Chapter 45
[Esmee Waters POV]
A cold wind blew into the narrow confines of my newest lair. A necromancer outlaw hiding in a cave, how had I descended into the role of such a stereotype?
I could hear the wind echoing through the passageways long before it reached the room I had carved out for my research. The lifeless body of a man in his 30s stared up at me from the stone operating table.
One of the hired hands that brute Argyros had brought along. They were all trained men with years of experience behind them, but this one had gotten on my nerves with his blatant disrespect of the gods.
I may be an outlaw reviled by the church of Nekrotica, but I knew her blessings were with me still. Did this not prove I was the one who truly understood her will? Even after breaking the tenets of the church and stealing a piece of Anubis, my holy magic remained with me.
The ruckus above ground continued to make itself known throughout the complex series of tunnels. Each vibration caused my half-dead body to spasm involuntarily.
103 years I had been “alive”. My body was long past its expiration date. Half of it arguably could not even be called mine. Skin transplants to patch the rotted segments, a worn-out mana organ that had already been replaced three times, being largely reliant on familiars for sight… I was falling apart.
I was decrepit. There was no arguing the point. So why was I wasting my time working with imbeciles and those who consort with demons?
The answer lay in the dissected bodies of sea creatures stuffed into jars that lined the walls. “Soul corrosion”, that is what the man in the veil called it.
As it was, their artifact only annihilated the soul while keeping the host alive. However, I was convinced that I could come to understand the methodology behind it and reverse-engineer an altered version of the effect. If successful, I could tweak my soul and return to my prime once more.
This stolen heart of mine had rapidly decayed over the past decade and would soon need replacing once more, but in the moment that the veiled man showed me the artifact's effect, it roared to life. Even in the confines of the cave that ill-suited my genius, it continued to beat with a vigour I had thought to be long lost.
“Arrgh!”
Sounds of uncivilised combat echoed out once more, but this time it was much closer.
“Did Argyros die? I do hope I can obtain a sample…”
I spoke to the cadaver as though it were a precious friend. People were much easier to relate to when they did not speak back.
“It seems as if our visitors have breached the outer guard.”
My hands got to work quickly. I have had more than enough time to stockpile ingredients for this eventuality. If Argyros truly was killed, the remaining mercenaries would not be of any further use to me.
The jars in my room shattered, and the contents spilled out onto the cold, hard floor. Shortly after, they rose again, as did the bodies in the storage pit in the next room over.
My fingers cracked loudly as they tightened around the handmade cane I so adored. It was carved from the spine of my first love, and topped with the skull of his pet cat. The length was wrapped in leather—made from dwarf flesh naturally.
I waited patiently at the entrance to my room as my horde shambled past. When the last of them crossed my vision, I slowly made my way in the opposite direction.
At my age, a quick escape was a dream lost to time. My loyal followers would have to buy time for these weary bones to navigate the tunnels to safety.
***
[Meztili POV]
The men who attempted to prevent our entry may as well have not been there at all, owing to Sir Connor’s handiwork.
I could sense the lack of mana in his body, and while I was no expert on the subject, I did not think he had employed the use of aura either. It was raw skill refined through decades of experience that carried the weight behind his attacks. He couldn’t even create a rudimentary spell to help his vision, and instead downed a nightvision potion before entering the cave, yet he seemed more reliable than even Sir Falk in a way.
“See now, in a narrow place like this, I can’t go swinging a big ol’ claymore around, can I? Usually I would bring a spear, but if the banshee’s got skellies down here, that won’t be much use, will it? Hence, we choose the reliable knuckle dusters.”
Sir Connor was completely at ease as he made precise strikes to disable and knock out the men in his way. Unlike Axel’s wild brutality that carried a hint of grace, Sir Connor was all precision.
“Still, if any of them snake bastards are around, this won’t do the trick. In that case, we’ve got these.”
