Interconnected: Spliced Souls

The black-haired, crimson-eyed woman wasn’t smiling as the raven approached. No doubt she saw the widespread devastation. The walls were ruined… The ground had fissured… And the buildings and homes were little more than piles of disorganized rubble. Only parts of the city had been spared, but not by design.   

But the bodies…  

They littered the streets, and Cassidy knew Servi thought they were unmoving corpses.   

“Shall we test this thing, Mother? To see if it's worthy of our new world? To see if those claims Golden Reliquary had told us are true?" While the necromancers called Servi a lich, they had reason to believe she was something else-- something far weaker-- with an extraordinary regenerative factor that eclipsed even that of a greater lich. That was why they saw no reason to convince Cassidy to allow Sissy to remain-- since her holy magic, if the theories were correct, would have little effect on this thing... This horrible abomination that called itself Servi-- who bore the blood of something outrageous within their veins. 

“Do it, my son.”  

“[Dominate Undead]!” A dark green light radiated flowed from the Crowkin’s outstretched hand. The same hue suddenly enveloped the ebonwing carrier as it cried, squeaking deeply in a low, deep rumble. It twisted and turned, rolling while trying to shake its passengers off.   

The restrained manager was knocked loose and fell forty feet, where he landed on his neck. The sickening snap killed him instantly. The raven suddenly vanished and quickly reappeared to catch its rider, now free from the controlling magic after the connecting link had been shattered by a quick trip to a goddess’s soul world.  

The bird landed safely, and its rider jumped off.  

Her eyes…  

That piercing gaze…  

The fearless expression…  

Cassidy felt like she was looking at a raw, unfiltered force of nature rather than a lich.  

Servi stared at someone she once thought harbored a golden heart behind a curtain of rusted iron to prevent herself from being hurt.   

But the naive girl was terribly wrong. Her misjudgment was fatal.  

“Where’s Momo?”  

“That’s the first thing you ask?” rebutted Cassidy. Servi’s voice was calm, but the tone wouldn't remain. “You care more about her than the lives--”  

“SHUT THE HELL UP! ANSWER ME!” snapped Servi, not hiding the anger. She approached Cassidy and rapidly fired a hailstorm of questions. “Where’s Momo?! Why did you make monotonia?! Why are you involved with the Kaisaku Syndicate?! And why the hell did Gerld kill Albert?! Why team up with necromancers?! Why the geomancer?! Did you know about their pact? And their disgusting plan?! ANSWER ME!! RIGHT NOW!!!”  

“Ah, I think the little lich has pretended to be human for too long," said the Crowkin. To keep the ruse up, they had to pretend that they still saw Servi as a lich-- orders from Golden Reliquary. If they believed Servi to be something as grand as a lesser lich, the most powerful magically inclined mid-tier undead, the atmosphere would've been very different. They had little to be concerned about from what they'd seen and heard. "We are aware those emotions are for show. A creature like yourself cannot keep the ridiculous folly up for long, so why don’t you—” The Crowkin was interrupted not by words but actions. Servi wrapped her hands around Cassidy’s thin, frail, wrinkled throat and began squeezing the life out of her miserable existence. 

Kill me! Put me out of my fucking misery!  

Oh, only a select few knew how it felt to be denied certain death. Servi loosened her grip, and Cassidy couldn’t fathom why!  

Why!?  

She had done everything! The onus was on this lich! She had more reason to kill her than anyone else, so why couldn’t she just break her neck?!  

Cassidy didn’t know about Servi’s divine soulmate. Nor was she aware of the frantic pleading responsible for the act of mercy. But it wasn’t out of forgiveness.   

Killing her now won’t help us find Momo! We don’t know where she is!  

The goddess was raging. She hadn’t ever been this upset. She may have been partly naïve about most things, but she knew the traitorous old apothecary wouldn’t last the night. Even her desire to learn about medicine and become her friend… That fleeting dream had been dashed, destroyed, and thrown away. And it would only remain a fantasy in an alternate reality, where the same events played out differently.    

But that wouldn’t be the case here. Cassidy’s death was assured—much like the guarantee that the sun would rise in the morning and set at night.   

