Eric let the messages flitter across his mind’s eye, his actual senses locked on the battlefield all around him as the gunner leading the charge of roaring reinforcements heading his way somehow managed to fire round after round, hooting and hollering like a mad man as Eric leaped, dodged, and raced for his life, not even bothering to turn and fire, or do anything but dart past and race around the disoriented orcs, some of whom still managed to lock on his presence and make a lunge for him.

“Woo! Look at him run! Fucking cocksucker thought he could take out Blacktooth tribe that easy. Fuck no! Not with Mister Fister here to save the fucking day!”

Eric snarled, daring a quick look in the direction the artillery fire was coming from, catching just a glimpse of what looked to be a wild-eyed scarecrow thin meth-head, complete with blackened teeth that for some reason hadn’t been healed up by the pods, cackling like a madman as he shot round after round from what looked to Eric suspiciously like a fully functional modern day artillery gun.

“No fucking way!” Eric cursed under his breath at the sheer absurdity of the weapon before commanding his trembling legs to MOVE! Abruptly twisting back the way he came, taking a fearsome risk as shrapnel peppered his body, choking back a cry as fragments tore through calves void of any mithril mail.

Finesse check made!

Fragments that failed to hamstring him only because of his near 180 vitality and the 32 Physical Resistance it gave him. But it came all too close to sending him flying, Eric’s instincts screaming that this was it, and he had been a fool to pivot and twist as he had! A complete idiot to take that gamble, thinking it worth the risk of distracting his foe just long enough for—

A sudden shriek cut through the air as the night rang with countless furious squeals as Mister Fister’s owner felt the force and fury of countless tusks tearing his screaming scarecrow-thin form into quivering bloody shreds of meat.

Eric almost felt pity of the gory mess at his feet as he raced to the scene of carnage, quickly smacking his hand with a fierce sense of triumph against artillery and the chain fed explosive shell ammo before leaping on the nearest tusker and directing them to head out as fresh enemy troops came racing to the scene of battle, a full hundred or so orc Javelineers hurtling their weapons through the air at the shouted orders their commander.

Eric felt absolutely no shame in sliding down to hide in the pocket of his mammoth-sized tusker’s chin, so that the rain of deadly javelins plunging multiple feet into his cavalry had no chance of hitting him. No matter that many of the javelins managed to lodge a full seven feet into necromantically resilient flesh, it was clear from his revenant’s snorts of amusement that the piercing weapons were doing practically nothing at all.

Save giving Eric a virtual bounty of pilum to claim as he flashed a cold smile back at the battlefield.

Before his heart broke with the piteous cries of the tusker they were leaving behind, unable to get up on a leg blasted by an artillery shell, despite the handful of enemy soldiers his boy had successfully killed.

Eric knew it was insane. The poor creature was already dead! He couldn’t feel any pain.

Could he?

Though he was a spirit that fought by Eric’s side willingly, savoring the crucible of life and death, the sheer joy of running across vast grassy plains with the cool winter wind howling across hide and laughing countenances alike, all of them savoring the sweet existence that was theirs.

Eric flinched to hear the despairing squeal of his pig sharply piercing the triumphant roars of a hundred orc classers that must have raced at full speed from the keep, the second word got back to whoever was in charge of troop deployment that their enemy was hitting their infantry line, and hitting them hard.

He grit his jaw, feeling his company flinch at the cries as well.

“Tusker company, about face… and charge!” He roared, earning nineteen enthusiastic squeals in turn as they pivoted around with a speed even Eric found surprising, wanting to laugh with the madness of what he was doing, charging right back toward the hundred classers and countless hundreds of standard troops, no doubt with muskets reloaded, about to risk it all on sheer madness.

Before closing his eyes and visualizing the reloading of his deadliest gifts, determined not to play quite the ridiculous fool as he had just minutes ago, so hungry to claim kills with his blade that he had nearly been taken out by reinforcements that wouldn’t have had a chance if he had always kept moving, always kept an eye on the battlefield as a whole.

