Necromancer and Co., Book 3: The Underearth

Chapter 15: Not Death

[Alen]

The sound of nothingness enveloped his senses, and for a moment, Alen felt nothing, saw nothing, and thought of nothing. His vision was dark, flashes of black and white roaring noiselessly. Both fast and slow, the world had turned into a bicolored mosaic of darkness and light. He was certain the rest of his party were behind him, but he couldn’t feel their presence. Physical, magical, ethereal, nothing could exist in the deathly realm of the mana he and Seith shared.

“I’ve realized something about the mana you’ve been using all this time,” a voice echoed out in his mind, calm. The flames crept closer to Alen, almost in slow motion as the voice spoke in a slow, observant tone. “This magic…”

“It isn’t death,” said Selerius.

BOOM!

Everything exploded into being. The world surged back into place, and finally, everything was. Reality had returned, and only then did Alen realize that his right arm had disappeared. In its place, two roaring pillars of Deathfire clashed, smashing and roiling against one another. One side was faltering—losing.

It was his.

Ignoring the blood madly gushing from the cleanly erased stump on his shoulder, Alen’s robe bubbled up and exploded, creating a massive, flat board on his back. Simultaneously, pikes ejected from the bottom of his boots, causing him to fly back and slam the large plate on his back into his party members.

His Deathfire lost the struggle, and immediately, Seith’s magic crashed through the remnants of his, reached and clawing towards their silhouettes.

It didn’t reach them. It sailed over their heads.

Alen had pushed them off of the castle in the sky with him. He let loose a low, guttural roar, and twisted, sending pillars of keratin exploding from the board on his back, pushing his party members out in different directions—spreading them out and leaving him alone at the center. This way, Seith wouldn’t be able to eliminate all of them. They would escape, and he would be the bait. Multiple shouts rang out, but none reached his ears.

A bright, golden light exploded out from the castle above, shattering windows and walls as a figure clashed with Seith’s form.

He continued to fall. The ground of the top district was rapidly approaching. The blood from his wound was gushing out, leaving a crimson trail in the sky. The artery near his shoulder had been severed. He was bleeding,

But he wasn’t dying.

Alen willed his magic once more through gritted teeth, conjuring a parachute at the last second to slow his descent. It did little. He was too close to the ground, and the roof of a house was nearing his vision faster than he liked. He crashed through it, dust billowing in his wake. Blood decorated the floor and remnants of the dinner table he had shattered. Lots of expensive-looking dishes and cutlery had been broken. A man, likely a father, rushed his children out of the home, fleeing from him.

Strangely, he wanted to apologize to them for trashing their home.

From above, Alen could see the cloud district, obscured by a fog that failed to conceal the bright, flashing lights coming from above. It looked like a battle had begun not long after they’d left.

Good, Alen idly thought, it’ll keep Seith busy.

His head felt slow, muddled. Alen’s face was pale, and only then did he remember that his right arm had disappeared. Sitting up, he laughed bitterly, tucking the necrotic mana stone into a pocket. Even after all that, he’d still grabbed it. It was too rare to lose—to precious. With his left hand, Alen conjured a simple flame and seared the wound on his right shoulder, cauterizing it. The pain barely made him flinch. It was nothing compared to transferring his vitality to another person. He noted the blood that drenched his robes and more than half of his person.

No wonder they ran away, he thought, silently apologizing in his head. He’d pay them back later. That was, if he could get out of this alive. The ground rumbled. Screaming began to ring out from the streets outside. Footsteps rang out just outside a door, and with his Mana Sense, Alen immediately knew it was an enemy. His magic buzzed in his chest.

A scepter-wielding cultist ran into the house. Alen pierced his heart with a bone spear and let him fall. Alen watched himself stagger towards the man, his hand reaching out to grasp at the cultist’s face. It was almost as if he was watching himself go into autopilot as his magic surged out to grasp the green motes of light in the man’s body.

Vitality Drain.

