The sound of the man screaming grated on Anthony’s ears. Perhaps it was getting used to the silence of the undead or the quiet of the tunnels, but the loud noise really got to him in the way that the whole setup hadn’t. He could only lay in growing fear as his fellow mage experienced some sort of unimaginable pain in the monsterfolk construct. The fact that Anthony couldn’t even see the man didn’t help matters; his imagination was working overtime to make up nightmares happening inside the coffin-vessel.

The monsterfolk didn’t seem to be perturbed at all—most of them were just standing in silence, holding their staffs after finishing whatever they had casted. In fact, they even looked… bored. As if what was happening in this room was normal. Anthony began to suspect that this was actually a regular procedure in the camp, not just a new death chamber for mages.

He tried to muster some mana again. This time, he was less drained and weakened than in the tunnels coming here, and managed to coalesce it in a tightly controlled stream running through his body. The fact that he wasn’t actively trying to spellcast meant that the enchanted chains didn’t immediately flare up and the monsterfolk didn’t start coming across and hissing at him, which Anthony was very glad about. He calmed himself down and put the image of the body out of his mind, focusing on that thin stream of mana. The screams echoing around the room didn’t help with concentration, but Anthony made do. He slowly fed mana into the pearl of miasma at his shoulder, growing it until its presence made his arm numb and cold.

By that time, the screams had died down to occasional moans of pain, and the obelisk was pulsing with irregular light. Anthony felt the waves of mana perpetrating from it into the air and realized that this was how the monsterfolk suffused their camp with ambient mana. A single person couldn’t hold this much mana, though, and Anthony was confused how there was so much energy radiating into the room. It must have something to do with the mana crystals the monsterfolk had stolen.

Anthony saw that his right shoulder was starting to turn grey and hastily moved the miasma over to his left shoulder, circulating mana to his right side in an effort to restore it. The miasma churned in his mental grip and he tightened his grip, focusing it into a stream just like he had with the mana. All the energy circulating around his body was making the chains start to glow and he knew that he didn’t have much much longer to act. In a single mental movement, he violently jammed the miasma in his body through his skin and into the chains, forcing as much death energy as he could to break apart the enchantments.

The metal heated up as the enchantments drew energy to fight off the invading corruption. He sensed the mana in the chains flare weakly once, then twice, before being consumed. Anthony felt that the enchantments on the chains had been thoroughly flushed with miasma and used his mana to form a basic spell, [Minor Freeze]. He saw tiny tendrils of frost creep up the chains and knew that the chains’ enchantment no longer worked to stop his magic. Clenching his suddenly cold hands, Anthony snuffed out the spell and looked around the room, getting a gauge for what he could do.

After turning some of his mana into miasma and then using a spell, as small as it was, Anthony had depleted much of what little mana he had gained while being transported to the monsterfolk camp. Thankfully the greater amount of ambient mana in the air was both hiding his actions and helping him regenerate it faster, although it would still be some time before he could try a [Fireball]. Not that he harbored realistic thoughts about fighting his way out of the middle of a monsterfolk camp. Maybe if he was level 30. Maybe if there were a lot of dead bodies laying around within easy reach.

Anthony wanted to sigh again but remembered the positivity he told himself about in the tunnels. Plus, he’d already done enough sighing on this gurney. He settled for looking up at the ceiling and musing over ways he could break out of the chains. Maybe if he tried freezing the chains and using [Magic Blade] to crack them open…

No, that wouldn’t work. His mastery of ice magic was shaky at best and [Magic Blade] took up too much mana. He also didn’t want to miss and cut off his own arm. How about… acid? He knew [Caustic Spray] and it could theoretically melt through metal. It was only level one, though, and worked slowly. Not to mention it would go everywhere, including himself and the monsterfolk.

