Dilmir only just got his sword up in time as Iskra charged him, remembering too late that she was a vampire, and not Ilrin. The force of the blow from her daggers sent him backwards, and he landed again on the hard packed earth.

The elves seemed reluctant to come to his aid this time. Most of them were still dealing with the undead, who were once again streaming around Dilmir and Iskra. But a few, Dilmir saw, seemed to recognize Ilrin, and appeared unsure if they should attack her or not.

Ilrin advanced on Dilmir, and he struggled to his feet once more, dodging her next attack. She spun, catching him as he did so. Her blades slammed into his recently-restored shield, and it burst again, saving him from the blow but leaving him defenseless.

That move though… that was something Ilrin would have done. That was no vampire’s attack. Ilrin was in there, somewhere, her consciousness suppressed perhaps, but still alive. Iskra was using her memories, her strategies. And that meant Dilmir could beat her.

How many times had he fought Ilrin? He knew every move she would make, and how to respond to it. Her knew how to exploit her weaknesses and avoid her strengths. This was a fight he could win. The only difference was that Iskra was a vampire, and had strength Dilmir did not. But as long as he avoided her blades, he would be fine.

The undead continued to circle around them, so Dilmir ignored them, taking up a stance. Iskra paused, and Dilmir could see that she was evaluating his position, just as Ilrin would, looking for weaknesses.

She swung suddenly at his left side. Dilmir ducked under the blow, giving himself the perfect opportunity to strike at Iskra’s legs. But he hesitated. Ilrin was in there somewhere. He couldn’t hurt her.

Iskra swung again, and Dilmir dodged again, still reluctant to strike back. He couldn’t keep this up forever; eventually he’d have to either fight back or just let Iskra finish him. There wasn’t really much choice between the two.

Reluctantly, Dilmir evaded Iskra’s next blow, and delivered one of his own, striking her on the leg. Maybe he could just keep her down, where she wouldn’t be as much of a threat.

Iskra snarled at Dilmir’s blow, the bloodless wound seeming to infuriate her, but not much else. She swung again, faster this time, and Dilmir was barely able to get out of the way. Iskra’s other dagger flew in from the opposite direction, the two blades cutting of Dilmir’s escape. The only way out was to duck, which Dilmir did, avoiding both blades. But Iskra had anticipated the move. She angled her daggers down, and Dilmir felt them connect, slamming him into the ground.

One struck his collarbone, snapping it instantly. The other sank into his right shoulder, causing his fingers to go numb. His sword clattered from his grasp as his legs gave way.

Iskra shifted her grip on one of her daggers, preparing to plunge it into Dilmir’s heart, but then she froze, her dagger held aloft. She just stood there, grimacing as if in pain. Dilmir looked at her uncertainly.

“Get… back, elf!” she hissed.

And then Dilmir saw it: her eyes, which had burned red, were now brown, a curious and very familiar shade of brown. Ilrin was in there somewhere, and somehow, she was fighting against Iskra’s control.

Dilmir took the opportunity to grab his sword, which had fallen nearby. Unfortunately, the movement seemed to snap Iskra back into control, and she swung downwards. But she wasn’t entirely in control. Dilmir could see, even as the dagger descended, her eyes flickering between red and brown. The dagger wobbled as it plunged downwards, and Dilmir knew Ilrin was fighting for control of it, trying to divert it away from his heart.

She was only partially successful. The dagger plunged instead into Dilmir’s left shoulder, making his entire arm go numb. He felt it crack two ribs on its way. But, unable to fully control her trajectory, Iskra herself fell, landing right on top of Dilmir.

She fell on Dilmir’s right hand, knocking his sword away. Dilmir felt her armor at his fingers, but that wasn’t the only thing he felt. Whatever barrier Cyprien had against spells, Iskra seemed to have it too. She was a void to Dilmir’s magic, unable to be affected or touched by any spell.

Dilmir could tell that his hand had just passed through that barrier, because his hand felt intensely uncomfortable. The skin stretched, as if being pulled in every way at once, and it felt suddenly chilled, like all the heat had been sucked from it. But, touching her armor, Dilmir was able to feel something else: magic.

Magic was energy, and he could feel the energy within Iskra. But within that energy, twisted and knotted and tangled together, was Ilrin. How many times had he felt her magic, exploring the Curse within her? He knew her magic. And now he could sense it, fighting back against Iskra, slamming repeatedly into her control.

The contact lasted only a second. Iskra flipped up to her feet, leaving Dilmir lying there, battered and chilled. But he knew what to do. If he could touch Iskra, get through the barrier around her again, he might be able to do something. What, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he could help Ilrin somehow.

Just now though, he couldn’t move. The chilling touch of a vampire was well known amongst the elves. A single brush from them could sap an elf of all energy, rendering them incapable of movement. Apparently, being fallen on by a vampire had the same effect, because Dilmir felt cold all over, drained, almost paralyzed. He couldn’t even lift a finger.