The dying cultist opened his mouth to let loose a horrifyingly pained screech, but Alen cut it off with a spike of keratin from the bottom of his sleeve. The man gurgled from the blood pooling in his pierced throat. Moments later, Alen let the desiccated husk fall to the floor. His face had regained a margin of color now, but he knew it was nowhere enough to fight someone significant. The sounds of chaos outside were persistent, matching the thundering beat of his heart’s pulse.

He couldn’t fight like this, not with his dominant arm missing and limiting him. Alen slowly opened his status and hesitated. His finger hovered over a single system program.

Soul Editor.

Alen grit his teeth. He pressed it, and slowly, a purple wisp of light accompanied by a few others emerged from his body, merging into the screen. Alen sucked in a breath at the sensation. It was risky, he knew. One fuck-up, and he could kill himself faster than any person from Seith’s crew could.

With gritted teeth, Alen pushed his magic into the strands of his very soul and got to work. Once again, the grin began to stretch the corner of his lips upwards. It gave him strength. Alen’s eyes blazed like burning emeralds in the darkness. The bones in his stump of a shoulder began to bubble up, the grin masking the intense pain that rippled through his body. He glanced up at the sky.

Seith had erased his fap-hand. His lifetime partner.

The motherfucker was going to pay for it dearly.

—o—

Roland grunted as he pulled himself up from the rubble, rocks and dust falling way from the gaps in his armor as he stood up. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the small bits crimson leaking from a wound on his forehead. He didn’t bother to look at it. The flesh wound was already closing. The fall had been a fast one, but his body was strong enough to not be affected, especially when he wore his armor over his body.

Surveying his surroundings, Roland crouched low. He should’ve expected something like this to happen. Had it been a bad idea to go with Alen after all? They’d been caught, and now, he was far from Seith, unable to take any action where it was needed. He crept out of the building he had crashed into. It seemed to be a workplace of sorts—a bakery?

Booms reverberated out from above, signaling the fierce fighting that was going down in the Cloud District.

His face darkened. He was supposed to be up there, where Seith was. The man had helped him get stronger, but even now, Roland felt the Xargith man’s magic pulsing within his body. Back then, it had been nothing to him, but now that he had attracted the attention of one of the gods, he was running out of time.

Roland knew, after all, that the ritual was coming. When the dark of the Underearth reached its zenith at the fortieth hour, it would begin, and all the marked and sacrificed would be turned into food for the deity within the Underearth. Blood, life energy, spirit, soul, everything spilled would pool into one being and wake it from its slumber. Roland clenched his fist and steadied his breathing. It had turned labored as he thought about it, his chest feeling like something was about to burst out of it every time he recalled the Dark One.

It was coming, and it was ready. He knew it was there, because it had spoken to him once.

When he had first viewed the images of the tinted glass, it had tempted him, told him of power he could reach, the heights he could soar to under the guidance of Seith. It had filled his heart with desire, and he had unwittingly allowed it to influence him mind. It was vile, manipulative, and abhorrently suspicious, but despite his knowledge of that, Roland had agreed with its words until he regretted it.

He looked down at his hands, gloveless and bare under his gauntlets. He clenched his fist once, and the runes and sigils that scarred his skin glowed a searing red. Was this why his family had refused to acknowledge magic? Had they known that it would lead men like him to this path?

“You’re uh… Roland, right?”

Roland turned and came face to face with a youth around the same age as Alen. He recognized him. The brown-haired one that had joined them. They’d been caught by Slayh. Roland nodded at him in response.

“Where are we right now?” asked Roland.

“Not too sure where, but I know we’re in the middle district. I feel like I know this place though,” Adam replied, bending over and examining the shattered Stonewood tables.

Roland nodded once again and moved his attention elsewhere. He pulled up the party screen, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he pressed down on the voice communications. He sucked in a breath and spoke into it. “Can any of you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Adam said.

“Here,” a voice said. Lynn’s. Roland pressed down on it to reply.

“Where are the rest?”