Ugh. Anthony wished he was more creative with magic. His studies in Drastum with the Necronum had focused on learning necromancy and leveling his classes instead of practical applications of magic. He had the [Mage] class because it was necessary to obtain the most effective fundamental base for casting spells. The only reason he knew any normal magic was because of his father, who worked as a librarian and was able to get his hands on restricted mage-school curriculum.

A level twenty [Mage] from any academy on the continent would probably know half a dozen ways to get out of the circumstance he was in, but Anthony just felt clueless. True, without the corruptive effects of miasma to lean on to break down normal enchantments, they’d be stuck on the chains, but Anthony overlooked that little tidbit. The only real thing he had going for him was the undead.

And so much for that, he thought bitterly. Faced with what was probably going to be a painful death at the hands of a bunch of strangely civilized but rather horrible monster people, he didn’t even have a single ghoul or zombie to assist him. They’d all fallen in the tunnels trying to take down a single scout team, dammit. He’d been put out of the fight at the very start by a dart to the leg.

As the obelisk in the center of the room stopped pulsing and began to emit a constant field of mana, Anthony’s thoughts spiraled down further. Yeah, some great necromancer he turned out to be. The bane of adventurers across the world and master of undeath? Anthony wanted to laugh at himself. Who was he kidding? He was an amateur playing around with miasma, someone who didn’t belong in this grim underground world of monsters and kill-or-be-killed. A decade of schooling under the hand of the Necronum hadn’t turned him into a proper [Necromancer]. He couldn’t even make tier three undead.

Wait… the revenant.

The revenant—it was tier three. And he’d created it. Mostly. Yes, there was the Necronum altar and the materials to help, but he was one who enacted the ritual. In fact, that was the whole reason why he was trapped here, away from Drastum and Kriloris and any semblance of human civilization.

With the advantage of hindsight, he probably should’ve planned this trip better. Brought more undead. Although he couldn’t imagine the amount of zombies it would have taken to beat the monsterfolk raider group.

But it was too late to reminisce on that. It was too late to do anything at all. The monsterfolk in the room were preparing to cast again, and they needed a new victim. Several of them came over to the two captive humans and looked over the two mages. One of them murmured something and pointed at Anthony.

He closed his eyes. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, I’m going to die.

Somehow, voicing the thought didn’t make the prospect any more pleasant. He felt the monsterfolk do something with the chains and suddenly he was on his feet. Anthony thought of running, but the monsterfolk had a firm grip on his arms and were probably expecting him to try something. He opened his eyes and beheld the obelisk. This close, the ambient mana was intense to the point of being suffocating — only it wasn’t a lack of air; it was an overload of energy. As one of the coffin-vessels was opened and another dead body brought out, this time a woman with a face frozen in an eternal grimace of pain, Anthony’s thoughts went back to the revenant. His fate was sealed, but maybe his last remaining undead would be able to do something.

The monsterfolk pushed him into the open space, making him fall upright into the empty container. The lid was closed and he was plunged into darkness. The last vestiges of his despair, his shock, his anger died away as he resigned himself to what was going to happen.

No—not the anger. It still burned inside him. Anger at himself, at the world, at the monsterfolk. It yearned for release, and suddenly, Anthony thought of one last thing he could do. A fuck-you to the lizard bastards who were chanting in the room outside this tiny, dark space. They wanted his mana? Well, they weren’t getting any.

Inside the vessel, Anthony whispered, “[Necromantic Bond].”

He didn’t have much to lose. Why not give his revenant a chance? Using the ability, he pushed all the mana, even his pearl of miasma, to the revenant. It was difficult—his mana moved slowly—but he did his best. After all of it left his body, he felt cold. Too cold. Just like in the tunnels.

| [Mage] Level 16 -> 17

He vaguely registered the monsterfolk spell activate and wash over him. Shivering and hardly able to move, Anthony groaned noiselessly as his body protested against the vacuum of energy inside him. Despite the strange numbness and pain, he gritted his teeth and resolved to suffer in silence. The monsterfolk wouldn’t hear him scream.

