Necromancer and Co., Book 3: The Underearth

Chapter 4: Again

"And so, the Dark One visited the dreams of the chosen in their sleep, giving them visions of salvation--of life above the world beneath the world. Soon, he promised them, soon, we shall make our ascent."

[Alen]

“What is it with you people and murder?” asked Alen, slowly backing away from the large, obsidian-skinned man. Around him, undead bubbled to life from the small fragments of bone and keratin he’d tossed around. Five hyenas, four beetles, and one centipede. The last of his undead from the Crawling Canyon. He left only one summon in his robes; another beetle for flight.

The man gave him a slovenly grin, but within his dark, crimson eyes, Alen saw the same madness he’d seen in the man’s brethren present. “Our King demands it,” the man spread his arms out, the spear shaft carving a curve in front of him. “When he returns, you will see why our people are so devoted to him. Why don’t you join us, keeper of the dead? We are but a collection of races devoted to a common cause. The King will be delighted to have you and your creations among us.”

“Oh yeah?” Alen felt the sweat on his back. These people were dangerous, and the calm demeanor this man showed only served to worry him more. “Is there a ‘no’ option?”

“Only if you can stop me from forcing you to say yes,” the man smiled, taking a step forward, “it is compliance, or death,” he licked his lips. “My brethren are already on their way, and you’ll find that they are far less kind compared to I. Choose, necromancer, or face death.”

“Ah,” Alen glanced at his summons. Magic roiled into his boots like roaring waves. The threads connecting him to his summons hummed with his command. He looked up at the man, defiance roaring in his eyes.

“After serious consideration, I’ve decided,” Alen nodded then pointed his hand at the Xargith. “I choose ‘go fuck yourself’!”

His undead surged forward. The man smiled a smile that reached his ears. Bone spears shot out of Alen’s boots. He shot towards a beetle and landed. They took off and flew past the treetops. The Xargith man stabbed a hyena through the head. He twisted and obliterated the spine of another, then caved in a beetle’s head with a single punch. He looked up at Alen with a bone-chilling glow to his blood-red eyes.

“Wrong choice,” he hefted his spear, took aim, and threw. No. Catapulted. The spear ripped through the air, burrowing a hole through the looming skeletal centipede’s chest and flying straight for Alen.

Alen cursed and had the beetle twist mid-air. The spear still raked through its torso and destroyed a wing in the process. They began to plummet to the ground. He was falling. Again.

The necromancer’s eyes turned bloodshot at the realization.

“Not a-fucking-gain!!” He bellowed, his form disappearing below the sea of leaves.

—o—

A lone man stood alone among the wrecked remains of bone and chitin. He swung his spear, and it shattered the head of a hyena. A woman covered in horns and barbs watched him from behind a collection of bushes and brambles. She loosed a breath and slowly stepped forward into the clearing. She kneeled to him, her head lowered. More people of varying races stepped out of the trees behind her, their forms strange and foreign to the smooth-skinned creatures that lurked above the earth. They kneeled.

“The village is here,” the man said. “I assume the long-ear is still marked?”

The woman leered venomously. “Our weapons hum with her blood. The other one should have been marked as well, but he has disappeared from our senses.”

“Send your men ahead and inform the others. Don’t bother surrounding the village. That old cavespawn Drizza already knows that we are here,” he said, almost lazily.

“She is capable of such, lord Seith?”

“Their tribe wouldn’t be one of those that have evaded us for so long if she wasn’t,” Seith glowered at the distance. “Order the attack and send your men ahead. The more time they have to prepare, the larger the risk that their priestess will get away again.”

“Yes, lord,” the woman nodded at her men, and they rushed forward, giving Seith a wide berth. She turned to follow, but stopped as Seith’s voice called out to her.

“Grizelda, you are to remain here. I have a different task for you.”

“Lord?”

He gave her a scrutinizing look. “You are a necromancer, yes?”

Grizelda nodded. He continued, satisfied. “Good, good. A mouse recently escaped from my grasp, you see. A mouse with a very peculiar aura—one that closely resembles the feeling our King’s altar gives off. You are to find and capture his soul for anything of interest. He is also a necromancer, so it should be easy for you, yes?”

She grinned. It had been long since a person who practiced the same magic as her appeared. Another insect to crush and devour, she gleefully thought. Grizelda gazed at the terrifying man they called Seith. “It shall be done, lord.”