“I’m by myself right now. I saw Alen land somewhere in the top district, but I’m too far to go after him. Things are getting hectic outside. Cultists are attacking the top district, and the panic’s spreading to over there in the middle section.”

“We’re here as well,” said Roland, looking to Adam. “One of our party members are here with me. He has brown hair and he’s—“

“Adam,” Lynn supplied.

“Hi,” Adam cut in.

Roland sighed. “Adam is with me. Do you think you can make it over to us?”

“I’ll try. Adam, do you know where you’re at right now?”

“I figured it out, yeah,” said Adam, throwing the shattered table piece to the side. “I saw that Roland crashed nearby, so I followed. We’re at Talesin’s bakery. Hurry up. I don’t know where Sam is, and I’m getting radio silence from Alen.”

“I saw Sam get sent pretty far. He might be out of range like Alen. I think he’s in the top district as well. I’m coming over there. Try to stay in the area.”

Adam nodded and was about to reply when he felt a gauntleted hand tap his shoulder. He turned his head, then raised a brow at the orange-haired warrior. Roland shushed him, face scrunched up in concentration.

“Listen,” the warrior said.

Adam frowned and strained his ears. They were currently in the bakery’s kitchen, as evident by the bags of flour and resting pastries by the counter, but outside of the door, he could clearly see the road outside. The torchstones were missing—extinguished. The lights of the city were off, and the soft blue light from the ceiling far above was the only thing that lit the empty streets. No people were present.

He listened closer, and finally, he heard it. The sound of splashing water.

Roland ran past him, and Adam followed. There’s no fucking way, he thought. The water continued to get more evident. Torchstones only went out when directly exposed to water, he remembered. They were up into the tall lamps, so the only thing that could put them out here was—

He stepped outside and the water pelted his head from above. Adam looked up at the churning clouds sitting above the section of the city.

It was raining.

All around them, globes of water floated off the ground, some higher than others. They were motionless, like bubbles suspended in time. Adam paled as he looked upon them. Within each globe of water, he could see the forms of different people. Men, women, children, they floated within each orb, struggling for breath.

“Move!” Roland shouted, and they both burst into action.

Adam jumped, and with Fluttering Steps, he ascended straight onto the rooftop of a nearby house. Another cast, and he surged up to fly towards another one of the orbs of water. He splayed his palm and smashed it into the globe. It burst, the water scattering outwards in a cone. The woman inside fell, coughing and sputtering for air. Adam caught her, then hurriedly put her down on the street.

Immediately, he bolted again, Roland at the corner of his vision. Both of them dashed about, destroying bubbles and setting people free. However, the moment Adam jumped up to free a young man who seemed to be at his limit, the hairs on his flesh stood on end.

Danger.

He twisted, simultaneously drawing the sword and dagger on his waist. He slashed out vertically, and the beam of highly pressurized water that came at him was neatly sliced in two. A spray moved too close, and immediately, it cut into his cheek, slicing away the flesh just under his eye. Adam grit his teeth and let go of his dagger. He stepped on it, and Fluttering Steps activated to send him hurtling away into cover.

Adam rolled across the wet, cobbled street. “Roland!” He yelled in warning as he reached out with his hand towards his dagger in the air. Gritting his teeth, he channeled his spatial affinity. His shortsword hummed in his grip.

Whump.

His dagger appeared right beside his blade, and Adam caught it, dashing into the inside of a ruined house. The rain outside, a drizzle, continued to get stronger. A voice reverberated in his head, serious.

“Don’t go outside,” Roland told him, voice quiet.

Adam looked out at the flooding streets warily. Slowly, he pressed on the button to reply. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know much, but it seems the cult’s activated one of the many spell formation’s they’ve created,” said Roland. “It’s all controlled by one person, and whoever that is, they have full awareness of us as soon as we touch the rain.”

“What about the people in the orbs?”

“The spell’s been cast recently. With the physiques of the people here, especially that of the Kivotl, they should last for a good amount of time.”

“Assuming they’re above the fifth threshold?”