Because he had no doubt that even with his tuskers giving him complete cover, any number of those countless scores of Classer javelins would have found their mark, plunging deep into his vitals via one perk tree or another, under the bright light of the noonday sun.

Exactly why he was determined to make the night his closest friend.

He quickly sent his tuskers silent commands via interface, the nineteen whole and healthy greater revenants snorting their acknowledgment of his plans as their angle shifted from a direct charge at the hundred orcs savagely spearing Eric’s fallen tusker to an angled skirmish as Eric leaped off the pilum-studded rear of his mount at full speed, jogging and rolling to a stop a good hundred yards from the action, the view of what he was doing completely blocked by his mounts smashing into his foes flanks, met by musket shot, javelins, and braced bayonets that did absolutely nothing to slow their charge, before abruptly turning and racing away as the musketeers abruptly gave away to an absolute swarm of berserking axemen, the best shot the orcs had of taking out Eric’s cavalry.

Eric felt a cold chill, Interface and 100 Perception making out what was now an absolute flood of Javelineers and Berserkers both. All of them classers above 20th level as it became painfully clear that someone out there was taking the threat of his presence very, very seriously. Seriously enough to commit a considerable portion of their elite forces to stopping Eric here and now, and not letting him advance any closer to the siege of what he increasingly feared must be his sister’s last stand.

Then he saw them, the gleaming eyes of countless berserkers catching sight of him as his tuskers wisely circled around once more, skirmishing only, not daring to plow right through the growing mass of enemy troopers that now consisted of countless scores of axemen eager for a chance to cleave open vulnerable limbs when the spirit boar were forced to slow down.

“There he is! The necromancer! Don’t try to capture him! He will never surrender his secrets. Too deadly! Too deadly he is by far! He breaks the rules. He breaks the covenants we were assured bound this world… this property we will claim together! Kill him, my orcish brothers! Strike him down and bring me his head!” Shrieked the voice of a goblin shaman now glaring Eric’s way.

Eric just smirked, saying nothing, glad that pitch darkness and fresh prey meant his foes weren’t registering the eight holes in the massive half-domed protective bulwark Eric had re-summoned. A humble 5 foot tall barrier perhaps looking like flimsiest wood in the dim light that those fresh troops no doubt thought they could effortlessly overrun.

Or at least they did until he sent death blasting through his charging foes once more.

The advantage of fresh troops, Eric thought with a savage grin. They weren’t aware of the tricks he had used to take out countless men, just minutes before.

Because fog of war was in full effect, and everyone he had crippled before were now most definitely among the dead.

But not everything went completely according to plan, of course, as the final squeal of his fallen tusker pierced him with surprising intensity. And he thought it was more than the simple fact that he had a limited supply, less than 30 left to reanimate in storage. He actually thought it was because right now, in the cold lonely night with nothing but battle-frenzy, nightmare-inducing slaughter, and the constant risk of a grizzly death all around, his tuskers were the closest things to companions that he had. They were definitely safeguarding his life, their massive bodies having blocked countless musket balls and javelins and not even his Quickness could have countered them all.

He suspected they might be guarding his sanity, just a little bit, as well.

“Mother fucking bastards!” Eric roared, taking time only to visualize fully reloading his cannon battery with the countless scores of shells he had prepared as he stored it back in his ES Space in the blink of an eye, ignoring the shrieks and roars of countless crippled and dying orc Classers, thinking only of crippling countless more as he raced at speeds that were honestly just as fast as his cavalry.

Cavalry now racing adjacent to him, but closer to the enemy troops to draw their attention, their fire, before flowing away as graceful as a pride of lions to leave hundreds of tightly packed troops charging forward, javelins thrown, bullets discharged, racing with adrenalin’s cry as their aggressors squealed with mock pain and darted back, only to reveal a coldly smiling Eric, who had been perfectly camouflaged by the massive mammoth-sized revenants for the handful of seconds he needed to ready his cannons once more… and fire.