He caught another foe emerging from a side passage, locking his arm around theirs and pushing his shoulder in to force them back. Immediately after, he made a movement so quick I couldn’t determine the purpose. The knife sticking out from their throat, however, was evidence enough.
“Silver blades dipped in holy water, they are. Wasted on a human, but that’s why we only bother lining the outer edges with silver. Saves on manufacturing costs.”
Despite implying they were disposable, he still took the knife and returned it to one of the belts of small blades strapped to his chest.
“Hate it when they break on the bone. Got lucky this time though.”
This was the atmosphere Sir Connor created as he continued slaughtering his way through the bandits with ease. So far, I had yet to step in, which suited me just fine, as I would need to be at my best to counter Esmee.
“You know, the thing that I hate about you wizard types is that you’ve got it so easy. No need to upkeep your weapons, pay for new ones, or carry them around. You just wiggle your toes and fart a man to death, and at no monetary cost! I’ve got a friend who’s the same rank as me, gets paid the same, has a family of his own, yet has my savings. All because he doesn’t have to spend money on his toolkit. Where’s the justice in that?”
Three men came at once from a sudden bend in the tunnel, but two dropped dead with knives in their skulls before they could do anything. The third no longer even had a head after Sir Connor’s fist blew it away.
“Ah. Zombies. We must be getting closer.”
He grinned and rounded the corner.
“Hoo boy. You’re up, kid.”
He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me in front of him like a shield. I would have been insulted by this so-called knight’s behaviour, but as I saw the passage filled with an endless horde of shambling forms, I knew he made the right call.
Punching his way through this mess would not only be inefficient, but it would also cost us too much time.
“Anubis.”
I called for my grandfather’s assistance, but no response came from the black box that hung out of sight within my cloak.
It figures, he wouldn’t care enough about such small fry to lend a hand.
“...You better help me when we find her.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I muttered, knowing full well he could hear me.
Fire would be best for zombies, but the resulting smoke would choke us both. I wasn’t very skilled at manipulating earth mana, so crushing them wasn’t an option.
It irked me, but the optimal way to deal with this would be to expend a use of my daily holy magic.
“”
I felt a portion of Nekrotica’s divinity leave my body, and the spell activated. A pulse of golden light burst from my palms and down the corridor. The undead bodies blew apart and scattered into golden dust as the light touched them.
“Woah… it looks more like the work of a paladin than someone who toys with the dead.”
Sir Connor’s words stung deeply. They echoed the sentiments of most who witnessed our work. Nekrotica was a part of the divine pantheon, yet small-minded folk who were repulsed by her domain found comfort in labelling her as unholy, little more than an abomination. Some heretics went so far as to claim she was just a mad witch who became the first lich, and we were delusional pawns trying to imitate her.
“...These were just the dregs. Please be ready for something much worse.”
I had little confidence in my ability to convince men like this of the truth. I simply lacked the social cunning that my grandfather exhibited during his reign.
“Sure, just don’t go raising any of them yourself. I may not be able to arrest you for necromancy while you’re here officially, but I can still leave you here all alone.”
I understood in that moment why Rex enjoyed his masks so much. The expression hidden by my bandages would no doubt have only angered this Solean knight further, possibly resulting in my own head becoming the home for one of his knives.
***
[Esmee Waters POV]
Someone had begun destroying my creations. It didn’t concern me too much, as they were only hastily risen pawns. However, the speed with which they were vanishing, and the hints of holy magic being used, raised some suspicion.
Surely a paladin would not have been dispatched here, and the local knights I looked into did not specialise in holy tactics.
So who was pursuing me?
Practically any religious soldier or devout priest would want to claim the head of the ‘Black Dael Banshee’, but how many had the ability to get past Argyros and destroy three dozen zombies at once?
I was already close to the exit, and my servants should also be making their way to my position with the pieces I needed to ensure my pursuer’s demise.
Still, this was a bad situation to be in.
The undead tar pit tactic was a reliable one, but I was not some greenhorn who would only have that to fall back on. This cave system was prepared before the operation ever began, and each of us had to memorise the numerous branching passageways for exactly this scenario.