“Five minutes at least. My clan used to do something like this to increase our mental endurance. Most children last for four minutes before falling unconscious.”

Adam pursed his lips and looked outside. The woman he’d saved was running, but tendrils of water chased after her, threatening to engulf her again. He grit his teeth. “We need to stop the caster quick.”

“There’s—“

A flash of light shone through the windows of Adam’s hiding place. A rumble swept out as a column of steam rose from the ground, the crashing remnants of a home toppling below it. Adam pulled up his voice comms and called out to Roland, but no reply came. Gritting his teeth, he bolted out of the house, footsteps splashing against the falling rain.

Adam clenched his fist as a large tendril of water formed in front of him. It smashed down, and he dodged to the side, cutting through an alleyway. A globe was floating in front of him, holding a group of people his age inside. He ran past it. After all, if he freed them now, they’d only get caught again.

The droplets of water around him sped up, turning into hundreds of tiny bullets. They homed in on him, and he swept his sword out, slicing them apart with razor-sharp blades of wind. A few managed to get through, inflicting a multitude of small cuts all over his body. Another volley formed above, and Adam dodged this time, sliding under a bridge that connected two buildings. The bullets of water smashed into it, crumbling stone and wood alike.

He proceeded onwards, weaving and dancing between a multitude of coming attacks. Flashes of light and low rumbles rang out a distance away, to his right this time. The battle had moved. He followed after the battle.

A hand of water formed, he sidestepped its grip. Sharp spears exploded out of the water on the ground, and he jumped over them. Bullets of rain whistled down and he scattered them with his blade. The attacks weren’t as strong as before, he noted. Meanwhile, the fighting just ahead of his had turned more intense. Roland was fighting someone, a colleague of the caster, most likely. Whoever the caster was, it wanted to pick off Roland first.

Adam felt his frustration mount. He screamed in frustration as he tore apart another volley of attacks. He was being slowed down. He hated being slowed down. He had to move at his own pace. He needed to.

He channeled his magic, his eyes darting to a nearby rooftop. There!

Whump!

The rain pelted his face as he staggered to the side, a crate catching his foot. The water below him pulled, capitalizing on it and tripping him. A massive hand of water smashed down on him.

It didn’t reach. Adam had teleported again. He wiped the moisture from his face, unsure of where he was. Through his blurry vision, he saw another attack coming. It smashed into him, but before it could deal the full extent of its damage, he teleported away, reappearing inside a nearby house, coughing. He dived behind a fallen table, taking cover.

He panted, teeth grit. In anger, he kicked the table away. He targeted a nearby plate, then tried to teleport it to him. It shattered against the floor a distance away.

“Why the hell aren’t you working!?” He roared, and suddenly, the surroundings outside stilled. Adam moved. The windows shattered, water pouring into the house like a tidal wave. His eyes widened. Too fast! The wave of water collided with him, washing him away and destroying the wall behind him. He was swept outside, rolling across the street. He rolled to his feet, kneeling on the ground. His head flashed up to see another volley of attacks coming at him.

His opponent had seen his powers, and now, it was devoting a new level of attention to him.

Adam reached to his waist, but found that his weapons were gone. They’d been washed away! He dived, avoiding the strike and plunging into a waiting mouth of water. It swallowed him, and suddenly, he lost his grip on the ground. He reached out, but there was nothing to grab. The orb of water had swallowed him. He channeled his magic, creating a bubble of air around his face. He gasped it in, and the orb plummeted to the ground is response, slamming him into the cobbled roads of the City of Pillars.

Suddenly, all the rain in a large area around him halted midair, before slowly pivoting to face him. The glinted blue with the dense magic controlling them. Adam’s eyes constricted. He couldn’t fight this without his weapons.

He looked around in a panic. Where the hell were they!?

The water surged in, and he ran, the bullets of water decimating the ground behind him. Flashes of light continued to ramp up in intensity farther away from him. He couldn’t help Roland right now, not with the spell’s caster focusing on him like it was. He dodged another volley. A droplet of water came, and it pierced into his shoulder, stopping short of fracturing the bone within.