This isn’t that baAAAD—

His world exploded with pain. Mana. Pure energy. It was flooding into his body. Too much.

Too m—

His blood was boiling. He tried to control it, tried to eject it, but it was like fighting back the ocean.

It’s too much—

I can’t—

— -

All of the prisoners were offloaded in the middle of the camp. The revenant was the first one out of its cage, leaving the humans behind to examine its new surroundings. The first thing it noticed was that there were a lot of monsterfolk. Like, a lot of monsterfolk. They seemed to be everywhere, which was probably true considering this was their camp and all.

As the revenant stood, turning [Miasma Sense] on and off to get a feel for the sheer amount of mana in the camp, it was prodded none-too-gently by a spearhead. It jumped and turned around, seeing the offending monsterfolk holding a wicked polearm. The lizard person prodded the revenant again, and it realized that it was being herded towards a large pit.

The humans were being guided—or rather, forcefully encouraged—into what seemed to be a massive hole in the ground. The revenant saw that it was rather deep, with the walls too high to easily climb or jump out of. Probably a way to keep all the prisoners from escaping. The humans were all awkwardly lowering themselves in and the revenant saw no reason not to follow.

Once all of the prisoners were in the pit, several monsterfolk did something with mana and put glowing light all around the edges of the hole. The revenant saw them pulsing brightly with [Miasma Sense]. A few of the humans whispered something about runes and the revenant guessed that the light was there to keep any of them from climbing out.

Not that it wanted to test that theory or anything.

The revenant was rather disappointed when it turned out that it couldn’t see much of the monsterfolk camp while in the hole. Even standing on its toes, it could only see the tops of a few structures around the edges of the pit. And the rocky ceiling, dripping with pointy outcrops. And the light from the… runes? Anyways, there wasn’t much to see beyond the pit. So the revenant turned to observe what was inside.

Some of the humans were whispering to each other, some crying, some laying on the ground with dull eyes. The overlapping background noise was similar to what the revenant heard when using [Undead Presence]. Without the crying, of course. All of them were exuding a very tasty golden aura, and it was rather difficult for the revenant to restrain its strange feeling of… hunger. It decided to walk around and meet some humans to get the urge out of its head.

The first humans it met took one look at the pale body with black eyes and hurriedly moved away. Within seconds, whispers of “undead” spread through the pit. The revenant started getting strange looks, and it was gradually given a wide berth of space as the nearest humans crowded away. It noticed that several of them were taking aggressive stances, and the rest were watching it warily.

Ah. The revenant had forgotten that. The humans disliked the undead. And even disliked might have been putting it mildly.

One of them went to the edge of the pit and shouted, “There’s a fucking zombie in here! You’re keeping us with undead? That thing's gonna try and eat us!”

If the monsterfolk heard, they didn’t respond. The revenant watched the humans come to the conclusion that they were trapped in here with it. More of them took up aggressive stances, which became rather worrying, as the revenant realized that they might actually attack. If they started getting violent, the revenant didn’t know what it would do. There were a lot of humans. And they might be strong.

They also didn’t think that the revenant could understand them. Several of them were talking urgently, gesturing at the undead in their midst.

“… I’ve got some levels in [Hunter]. The lizard bastards didn’t take my knife, either. What about you?”

“… [Lesser Strength]. Been a [Miner] for a couple of years. Give me a rock and I’ll…”

“… leave us with a zombie? Say, we all go at it, fifteen to one. No damn chance it wins…”

Their words were rapidly shifting to ways to presumably kill the revenant. It backed up and looked for a way to escape. There were none. The humans were crowding closer, evidently getting braver once they realized that it was only a single undead.

This wasn’t right! Humans were supposed to be nice. Anthony was the nicest—well, the only—human that the revenant had ever met, and surely other humans would be like him. Anthony had definitely never tried to kill it before. Was it doing something wrong?

The revenant decided to speak up and clear up any misunderstandings. Just in case.

