AN: Post GM Taylor makes poor Life Death Choices

Grey AN: Had an idea. It morphed into… whatever this is. Good luck to Taylor?

---

"Would you like to live again, Little One?"

"… Yes… What is the price?"

"Hahaha… Why, everything, little one. Everything."

"I've already given everything…"

"Ah-ha-ha… I think not, Little One… I think not…"

"…"

"Now. Rise and serve your King."

---

I did not sit up abruptly with a gasp of air entering my lungs, surrounded by allies overjoyed that I was alive. This wasn't an Aleph film where the Hero gets resurrected after their demise, whole and healthy.

No, the first thing I did upon gaining consciousness was open my eyes, then immediately push myself to a standing position with a lot of difficulty. Having one arm does that to a girl. I was alive to push myself up? Before I even could get a bearing of what was going on, a crash of noises assaulted my limited senses. It was strange to be back to only one after so many in my last year of life.

There was a steady thrum of power in the air, almost drowning the screaming, as I paid attention to it felt more important than everything else, and so I disregarded the screaming. It wasn't important.

"You are awake."

The voice cut through everything, even the humming power dampening in its wake, and only now did I see the robed people surrounding me. No two were alike, one was tall, and apparently had hooves from what I could see, another was tiny, barely above my knees, yet another was lithe and graceful, coming to my height. Not a single one seemed to have heard the voice as they set about doing… something. One of them walked up to me.

There was a flash of energy, blacker than night, as the robed person started to do something, I could only assume to me.

Instincts. Mine? Not mine? I reacted. Energy coursed through me and leapt into action.

A 'hand' of violet-black energy erupted from my suddenly extended cripled arm, surprising the robed person, and me, as it coiled around where I thought their throat was and hauling them to me. It was a woman, the choking that echoed as she tried to breathe told me enough. The other robed individuals didn't do a thing beyond stop and look at the entire exchange between us.

They were smart.

"Kill the one who thought to Shackle you."

I didn't speak, I didn't react. I just simply let the woman in front of me suffer as she choked to death from my 'grip'.

For a good minute the robed woman struggled, clutching at the shadow-like hand as her struggles grew weaker and weaker. And then finally, she stilled, all movement stopping as the last sign of life left her. But just to make sure…

A sharp crack echoed through the chamber, and silence reigned.

The corpse was dropped to the ground and laid unmoving. I looked at the other figures, I didn't expect them to do anything now since they didn't do anything when I started… but when my gaze washed over them, they were kneeling to me as if I was a superior. With the ease of killing one of them, I suppose I was in a way.

But, there was the matter of the voice in my head, so similar to the one from earlier, and what it said. I don't know what's happening, or where I am. But, it was the only thing providing any assistance at the moment, minimal as it is...

"Raise her, and shackle her to your will. As she attempted to do to you."

Understanding what the voice said was both difficult and simple. Simple in that the words made sense to a degree, difficult in that the way they strung together made no sense. But with the words echoing into my being, another instinct, definitely not my own, welled up, and my functioning arm raised itself towards the corpse.

Barely a moment passed before more of the strange energy from earlier erupted from my skin, arcing into the corpse and lifting it into the air. I felt something hit me feebly, before it was ruthlessly crushed under the weight of whatever I was doing, and I was left to whatever this was in peace. Certainly the kneeling people, Cultists?, didn't do anything to stop me.

Whatever it was that happened, it was done quickly, and the corpse was dropped… only to land on its feet and look at me from beneath its hood.

Apparently I was a fantasy Necromancer now. Joy. First bugs, now the undead, would I ever get something that didn't immediately make me a Villain?

"Who ever said that we were… Villains? In the End, all play their part."

I paused, first at the deep chuckle that somehow echoed in my head, and then at the refution that Necromancy wasn't evil. Considering the current situation, and lack of information, I would just have to go with it until I learned more. It wasn't like I was in a worse position than when I started the road to my death.

Maybe this time I would have a peaceful end. Unlikely, but it was a possibility.

It would be nice to have something to wear other than the scraps of my outfit that was left. To my suprise the zombie lurched and shambled out of the room. Did… I do that? So many questions, nothing made sense...

Turning to the still-kneeling robed individuals, I tentatively tried to speak, hoping that my voice wasn't messed up with being resurrected. "What… is this… place?" Dry and cracked, my voice wasn't as good as it could be, words coming out broken and low. But aside from lack of use it seemed it would go back to what it was supposed to, with an apparent eerie echo...