Adam cursed and teleported again, appearing on the veranda of a nearby house. A small hum in his chest resounded, and his eyes flashed to the remains of the crumbled home he had hidden in. His weapons were there!

A wave of water crashed into the veranda, hurtling him inside of the house. More flooded in, smashing and roiling and churning, trapping him within. Adam teleported, but when he reappeared, he was still within the water. He felt it crush around him, the pressure increasing by the second. He grunted. His bones were creaking inside of his body. He needed to get out. He needed to get his weapons. He needed to—

The water crushed down again, and this time, he let out a sound of pain. A pulse reached through the water, and it compressed further. He trembled inside, locked in its grip. He teleported, but he never left the sphere of influence. It was dark inside the house. It was filled to the brim with water, and Adam knew that there was nowhere to run.

He stilled, staring outside. His weapons glinted in the rain, and for the first time, Adam thought: why?

Why was he risking his life to help these people? He wasn’t entitled to be a hero. He should’ve just run. He should’ve just told Roland to flee. Why the hell had he kept fighting even after he saw how strong the caster of this spell was?

Why did he decide to join the infiltration, even? Finding the way back wasn’t even guaranteed, and that wasn’t even why he wanted to agree in the first place. No.

Adam had just wanted to be a hero.

Break into the cult, defeat the fanatics, and save the hostages. It was cool to him, despite how dangerous it was. Heroic. Maybe some good looking girl would even fall for him if they’d succeeded. He laughed bitterly, choking on the water. It crushed down on his again. He didn’t save anyone. Dieter and the others had done all the work.

He would receive no credit. He would be the background character—not the protagonist. Adam hated that. He wanted to make an effect. He wanted to make a difference.

He wanted to be remembered. That was why he was doing the things he did.

The water crushed down on him again, but instead of a grunt of pain, his eyes cleared. His gaze sharpened. His magic built up inside of him. There was a humming in his chest, and just like a thread, it vibrated, connecting him to his weapons. He reached out to them, calling on his magic. He had to try again. He wasn’t going to fucking die here. Not to this. His eyes blazed in a gray light within the darkness.

After all, if he died just like this, there wouldn’t be much to talk about. He really would become an extra—a useless teammate that got killed by a mini boss. Weak. Inferior.

Adam fucking hated that.

And so, he channeled his magic with a single thought in mind. Move.

Whump.

Adam appeared outside, drenched in head to toe. He felt something in his grip. His sword. The water outside of the house behind him crashed out, roaring like an angry beast in its rampage towards him. He paid it no heed. He looked to the side until he found his dagger.

Whump.

He stood alone in the middle of the street this time, dagger now in hand. Water roiled all around him with a new intensity. It encircled him, rising up like a maelstrom, prepared to drown him in its terrible power. He flicked his wrist. His dagger flew upwards. He disappeared.

He reappeared in the air, dagger in hand. Roland’s voice rang out in his head.

“I found the caster! Cathedral in the center is where he’s controlling everything! Kori is keeping me busy just outside of it. Go no—“

The message cut off. Adam looked around, taking everything in. More attacks came, and he avoided them with ease, teleporting about in the air, weapons flashing left and right. He turned, and finally, he found it. Adam threw his dagger in the direction of the cathedral. He teleported to it.

It wasn’t far enough, so he twisted, throwing his sword next. He disappeared, then reappeared, holding it once again. He crashed through the window of the cathedral’s highest point.

A woman looked up at him in a panic, big head, large eyes. One of the Kaer. She stood alone, a massive formation surrounding her as her blood steadily flowed underneath her, feeding the runes. He threw his dagger at her. She dodged barely. Adam dashed in, sword ready to swipe.

He slashed. She retaliated. The blood all around her erupted. Water crashed through the window, all slashing and cutting towards him. They clashed.

Blood splattered onto the cathedral floor.