“Excellent,” the man grinned, then brandished his spear, the bone-like vertebrae and crimson metal that held it together glinting cruelly in the light. He gazed in the direction of the village, where smoke languidly billowed up toward the cavern ceiling. “Succeed on your task, and I’ll see that you are rewarded by Han. Now, go. I have an old friend to greet.”

With that, he walked off into the trees, his movements calm—almost leisurely. Grizelda knew better than to believe so. After she was sure he was gone, she relaxed. Every time he was near, the fear she felt caused even her skin to prickle. The Aessathi woman rubbed her palms together and waved her hand at the bones all around her. They hummed as strands of magic were slowly drained out of them, gathering into a small orb of magic in her hands.

She licked her lips, then slowly inhaled. The magic followed. Slowly, the entire orb was fully siphoned into her mouth. Grizelda let loose a breath, a smirk rising into her lips.

“Mere soul fragments to control skeletons? I don’t see what has that monster Seith all interested. This one is a mere novice,” she snorted, then gazed into the forest. There, past the trees and the rocks and the bushes, she saw the small outline of a young man whose race she couldn’t identify. He raced through the woods at a speed that surprised her, the outline traced by his mana seeming to jump and sprint forward faster than even the warriors under her command.

She frowned, then began to run in her target’s direction. “A necromancer that cultivates the body, perhaps?”

The bone shards on the ground behind her trembled, then shot after her. They gathered around her, before coming together in her hand, creating a long blade of jagged bone-matter. It hummed with her magic, glowing with the virulent radiance of death and blood.

Grizelda dragged the blade across the underside of her arm, where the horns and barbs didn’t reach her skin. Blood spilled into her arm, and she shuddered, suppressing a groan of pleasure. Immediately afterward, her speed suddenly took a large increase as the blood flowed down her body and gathered on her legs, branding a magical sigil into her calves. She shot forward. Her target had slowed, seemingly lost in the woods.

A savage grin spread across her face. She sped closer. “Come now, little lamb,” Grizelda lowly laughed. Her target was a mere twenty meters away, a distance she could cover with ease. The instants ticked. She saw his form, still. Black hair. Green eyes. Smooth, smooth skin. The hand holding her blade trembled in excitement.

She stomped and sprang forward. He turned, shock lathering his face. She swung her sword. “Let the blade feast on your blood!”

Her weapon blurred, and the instant before it cut into the fabric of his robes, his clothes moved. Bang! A spike exploded out from his sleeve, deflecting her sword to the side. He faced her. Another spear shot out from his chest, and she ducked under it. The ground beneath her target cracked. He had shot backward with a pike from the soles of his feet.

Interesting, Grizelda swung her blade. Fragments of bone came off, the bullets of bone-matter flying towards him in flashes of white. Her opponent shot into the air and aimed his palm at her. A plume of black-green flames rich with the aura of rot billowed down, threatening to engulf her. She dodged out of the way, the sigils on her calves flaring. The ground was charred black. The wound on her arm caused blood to splatter onto the stony trees. They withered.

She looked up at him as he fell, landing on the ground with a thump and gazing at her with cold, heavy eyes that screamed violence.

Grizelda waved her arm, and blood scattered, flying towards him. He dodged to the side. The blood curved, stalking after him. She didn’t wait for them to hit. She bounded forward and flanked him. The blade in her hand flashed, stabbing toward his side.

It’s ove—her eyes constricted as a nova of ice and necrosis exploded out from the young man, destroying her blood and blowing a gout of decay into her face.

Her skin sizzled, and the horns protecting her body crackled in the frost. A claw exploded out from her target’s sleeve, covered in a terrifying black ice. It tore into her shoulder. The surrounding area began to decay. Intense, euphoric pain flooded her senses. Blood spilled—gathered in her arms, forming another sigil. She swung her blade. The claw shattered. A violent wind exploded out, hurling her blood out with it. Some landed on the young man. His clothes hissed and sizzled.

Grizelda breathed heavily, panting as she stared straight into her foe’s eyes with a manic grin. He rapidly backed off and shot into the woods once again, faster than before. Her lips curled, and she gave chase.

Tress blurred all around her. The young man took a sharp turn, a hook from his sleeve swinging him around the circumference of a tree. She chased, springing from a tree trunk. Her blade flashed and cut into her arm once again. Blood violently exploded from the wound. They flashed forward like raindrops, slamming into the trees and tailing her target, leaving decayed and broken trees in her wake. He blocked them. A fragment of chitin shot toward her. It exploded, marking bloody cuts all over her body. Her sigils glowed brighter, spreading like ever-growing scars. The one on her arm flowed up to her face. She began to laugh giddily.