But the betrayal…  

It hurt the goddess and her host so much.    

“I swear. If Momo’s dead… I swear it won’t be gentle…”  

Slice!  

Suddenly, Servi’s wrists were severed. She looked at the Crowkin and watched his blood dripping from his greatsword drip onto his tongue. “It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re speaking to you,” he said, observing her regeneration.    

But the immortal’s limbs regrew in a flash.   

“[Heart Clutch]!” She turned to the necromancers, but the ability failed.   

“Oh, you’re even more inexperienced than we thought, little lich," said the Crowkin, taunting Servi even further without her knowing. The overconfident fool saw the conclusion of this fight as a foregone guarantee. "Your creator must be as naive as a snowflake foolishly thinking it could survive the summer's sweltering heat. While spells like that won’t work on the undead, we have made sufficient preparation to render the skill useless. Your paltry strength cannot bypass Mother’s catalyst or my bone armor. But your regeneration is impressive. We could use something like that. Mother, if you will…”  

The armored knight approached, and she was fast, skipping ahead and closing the distance in the blink of an eye. She ran her fist through Servi’s stomach and ripped her apart like she was made of clay.   

“Oh? How marvelous,” she said when the two halves regrew—watching as intestines slithered like snakes and reconnected. Servi stood as her skin stitched itself together and left behind no proof she was ever harmed. The pain didn’t hurt. Why would it when death wouldn’t ever follow? All she had to do was ignore and shrug it off.   

“The city isn’t filled with corpses. The green mist you saw was a paralysis toxin,” Cassidy said. She wasn’t affected or perplexed by the sight she witnessed. She was dispassionate about it. “Momo’s alive, but she’s not here.” The apothecary grabbed the severed hands around her throat and threw them away, silently praying the next attempt wouldn’t fail.   

It wasn’t that hard.   

Why couldn’t she just kill her?  

“But I wish you want to run me through, don’t you? Slice me down to size with your scythe. Do you now regret letting me live? Why couldn’t you have killed me in Canary?!”  

“And you blame me?! This is my fault?!” Servi roared. “Where the hell is she?! Tell me!!!”  

“It’s rude to ignore—”  

“SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!!!” Something in her snapped. She raged at the Crowkin and returned her attention to Cassidy.   

“The Kaisaku Syndicate’s base. It’s in the Arcton Mountain Range. Look for the plain between the tallest peaks. An idiot won’t miss the entrance. Leave now, and you’ll make it.” Cassidy revealed the answer. “The witch and others are there. Maybe you can kill them. Maybe you can’t. Maybe you can save Momo, or you may fail. But regardless of my death… This day was set in stone.”   

And that was the end of her self-proclaimed mission. Cassidy dropped the info Servi needed, and whether she succeeded or failed?  

Well, it was up to her. But something else twitched inside her. Cassidy felt rather talkative. She didn’t need to explain anything else, but her mouth moved before she knew it. A stressful warmth inflamed her stomach. “You could’ve killed me when we first met, but Arcton’s fate wouldn't have changed.”  

“And why is that?!”  

“Fisher Jin. He killed you, didn’t he?”  

Servi’s anger vanished for a moment. Why his name? Why did she bring him up?  

“I know about him. His sins… His errors… The trail of death he laid across Lando when he acted as a reaper to non-humans… And Arnold… Their torturous schemes were well-known to me because…I’m a victim. Many have suffered. But he targeted you. Or you interfered. It doesn’t matter. You wanted revenge, and you achieved it. But you sealed your fates with that foolish, idiotic decision. Canary will burn because of you.”  

“Stop speaking in riddles!”  

“I’m not. No one has suffered more than us. Fisher Jin… Sakdu and I survived his rampage. He was forced to eat his family’s corpses to stave off hunger. And he skinned my family for their scales.” Suddenly, Cassidy’s skin flickered, and…   

From head to toe—down her arms, face, and legs… She was covered in dried blood splotches—deadspots-- from where her removed scales hadn’t properly healed.   