“I am a friendly undead—and you are all nice humans, like Anthony. Nice humans don’t attack friendly undead.”

The words were greeted with dead silence. All of the humans stopped talking, and someone whispered, “Bloody fuck, it speaks.”

The bravado of the humans had faded, replaced with fear. Once again scared of the monster in their presence. The revenant continued, ignoring the new looks that it was getting.

“We must escape the lizard people. They are not friendly.”

Nobody responded. The revenant trailed off, confused. Was it working? The humans had stopped talking about ways to kill undead, at least. They had stopped talking entirely. It supposed that that was an improvement.

One of the humans spoke up. “Um, you can understand us?”

The revenant was delighted that someone had overcome their dislike of undead and had reverted to being properly nice. “Yes, I can understand you.”

For some reason, the answer only made the humans more afraid. They were once again huddling away, giving it an extra-wide berth of space. They started whispering, and a few started crying and doing the lay-on-the-ground-with-dull-eyes thing.

“… tier four. A damn revenant. Or a draugr. Those things can be silver-rank threats…”

“… listening to us the whole time. How the hell did the lizards pick up a thinking undead? They want us to …”

Huh. This still felt like dislike. Not good. The revenant decided that the humans were all boring and not very nice. At least they didn’t look like they were going to attack. Maybe talking more would make them nice…?

Probably a bad idea. The talking didn’t seem to help very much. Apparently, undead weren’t supposed to talk. Which was a strange thought for the revenant, but then again, the ghouls and zombies and skeletons it had met with Anthony never talked. Well, using their mouths. They could do a sort of mental whisper, although that wasn’t exactly the same.

Anyways, no talking. The revenant could do that. It sat down and laid on its back, staring unblinkingly at the rock ceiling overhead and thinking of nice humans. After a while, it realized that the only example it had was Anthony.

Anthony…

Anthony Crishaw.

[Progenitor Anthony Crishaw]

Its creator. Where was he? Unable to answer its own question, the revenant suddenly felt panicked and tried to find the mental link that it remembered from earlier in the tunnels coming here.

Anthony. Hello? Where are you?

The connection felt… weak. Not entirely there. Was something happening to Anthony? Was he too far away? The revenant focused harder on that little presence in its head, surprised at how faint it was. It concentrated on the presence, feeling every mental inch it took up inside its head. Then—a breakthrough. The revenant felt something in its mind unlock.

[Progenitor Anthony Crishaw, [Necromancer] Level 19]

Other Classes: [Mage] (?), [???] (?), [Scribe] (?)

Status: Low Mana (Minor), Weakened (Minor)

Distance: 223m

Bond Strength: 18%

??? ??? (In Danger)

??? ???

Some of the information was very indistinct and hard to understand, represented by weird squiggly ?’s. Was that a letter the revenant was supposed to know? It mentally shrugged and examined the other information it was able to see. Anthony seemed to be too far away to properly talk to, which was disappointing.

But what really caught the revenant’s attention were two words. In Danger. If the presence wasn’t wrong, Anthony was in trouble. The revenant knew that it needed to aid him—not just out of a forced bond between master and undead, but because it knew that he was a truly nice human. And truly nice humans needed to be helped.

That reasoning couldn’t be argued against. With the stalwart determination only found in undead, the revenant moved to enact its plan.

Part one was to get out of the pit. Unless the glowy light was overly bothersome, this should be pretty simple. The revenant got up from its laying position and walked over to the vertical walls of the hole, watched by the humans, who had been mostly quiet. Gauging the distance to the top, the revenant crouched down and tensed. In a single movement, it leapt.

To the humans in the pit, the pale undead seemed to soar upwards with supernatural force. It easily cleared the top of the pit and landed on the rock edge. However, it only stood there for a split second before the runes on the edges pulsed in a single flash of light and hurled the revenant back.