Cyprien appeared, landing in the clearing created by the undead. “What are you doing?” he snarled at Iskra. “I told you to stay at the castle. This battle is too dangerous for you!”

Iskra looked at him, then pointedly at Dilmir, lying there helpless on the ground. Her message was clear: she was winning.

“Go!” Cyprien said. “If you want to kill elves, then go! Leave this one to me. He’s killed enough of my undead; I want to finish him myself.”

Iskra scowled, but turned and joined the tide of undead. The zombies had broken past the elves now, and were streaming into the Royal Quarter, cutting through any elf they met. Iskra was quickly swept away.

Cyprien approached Dilmir casually, knowing that he was chilled and couldn’t move. “So,” he said, idly flicking some blood from his blade, “you’re Dilmir. You’re the one Aranthar wanted gone. I see why. You’ve slain a good quarter of my undead.” He sighed. “You’ve caused me an inconvenience, Dilmir,” he said. “I’ll have to make you suffer for it before you die.” He knelt next to Dilmir, resting his sword against various limbs.

But while he had been talking, Dilmir had been working. For a Cursed elf, getting chilled was usually a death sentence. But for him, it was temporary. He could still feel the magic all around him, and he had been steadily pulling it into himself, flooding his body with energy. He still couldn’t move, not completely, but he was close.

Cyprien rested his sword, point down, against Dilmir’s stomach. “I hear a wound here leads to a slow death,” he said. “I wouldn’t know, never having died, but it seems like a good place to start.”

He raised his sword, preparing to plunge it into Dilmir. But at the same time, Dilmir flooded his right hand with energy, giving it enough feeling to grip his sword tightly, and drove it upwards, right between two plates in Cyprien’s armor, and into his heart.

Cyprien’s eyes widened as the blade connected. His sword fell from his grip, clattering harmlessly to the ground. He looked confusedly at the sword embedded in him, at Dilmir’s hand, still gripping the hilt.

“But,” he said. “You… You were chilled. You…”

“I recovered,” Dilmir said between gritted teeth. Now that feeling was returning to him, the pain of his various injuries was returning as well, all assaulting him at once.

“No,” said Cyprien. “No… you can’t…” He stood, pulling himself off of Dilmir’s sword. He staggered where he stood. “You can’t… I can’t… NO!”

Then he exploded. His body burst into a shower of ash and dark smoke, taking everything with it, armor, swords, even cloak. Cyprien Essenwein, lord of the night, was dead.

“NO!” Iskra dropped into the clearing from the sky above, too late. Ash and smoke washed over her, and she fell to her knees, staring at the place Cyprien had been. “NO!” She screamed. She kept screaming for a few moments, and Dilmir continued to pull energy into himself, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

She did. “YOU!” she shrieked, finally looking at Dilmir and leaping to her feet. “I’ll kill you!”

But Dilmir could see her eyes flickering, brown battling red, and knew what he had to do. Iskra leapt at him, daggers curving down, and Dilmir dodged to the side, pulling his still mostly-lifeless body to the right. He wasn’t quite fast enough. One dagger bit deep into him, going between two ribs. But he kicked as Iskra sank her dagger into him, knocking her leg out, and causing her to fall forwards, this time next to him. Knowing it was going to hurt, he placed his right hand on her arm.

Again, he felt the barrier about her. The skin on his hand pulled and stretched, and he felt cold all over. But he could feel her energy, and he could feel Ilrin’s energy, the two of them locked together. Summoning the magic around him, Dilmir poured it all into Iskra, joining in the fight.

Iskra suddenly went stiff. Her eyes flickered horribly between red and brown, and Dilmir saw that she no longer had complete control of her body. Some parts she controlled, some parts Ilrin controlled. The result was that she was mostly immobile, only able to twitch back and forth. Dilmir flooded more magic into her, feeding Ilrin’s fight.

It wasn’t easy. Through his magic, Dilmir could feel the vampiric spirit within Iskra, battling Ilrin for control. They clashed again and again, Dilmir helping where he could, keeping Iskra contained.

Slowly, they began to gain ground. Over and over, they clashed with Iskra, driving her steadily from Ilrin’s body. A thin smoke began to form around Iskra, cringing in the early sunlight. And still they fought, Dilmir continuing to pull more and more magic to his aid. He was aware of his injuries, all pulling at his focus, but he stayed concentrated, forcing his magic against Iskra’s essence over and over, forcing her out.

Finally, Iskra’s body collapsed, and the black smoke about her thickened into a ball. She was out, purged from Ilrin like a poison. She shot away, up out of Eld’rin, and Dilmir didn’t have the strength to try and stop her.

Ilrin was unconscious. Dilmir’s injuries finally overwhelmed him, and he too slipped from the waking world, his broken and battered body finally succumbing to darkness.