“We lose feeling… Koena like myself…but I was different. I feel…everything… The pain hasn’t stopped since I became this repulsive piece of shit. I created monotonia to acquire the money, power, and reputation to turn Fisher’s life into the hell inflicted upon Sakdu, myself, and so many others. But the pill was too effective. It can bring cities to their knees. The holiest of bishops can turn into a common whore for just one more dose. But the power and status… It was for revenge, but you stole that! You selfish brat! You took away the reason Sakdu and I had for living!!!” Cassidy screamed. Her voice had spiraled into a yell before she was aware of it. All the stress and reluctant feelings she harbored by ‘playing’ nice with Servi throughout her short time in Arcton had finally shed the curtain.   

Cassidy wanted to get everything off her chest since she was about to perish and take her eternal spot in hell. She stumbled forward with a clenched fist and punched Servi’s jaw, cracking her hand while blaming her for everything that had happened.    

“HE WASN’T YOURS TO KILL! HE WASN’T!!! YOU STOLE EVERYTHING FROM US!!! BUT WHY COULDN’T YOU KILL ME?! I made it so goddamn easy! I gave you reasons to hate me!!! But no! Why the hell couldn’t you do the one goddamn thing you’re good at?! Why couldn’t you kill a coward who couldn't take her own shitty life?! Why?! ANSWER ME!!!!”  

“…”  

Punch! Slap! Kick! Thwack!  

Cassidy huffed like an irate bull, but she never stopped punching Servi. The bones had long since broken. Adrenaline and anger fueled her and forced her body to ignore the painful sensations sounding thundering alarm bells. The lack of tobacco and alcohol had caused her deadspots to become sensitive. Every little thing activated the hundreds of nerves that should've been dead. 

“That’s…so goddamn pathetic…”   

“What?!” Cassidy bared her teeth, but Servi caught her punch and crushed her feeble wrist using all her strength.   

“If you have a problem with me… THEN SAY SO!” Servi laid Cassidy out with a punch, fracturing her jaw and chin. She went flying back, sliding amongst the dew-covered grass. “Why didn’t you confront me? Why didn’t you come to me sooner if you knew my false secret? Why… Why did you involve Momo?! WHY?! WHY HER?! SHE DOESN’T HAVE A SINGLE THING TO DO WITH THIS!!!”  

“Because…” Cassidy’s arm snapped. Her destroyed wrist couldn’t support her thin frame. “Because you wouldn’t have killed me. You’d have tried another method. Anything to make me live! Anything to keep me alive! But if Momo was involved? Or Lucy?!”  

“What does she have to do with this?!”  

“Everything, you goddamn idiot! You don’t even realize I used her to evaluate the second generation of monotonia! Viridian Keywater?! Myrokos?! They helped me! The necromancer increased his control over the mind, the prince indulged in his sick pleasures to quench his fetishes, and I tested phrine on her! She was the perfect subject for the three of us! Or what about that noble girl?! I know Srassa Flynn. She’s meeting with the king, isn’t she? That’s right! I know about it. I know about your secrets! I know your—UUGGGHHHHHH!!!!”  

Servi became enraged at hearing more threats against the ones she cared for! She kicked Cassidy across the chin, knocking away a dozen blood-stained teeth. Her scythe manifested.  

“You’re a sick woman! Lucy trusted you! And you sold her to those sick perverts to test your bullshit medicine?! I was wrong about you! But don’t worry! Keywater’s going to pay... I’ll kill that shitty prince... I’ll tear it all down...”  

Cassidy deserved death—that was it.   

“Then do it...” Cassidy spat out her remaining teeth in a bloody slurry of spit and bile. “Hurry up... Swing it... take my head...”  

The apothecary thought about pressing it more. She could tell Servi that Saline and her mutt weren’t in Canary like she thought. Oh, to see the panic on that face... It would soften her rotten heart in her final moments. Cassidy had been so consumed by the madness that she lived it. She desired chaos. She desired disorder. Nothing less didn’t make sense if it didn’t bring her closer to killing that damned devil named Fisher Jin!  

But...  

Saline was different.   

Cue was different.   

Just why...did they make her feel again? Why did they even care about her? Her off-brandish behavior kept dragging them towards her when she wanted to push them away!  