Over and over again, into one tightly clustered pack of orc infantry after another.

Until his seemingly massive stores of gunpowder shrunk by half, he was down another two tuskers, and the constant flood of reinforcements, including massive pockets of well-coordinated Javelineers and Berserkers, had dwindled to nothing but loose pockets of disorganized soldiers either racing back the way they came or for the massive secured fortress with an artillery sniper in the crows nest that he has wisely circumvented.

Eric felt a fierce sense of satisfaction as he reclaimed his battery yet again, carefully reloading his weapons with his mind’s eye in just a handful of seconds as he carefully mounted his now pilum-free mount once more. At this point, all of his surviving Tuskers were wounded, but fortunately none were crippled, Eric having reclaimed all the weapons buried within their flesh.

He then turned to gaze with grim satisfaction at the massive trail of wounded soldiers and casualties, now spreading over a good three miles of hit and run strikes and cannon fire, his ability to reclaim all his artillery in the blink of an eye enough to do even Napoleon proud, he would like to think. Though Eric was well aware that were it not for Classer-boosted stats, Tier 2 danger sense, and so many titanic beasts serving as distraction and cover, there was no way in hell he could have taken out what his interface calmly informed him was over 2000 troops, including 4 gunners.

Eric took a deep breath of air smelling like an ammunition factory had exploded next to a slaughter house, with the faintest touches of a fresh autumn breeze washing the worst of the coppery taste covering the back of his throat.

He laughed with a manic sense of triumph, never having felt so glorious, so alive, as he did when courting certain death as he fought for his very existence, only to emerge on top, all his foes fallen before him.

Foes he would never let rise again… save in service to himself.

“Tusker company, One last pass along the battle-lines! Use those hooves, so they might never strike at us again!” A roaring Eric declared as he leaped off his mount, actually drawing his sword and taking the lead as he and his company raced back the way they came.

And the last sight the ill-fated companies that had dared the trek back to a keep they would ever see were massive hooves crashing down on their skulls or the fearsome gaze of a pitiless monster who’s countenance promised only death as his mithril blade cleaved through the air. Thus sealing the fates of over three hundred grievously wounded survivors and an equal number of troops that had been feigning death, wishing only to flee the battlefield, Eric showing no mercy and taking no prisoners, assuring each and every one of his foes would never be able to raise javelin, spear, or axe against his cause again.

Instead they would be fighting by his side.

For eternity.

Save for a single sobbing girl no older than he, that Eric didn’t have the heart to kill. Not even when tears turned to fury and her blade found his belly.

Quickness check made!

Strength check made. You have effortlessly overpowed your foe!

He slowly shook his head when she paled and sobbed, her blade snapped by his strength alone, now desperate only to break free of his grip, and Eric didn’t hesitate to let her go as she fled westward, toward Freetown, and hopefully a better life than the one she had dared here.

He waited long moments for her to flee completely out of sight, before coldly looking all around at the empty, now abandoned battlefield, his enemies having fled at least 500 meters in all directions. Only then did he say the words that would no doubt give whatever cold-eyed general was eyeing their dominion interface map a fit of conniptions as 1600 blue dots suddenly flooded the map, lifelong allegiances forever shifting with the cold inevitability of death itself.

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

Eric’s voice echoed endlessly throughout the night, as if bouncing off death’s endless cliffs and ledges, the spiritual energy of furious battle washing back in a tidal wave of potency as first one lifeless corpse began to twitch and shudder on the battle-torn ground, then another, and another, as dozens, then hundreds, then well over a thousand bodies began to shiver, bloat, and pull themselves together, shredded entrails, fingers and skulls slithering about the battlefield like skittering slugs in a scene that would have sent Elonia screaming, and even Eric shivering in disgust had he been anyone but the orchestrator of this bit of necromantic madness.

