Only when they were less than two hundred yards away, and a few of the musket shot fired were tearing up the turf less than thirty yards away, did he dare let his blood-bound prizes fly.

His eyes widened at the unexpected arc of his first thrown javelin, forced to appreciate that high Finesse aside, Strength now in the triple digits and a Quickness to match met that he was throwing it with far more force than he was used to, and its trajectory was far more straight-line than it had been, even a day ago.

And even if his wildly missing javelin earned squeals of orcish contempt, at least a few of the orc’s eyes had widened, it clicking in their tiny minds that it wasn’t the absurd range of his throw that had defeated Eric, but too much power behind the shot.

A flaw easily rectified with just a little more practice, as a second and third shot flew through the air, the last one finally finding its mark.

You have critically struck orc Conscript! orc conscript has perished: Experience earned!

Only a tiny handful of the literal hundreds of orcs chasing him were caught off guard, stumbling over their fallen companion.

A tiny handful Eric was determined to let grow and multiply, as javelin after javelin was resummoned to hands now wet with his own necromantically-infused blood as Eric let his weapons fly through the air with increasing confidence and accuracy, only once feeling the smack of lead shot striking his mithril mail when he approached closer to a hundred yards than two hundred before backing up once more, Eric’s seeming exhaustion compelling his foes to charge onward, even as their heaving breaths and stumbling steps compelled them to finally slow down.

Eric mimed an equally slow and exhausted paced, never mind that he threw his soul-linked prizes with ever increasing accuracy, a fierce hopeful smile caressing his face before the roar of cannon-fire filled him with mindless panic once more and he immediately spun around and raced for all he was worth, which was pretty damned fast and left the orcs utterly in the dust.

It was only some minutes later, when a gasping Eric had thrown himself into a ditch at least a mile from the keep, through a break in the tree line even his tuskers could pass, that he registered that both his remaining tuskers were fine, and his danger sense hadn’t tingled at all.

Best of all, or perhaps most worrisome of all, his experience bar was oversaturated once more, Eric this time juggling a half dozen orc kills on top of a full level 9 experience bar, and beginning to feel an awful strain that the exhilaration and terror of combat had hid from him so well as he finally took a moment to scan the messages flashing across his Interface.

Flanking Necromantic Abominations (You have re-designated as Tuskers) have successfully blocked 15 rounds of lead shot fired from keep battlements!

You have successfully calibrated Javelin throwing for enhanced physical attributes!

You have critically struck 17 Orc Conscripts!

Maximum Potency to skill rank conversion in effect

Javelin throwing is now Rank 13!

Warning: Level 9 Experience bar is full! Your Upper Dantian is fully saturated! Class must be chosen or Conscript designation MUST be accepted permanently!

Fortunately, he thought with a desperate grimace, he knew exactly what to do about that.

With a final quick look behind him, making damned sure he wasn’t only facing the opposite wall of the fortress from the one cannon that had nearly killed him but was now completely hidden by the thick foliage of the surrounding forest just past the keep clearing. Only now did he finally dared laying down his summoning tarp once more, bloody palm smacking not three but five more summoned spirit boar corpses as he catalyzed countless hours of carefully scribed sigils with a single phrase.

“Ego to voco!” Eric roared, as the blood sigils upon the massive bodies sprang to life.

“Adiuro te!” All three swine squealed in unison, a cry that might have been fury, exultation, or a tusker’s oath of fealty. Perhaps all three were true.

Either way, it was at that moment that Eric was forced to grit his teeth and endure pressure comparable only to his most grueling workouts. But the weight had very little to do with physical strain, and everything to do with the pressure upon his soul.

“Obedire!” A single final word, as four massive revenants lowered their tusks before him, obedience sworn, and the fifth burst into white-hot flame, ashes all that remained.

Because Eric wasn’t a slaver, however much his blood called out to this lost art, coming to him far more effortlessly, and naturally than cultivation ever had, for all that his affinity with Flame, now tied to Wind and Wood, marked him as one gifted in that field as well.