“Yes! Yes! This is it!” She threw the blade in her hand. It cut deep into the young man’s shoulder, but he merely flinched, as if the pain suddenly disappeared as soon as it registered.

She snapped off a horn from her shoulder and raked it across her chest, blood flowing down her mouth as she chased after him like a rabid beast. Her blood formed a thousand needles of crimson. They tore through the trees and his clothing, wounding him. She laughed and waved her hand, causing blood to brutally spurt out from the tiny cuts and wounds all over his body.

Still, he refused to scream for her. Not even a wince.

Grizelda let loose a growl that ripped through her throat. Why wasn’t this boy giving her ears the pleasure of hearing his screams? Her anger flared. She waved her hand again. Crimson ichor exploded out from his wounds and he staggered in his retreat, his foot missing a branch and sending him hurtling towards the ground. He grunted and rolled, his blood spraying all over the stone floor.

He kneeled, before shakily standing up. He panted, blood painting his lips as he glared up at her.

She kicked him on the face, and he rolled across the dirt. She stepped forward, blood draining from her wounds and solidifying into a spear. She stabbed it into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He grimaced, but a scream still—still failed to leave his lips. Not even a whimper. Her frustration mounted. Her blood was inside him, and he would taste her wrath through it. The weapon exploded within his flesh, slowly spearing through muscle and tissue. Sweat dripped from his brow, but his eyes remained glued to hers, swimming in venomous hatred.

“You know, I really want to torture you until you have no blood left to bleed, but…”

Grizelda leaned down and raked her sharp nails across his face. She brought her hand up and voraciously sucked his blood from her fingertips, shuddering in the sheer pleasure of absorbing the life she was taking.

“But I was sent to capture you, you see. Quite urgently, so unfortunately, we will have to cut our little tryst short.”

She looked down at him, a savage expression lining her scarred, ugly face. “Are you really a necromancer? I suppose that’s rich, coming from me after I’ve beaten you to the ground like this,” she said, twisting the barbed spear of blood in his shoulder. She frowned when he merely continued to glare up at her.

“You won’t even let me have my fun, huh?” She shook her head. “No matter, after lord Seith is done with you, I will have my fun with your soul until it dissipates back into its base form. Say goodbye to the mortal coil, necromancer,” she laughed and then, she laughed again. Louder and louder. Her shrill cackles turned more maniacal by the second. Her mouth began to open wider and wider. Blue, phantasmal light shone from deep within her throat.

A hand rose from her open mouth, rotten—transparent. Ghostly. As she laughed, a spirit of a soul she’d taken clawed its way out from her throat. More followed, and Grizelda reveled in the new expression that appeared in her victim’s face. Shock. Fear. Yes. She loved seeing his wonderful face laced with that expression.

The spirits screeched and moaned, rapidly escaping from within her body, clawing and raking their cold, ghostly hands through her throat in their frantic escape.

She kept her grip on them tight, and the wailing spirits burned in hatred as they were forced to follow her commands. The ghosts gathered in droves, easily over dozens of them gathering around her and staring in violent hatred. She closed her mouth and rolled her jaw around, staring down at her target from above.

“You will become one of them too,” she told him, then pointed. The souls rushed into his body, melding into it. His eyes closed shut, sweat dripping from his brow in his fruitless struggle. His body began to contort, stiffening and jerking around, before ultimately falling limp.

“Do not worry. They are merely going to drag your soul out. Your life will remain intact, while your body rots alone in this cold, dark forest,” she smirked, but her expression quickly morphed into a frown as the first couple spirits stayed within his body.

She snorted, then sent more in. They tore their ghostly claws, sinking them beyond his body and digging them deep into his core. They dipped inside in an attempt to drag his soul out. They remained within. Impossible, she thought. Someone so weak shouldn’t have a soul this powerful.

“Until the end,” she growled, glancing at the rest of the spirits. “You struggle to raise my ire. All of you, go in and make his soul suffer the worst pain it ever has.”

The spirits rushed past her, their expressions twisted and distorted into terrifying forms. They sunk and entered his body, all sixty-three of the souls she’d considered worthy of making her slaves, until there were none left outside.

Still, they remained within.