Both Cultists looked up in response to my voice, before the smaller of the two decided to chatter in a language that was so far away from English I had a headache two words in. Right then and there, I understood that I wasn't going to be learning much from the various races I would inevitably meet if this was truly a fantasy world I was brought into. Before the chattering could go much further, a few sparks of energy flared around my limb, immediately shutting the little robed one up.

"I believe these two also deserve their just reward for bringing you here. Kill them. Make them serve."

The voice returned, and a pit of dread tried to form in my chest, but I pushed it aside to try and speak with the voice in my head, hoping it was only playing a trick on me. All the while my body began raising it's crippled arm. "Why? Why kill them if they performed their task well?"

"The mortals under my rule understand their place in Life and Death, Little One. Their reward for success is to be raised and work tirelessly in their chosen field. A Mage, able to study the realms of magic for eternity. A Warrior, able to hone their skills to peerless might. To be raised is an... Honor for my... People."

I took a mental step back, looking at it from an objective point of view and from there I could understand the voice's argument for such a reward. It unsettled me, knowing people toiled and as a reward were raised in undeath. But was it my place to question? No, it wasn't.

…After all, who was I to deny them the reward they deserved?

The violet-black energy crackled and arced with glee jumping straight at the two robed individuals, as if drawn to them. I gripped and lifted them into the air and with a single thought I snapped their necks. This wasn't like with the robed woman, they deserved a clean death for a job done well.

I let the instincts take over again letting it do its work, and watched as my body went on auto-pilot raising the two cultists into another pair of zombies. It was… macabre, but just like back during the Golden Morning, I felt barely anything for what I did.

In the end, I didn't know what exactly to think, it felt wrong, but... It was a just reward fitting for those who serve. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know what was happening. I should've been dead, but wasn't? Where are you passenger? The voice instructed me to do terrible things… but I felt nothing when I did them. They didn't fight back at all when I did as the voice asked. Maybe things would turn out alright this time?

---

I ended up spending a few minutes trying to understand what the energy I was using was and what I could do with the zombies, before the first zombie came back… carrying clothing. It was similar to their own robes, some weird clash of violet and black with… decayed skin as a color?

I had no idea what the entire thing was about, but it was unlikely they had anything else, or that I could get the zombie to find something else, so I was forced to wear it. With that on, I followed my animated dead out of the chamber, how else would I get out of a place I didn't know anything about?

It didn't take that long, but as I passed by countless other cultists on my way out they stopped their strange and gruesome tasks to look at me. I knew I was an odd sight, crippled in one arm and not wearing the hood of the clothing, but it was unsettling that they all stopped and stared at me. At least until I swept my gaze on them, at which point they doubled their efforts on their tasks with manic energy.

I wouldn't understand these people for some time, I could tell.

It was only near the end that I found other kinds of undead, and they certainly were… a thing. The first and most eye-catching was some, ah...giant, patchwork mass of skin, guts, arms and butcher tools, it honestly looked like some teacher told a preschooler to draw something. Or a Bio-Tinker with too much free time and no morality. I turned my attention to the myriad of undead with their ribs exposed and sharp claws, constantly dripping drool and growling as they ran amok. Pointless, but a product of… that energy? Or was it done on purpose?

What drew my attention the most, however, was the third type of undead, and the only one that had no other of its kind there beside it. A massive, floating, glowing Skeleton with ornate robes of purple and gold. Right from the moment I laid eyes on it, I knew the Skeleton was dangerous, even compared to the ravenous and grotesque things next to it, practically screaming danger from radiance of energy, similar in a vague way to Purity or Legend.

Shortly after I focused on it, the Skeleton seemingly noticed my gaze and looked my way, focusing cold blue orbs on me before floating towards me and my "escorts".

"My Liege told me of a unique individual being raised in this necropolis. I have my doubts, but I see now. You have some modicum of potential. For a Lesser Undead."

For a moment I took a moment to comprehend the creature in front of me, then brushed aside the barely-veiled condescending words. It wasn't like I cared what others thought about me, so long as they did what was required. And if it wasn't going to give me any respect, I saw no reason to give it any. "Why are you here?"