Yet when it came to feeling Dominion’s caress and the fires of command pour forth from his soul into vessels eager for his mastery? It was a rush, an exultation, like no other. But a code of free will he would follow nonetheless, at least for the sake of these noble spirit beasts, lest he forever taint that he had fought so hard to claim.

He gazed down at the interlocking pattern of sigils underneath every one of his successfully summoned tuskers. Within each was the necromantic equivalent of an escape clause, beyond the ritual testing of wills determining master and servant.

Eric would only accept their submission if such was worth the sweet taste of life’s caress. To feel the warm sun soothing undead bones. The taste of pollen-scented spring air. The cool, crisp bite of a winter day. All the joys and wonder of the living realm, in return for absolute obedience.

But should submission to his will be worse than death itself, they were free to surrender their body once more.

And the fact that one howling spirit chose oblivion over submission eased Eric’s heart to no end, feeling a pressure to his lower Dantian, a strain to his cultivation beyond the simple accrual of plaque, suddenly ease… a strain he had no idea had been forming.

Until now.

Eric flashed a bitter smile, experience depleted once more. One more month of his life expended, thanks to his hand always being forced.

But he could already sense his particular mastery over this particular ritual growing by leaps and bounds, assuring ever greater efficiency, even as the System acknowledged his growth.

You have lost yet another month of your life that can never be restored by Arcane means!

Congratulations! Rituals of Summoning and Binding is now Rank 22!

“You boys ready to take on some more orcs?” He asked his soon-to-be companions in conquest, receiving four bemused snorts in turn. Eric then began to race back the way he had come, now trailed by thrice as many tuskers as before, before pausing at the break in the forest large enough even for his massive companions, pointing at the milling mass of still well over a hundred orcs.

Eric decided at that moment that maybe it worked in his favor that the vile cannon had blown one of his revenants to smithereens and sent him running like a hair. It had awakened the wolf within his prey, Eric even now hearing what had to be either the shaman or the chieftan screaming from the battlements in their native tongue to bring down the Roundear Contender who dared to return and bring the chieftan his head.

With those words the hoard of milling orcs that were now comprised of Javelineers and Berserkers in equal number to the bayonet-wielding musketeers, if the pilum and wicked looking axes were anything to go by, charged toward Eric with more than renewed energy. But outright killing fury.

Eric felt a chill race up and down his spine, knowing damn well that the orcs should still be tired on their feet, having goaded them to chase him for countless minutes at their top speed.

But it was painfully obvious that the chieftan or another Advanced Classer had it within him to whip his men into a frenzy.

A frenzy now heading straight for the tree-line, eager to bring Eric down.

Eric smiled despite the cold jolt of panic he tried to call exhilaration. Because frenzied troops were many things, but thoughtful wasn’t one of them.

He caught the gaze of what he had already mentally dubbed as his liutenant tusker, conveying a mental series of images in less than a second, and surprised despite himself when the massive warthog dipped its head in perfect understanding.

He then quickly began jogging away from his sentinels who had already retreated some distance in the break in the tree line, as a visibly panting Eric began circling the massive keep once more.

Before stumbling and collapsing with a cry, grabbing his ankle, and looking with terror at the now roaring and hooting swarm of orcs rapidly closing in as three hundred yards became two hundred, then less than one hundred as Eric stumbled back to his feet and desperately began hobbling away at a desperate pace, as he felt the stink of shot hit the back of his mithril armor, stumbling with a cry once more as a particularly bellicose orc roared above the others.

“Alive! We want the fucker alive, fools! He’s worth a thousand gold to the Bloodtear Syndicate! Hold your fire you little shits! He’s down! Hold you’re—“ Whatever else the orc was going to say was cut off in a terrific din and crash and the panicked screams of his men as Eric sprung back to his feet and threw his pilum in a single fluid motion, catching the bellicose orc right in his surprised mouth as seven mastodon-sized spirit boar tore through their rearmost ranks, arcing back their impossibly powerful necks and sending countless panicked orcs windmilling through the air.

It was all Eric could do to control the pounding of his heart as he forced battle-frenzy into hard-eyed focus, whipping his body around as he cast his spear just as fluidly and gracefully as Rica had taught him, as he himself had practiced for countless hours in a world now in perfect sync with this own.