The undead fell heavily into the stone ground of the pit with a loud thump. Barely registering what should have been a very painful fall, the revenant sprang back to its feet to try again. It set itself against the rock floor and jumped again, this time with even more force.

Just as it was about to land on the edge, some unseen wind knocked it back down again.

As the revenant stood up for a second time, it noticed that the runes were now enamating an angry red light. Their mana signature also seemed to be… dimmer. Just barely, but the difference was clear. Ah. So they could run out of mana.

But… that was too slow. The revenant would have to jump dozens of times based on what it saw, and that was if the monsterfolk didn’t do anything about it.

Which was definitely not happening right now. With its enhanced hearing, the revenant heard the stomping footsteps of several lizard people approaching the edge of the pit. Their hissing tones rang softly in its ears as it prepared to jump again. But this time, this time it was going to try something different. Something instinctive.

The revenant leapt a third time. It wasn’t as powerful of a jump as the second time, but the revenant was counting on that. It had enough time to touch down on the rock ledge surrounding the pit before activating an ability—[Corruptive Surge]. Just as the runes flared with light again, a wave of pure death energy crashed down on the area around the revenant. Miasma densely flowed to smother the runes, slithering into their patterns of mana and changing it into something new. Something darker.

Even as the corruptive energy wormed its way into the runes, the mana inside fought back. Although the monsterfolk mages didn’t make the runes to actively resist deconstruction, the magic was well put-together enough to fight off the miasma. If only for a bit.

An invisible war was waged in between the death energy of the revenant and the mana in the runes. The revenant itself wasn’t concerned with what was happening with the two magical forces, only knowing that it was able to quickly slip past the circle of magic around the pit without being knocked back. It ran straight into the group of approaching monsterfolk, who suddenly found themselves facing a strangely pale human.

To their credit, they immediately brandished various weapons and spread out to trap the revenant. It found itself quickly facing a crowd of pointy metal bits and snarls. The revenant hesitated at their numbers, but the In Danger sign flashed in its head and it moved forward. The monsterfolk seemed surprised that the human — in their eyes — was apparently trying to impale itself on their spears and swords, but held their ground and hissed warningly. The revenant paid them no heed and broke into a sprint.

Using their surprise to its advantage, the revenant slapped aside the end of a spear and barged through the small group, only receiving a handful of cuts across its torso and arms as the monsterfolk slashed halfheartedly at the fleeing prisoner. None of its injuries were particularly deep owing to its tough skin and dense muscle, but the revenant felt pain for what seemed to be the first time in its life. The cuts dripped pale ichor which rapidly turned black as it came in contact with the air, and it burned.

The revenant wasn’t able to stop itself from flinching at the sensation of having its flesh parted and torn. It was a much duller experience in contrast to what a living, breathing person might feel, but the feeling was deeply unpleasant nonetheless. The revenant tried to ignore the pain and pushed onwards. By the information it felt from the presence in its head, it instinctively knew where Anthony was and headed in that direction.

An alarm was raised in the monsterfolk camp and the revenant saw groups of lizard people running around. It weaved in between structures, using their bulk to conceal itself for a few seconds at a time as it approached a strange conic building surrounded by rings of light. There were large amounts of monsterfolk in the way and the revenant was forced to skirt around them, sometimes even running right past startled groups. More alarms were raised and the revenant vaguely knew in the back of its mind that it was only a matter of time before it ran into a group too big to pass by.

That worrying premonition turned out to be true as the revenant finally encountered a number of monsterfolk wearing metal armor. Two of them were massive, dwarfing their smaller tribemates by at least a head and a half, and the revenant feared that it wouldn’t be able to slip by them. It skidded to a halt and tried to think of its options.

Flee backwards? No. A second group was fast approaching and it wouldn’t be able to slip out before they blocked the paths in between buildings. The only logical choice was to keep going. To Anthony. But that was going to be difficult, wasn’t it? These monsterfolk looked deadly. And, they were prepared, unlike the smaller group that had gone to investigate the pit holding the humans earlier.

