Lance followed Lyra into the Nether – but can he pay the price to save her? Read on to see the first knight of the Netherworld in all his burning glory.
- Chainmail Nether Fury armor
- Hounskull helm
- Ornate ebony wings
- Obsidian shield featuring the Pinnacle of Awesome design
- Crown of the Nether
- Nether Trident engulfed in fire!
- Halcyon Heart gems embedded in armor
- Combat Roll is now a combat corkscrew flip!
- Jump twists, hovers & slams Trident into the ground when recalling to base
- Leaps higher and hits the ground harder during Impale ability
- Sparks and soot smoldering off of his Trident
- Inflamed crown
- Glowing golden eyes
- Flames fly from his shield during basic attacks and Gythian Wall ability
- Impale ability creates Netherfire cracks in the ground
- Gythian Wall ability creates an arc of flames & soot
CHECK HIM OUT IN GAME:
ALTERNATE FATE LORE
Guardian of the Nether
Part I: Consumed by the Dark
The three-headed dire wolf of the Netherworld sat, motionless but for the flames flickering from his body, as ghouls buckled Lance into Nether-forged armor. “You will take me to the woman I killed,” commanded the warrior.
“You never left her,” said the wolf. The armory faded away and light filtered in from the distance, illuminating the large room lined with carved obsidian, the platforms, and the walkway upon which Lance stood. It was the Mage Hall, but not so, for everything was gray and black, and wavered at the edges like a nightmare. All around, hollow-eyed mage ghosts crowded close.
The living were invisible, but their voices echoed between the two worlds: battle screams, and then a boy crying for his mother. Lance stepped to where Lyra’s soul stood, in shock, in the place where she had died.
Color dripped from her, washing into the Nether, the violet curls turning white strand by strand, the flush draining from her lips and cheeks, her crimson mage robes blending with the gray ghouls. Lance touched her cheek with his cold gauntlet as darkness hollowed out her eyes.
“This wrong must be undone,” he whispered. Her expression betrayed no understanding.
“What enters the Nether returns only by the will of the Guardian.” The dire wolf’s voice was kind, despite his fearsome appearance. “Your destiny is to protect her here, Lance.”
“I shall force the will of the Guardian.”
“I am the Guardian,” said the dire wolf, “and my will cannot be forced.”
“We shall see.” Lance drew his sword.
“So be it,” said the wolf, and lunged toward the knight, his teeth bared, flame and soot following in his wake.
Lance strafed, wavering to avoid falling off the edge of the walkway into the abyss. He clutched his shield and swept the sword in a long arc to the legs of the three-headed wolf. The second time the wolf lunged, his long claws found purchase in Lance’s belly, tearing away the Nether armor. Blood poured from the wound before the knight had time to feel it; he leaped away and fled down the walkway to the platforms, leaving a blood trail behind, the wolf in pursuit.
The soul of Lyra watched with empty eyes.
Lance turned and jabbed his blade into the shoulder of his enemy; the Netherwolf yipped in pain. For a tense moment they circled one another, bleeding, and again the wolf lunged, snapping his three sets of jaws, but he could not close the distance. With a snarl, he threw back his heads and howled. From all corners of the Mage Hall, the Netherwolf’s pack raced to his aid.
Echoing from the living world, Lance heard the boy’s voice again. “Mother, forgive me!”
The wolf pack advanced down the walkway, a long streak of fire. The warrior strafed, and with a heaving exhale swept the pack aside with his weapon, throwing them against the platform, buying himself a split second to leap away and deliver one final blow, impaling all of the Netherwolves in one strike.
The ghouls and the ghost of Lyra disappeared. The curtain between the living and the Nether tore apart, and the Mage Hall erupted into color. The trial had halted, and at the end of the walkway, Lyra sat up and gasped, coming to life in Samuel’s arms. Reim stood with his hand on Samuel’s shoulder, his mouth set in its characteristic grim line.
The wolves assembled beside Lance, covered now in fur rather than flames. Their leader had transformed into a normal, if overlarge, living dire wolf. “You have freed us,” he said to Lance. “May a worthy opponent grant you the same freedom one day, Guardian of the Nether.”
Lance opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. Ghouls surrounded him, removing his weapon and armor, and he could not protest, could not fight the force that dragged him back into the Nether, back to the armory where the wings, crown, armor and trident of the Guardian awaited him.
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