Chương 78: Chapter 75: The Clash

++I must confess excitement when I first heard of Estalian necromancy. Had I known what problems it would cause for me later on… I would probably still have been excited. ++ - From the writings of Isabel Vornholt, 'The Great Lich'. 1, 891 A. E. Agrian felt pretty damned good, tearing into that chamber. Girl on the altar, evil necromancers about to sacrifice her—it was like something from a story book. And here he was, the hero of that story, bursting in to save the day.

This delusion lasted about two seconds, and died when he realised the girl on the altar was protected not by two necromancers, as he had thought from the corridor he'd peeked out of, but a dozen, and that seven of those dozen now turned to meet his group while the remaining five continued their chanting. The knife-wielder was among the five.

"Oh shit." Agrian was just about able to formulate this not-especially-complex thought before a volley of magic came for him like someone had crammed a leyline down the barrel of a scattergun and shot it off. His personal shield was still active, as were those of his allies, and these strange magicians clearly hadn't prepared themselves for a direct fight. That was about where the advantages ended.

Agrian's barrier came up and came apart as the magic missiles hit it, and the defences of his friends did much the same. In moments they were standing in a hall filled with shredded, decomposing aether and watching as another barrage was prepared by the enemies further on.

"Cover me!" Agrian roared, seeing the shields form up from two of the necromancers, and watching two more fall to the rear and begin working on their own just as fast. By the time his own ally's magic missiles flew, walls had already been raised to block them from hitting any, and two more necromancers finished their personal shields before the barrier could crumble. This, Agrian mused, was the actual reason magicians fought in squads.

Preparation was a lot easier to come by when you had a few friends to keep you guarded. Age and experience was also a lot. Agrian had come in here expecting to bowl the magicians over with brute strength, and here he was feeling a magic close to his own frothing up from each of them. The novices were on the backfoot near-instantly and all his heroic vigour withered away like so much fancy. Bolts of ominous, green energy came twisting through the air, hitting aether and just eroding it away on impact.

Agrian called up gusts of wind to fling them off-course and enjoyed some success, but while he was busy with that he had to abandon the magician-killer he'd been preparing just to work defence. More of the necromancers had personal shields with every passing moment, and the novices were now stumbling back into the tunnel as it became increasingly clear just how little of a chance they actually had. Agrian felt fear for what he was certain would be the last time.

Here he was caught in the greatest, last mistake of his entire life. And it'd gotten others killed too. Charging in to die idiotically like a real man, and dragging everyone else with me. I finally lived up to your legacy, father. Self-pity would have been a pathetic last thought. Agrian was fortunate that Agrian's saviour chose that moment to arrive and interrupt it. One wall exploded inwards on the other side of the room, sandstone surrendering like a whole artillery battery had just been loosed into it at once.

Agrian saw nothing but swirling debris for a moment. That and the glow. Aryqatan, Demigod child of Zameka, stormed into the room like a cavalry charge of old. The air seemed to flee from her, great winds picking up and howling away like the very atmosphere feared to be too close. Instantly, Agrian saw dread across those necromancers whose faces he could observe. They had dark skin, clearly Estalian natives, and yet even these savages knew death when it neared them.

Each of their magics turned to attacking her at once, the seven fighters among the magicians did nothing. Bolts of that green substance flew to splash against her skin and sizzle without harming it, fireballs exploded on her with all the effect they might have enjoyed against a solid tungsten cube, and even conjured lightning seemed to slide off her flesh like water from oily feathers. The Demigod did not seem to move; one moment she was on the far side of the room, the other she had simply crossed it.

The act of doing and state of having done seemed to have no time between them at all. Nor did the swing she made next, the one that saw her curved blade scything through two men and their personal shields in a single arc without so much as slowing down. More magic struck her, at effectively zero-range this time, and it was just as ineffective as before. Maybe she had a singed eyebrow. She moved again and now four men died instead of two, leaving only one left to stare at her in quivering horror.

Agrian waited to see his demise. And he did, but not how he'd have expected. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"BURN!" the necromancer screamed, his words cutting off as the Demigod closed the remaining gap between them and grabbed him. Agrian saw her fingers curl around the man's neck and simply pulp it out of existence, detaching the head instantly. Then he saw the light still building in the necromancer anyway, felt the magic as it shot up. The blast came before he, or even Aryqatan, could understand what was happening, a nova of energy touching the ground and rocking through the whole room.

I watched the idiot Demigod get herself, somehow, caught by a sacrificial magic and felt no particular worry. If she was somehow stupid enough to die in such a way then this was simply an act of cosmic balance. What concerned me more was my brother, and the fellow novices, but a quick glance in their direction showed that they had been swift enough, or anticipatory enough, to shield themselves before the explosion. A good thing, too. The sandstone around them had practically stopped existing.