A wondrous world filled with mystery, lost civilizations, and secret paths to power which he would never be able to explore.

So he would settle for making his mark in this world, one javelin throw at a time.

Even as he weaved and dodged both musket fire he feared very little, and pilums that streaked through the air from hot-eyed classers that he feared very much indeed.

Quickness check made!

You have successfully dodged Piercing Strike from Evolved Javelineer!

You have critically struck 2 Level 22 Berserkers and 7 Musketeers!

Your Tuskers have successfully gored & trampled 32 Musketeers!

You have failed to dodge Piercing Heart Blow from Javelineer Champion!

Essence infused Greater Lizard Beast Hide FAILS to ward Piercing Heart Blow!

Mithril Armaments SUCCESSFULLY counter Piercing Heart Blow!

Two Tuskers are breaking away from flanking maneuver!

You have successfully interposed two tuskers between you and Javelineer Champion!

You have saved versus Stunning Blow!

You have taken 1 Medium Wound.

Eric groaned as he crashed to the ground, stunned to find a crackling Javelin had struck him so fast he hadn’t even had a chance to dodge it.

His chest tightened with dread and fresh appreciation of just how deadly a game he was playing as he turned to lock gazes with a truly deadly orc Classer his interface pinged as being over level 30, and a Champion at that. And one of the very few he had ever seen use multiple advanced weapon feats.

“Shit,” Eric hissed, chest throbbing, knowing that his ribs would have been shattered were it not for his Vitality and a Physical Resistance of 26. Because as badass as high stats made him, all it took was one fuckup, one bad match up with a highly-skilled opponent with the right weapon perks and feats… and he could be killed just as easily as anyone else.

“You’re dead, Roundear!” The Javelineer roared as Eric shouted a silent mental command. “Do you hear me? Dead!”

Eric, jaw clenched, nodded his head infinitesimally in respect for an opponent who most definitely could kill him as he forced himself back to his feet, refusing to shift his gaze from the sneering Javelineer now holding yet another pilum the orc was clearly pouring tremendous amounts of arcane energy into. But Eric refused to move or dart away, no matter that his danger sense was already screaming warning as he readied himself for what was to come.

Eric’s frozen stillness earned only a look of hate-filled glee from the Classer.

“You dare to look me in the eyes? Good, worm! Because I will never accept your surrender! Death is all you’ll ever get from me!”

With those words, the massive nine-foot tall Classer cocked his arm back and Eric was dreadfully certain that even the tusker now positioning itself in front of him would be unable to block the hideous power he sensed building up in that fearsome cast.

Before the buildup of power abruptly cut off, the high level Classer having time only for one final frustrated howl as massive tusks tore into his back and sent him cartwheeling through the air while Eric readied the extra heavy pilum that had nearly pierced his own heart.

Before letting it fly free, just as fast and hard as he could.

Finesse modified skill check made!

You have critically struck Level 31 Adept Tier Javelineer tumbling through the air!

Level 31 Javelineer has taken 1 Medium Wound!

Level 31 Javelineer has hit the ground. Additional Injuries inflicted!

Level 31 Javelineer has been fatally trampled by Summoned Tuskers.

Experience earned!

Javelin Throwing is now Rank 15!

His fierce smile froze on his lips as a fresh spike of alarm had him moving just as fast as his Quickness would allow, zigzagging and darting back for the break in the treeline, castigating himself for playing the fool, so eager he was to goad that bastard out and have his tuskers strike him from behind.

Tuskers that had spent over a minute hardly moving at all, just forcing the orcs into an increasingly tight blob at a marching legionnaire's pace.

More than enough time for that damned cannon to line up a second Shaman-enhanced shot.

Because even if the angle was terrible, Eric sensed the orc lieutenants had played him as much as he had them, having found himself once more exactly where he didn’t want to be, as another distinctly different cannon roared its discharge with a herald of smoke and fire before a second of Eric’s tuskers, the one guarding his flank, abruptly collapsed as its torso was cratered by a massive cannon ball that missed Eric only because Quickness, Danger Sense, and a shaman that was unable to spot him cleanly.

