The Paladin in the Abyss

In Peyton Derrick's wildest dreams, he had never thought of becoming a god. The main purpose of his revisit to that ancient temple was to find a way out of the Derrick Kingdom, a cage he had forged for himself due to past mistakes. He failed and returned gravely injured. Soon after, a group of malicious hags invaded his territory. They were powerful, but what truly terrified Peyton was their dark knowledge. The lich's fears were indeed justified: he was humiliatingly defeated, stripped of his power, his body sealed, and even his consciousness was imprisoned in a void. There was nothing he could do except fantasize about how he would take revenge on the hags and all those who had ever wronged him.

In his heart, he had already accepted this as his fate—to be imprisoned until the end of time, perishing with the multiverse. Yet, just as he had completely abandoned hope, a turning point suddenly occurred: his stripped powers returned to his body, and his consciousness effortlessly broke free of the prison imposed by the hags. In fact, his current strength far surpassed what it was before his imprisonment, and his mind was filled with knowledge he had never known. A man like him would always find an excuse for himself: "I, Peyton Derrick, master of the Derrick Kingdom, the greatest mage in my family's history, was always this powerful. It was merely the long imprisonment that caused some confusion in my memory; likewise, those pieces of secret knowledge were always mine; it was the vile witchcraft of the hags that made me forget."

Besides that, another voice emerged in his mind, a voice that was intelligent, proud, arrogant, and imperious. He believed it was his former self. He even thought that this fragile, sensitive, and terrified self born of long imprisonment should be quickly 'integrated' back into the 'healthy' self of the past.

And indeed, that's what he did. Urged on by that voice, the lich suppressed his fear of the temple and ordered his bearers to move forward, raising his arms to weave the intangible, omnipresent web of magic.

His first spell used simple casting materials: just a piece of foam commonly used to stuff sofas and cushions. But after a few breaths, the lich used dark magic to turn it into something entirely different, which he then threw into the midst of the tenaciously resisting Holy Temple Guardians.

The foam emitted a bizarre, sickly purple glow as it sailed through the air, and upon hitting the ground, the magical energy it contained exploded violently like a supernova. Centered on the foam, all moisture within a large surrounding area was forcefully extracted, whether from the ground, the air, or the bodies of living creatures. Clearly, this effect had no impact on the undead, whose bodies were already devoid of moisture and whose existence was sustained by forces unrelated to water.

This was the Withering Curse of Abi-Dach, an Eighth Circle necromancy spell and one of the liches' favorites, much as demons favored Firewall spells. All living humans within thirty feet of the foam died instantly, their bodies as dry as withered wood. Those further away, possessing stronger constitutions, barely survived but were severely weakened, the loss of bodily fluids causing dizziness, shortness of breath, and severely diminished combat effectiveness.

The lich looked on with satisfaction at his handiwork. With just one action, he had successfully torn a wide breach in the defenders' lines, and his undead army immediately surged through it. Everything seemed perfect.

Just then, a heavily armored knight suddenly charged from the rear of the enemy lines, wielding a massive spiral sword. In the midst of the chaos, he unleashed a storm of metal, tearing through the surrounding enemies like ships caught in a maelstrom. In that instant, the lich almost thought the demon knight who had once forced him to flee had reappeared, but an entity pushed to the corner of his consciousness recognized the newly arrived figure.

"Bastan!? What are you doing here?" The lich found his mouth moving on its own, "And why are you wielding weapons against my soldiers? Have you forgotten your identity?"

"I haven't forgotten, kingslayer." The knight lifted his visor, revealing his skeletal face. "I am a King's Iron Guard, once sworn to serve King Tedder. And you, Peyton, may the gods curse your name, cruelly killed him and imprisoned his soul... You deserve nothing less than death!"

All the high-ranking units within the undead army who possessed self-awareness were casting furtive glances at the lich. That, of course, did not escape his perception. Rage began to burn intensely within him, and for some reason, he found the exposure of his lies particularly intolerable at this moment.

"You're lying!"

Peyton Derrick screamed shrilly, then swiftly waved his arms, summoning a massive meteor from the sky to smash right into the skeletal knight's position, turning everything on the ground, including the undead soldiers fighting the knight, into dust.

"Bastan has been bewitched by the Evil God and is beyond salvation!" The lich loudly declared to his lieutenants, "Charge! Avenge Bastan!"

Under the influence of some mysterious force, the high-ranking beings with self-awareness fully believed the lich's words, as if he were a natural-born master of deceit. Before the dust raised by the meteor could settle, the warriors of both sides were once again locked in deadly combat. The Temple Guardians, already outnumbered, appeared increasingly passive, on the brink of collapse, a sight the lich hoped to hasten.

His gaze swept across the battlefield, soon finding an ideal area where the living and the dead were fiercely entangled, perfect for another Withering Curse of Abi-Dach. He quickly completed the casting, but as he released the spell, the purple magic aura of the spell suddenly disintegrated about ten feet away from him, as if a hurricane had snuffed out a candle.

At the same time, the lich was overwhelmed by an extremely strong, uncontrollable sensation of nausea, an indescribable feeling akin to having regurgitated vomit forced back down his throat. As a lich, he knew exactly what this meant...

"See? Against a lich, you need to use an Anti-Magic Field. It suppresses magical items and effects within its range, blocks entities on either side from casting spells across the field, and can even disrupt all forms of magical travel, leaving no escape," an elegant, noble, yet leisurely voice cut through the battle's chaos, "What are you waiting for, Sir? Anti-Magic Fields won't hinder you from wielding your weapon..."