“I searched for power in the both the light and the dark. I prayed to every god whose name I could learn. For years, I sought a way to make them pay, but nothing in this world could grant my desires. So, I looked beyond our world.”

Chapter 68

Wil had learned about Liches in the Academy. Hells, they had an entire course dedicated to the most powerful of undead. Only a handful had ever emerged, each a force of pure evil and destruction that stood as a threat to even the gods themselves.

Liches were Rank 20 demigods, who failed to achieve divinity and were desperate to cling to life.

Each were once a mortal who had sought to seize a piece of immortality, but failed in the last, most important step of ascension.

Most Demigods perish in the attempt to ascend, but a few survive, only shadows of their former selves. In a last, desperate attempt to live, some perform dark rituals, make deals with demons or evil gods, in exchange for a pale, imitation of immortality.

As the most powerful of undead, they were a threat to everything around them. But thankfully, their false immortality came with a fatal weakness. They were anchored to an object, forever unable to leave their chosen prison.

They may be as powerful as any demigod and held power akin to a god in their domain, but they were shackled and constrained.

As strong as their immortal bodies may be, it was their magic that made them rival even the Elder Dragons. They corrupted the land, darkening the mana for their foul use.

In their undeath, they possess all the knowledge from their life, and their timeless existence allows them to gather arcane knowledge that rivals the oldest mages.

Their intelligence, unchained from mortal constraints, could view the world in a way that no mortal could, empowering them to twist reality, and kill the strongest of humans with a single spoken word.

Wil stared down into Aachen, as the Lich floated behind the multitude of undead.

It was a man. Clearly, it had once been human, with pale and lifeless flesh still clinging to its bare and gleaming skull. Dressed in what were once the finest black silk robes, they were now ripped and torn, covered in filth and crusted with dried blood.

The lich hovered over the street, not by its own magic, but by thick black lines of glowing power, the same lines that covered the buildings and streets throughout the city. It was as if it were being supported or propped up by the foul and corrupted mana that filled the city.

What surprised Wil most about the Lich’s appearance were its eyes.

Everything he had ever read, every description, described a lich’s eyes as pits of pure magic, burning with intelligence and raw power. Its body may rot and decay in its undeath, but the eyes would always be alive with an unholy life so long as its soul remained.

The figure below him still had a human’s eyes, white and lifeless. Nothing burned deep inside them, it was like staring at a moving corpse, no intelligence to be discerned.

Wil also couldn’t feel the strength of Mana he had expected a Rank 20 demigod to have. The lich was strong, Wil could see the halo of pure magical energy surrounding it, dwarfing everything else in the city. Its power was a black sun, burning in his mind’s eye with negative energy. He could barely stand to look at its profane power, but it wasn’t a demigod.

He estimated this lich was at most a Rank 10 or 11.

Aina, Queen of the Elves, was a Rank 20 demigod.

When Wil had visited Elvenhome as a youth, he had felt her presence everywhere. Every building, every tree, even the very air was filled with her power. It was inescapable.

The elves worshipped the Great Tree they built their city under as a God, and maybe it was. But to Wil, Aina’s power was immediate and present, not vague and abstract like some unknowable god in the heavens above.

He had stood in her throne room, standing behind the Emperor of Illyria, as the Queen of the Elves descended to her throne, deigning to greet them. Her mana was like an ocean, pressing down on him with its pressure. He could barely breath, barely think, barely even live in her presence.

This Lich was powerful, but it was not a demigod.

Wil watched as it hovered above its army of undead, black tendrils of corrupted mana keeping it aloft. Its mana swirled around it, a darkness deeper than the Night.

“That can’t be a lich...” Wil whispered as he stared at the powerful undead.

“It’s not, it’s a puppet with a Lich’s body and small piece of divinity. It doesn’t have a demigod’s soul.” The mage next to him spoke.

Looking to his right, Wil noticed it was the mage that had spoken earlier about the undead hive mind. Obviously, she had some knowledge about Aachen to prepare her for this encounter, unlike him, who was stumbling around in the dark.