Just as Grizelda was about to step closer and check, his chest shone with a phantasmal light. The spirits began to leave his body, climbing out one at a time. They surrounded him, and as the last spirit left, it emerged empty handed. She glowered at it. She waved her hand in anger, intending to snuff out its soul. It remained intact. The young man below her suddenly opened his eyes. They flashed with a cold glint. He raised his hand, and a Bone Spear buried itself into her chest.

Blood dripped down her lips. Grizelda’s eyes were bloodshot with anger, nearing the verge of insanity.

“You…!” She pointed her palm at him, her blood preparing to burst his head open like a melon. “I’ll kill yo—!!!“

Her scream was cut short as a spirit shot into her throat, crawling its way into her body. More followed, surging into her body like a tidal wave. The spear of bone retracted from her chest, and she staggered back and reeled, falling on her ass. She stared up at the young man as he struggled to stand up, feeling the army of wraiths wreak havoc inside of her soul, robbing her of movement as she vainly fought to keep her spirit intact from the hatred that the now raging spirits had kept suppressed.

The young man limped towards her paralyzed body and put his hand on her head. She suddenly remembered the expression on his face as soon as he’d seen the ghosts. It was not shock, nor fear. Far from it.

It had been pleasant, treacherous surprise.

“Vitality Drain,” he muttered through bloody, gritted teeth, a glowing green stone burning with light in his hands. Black-green light flashed. A quiet second passed, and when it had gone, Grizelda’s screams had already ripped deep into the trees.

—o—

Alen let the desiccated corpse of the woman fall to the ground, every single mote of green light in her body siphoned into his. He spat out the blood in his mouth and wiped his lips, his eyes glaring at the woman in hatred. He waved his hand, and slowly, spirit after spirit exited her dried up corpse. Their faces were calm, emotionless. The previous fury their souls held fully and utterly vented. Alen tucked the Necrotic Mana Stone back into his robe.

He looked at the rising plume of smoke in the distance and glanced back at the corpse. He felt no remorse for it. The woman had tried to kill him, and even though his injuries were fully healed and his threshold increased, the expression on her face as she mounted injury after injury on his body was still fresh in his mind. The enemy were attacking, and she was merely one of them. Therefore…

A spear of keratin shot into her head and dislodged a tooth. Alen felt her soul inside of her body—already about to dissipate. He dragged out the strands he needed and felt the power thrum inside of his skull.

Death Affinity. True Power.

His eyes were cold as he felt the presence of her soul. It was splitting away from itself, coming apart to return to its base form, as Selerius had said. Alen curled his fingers as if he was gripping a heart. A black and white glow shone just over his skin. The fragments of the woman’s soul gathered in his hand, and Alen stared at it—looked at it. He looked farther than his eyes could see.

An easy choice, Selerius spoke in his mind. Just extinguish it. Millions of souls are formed every day to make sure the Playground of the Gods never loses its life. This doesn’t even count the thousands of new arrivals from different races they throw into here every day.

Alen frowned. “Every day? I thought it was a yearly thing?”

The lich laughed, his voice echoing deep within Alen’s mental space. In this continent, yes. You think a playground for something like the gods would be so small? It is not limited to this inconsequential piece of land—not even this piece of rock in space you call a planet. Entire realms like this one fall under their rule. They are called gods for good reason, boy.

“I see,” Alen licked his lips. Unexpectedly, his way back home suddenly seemed a lot farther. He stared back at the soul in his grip. If he didn’t do anything to it soon, it would dissipate on its own, away from his influence. Selerius was silent, but Alen could feel that he was watching, waiting for his decision.

Alen dropped his hand and let the soul dissipate naturally.

Interesting, Selerius simply said, then, he left, his presence retreating to the deeper corners of Alen’s mind.

The necromancer sighed and threw a bone shard to the ground. His final souvenir from the Sandsea, a single beetle that he had saved, began to form. He mounted it and they rose, the spirits floating up from behind him. Right before he sped away, he pointed his hand at the woman’s corpse and turned it to ash with a single blast of Rotfire.

He hated her. If he didn’t have Vitality Drain, he would’ve died from his injuries, and if he didn’t have Numb Senses, he would’ve experienced untold pain. He definitely would’ve destroyed her soul if that had happened, but it didn’t.

And that was good enough.

Alen would deal with all the moral bullshit later. He gazed at the smoke in worry and sped up his pace, completely forgetting about the matter in the forest. He couldn’t care less about it at the moment, because right now…

The people he valued were at stake, and he needed to save their asses.

Again, he grinned.