Blasted into rubble and dust, or else melted outright. Had they been unshielded, standing where they were, I had no doubt they would be gory smears across the ground. Had they been standing where the Demigod was, they would be shadows burned into the ground. Had even she survived that? Probably. No, definitely. Now that the residual magic was fading I could feel her power beneath a large pile of stone. There must have been a thousand tons lying on top of her, though it would not hold her for long.

The moment whatever stunning effect her impact had instilled wore off, she would erupt from it. And before that happened, there were still five necromancers remaining. The magic had continued rising as the fight happened, and I had watched it in fascination. Fortunately, Aryqatan had arrived before I was forced to save my idiot brother, which meant I was still an unknown entity. And now I was seeing the ritual near its completion.

One of the necromancers headed back for the girl, knife raised, and the magic shot upwards to almost divine intensities. Whatever was about to happen here was past the magic even Aryqatan could manifest, maybe a rival for the world's strongest Demigods. I had the chance, now, to stop it. But I did not. Whatever happened next, it would be utterly fascinating.

"Leave… her… alone…" Agrian's voice barely cut over the sounds of crumbling stone. I turned to see my brother stumbling from the hall he'd been in, walking past collapsed, scorched aether and coughing as debris drifted around him. He looked to be in bad shape, though I suspected he was more dazed than hurt. No blood was visible on him, and though his clothing was torn I saw a strength still left in his movements. Indeed, he was moving better by the moment.

And his mana was already as powerful as ever, building and coiling, forming a magic missile that came so fast as he flung out one arm that it forced me into a decision right then and there. My choice happened almost before I could consciously register it. A magic missile of my own crossed the room just before Agrian could loose his, and struck my brother square in his chest.

With his personal shield down and his mind too foggy to replace it, the blast would have turned his whole torso into pulp were it not for my deliberate efforts to hold it back. At this point, even a mere one percent of my magic was enough to throw him off his feet and leave him wheezing in the grime. More importantly, it was enough to buy a precious few more seconds. The knife came down, the girl's throat was cut, the pile of rubble under which Aryqatan lay erupted upwards.

Everything exploded into a vortex of mana. I felt the chamber shake around us as necromantic energies the likes of which I had seen only in my grander experiments writhed about the room. Dust was rattled loose from the high ceiling and cracks began to run along the floors, a vibrant green light pulsated through the building like the arterial blood of something vaster and crueller than mankind. And then the presence arrived. Tall. Taller than Aryqatan, almost as tall as a God.

Twelve feet if it was an inch, I saw a skeleton emerge from the air as near-invisible granules of bony powder congealed and fused together to make its body. Limbs connecting without joints, all wrapped in a hum of arcane power, glowing so intense that it made my eyes water. I could taste the magic, could feel it rolling through me in waves and pulses, could feel it making the ground shiver. A sinister intellect shone from the empty skull's sockets, green as the ritual and cold as death.

The skeleton took a step forward. I half-expected the floor to explode beneath it. Wrappings began to materialise from the air, draping themselves over and pulling taut. Beneath them, unseen except by their bulk, I saw tissues appear to add withered meat onto ancient bones. With every step the undead appeared to be gaining in substance, more closely resembling the oddly preserved undead that had guarded its tomb. Its voice sounded exactly how I would have expected, like a death rattle turned into words.

"I AM SAKHENT THE IMMORTAL. I HAVE RETURNED." For a moment, all was still. Everything save for the skeleton—the lich—called Sakhent remained inactive, inert and staring. It was Aryqatan who broke this lull first.

"ABOMINATION!" her hatred alone might have made the room explode, but the power of her lungs did just fine regardless. I was knocked off my feet by the concussive force of her roar and felt the chamber shake again. By the time I had righted myself, the Demigod was already flying through the air. Back away from the lich.

She struck a wall, leapt back from it and disappeared from my vision once more before being swatted from the air by a great block of aether that, were it as dense as mine, would likely have weighed tons. I suspected by how Aryqatan flew that it was many times heavier still. She went clean through a wall this time. More explosions. There was no particular blasting spell in use here, it was simply a consequence of how much power was being thrown around.

My first thought was of Agrian; if he was still stunned, he may well die from the collateral damage here. I activated the Grandmaster's ring and stumbled my way through the structure, feeling stone shake underfoot and, more concerning, watching cracks spread along its surface like cobwebs. I dared not look up, needing even the fraction of a second I would waste doing that much. Either Sakhent and Aryqatan would keep one another occupied, or they would not.

Another shake sent me down to my knees, and I barely dodged a chunk of falling sandstone. This was not a good place to be.