Yet all he felt was exhilaration, laughing aloud at the sweet, sweet rush of power flooding his soul as he dared the inconceivable, bringing 1600 souls back from the dead in a single act of dark glory, caring nothing for how mother nature herself seemed to howl as he gleefully tore his eternal conscripts free from the cycle of life itself.

Earning yet another title to his name as his body flooded with necromantic power, finally acknowledging as well the sweet rush of power shuddering through his soul from this act of madness, far more twisted than his character perks let on, as well as the flood of potency earned from countless kills.

You are directly and indirectly responsible for the deaths of 178 additional Orc Classers!

You are directly responsible for the deaths of 5 additional Human Classers!

Partial and full experience has been awarded!

Master Adventurer is now level 25

Master Adventurer is now level 26!

Stealth is now Rank 13!

Demolitions is now Rank 14!

Sling is now Rank 7!

Gunnery is now Rank 5!

Gunnery is now Rank 6!

…

Gunnery is now Rank 10!

Congratulations! You have achieved Journeyman Rank in Gunnery! You now have +2 to Perception, and +1 to Finesse!

You may choose from the perk evolutions of Precision Shot, Cautious Gunner, or Magnum Shot.

You have chosen the skill evolution: Cautious Gunner! This Perk Synergizes with Mad Bomber Skill Perks! Your guns are far less likely to misfire, (and your charges far less likely to fire in anything but the optimal manner) even compared to Gunner Classers!

You have successfully slaughtered over 1000 enemy soldiers using artillery and black powder shells in a single encounter!

You have earned the Adept title: Artillery Sniper!

All Gunnery Classes are now open to you! At least three Elite Tier Advanced Weaponry Classes are open to you with Silver tier resonance or better!

Mastering the ins and outs of your cannons has left you with exquisite coordination and an eye for detail, both on the battlefield and when caring for your tools! You now enjoy +10 to Perception and Finesse. You’ve also gained an intuitive sense of exothermic reactions and structural integrity both! You can instinctively sense the strength of most mundane materials, and you’re able to jury-rig repairs for almost any complex weapon. The more complex, the better!

Increased spacial perception and understanding of your chosen weapons means you’re 20% more likely to hit all future targets with all ranged weapons you know at Journeyman Rank or better, and you’re now able learn all ranged weapon skills 20% faster than you would otherwise be able to!

Eric was both awed and horrified to learn that there were titles to be gained not just from the hundred kill tier, but from the thousand as well. Almost as surprised as he was to find he had earned not one but two titles that fit under that category, all in the span of a single battle.

You have successfully raised over a thousand fallen souls from the dead in a singular act of necromancy that defies the natural order!

You have earned the Adept Title: Lord of the Dead

Your feat of daring has permanently increased Arcane Potential and Soul Reserves by 10 Points each as you embrace arts that only those with the mightiest of foundations and fearless resolve would dare! As a result, you risk being HUNTED by members of various fanatic organizations, should you fail to keep your title HIDDEN (or should you bring your undead armies off-world!)

Your daring has also allowed you to better glimpse the underlying secrets of life, death, and existence itself! You now have a +20% bonus to the rate at which you learn all necromantic arts!

Master Necromancer is now level 15

Master Necromancer is now level 16

Master Necromancer is now level 17!

Eric’s eyes widened with wonder and disbelief in equal measure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I earned two Adept titles and one Elite title in a single fucking night? Shit!” He chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. “All that effort trying to get in some kills with my sling, so careful with my blasters, wanting to get a hundred kill shots but only if they were prime targets, needing to conserve ammo but not wanting to waste the chance at a new title… and all that was trumped by the sheer fucking glory of hit and run tactics in the dead of night with a platoon of mastodon tuskers and 80,000 pounds worth of cannon. And I’m effectively getting double credit for all those glorious, awful kills, thanks to my Master Necromancer’s path. Talk about broken builds. It’s almost like I now have a chance against all the interplanetary young masters eager to prey upon a world full of utterly clueless natives.”