All of these thoughts passed through the revenant’s mind in the split second of indecision that caused it to slow down. The monsterfolk were already moving forward, snarling and brandishing heavy weapons. They wouldn’t fall to the likes of a single human.

The revenant needed more time to think. It watched them approach with the cold, blank stare of the undead, but was in furious turmoil on the inside. What was it to do?

In Danger. The revenant couldn’t stop. But it couldn’t make it through this wall of flesh and iron, either.

It made the instinctual choice—the undead choice. It rushed at the monsterfolk, damn the consequences.

If the lizard people were surprised by the suicidal move, they didn’t show it. A line of blades met the revenant and swiftly carved a half dozen cuts into its flesh. It struggled through the knot of iron, hands frantically grabbing at anything within range. Its wounds bled black, showing the monsterfolk who they were dealing with. What they were dealing with.

A monster.

It fought wildly, going berserk as it was impaled over and over again. More than one monsterfolk had a weapon nearly ripped out of his claws by a foe unfeeling and uncaring for its life. The revenant was a terrifying sight as it tried to push past the line of bodies, covered in its own black blood and not making a single cry of pain.

But the monsterfolk had fought horrors before. Living underground necessitated that. And they were disciplined, despite the image painted of them by the humans. They closed ranks and grimly hung onto their weapons as the undead in front of them whittled itself away into a pool of foul blackness. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, the revenant collapsed.

It lay there, still, barely registering what was happening. Miasma was pouring out of its body by the second, and it just felt… tired. There just wasn’t enough death energy left in its body. The revenant wanted to move, to tear into the monsterfolk who were standing above it, but it couldn’t. Couldn’t keep going. Couldn’t win. Couldn’t save Anthony.

Even as the revenant lost all sensation of its body, it felt something of Anthony’s presence change. The connection was stronger; they were closer than before. It allowed the revenant to clearly see an update.

[Progenitor Anthony Crishaw, Necromancer (III)]

Other Classes: Mage (?), Scribe (?), ??? (?)

Status: Mana Burn (Severe), Low Mana (Severe), Weakened (Major)

Distance: 51m

Bond Strength: 100%

??? ??? (Critical)

??? ???

Critical. The revenant shuddered, causing the monsterfolk poking around the body to jump away and ready their weapons. They watched for movement, but the bloody corpse didn’t show any more signs of motion.

Critical. The revenant focused on that word, feeling a clarity and calmness it had never experienced before. It needed strength. Anthony couldn’t die.

As if some unknown power had granted its wish, the revenant felt something. At first it was only a trickle. A tiny influx of power. But then that tickle became a steady stream. It was mana. Glorious, decadent, powerful mana. The revenant laid there unmoving as new life flooded into its body, sweeping through its weakened flesh and granting new strength.

The revenant couldn’t stop itself from shuddering again as the death magic of its being was renewed. The dense power settled into its bones and was drawn to fuel the potent necromantic forces at play. The revenant had never felt more alive. Even after losing much of its blood, even after being cut and lacerated and broken by the monsterfolk, it was strong, thanks to the mana.

And it would use this strength to save Anthony.

The monsterfolk watched the body on the ground explode upwards. Not literally, although the description was close. What had moments before been an inanimate corpse was now a furious whirlwind scything through their numbers.

The monster was moving so fast. In one moment, it was striking an unprepared warrior across the arm; in another, it had ripped the sword out of someone’s claws. Even with injuries cutting down to the bone in many places, the nightmarish thing didn’t seem to be slowed. At this point it was only a disgusting imitation of a person, covered in tattered flesh. It was even stronger than before, if that was possible, and even the massive monsterfolk were hesitating.

The revenant rejoiced as it fought clear of the group. With this new strength, it was able to push past the monsterfolk, as strong as they were, and continue to Anthony.

Critical. The word pulsed in its mind.

I’m coming for you.