Cassidy knew she couldn’t change. Maybe she thought she could go out on a brighter note. That was why the aged apothecary organized the incident with Fortuna’s manager—to save those kidnapped fighters— And why she tricked that foolish elf and her dog. There was just nothing else Cassidy could do in the short few days she had left before Arcton met its end!  

Canary was a death sentence. Every fiber of Cassidy’s body knew the city wouldn’t survive another two weeks. Maybe three.   

But...  

“You better win... You better kill me... Kill them... Kill Sakdu’s army. Annihilate them all if you want to save Canary. Sakdu’s going to burn it to the ground. No one will survive... But you won’t find the elf and her dog there. The mage... I had him send those two to the capital. People there owe their wealth and success to my medicines. And they’ll take care of her... They’ll protect her... They’ll ensure she’ll never live in pain or poverty ever again. Don’t look at me like that... I knew this was coming. That’s why I pressed her to leave my rotten ass! But no. She wouldn’t go! She wouldn’t start a new life because that damn fool cared too much about me! Trickery? Deceit? Call it what you will... But she... Saline... That damned idiot...”  

“Where is she? Who took her in?”  

“I don’t know. I really don’t.” Cassidy vomited more blood as her sight blurred even more. It felt like a nail was being thrashed in her head. “I sent in two dozen letters and cashed in debts. I don’t know who answered... I don’t know who showed up... It could’ve been a teacher at the academy... It could’ve been some noble... But she’s safe. I haven’t guaranteed much... But I know that for sure... She’ll hate me. She’ll despise me... She won’t forgive me... But I don’t need her forgiveness... Or her care... Or her love... Or her affection... Just... I want her to be safe... Second chances don’t come around often, and she mustn’t waste hers on a wretch like me.”  

“But not Momo? You’d choose to sacrifice her to save Saline?”  

“And you’d kill the elf to save that cat? Or sacrifice a town to rescue her? Where do you draw the line? You're giving up the many to achieve your goal, so how different are you from me? Either way, the town's fucked. It won't survive. You can't go against the army. You lost... And it's your own fault.”  

Servi didn’t have time to toy with Cassidy any longer, but a dozen bony hands grabbed the immortal's legs. A dozen more branched from those and restrained her arms to her chest while ripping at her skin. They burrowed into her flesh and gripped her bones and tendons, physically locking her joints in an iron-clad embrace.    

Of course, she hadn't forgotten about the necromancers, but those pissants didn’t matter.  

“I believe the game has gone on long enough. We cannot stand to watch this terrible impression of a human on the verge of anger,” said the Crowkin’s mother.   

“[Dominate Undead]!” Her son raised his hand…  

And nothing happened.   

He couldn’t target anything…because there were no eligible targets.   

“What… [Dominate Undead]!” Again, it was nothing, and this was to be expected. The surprise was part of the plan to make Servi lower her guard-- to make it seem like she held the advantage. “[Dominate Undead]! [Dominate Undead]! [Dominate Undead]! What?! Why isn’t it working?! What are—”  

The ground quaked beneath Servi as rocky blades danced up and down her body, severing the skeletal hold keeping her restrained. They accidentally cut into her flesh. She looked in the distance and saw a familiar golem hiding near the city gate. Only a part of his body was sticking out, but…  

“What? A golem? Here? That goddamn— [Abyssal Firebolt]!” The Crowkin aimed his hand at a certain golem mage, unleashing a churning arrow of flames that encapsulated a dark chunk of necrotic skill energy. But the golem vanished into the ground before it came close to hitting him.     

Merka being alive was the one positive thing of the night, but Servi felt inflamed.   

The undead revenant manifested, holding his weapon. His eyes reflected the intense fury scorching his undead heart ablaze with passion.   

“You fool! [Dominate Undead]!” The smug look vanished as Albert spoke.   

“My hypothesis was correct. Itarr’s blood is a natural protective shield. I presume it’ll prevent holy magic from harming those who ingest it. But that will not spread to the rank and file. But does it matter?”  

“No. It doesn’t.”   