His sigh was equal parts fatigue and excitement, giving a rueful shake of his head. “No doubt there’s a secret council somewhere absolutely filled with high-powered puppet masters, faction heads, and all around asswipes who will be more eager than ever to get rid of the annoying anomaly that is me, just as soon as they get the low down on what’s happening here tonight. So time for me to stretch my winning streak just as far as I damn well can.”

He then quickly chose the Necromantic Perk that was all but calling out to him, that demanded to be picked, had, in fact, been retroactively picked, as he gazed at what were now 1600 newly forged troops. Soldiers that now held the axes and other assorted weapons in hands that actually recalled their use, as eyes far more alert than the fifty or so surviving revenants from the first batch turned to gaze Eric’s way.

Advanced Requirements met! (3 Ranks in Undead Legion, Adept or better Tier necromancer) You have chosen the perk: Mixed Unit tactics! Now all your risen revenants brought back with Undead Legion or any other System-enhanced power or manually learned ritual will retain all knowledge and mastery of weapons and mixed unit tactics they had during life! One could almost argue that these revenants are, in fact, self-aware! And completed devoted to their Imperator. (That is YOU!)

Undead Tactical Interface Map synergism detected! You may now direct your mixed units to attack in whatever fashion you see fit, using whatever basic tactics you have in mind (or advanced tactics they had mastered in life) with a single surge of your will, so long as tactical interface map (-5 to effective Perception) is open in the corner of your mind’s eye!

Eric couldn’t help but shake his head, understanding at last just how heady, how corrupting, was the feeling of absolute power as a countless soldiers quickly formed ranks, facing Eric in unison, saluting with undead fists pounding armored chests, crying out as one.

“Ave imperator! Abedimus!”

He grinned at their declaration of allegiance, flashing a fierce smile as he savored the sweet, sweet rush of mastering the battlefield and his foes, even from beyond the grave.

That, along with reveling in his body’s continuous transformation, becoming faster, stronger, and ever deadlier as his levels continued to climb and his title and territory claimance bonuses continued to accrue, was a greater rush, a sweeter high, than anything else imaginable.

“We kicked our enemies right in the ass, boys. Slamming into their flanks and claiming their sweet sweet cannons and even sweeter prized classers in a handful of hours those fuckers will ever forget! Because they had no idea we can penetrate enemy lines faster than any mortal that ever before walked the face of the Earth!” Eric declared in an absolutely unnecessary speech to his utterly loyal and infinitely motivated legion, all but certain his mounts’ ability to move across rough terrain would have left even the fastest mobile infantry units of the 21st century in the dust, did any gunner asshole actually manage to bring those back to working order as well as they had some of his recently claimed artillery.

He sighed, patting his lead mount’s flank.

“Our battle brothers will be missed, but they will not be forgotten. And you will not be left at reduced strength!” Eric declared as he hopped off his mount and unrolled both his summoning tarp and five pristine spirit boar corpses, all of them previously prepared by his young friend Samuel’s side with carefully scribed blood sigils over the entirety of the bodies. Eric then took a deep breath, centering himself, ready to make use of the now massive Soul Orb shivering with the potency of well over a thousand souls, now hovering over his head.

Before ruthlessly suppressing the giddy joy he felt at the thought of effectively doubling his cavalry power, instead focusing on what mattered.

His own security and safety.

With a few silently thought commands via his interface, he was soon surrounded by multiple rings of hard-eyed revenants and seventeen snorting tuskers racing tirelessly around the entire perimeter.

Because Eric, having more respect than ever for the insanely overpowered perks that both Gunners and Snipers seemed to have access to, wanted to bring their chances of a kill shot down to absolute zero before he lost himself in yet another ritual, fearing he might have already been stationary for far too long.

And though he had no way of knowing if his prudence might have actually just saved his life, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of cold-eyed goblins glaring his way through their scopes before they cursed and snarled, hitting their spotter in frustration when not a single break could be found in the absurdly disciplined revenant formation protecting a hard target that now had a fifty million credit war bounty on his head.