There were no markings whatsoever to help guide me out. I was travelling based on memory alone. So how were the ones behind me taking every correct turn?
These were thoughts best left for later. My servants had found me.
Marvellous creatures made from the bodies of many subjects and crafted to resemble a skeletal centaur. However, I designed the lower half after a scorpion, not a horse. It was more versatile this way.
I only had time to make two of the lovely creatures, but they had carried out their order well enough on their own.
They had multiple fresh corpses in their arms, but the one I needed was nowhere to be seen.
They weren’t like unreliable humans, these were my perfect followers. If they did not obtain the ogre’s body, it must be because it wasn’t possible to claim.
I must have been wrong about Argyros’ death. Perhaps the invaders simply gave him the slip.
Regardless, these young men had fine bodies. They would have to serve my needs instead.
Between raising so many zombies and combining all my familiars to defend Anubis’ spine, I was already pushing my body to its limits. This would be my last effort. If it failed, I would have to rely on Nekrotica’s love to guide me to safety.
Thick, black fluid dribbled down my chin as blood forced its way up my throat and out of my mouth. My knees buckled and my fingers trembled, but I successfully cast the spell.
The three young men rose and gazed at me lifelessly. But I didn’t need more mindless zombies. I needed true warriors who could hold their own.
My mana was exhausted, and I felt the mana organ stop pumping within me. The heart would follow within weeks, at most a month. I was tapping into my holy connection to Nekrotica to finish my work. Holy energy ran through me and into the three before me, but something was amiss. The ground shook dramatically, and a violet light burst out of my body, seeming to phase through the roof. It was the raw representation of my holy power, leaving my body in such a display that it would be no difficult task to find my exact location.
Even so, my spell worked. I admired the improved forms of the youths.
Their bones grew through their flesh and expanded to take the shapes of the weapons that their muscle memory best knew how to operate.
Two shieldbearers and a spearman. In these narrow confines, they should be able to buy a decent amount of time.
They stood at attention and prepared to engage anyone who dared try to pass them.
I climbed into the arms of one of my creations. I was too weak now to carry this feeble body with my own strength.
Daylight greeted me before long, but my relief was short-lived.
“Esmee Waters, I’m guessing?”
A young man, similarly dressed to the ones I just raised, was waiting just outside the entrance. Under normal circumstances, I would think nothing of this masked boy. But in his hand, like a bizarre dagger, was a familiar ogre’s horn.
A single bead of sweat rolled down my neck.
***
[Meztili POV]
We grew closer with every undead slain. It was surprising that they had all been so mundane thus far, especially considering their creator. Esmee Waters was a master craftsman when it came to the undead. Although her methods and cruelty were to be reviled, I had to acknowledge the creativity behind her work.
So run-of-the-mill zombies? Dissected fish?
It was uncharacteristic of her. Did she have no time to develop anything else? Or was that underwater serpent all she had?
It was disappointing. I wanted to force one of the greatest shames our order had produced into facing our grim lady’s justice.
Then, a devastating rumbling of magical energy reverberated through the walls, and a faint violet light shone from around the corner. Esmee had done something... what it was exactly was a mystery, but I felt we had to pick up the pace.
We transitioned from a light jog to a full-on sprint, but Sir Connor came to a sudden halt as a fresh breeze signalled we were nearing the exit.
“...Step back, kid.”
Sir Connor, for the first time since we entered this place, spoke without levity. Whether it was because he recognised that these were different from usual zombies, or he noticed the similar clothing to my own, I was not certain.
Either way, his concern was misplaced.
“I am alright. This is a typical fear tactic used by outlaw necromancers… I was prepared for the possibility.”
“...Don’t lose your cool then, yeah?”
Sir Connor attempted to throw a dagger into Arnold’s puppeteered corpse, but Donald’s shield caught it with a speed unbefitting a zombie.
Donald’s mangled head seemed to be staring at me.