The Crowkin’s mother was aghast underneath their helmet, but things were falling into place. That revenant had leaked info that further supported what Golden Reliquary had told them before they arrived at city for this confrontation. But Itarr... The name was foreign and almost numbed her tongue, but that had to be the bearer of the outrageous blood that circulated through Servi and the revenant's body. The armored knight had spent decades researching the undead and delved deep into the murky mysteries to explore the concept of a soul and how it functioned. Thousands had died by their hands. Even more had been tortured, and more than that had been sacrificed for their dark, unholy magic.    

But we have a name. Golden Reliquary may reward us once we tell him.

“You’re right! It doesn’t matter! Our army is on their way! You’ll die, and this city will become a den of death and decay! How do you think I cast that spell?! Anyone my toxin affects becomes a fuel source! I have the whole city at my leisure!”  

“Is that it? Should I be scared?” Servi took off running away and jumped up, retrieving the ebonwing carrier. It manifested below her and took flight.   

“DON’T EVEN TRY TO RUN—” The Crowkin raised his arm, but a sword of dirt and rock shot from the ground like a rocket, severing two of his fingers. He jumped back and looked for the caster, only to find parts of Merka’s body sticking out of the ground a dozen feet away. He sank into the earth and reappeared beside Albert, raising his staff high. He wouldn't run.  

His fear paralyzed him when Momo needed help the most. Merka instantly regretted his cowardice. He felt he should’ve fought even if Momo planned to hide him-- especially after realizing the one responsible for crafting his body was him. The one who had ‘killed’ him a day earlier and most certainly knew that Merka had merely dissolved for safety, not died.   

Merka just wanted to help. That was all he desired. He believed—knew his family was dead. He knew his many brothers and sisters had long since left this world through cruel experiments. The necromancers and geomancer had said it themselves—he was a one-in-a-million-success story. But if it happened once, and they could tighten the variance in the soul-transferring process, then they could eventually make it a guarantee. But the chances of them replicating what went right so soon were nihil. It didn’t exist. The number was far closer to 0 than 1.   

But by then…  

“Oh? How dare you think you can attack my darling summoner and even begin to think you can get away?!” Vanessa was falling from the skies, spewing webs towards her enemies. Victor was on her back, brewing toxins and beneficial gas for his undead allies.  

But it wasn’t just them…  

Oh, it was far more.   

Throughout the past few hours, Itarr had been dedicated to creating blood crystals and summoning undead to have an army to pull out. She figured this was the best she could do since she couldn’t leave the ring. The avenues of her helping were narrow, so this was her moment to shine.  

And it was paying off in dividends.    

Servi commanded her mount to fly in a tight circle as over 900 undead steadily rained from seemingly a different dimension. Most were low-tier. They were the cheapest and required fewer resources, so the army had legions of skeleton squires, undead rats, skeleton ravenwatchers, and zombie archers.   

The arachnecrosis weaver, corpsemixer, and skeleton captain made up the mid-tiers with two more ebonwing carriers.    

But there was one more addition. Servi stood on her raven’s back, manifested her scythe, and burned half of her dwindling supplies to summon the most powerful undead she could. “[Create Mid-Tier Undead – Lesser Lich]!”  

Yes. It was the undead Servi kept being mistaken for. Her enemies had wrongly assumed she was a lich masquerading as a human, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.   

Their assumption would be their downfall…but Servi couldn’t argue. She had been assuming the wrong thing…for so long…and her hastiness…had caused so many problems…    

But it wasn’t time to think about her regrets. The gathered energy manifested on her catalyst’s edge, and she swung it, sending it barreling towards the ground. The energy slammed hard, releasing a staggering wave of pure pressure that almost sent the Crowkin to his knees. Merka jabbed his staff into the ground, held on, and watched.   

A crimson mystic summoning circle materialized from the excessive energy and carved an intricate pattern while an ominous force tinted the moon crimson. And then it came, ascending like a god from a most unknown realm of necrotic aptitude.   

 

 

It was a skeleton, but it was far more than a mere collection of bones. The tattered, flowing cape was stained the color of crimson—the hood gently covering the lesser lich’s head. Its right arm gently cradled a multi-tipped staff of rigid bone as its other hand grasped a spec of remnant energy in a bony palm.   

Ring!  

