The success of the attack granted Kurtz some much needed confidence, reminding him that he was no longer the powerless boy from the tomb. He was able to gain the force of will to snap the head off of the arrow, and pull the shaft out of his thigh. The blood that poured from the leg was intense, causing a light-headed sensation. He took his shirt and ripped strips off, wrapping the wound as best he could. He figured that he had a better chance of fighting off an infection from dirty cloth that he did of surviving blood loss.

Thinking he was safe, he began to turn to the skull and speak, only to hear the sound of the man getting up from the pile of splinters that had been created around him. His shirt has a circular hole burned through the middle, where the bolt had caught him, and the skin underneath was blood red with charred and smoking flesh. Kurtz could see the veins of the man, the blood having boiled in his body in angry red lines, coating him.

No longer was the confidence of the self-assured zealot, the man seemed to barely stand. The anger in his eyes was fierce as he slowly shuffled towards Kurtz. Hate filled the assassin, never in decades of service had he ever been hurt so badly. The damage caused by the blast may be permanent he knew, he’d seen lightning strikes deal nerve damage before, and if that was the case, his fickle Goddess may discard him, not allowing a weak cripple to serve her. His limbs responded slowly, but sheer determination caused them to move through the searing pain that wracked his body. Even if it killed him, Quassak would end this boy.

Unable to fully stand, Kurtz couldn't take his usual stance, forced to brace himself weakly with his sword out. The pair stared at each other over the distance, the crippled assassin shuffling along the ground, the maimed boy awaiting him to continue the fight. When the assassin covered the distance, he rushed at Kurtz, the boy swinging the sword.

The force of the swing was weak, Kurtz unable to get any true strength behind it due to the weakness of his leg. The blade skidded across the toughed skin of the assassin, allowing the larger man to pull the boys wrist, disarming him and sending the blade soaring of into the shadows of the forest. The large man then slammed his other fist into the boy’s exposed torso, the force also weakened from the large mans weakened muscles.

The strength of the blow was enough to take Kurtz’ leg out from under him, sending him to the ground. Quassek still held his wrist in one hand and used his other to send another blow into the boy’s face. Blood poured from Kurtz’ now broken nose, the pain nearly blinding him. In a moment of desperation, he reached to his belt and fumbled for his knife. Unsheathing it, he took on his half lich aspect, his eyes turning pitch black against his now sickly white skin. Stabbing the blackened blade of the knife into the exposed arm that held his wrist caused the necrotic energy to seep into the wound like a poison, black lines of death slowly crept into cut. The damage wasn’t much, but the pain and realization of what happened was enough to cause the man to pause in his assault.

His vision turning red as the pain mixed with anger and hate, Kurtz felt an immense hunger coming from deep inside. The void that he drew his power from, the point of connection between himself and Namenth’al, desired to be filled. The all-consuming need for life took over Kurtz’ mind. Latching onto the man by the arm that held him, Kurtz drew in the very soul of the man, feeding it to the darkness inside of him. The longer he held, the stronger the half lich became. The pain from his beating and the hole from the arrow closed, allowing Kurtz to stand.

Conversely, the assassin screamed in pain as the undead monster held him in a death grip. Frantically using the last of his fading strength to try and pull the creature’s fingers off of him, Quassak could feel his scorched body die as the lich sucked his very soul out from him. In his ragged pursuit, he assumed the boy just another thief like the ones who’d died in the tomb, never assuming that the same power of his god could also dwell inside any but the Masters. His vision went black, his screams continuing long after his body stopped moving, until all was still.