“No soul? That would explain why it’s so much weaker.” Wil answered.

A lich was a powerful, demigod soul in an undead body. Its power came from the soul and mana of the demigod. Without a soul, it was much weaker, an undead body bolstered by a demigod’s mana. The intelligence and spirit of a demigod were the true threat.

“You know about this…thing” Wil asked, gesturing to the False Lich.

“A little bit. The mage guild has been investigating Aachen ever since it was lost. We know that whatever ritual was interrupted, that thing down there was part of it. They were summoning something, a god or demon, we aren’t sure, but we think that thing below is linked to it. Almost like a puppet, functioning on some lingering command or instinct.”

‘An interrupted ritual, a lich without a soul, and an army of undead, all pieces of a puzzle to what the hell happened in Aachen’ Wil thought.

The undead gathered in the dim light of the wall, as the Lich hovered above.

Wil saw the Lich lift its hand upwards, and its mana surged around it. The miasma in the air thickened, and the flocks of flying undead bird swirled and circled above. The lich’s mana shot upwards, engulfing the small creatures in its corrupted magic.

Wil witnessed the birds react to the magic with madness. They screeched and clawed at each other, the mana driving them deeper into insanity. They slammed into each other, pieces of flesh and black blood falling to the ground below.

In the process, they combined to form horrible amalgamations, becoming bigger and more grotesque. More and more of the birds, countless in number, fought and wrestled with each other as they were absorbed into larger creations.

The small undead became larger, until they were massive abominations, caricatures of their old selves. The originals were weak, with barely any mana to speak of. They made up for their lack of mana with their large numbers. These new monsters were nearly Rank 3, and there were hundreds of them. They could hardly be called birds anymore, but rather winged monstrosities.

As hundreds of the creatures circled overhead, none of the remaining birds survived the melee. The new, larger creatures settled briefly on the ground, as the weaker, rank 1 undead below began to climb and mount them. The flying undead leapt back into the air, with dozens of undead clinging to their bodies as they soared towards the distant wall overhead.

The thousands of Rank 1 Ghouls renewed their assault, screaming and howling as the leapt back onto the wall, digging claws in the stone as they climbed. The Lich’s present drove them on, and they ignored their burning and sizzling flesh in their desire to reach to human flesh above.

Ghosts and Specters, remnant shades of the living, drifted through the night air. Powerful, Rank 4 undead that could drain the souls from the living, forcing their victims to join their numbers.

The dead knights, bodies still powerful, even in death they ranged from Rank 3 to several Rank 5, charged forward on their dead horses. As they galloped, the ground shook from the might of their charge.

The flying undead mages, all over Rank 6, unleashed their powerful magics against the wall, seeking to destroy the wards and the gate that led to the land of the living. Fireballs arced through the air, and lightning bolts flashed with a brilliant light in the darkness as they used every ounce of their corrupted mana to attack.

And behind it all, the Lich approached.

After unleashing its magic to change and mutate the flying undead, it turned its attention back to the wall. With a single finger, it pointed at the grey stones that blocked its passage. An entire world of the living existed beyond those grey stones, and whatever instincts remained in its shattered mind drove it to seek to end those lives.

The black webs that now covered nearly every inch of Aachen, began to move and writhe at the lich’s command. Stones and debris fell from buildings as the webs expanded. They moved and twisted, lifting from the ground.

The glowing black lines sprang forward under the lich’s control, striking like vipers, burying themselves deep into the stone wall. The divine light dimmed around the black lines, as they infected the warding.

A vine of blackness struck the barred gate with enough force that Wil felt the entire wall shake from the attack. The metal gate, designed to stop the hordes of undead, buckled under the assault.

The charging undead surged forward, seeking to enter the shattered gateway, while the massive flying monstrosities slammed into the divine dome overhead. The wall of shimmering light flared brilliantly, but cracks were already forming in the wards above them.

Under this massive and unending assault, amidst the howling of the undead, the strangest sound came from atop the wall.

Garman was laughing.