It was faint, but a noise echoed from the staff. Upon closer look, one observed a small bell placed in the middle.    

“For whence the bell tolls…so shall the slumber of death follow. For what is it in our nature…to return to the earth… Pray heed, my summoner…” The voice was androgynous and so soft-spoken. “For you have called upon Nyxaris the Darkmagus. Tell me, what—”  

“[Dominate Undead]!” The Crowkin acted fast. He wouldn’t let this chance pass him by. The spell was aimed at the very lich his opponent had summoned, but…  

Nyxaris shrugged off the failed attempt to mold their mind to behold commands not from their summoner. “[Dominate Repel]!” The lich fired off with a spell of their own. They waved their staff and spread a dark crimson glow across every undead crafted by a goddess, rendering [Dominate Undead] useless.   

They then cast [Skeletal Imprisonment] around their enemies to give themselves an unnecessary lull. “Interruption? What folly… The bells shall toll soon…for the despicable whelps that think they have the honor of standing before me… I have received your commands, my summoner… Be gone… Go where you are needed… And leave this to me… For the bells shall toll…and deaths shall follow…” Black lightning tinted with green and crimson necrotic energy encircled Nyxaris as grand wings of bones formed across their back.   

Servi didn’t wait. She had a job to do. She jabbed her heels into her raven and ordered it to fly towards the Arcton Mountain Range.    

The powering lesser lich took flight moments after, but it did not follow. It had orders to stop the army. Assuming the undead were created and not summoned, they had to be wiped out to the last member.   

But before Nyxaris left, they turned their empty eyes towards a woman their summoner despised. The scaleless koena struggled to sit up. “For you… The bells have rung… Death will follow…and that will be all… There will be no glory… There will be no honor… For all are equal once the curse of death claims its rightful due… [Skeletal Impalement]!” Nyxaris waved their staff, and Cassidy held a genuine smile for the first time in many years. Death... It was finally coming her way.   

But it wasn’t a dignified death. Yet Nyxaris wouldn’t consider any death worthy or unworthy. The lesser lich saw it as the natural conclusion for those who followed the natural order of life.  

Nyxaris unemotionally watched as a dozen jagged, sharp bones jabbed upwards and skewered Cassidy, impaling her spine and limbs until she dangled like a piece of rotted, spoiled meat—ending a life that had spiritually died years ago.   

Nyxaris felt nothing. And they would feel nothing. They saw Cassidy’s soul… The lich ventured into its depths. It couldn’t deduce lies from truth, but it could see memories in a faint, hazy light, and Nyxaris confirmed the apothecary’s final words.   

The elf and her canine companion weren’t in the city marked for future destruction. But what to do with this soul? Well, it wasn’t worth absorbing. Nor did Nyxaris wish to grant it to their summoner. She wouldn’t have appreciated it, so the lich formed a fist, shattering it. Those unblinking eyes watched the crimson fragments fade from existence.   

But now?  

Nyxaris had a task. But before they turned away, they sensed energy from the restraint they had placed around the necromancers.   

The encapsulated barrier of skeletons exploded skyward. The Crowkin raised his greatsword and roared.    

“This isn’t over! Not by a long shot! Come to me, my army! [Necromancer’s Convergence]!”  

Nyxaris turned around. And in a flash?  

The lich was surrounded. Every undead loyal to the Crowkin and his mother appeared on the horizon and encircled the city—all 7,462. But the cost came at 15,000 lives—lives that shouldn’t have been sacrificed. Those souls were erased—gone for good—never again to be stored inside a catalyst or stashed inside a divine ring.   

But Nyxaris was indifferent as they stared at their enemies. The necromancers had the numerical advantage, but 96% of the army was cannon fodder. Necromancers were the best at fighting nonstop battles. Most used an unrelenting supply of basic undead to soften their enemies because they were the cheapest. People often panicked at the sight of a stumbling undead with decayed flesh and misaligned bones hobbling towards them with fresh blood oozing from rotten teeth. The psychological factor couldn’t be underestimated.   

Mortals had stamina and required rest, sleep, and food.  

The undead necessitated none of that.   

