand and ran down his wrist. He put his hands on the silver goblet and let a few drops of his blood fall on the black powder.

Soon, when blood splashed on the powder, the powder began to boil, foaming, almost as violent as a volcanic eruption. The stemware began to fill with a stagnant dark red liquid, and the blood and black powder of Jeffrey Huntington magically blended together.

"Evil breeds evil," Jeffrey Huntington said. "Necromancer's blood and wizard's ashes. Together they form a contract with the power of the old night and the Lord of the Black Tower. Through this rope to the underworld, the power you seek will be from the soul Flow into the cup. Your body is weak, and you are used to the virtues and morals that the dark forces hate. "

Jeffrey Huntington tapped the silver goblet with his dagger. "This potion will adjust the balance and prepare you to accept the power of the Blood Duke."

The three knights walked slowly and reluctantly to the altar. They did not forget the symbolic meaning of this blasphemous ritual. This evil ritual is a blasphemous mocking of any knight's ultimate pursuit, and a poor imitation of the pursuit of the status of a holy knight. They stared at the crimson dirt splashing from the mouth of each cup in unabashed fright.

"Drink," Jeffrey Huntington said to them. When the Necromancer saw them hesitating, his eyes narrowed with contempt. "Drink," he repeated, his voice full of commanding growls.

Earl Robert grabbed his glass and twisted his brow to pour filthy things into his mouth. Then he stumbled back stumbled, trying not to let himself be choked by those dirty things. His companions followed him one by one, and when the potion slid down their throats, they choked and coughed.

When the last knight finished drinking the liquid in the glass, Giselle laughed. She clapped her hands, her cloaked cultists gathered around the altar, each holding a black candle in her left hand. The believers began to sing hymns, and their voices were raised in a disgusting, obscene and blasphemous tone.

The witch Gisele himself replaced Jeffrey Huntington's position behind the altar, and the necromancer retreated into darkness again. She giggled and took off her cloak to reveal her pale naked body. She twisted her body in a nearly boneless manner, shaking and twisting in front of the monument, her voice resembling the howling of half-human and half-beast.

"I beg the Lord of Deer Antlers, the King of Plagues and the King of Thousand Beasts, Lalta, to stretch out your emerald green claws."

"I beg for the Lord of Blood, King of All Fears, Lord of Killing Korhoun, and stretch out your **** spear."

"I beg the Lord of the night, the king of all kinds of darkness, Ms. Virginia of Darkness, stretch out your black long whip."

"I beg the Lord of fraud, the king of all kinds of conspiracies, and the king of deceit, Sasolion, to stretch out your purple scroll."

"I call the undead lord, the king of thousands of undeads, Nargash, the king of the black tower, and stretch out your gray staff."

"I pray for the Lord of Indulgence, the King of Thousands of Delights, the Lord of Hedonism, Slevius, and stretch out your pink dagger."

"I order all the power of the indescribable ancient king to demolish this holy place! Dispel this ancient magic and break the barriers of ancient magic! Erase the sacred signs and open the closed door!"

"I, in the name of the solid Leia, the vernacule Verina, and the fiery Eta, forced the elves of the sky, the earth, and the flame to obey my orders! In the name of the dark mage, Belrock, I ordered the destruction of this divine The place!"

As the witch Giselle's voice rose to near screaming, a deep rumble sounded in the mountains. The tombstone is shaking ~ www.NovelMTL.com ~ The grave is shaking, and the believers of the witch are thrown to the ground. A thunderbolt rang through the night sky, and its echo rang through the earth.

Count Robert wanted to see the marble pillars crack and be pushed down like fallen trees. But the monument is still towering, standing proudly against the black magic released on it by the witch. Earl Robert gave a curse, his hand fell on the sword, staring at the witch and the necromancer hiding in the shadows. He took such a big risk, made so many sacrifices, and even drank the abominable potion of Necromancer in vain.

Count Robert pulled out his sword and strode toward the screaming witch. He did not notice that the gold-plated sword fixed on the surface of the pillar suddenly cracked and turned into powder.

——

Sometimes, he would imagine himself hearing the sound of a hammer hitting the prison wall again, desperately screaming at these phantoms mocking his memory, begging them to release him and end his hunger.

However, light appeared in eternal darkness, a dark and terrible light. He could feel the evil energy rippling in the air, burning him with demonic claws and tearing him with ghostly knives. This pain is intoxicating, extravagant and exciting. After living alone for an unknown period of time, his only feeling was that there was never satisfied hunger burning in his veins. Even the **** that made him feel like he was on the verge of death was a pleasant rest.

Slowly, he felt a change in the air again. He could feel that the prison formed by ancient magic shattered under the hammer and vanished. The marble walls have become simple stones. The magic applied by the female prophet Beckinsale disappeared.

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