Chapter 22

Bloated with corruption, the Fat Man didn’t waste any time in attacking, pulling in the negative energy around it, forcing the black Mana into a spell matrix that hovered above its hand.

Wil doubted the creature could move quickly, he could only see hints of its legs sticking out from below its massive stomach, which meant that it would attack at range. Wil was prepared, he just needed to wait for an opportunity to present itself to close the distance.

“Ray of Sickness!” The monster howled, as the Tier 1 spell matrix erupted into a sickly green light. A ray of energy shot forward, striking towards Wil in an instant. Leaping out of the way, the spell brushed against his armor, before digging deep into the marble floor.

Wil rolled with the momentum, his leather armor black and smoking, as if it had just been burned by acid. The air around him filled with the smell of scorched leather, as he took a moment to look at the point of impact. The sickly green ray had gouged a deep hole in the marble, and Wil could sense to poison in the attack.

Not hesitating, Wil threw his hand forward, responding with his own Tier 1 spell. Three darts of force from the ‘Magic Missile’ whizzed forward, their passing causing a hiss in the air from their speed, before striking the Fat Man.

It was no use, a shield of negative energy sprang into existence around the creature, absorbing the attack. The force caused only slight ripples in the black mana. Cursing, Wil reinforced his shield, knowing that what would happen next would not be pleasant.

Laughing wildly at the exchange of magic, the Fat Man formed another spell.

“Sapping Sting!” It hissed, as a tendril of negative energy shot out from behind its shield. This time, Wil was too slow to dodge as the energy slapped against his shield like a whip. The crack of the impact rang out in the empty room.

Wil’s shield absorbed some of the damage, but the force of the blow drove him backwards, his feet skidded against the bare floor. He could feel some of his strength drain from his limbs from the attack, the sword in his hand felt heavier. Unable to stand, he fell on one knee.

Wil countered with a Tier 2 spell he hadn’t used in battle before. The matrix spread wide as he channeled mana into it.

“Cloud of Daggers!” He whispered, focusing on his enemy as first, dozens, then hundreds of foot-long, razor sharp, steel daggers filled the air around the Fat Man.

They struck its shield of black mana, throwing sparks as they slowly grinding against it. Within moments, the shield shattered, and sharp blades met corrupted flesh.

Screeching in pain, the blades digging deeply and drawing black blood, the Fat Man surrounded himself in negative energy, preparing another spell.

“Wither and Bloom!” It screamed, unleashing a wave of black mana.

The daggers corroded and decayed, their bright, steel blades became dull and rusty, the handles rotting. They quickly turned to dust as the surge of mana swept forward. The parchments and book bindings on the floor disintegrated, as all life around the Fat Man was extinguished.

Wil only had a moment to scramble backwards as the black mana formed a bubble around his enemy. The negative energy drained all the life out of the surroundings, channeling it back into the Fat Man’s deformed body.

The monster’s wounds healed, and its body grew even larger as life filled its mutated body again.

Wither and Bloom. A tier 2 spell that Wil had never encountered before, but he could easily guess its use. Everything around the user withers and dies, while the life taken ‘blooms’ within the caster, healing and granting them the stolen energy.

Panting at the exertion from the brief, but intense exchange of spells, Wil started to lose hope that he could win this fight. A difference of two Ranks may seem small, and at the lower ranks it was, but as one progressed, the bigger the gap between ranks grew.

As a Rank 5, Wil was capable of besting dozens of rank-less on his own. The Fat Man in front of him, as a Rank 7, could battle hundreds and walk away victorious. It wasn’t a gap that could be overcome with determination or tactics, it was a simple case of the sheer difference in power between them.

Adding on to the difference in ranks, Wil’s spells couldn’t compete. It would be nearly impossible for him to defeat this enemy simply by comparing who had more Mana and better spells. Conjuration was about summoning assistance and controlling the battlefield, but Necromancy could simply destroy or corrupt everything Wil threw at the Fat Man.

The spells the Fat Man were using were pure evil, the school of Necromancy, untainted with any other focus. It was something that the Academy refused to teach. It could be studied, learned from, but it was never encouraged to use. But for those lacking morals, it was a powerful school of magic to study.

Although this creature wasn’t the Lich’s equal, it was more than enough to overpower Wil.

The Fat Man laughed as the spell gradually faded, not only did it heal all of its wounds, but it revitalized and strengthened him. He felt stronger now than he had at the start of the battle!

Not willing to give up, not while he still had strength to fight, Wil dashed forward, his sword glowing brilliantly in his hand. The blade, like his armor, had been enhanced in Aachen for use against the undead, and the infected seemed to share the same weakness.

If Wil could get close enough…

The Fat Man shot another ‘Ray of Sickness’ at Wil, the sickly green energy shooting from its fat fingertips.

Before it struck, Wil disappeared, and a thunderous ‘Boom’ rang out from where he vanished. The noise washed over the Fat Man, who screeched in agony as its ears rang from the noise.

Reappearing above it, Wil held his sword with both hands as he plunged it downwards, the blue blade only inches way from the Fat Man’s undefended skull.

Grinning, the Fat Man spun its head with inhuman quickness, as it whispered a spell.

“Blight.”

The spell’s incantation rang out as the black mana swirled around its massive body. Wil’s sword, only inches away, was batted out of his hand, the blade dimming before the necromantic magic shredded the sword, leaving nothing but small metal pieces, soon carried away on the black wind.

Not able to slow his momentum, Wil fell into the spell, his body awash in negative energy.

Blind, seeing nothing but swirling black magic, he stumbled forward, trying to escape. His armor, the enchantments that Wil had counted on to keep him safe from the magic, held for a moment, before the Blight ate them away, draining the mana, destroying the engraved runes, and pulling the life from the leather itself.

His armor aged as Wil walked forward, the leather growing old and brittle, the negative energy running through it.

Finally, Wil fell outside the spells range, collapsing on the ground. His sword was gone, his armor mere shreds of leather hanging from his skin. Even his bag of holding was faded, the leather brittle and mottled.

Wil himself had fared little better than his items. His mana had protected him somewhat, but he was pale and shaking, the moisture drawn from his body. He was little more than skin and bones, his once fit and healthy body looking as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

His hand that gripped his sword, and had taken the brunt of the damage, was black and sickly, the nails yellow and aged.

“Tut Tut Tut. The Azure Lord’s champion, reduced to this. You will barely make a snack, but I’m not one to say ‘no’ to a meal.” The Fat Man laughed, its pimply jowls flapping as it did so.

Wil couldn’t respond, his mouth was too dry. His tongue was rough and swollen, he could barely breath as he lay on the cold marble. His vision was slowly returning to him, but it was hazy, as if he was seeing through cloudy glass.

Nothing remained on the seventh floor of the spire, the Fat Man’s Blight had destroyed everything that remained. It was only the two of them there, and soon it would be only one.

Licking its lips in anticipation, the Fat Man slowly made its way over, teetering on its stubby legs, its massive stomach dragging against the ground.

Wil slowly closed his eyes, resigning himself to death.