“You… left… us…”
…I had to take back my criticism of Esmee. To use the spell in this way was something I never considered. Psychological warfare at its finest.
“I’ll need to break through.”
Sir Connor muttered as he walked forward with his fists raised.
He was smart not to charge right in. In such a short time, he had already understood that he had to treat these undead differently. A cautious approach, then a sudden feint to bait Arnold’s spear.
There was no limiter in his brain now that he was a moving corpse. The subconscious limiter that prevented humans from straining their bodies too hard no longer existed. As such, the thrust was far faster and fiercer than anything Arnold was previously able to produce.
Yet it wasn’t enough to phase Sir Connor. He caught it and wrenched it out of his hand. At least, he tried to.
At first, I thought Arnold simply refused to let go of his weapon, and thus was pulled along with it. But as my spell illuminated his body, I could see the truth more clearly.
The ‘spear’ was not his usual weapon. The bones in both his arms had fused and morphed to create the horrific analogy of a weapon, as was the case for the other two.
Christopher’s head hung limp and flopped violently as he used the opening to rush my position.
A knife lodged itself into his back a fraction of a second after he passed Sir Connor, but it did not impede his attack.
“Ack! Fine! I’ll help! My dearest grandchild can’t even deal with an old fogey’s crappy toys, what has the world come to?”
Christopher’s body was reduced to a two-dimensional pancake as Anubis’ magic activated. Gravity magic that crumpled him to the ground in an instant.
My grandfather’s skull floated before me, cackling all the while. Ever since his death, his former regal bearing had vanished, free as he was from the expectations of the living.
As for Arnold, his speed had been greatly enhanced by whatever Esmee had done to it. And yet, Sir Connor, the knight without magic, treated him like a punching bag.
A methodical beatdown that perfectly countered anything that tried to impede its destructive force.
“Oh-ho? Now there’s a real fighter! Oi, kiddo! You should bring that man to our side!”
“Grandfather… He despises our kind.”
“Bah! He’ll come around once I have a sit-down and a drink with him.”
I ignored my grandfather’s ramblings as he apparently wasn’t going to do anything further to help, and used another of my holy spells.
“
A wisp of golden light shot from my hands into Sir Connor’s body. With his next strike, instead of a weak thud, a large chunk of Arnold’s body was blown away.
“What the? You can use support magic?”
Sir Connor was taken by surprise as his gradual beatdown shifted into an immediate victory. A few more strikes and Arnold’s body went limp.
Donald was the last one standing, but oddly, his body simply dropped of its own accord without us doing anything to it.
“Sorry, kid—”
Sir Connor turned to me but paused when he saw Grandfather floating there. He was clearly shocked, but merely shook his head and continued.
“We can come retrieve the remains later. We need to put the banshee down first.”
I nodded, and I followed the knight. How he seemed to always know which turns to take alluded me, but he did so with such confidence I had to assume he knew what he was doing.
My trust was well-placed, as we quickly exited and saw daylight once more.
There, Esmee Waters was hunched over, the very image of a dying old woman who had been alive for too long.
But something was wrong.
It wasn’t Rex, who had somehow found this entrance that was barely visible through the overgrowth. It wasn’t the bizarre abomination he was struggling to take down either.
It was Esmee herself. The skin on her face was literally tearing apart from the ear-to-ear grin she wore. She was mumbling to herself maniacally and didn’t acknowledge us, even when Sir Connor tried to cave her skull in, only to be attacked by a second abomination.
I crept closer with caution. I knew the risk this woman posed to all of us, but her behaviour didn’t fit what I knew about her.
I had to hear what she was saying.
“None of it matters. It was all for naught. She isn’t real. None of it is real. Nothing waits beyond. I can’t die. Death is the end. Worse than the end. Eternal life. Eternal nothing. The world is their plaything. Our lives are their fuel. None of it matters…”
She repeated the words like a mantra.
All the while, her weeping eyes were locked on Rex.