The remaining 4% were mid-tiers. A few aerial undead, a dozen skeleton captains, and a handful of spiders. The icy ghouls wouldn’t pose a problem. And the undead tigers and lions?  

Mere cats compared to the almighty lesser lich. No other mid-tier could stand against one. Even the weakest high-tier lost often should the battle be even.   

But…  

One undead stood out. And it was the largest one. Standing well over thirty feet, it was a gross amalgamation of hundreds of corpses crudely sewn together in a horrid ritual like a patchwork monster. Forty corpses made its legs. Another thirty made up its arms. Fifty or sixty formed the gross, slimy tentacles that squiggled sickly from its back.    

Nyxaris believed this…thing was a product of those altars their summoner had found deep in the necromantic cave.  

“For now… The bells shall toll… Oh, gleeful undead, who hath arrived… Let Nyxaris the Darkmagus return you to the ground… For the bell tolls for all… And there are no exceptions… Revenant of the Bicornkin… Take heed and grasp command… Let your wishes be known… Voice? No—all will fall for the bell… For the bell will forever ring… And it shall foreshadow death. [Mass Dominate Undead]!” Nyxaris spoke lofty and flowery. Someone not well-versed in the vernacular would be annoyed at their roundabout way of speaking.   

But Albert wasn’t one of them. While the lesser lich had been acting, he had telepathically sent commands to his new-found army after Itarr and Servi had transferred ownership.   

“And you think this will stop us?!” barked the Crowkin. Nervous beads of sweat doused his brow. “Just look! So what if you’ve dominated 500? That’s the limit for a lesser lich! This whole city is connected! Their lives are in my palm!” He drained more lives to regenerate his fingers, laughing all the while that he was invincible. “Do you not understand the power I wield?! You cannot win, revenant! Not with your paltry forces! Now, attack, my undead! Kill them all! Ravage their innards and feast on the weak!!!!”  

All at once… The remaining horde not controlled by Nyxaris advanced.    

“Naivety is the killer of dreams,” replied Albert. He readied his rapier. “But you are mistaken if you think this is all we have… You are not aware of the identity of the girl you have angered… And your lacking knowledge is foolish bravado that fuels this false belief that you’ll win.” Albert raised his hand…and the ring Servi upgraded to [Create Mid-Tier Undead] flashed…  

“[Create Mid-Tier Undead – Skeletal Warlord]!”  

“What?! But—How—Shit!” The Crowkin panicked and charged ahead. He needed to stop the spell from finishing. His massive sword was wielded easily, but he wasn’t quick enough. Merka manifested a lumpy wall and tripped the Crowkin, then dashed away on springs made of sand to soar high, where an ebonwing carrier had caught him.   

His mother used their catalyst’s self-harming abilities to fill themselves with magic energy and enhance their physical capabilities before charging in. She was like the speed of sound—her dense fists ready to deliver the same fate to the revenant as she did to his summoner.   

But her fist didn’t pierce his flesh.   

No…  

She didn’t come close to harming them…because her fatal strike had met the indomitable wall that was the skeletal warlord. If the lesser lich was the most powerful magically inclined mid-tier, then the warlord was its every equal on the physical spectrum.    

It stood at an impressive 8 feet tall—about 24 to 36 inches shorter than the almighty death knight.    

But it was imposing and commanded a vital presence. Its skeletal frame harbored a minuscule amount of flesh, but it was adorned with ancient armor instilled with pure necromantic skill energy. Its eye sockets burned brightly and alternated between deep green and violent crimson. One hand gripped a towering shield that had stopped the armored knight from granting Albert an unnecessary death. The other…  

Those bony fingers tightly gripped a massive curved greatsword etched with unholy engravings that festered a sickening foreshadow.    

The skeletal warlord roared. The rune-etched sword flashed, and the monster swung it—fast and hard. The armored knight lifted an arm and deflected the hulking blade before jumping back.  

And the fight was on. Already, Albert heard battle erupting from behind. Merka would be the safest there.   

But Albert felt nostalgic. He was known far and wide as the Puppet Master in a previous life—how ironic that his greatest strength would return to him after passing on.  

When you broke it down… There weren’t many differences between these undead and the puppets the butler wielded in service to Emperor Keywater.