Yet as much as his mind screamed at him to RUN! … Even as his mental shout had all six remaining tuskers immediately backing away from the orcs they had hemmed in to begin racing around the keep at such a tight angle that the cannons would literally fall right off the battlements if they tried to fire at such a steep angle, Eric forced himself to take the moments to truly look at the cannons and the ancient red-eyed shaman dressed in sigil marked human skin and bones now screaming and jabbing a finger his way.

Eric felt the poke like someone walking over his grave.

He could sense it, he realized, as horror turned to revelation.

He could sense the silvery strand of twisted Arcane energies and blood magics linking him to the shaman and the cannon both.

And with a single slice of his blood-bound mithril blade…

he could cut it free.

You have successfully cleaved all arcane connections between you and Elder Shaman!

You are now fleeing the field of battle!

You are now scribing crimson runes upon your armor!

Elder Shaman will now be at -4 to form additional arcane connections to you!

Blood Ward is now Rank 2!

Unified Perception is now Rank 21!

Find Weakness is now Rank 22!

Eric shook his head as trembling hands continued to streak his essence infused scales with an odd conglomeration of the sigils he had learned by Samuel’s side, and the Rune for flame as well, knowing that what he was doing was the farthest thing from any scholarly pursuit of the higher arts, but a cobbled together hodge-podge of no less than three disciplines, guided by gut feel, intution, and nothing else. Because god knew he had absolutely no access to any decent teachers, and if the galactic powers had their way, never would.

Yet somehow, it was enough.

Enough to snap the connections between him and his foe. Enough to encourage a certain shaman’s magic to slide off blood-slicked scales, while scalding the practitioner’s mind with the taste of flame that only someone who had been burned alive could truly understand.

But most of all, it gave him enough time to do what he had to do once more, his mind blaring with the a painfully familiar message, for all that Eric thought his soul was somehow getting better at holding itself together under ungodly awful pressure.

Pressure enough that he was ready to dare a full summoning once more.

(Warning: Level 9 Experience bar is full! Your Upper Dantian is fully saturated! Class must be chosen or Conscript designation MUST be accepted permanently!)

“No shit,” he muttered as he prepared to he raise a full five under the crimson rays of the setting sun, getting a message he truly hadn’t expected, as well as one he had fought for hours to achieve. And this time, he would make full use of the gift that Samuel and his many times great grandfather had given him.

Congratulations! You have successfully summoned and bound a full set of five Greater Revenants!

Greater Revenants have been successfully bound to Necromancer’s Ring! You may store and summon forth your pristine quintet in the blink of an eye for a modest potency cost!

You have performed a feat no Terran necromancer has dared before you!

You have achieved the Advanced Title: Elite Summoner!

You enjoy a boon of +5 to Arcane Potential, Willpower, and Soul Reserves as you push your arts, and yourself, to the limit of what’s possible and beyond!

The Elite Necromancer Class is now open to you!

The Elite Necromancer and Elite Summoner Professions are now open to you!

And that wasn’t all he earned as his mind was overwhelmed by a flood of insights and impressions, his sense of both the rich, bright, magical hues of color highlighting nature’s arcane affinities, and the white foggy mist separating the realms of the living and the spirits of those who had passed on… now so crystal clear to him it left him breathless with wonder. Yet far from feeling mentally exhausted from all he had dared and endured since the last time he had been allowed any rest, his focus, his determination, had only grown sharper as he sensed his exquisite affinity for the necromantic arts grow by leaps and bounds.

You have dared the forbidden, and it shows! Necromantic Prodigy that you are, you now understand the flow of life and death and the art of binding souls far better than any 18 year old should, no matter who their father is!

Rituals of Summoning and Binding is now Rank 22.

Spirit Mastery is now Rank 20! Spirit Mastery has achieved Adept status! Arcane Potential has increased by 3 points. Willpower has increased by 3 points. Soul Reserves have increased by 3 points.

You have chosen your Adept Tier skill Perk for Spirit Mastery!

Now your fallen foes have more reason to fear you than ever!