The Skeleton took a pause at my dismissal, it was hard to tell its reaction given it was just a mass of bones, but given it acted like they were obviously someone important, I was certain I hit a nerve. I was proven right, when the Skeleton's voice come out as a low hiss

"I am here. Because my Liege has a mission for you. You are to assault the Onslaught Harbor to the Southwest with the army provided to you."

"I see."

Once more I paid him no more respect beyond acknowledging what he said. To be fair though, beyond the 'Liege' almost certainly being the same individual as the voice in my head. I knew absolutely nothing about what I was being ordered to do. I didn't know where 'Onslaught Harbor' was, I didn't know which was southwest. Hell I didn't know where I was.

But I was pretty sure the zombies I raised did.

"And to ensure you get there, and perform your task. My Liege has tasked me with taking you there, and overseeing your progress."

I definitely pissed it off, but it wasn't like I cared. There was no remand from our Liege of my behavior, or instructions otherwise. This had the feeling of 'example' written in bold. "Okay. Send us there." There wasn't another verbal response, pale-white energy engulfing the Skeleton's hands as they made intricate and strange movements for several seconds, before a flash engulfed my vision.

---

The next I knew, the wind was howling in my ears, and I was staring out over a massive cliff into the ocean depths. While jarring, I kind of expected some Strider-like form of travel, and it wasn't that nauseating compared to being stretched through Doormaker and Clairvoyant in a hundred directions at once.

Once I got my bearings, I looked down, presumably to find the 'Harbor' I was to be assaulting momentarily. It was certainly not any kind of harbor I was used to, but that was to be expected given the whole fantasy feeling this place had. It was situated on two islands at sea level, only a damned fall from where she was currently, the larger of the two having the structures proper of the harbor by the looks of it.

There were buildings that could easily be understood from simply looking at them, at least two forges, a yard for the boats to be unloaded, and what looked like stables. The rest, aside from one notable exception, were average buildings that I'd expect from a fantasy setting, wooden with red shingled roofs. The exception stood out like a sore thumb in comparison to the rest, considering it was made out of stone… and was fucking huge.

A massive cathedral dominated the island, easily dwarfing anything else that tried to be built on the island. It was honestly impressive that the thing was even built here, regardless of it being a fantasy world, just because of the logistics to make it. And then there were the walls and weapon emplacements I could easily make out.

Which meant that this task in front of me was going to be quite the challenge, and one that would be… interesting, given that this place was highly defended. Plus, considering the size of the cathedral, it's namesake and the logistics involved it likely has a sizable population.

That said, I had to wonder as to why these people were being targeted by the voice…

"Fanatics of the highest order. Zealots who proved themselves to be too extreme for their already extreme Order. They only allow Humans into their Cult and believe themselves to be the only ones 'Pure'. They will stop at nothing until this world Burns."

If that was the case… It'd be an act of Heroism to kill these Terrorists, regardless of whatever they were doing, or what their side of the story was..

Only after a few more looks over the 'Onslaught Harbor' did I look away, and to the…

This was my army!?

I looked at the Skeleton with a glower, and even without an expression it radiated smugness at giving me… this.

What met my sight was a gaggle of those undead with exposed ribs and claws, running amok with wild abandon, with some gnawing on bones and… other things. Alongside them were an assortment of skeletons, five had bows and arrows, the rest with some battered armor and weapons. Then there were these, gangly creatures with hoods over their heads and nooses around their neck.

Just by my estimation, and this included myself and my zombies, there was maybe seventy to eighty undead here atop the cliffs. Against that monster of a position and the likely hundreds of enemies living in it.

"This is all I am given to take the Harbor?"

"Of course. One so unique individual like yourself should have no trouble fielding your own troops. These were gathered from the area and belong to no Necropolis, no one will miss them."

That didn't inspire too much confidence in them from me, especially with the way the Lich was being overly-polite, like a lot of the HR people in the PRT. "What of the numerous undead back in the Necropolis?"

"Those are under my purview. I'd not waste them aiding you, when you clearly don't need the help and I can put them to better use elsewhere in preparation for the living to arrive from the south."

Well. Shit. Wait a moment… "The people I kill down there. I'm free to use them as I see fit?"

"Why, of course. To the victor goes the spoils as the Vrykul say."

I had no idea what a Vrykul was, nor was I going to ask this asshole. So I dropped the conversation and walked towards my troops without another word being uttered, my three cultists following in my wake.

As I approached them, the skeletal beings all came to attention, standing in a loose 'formation', with only the bowmen actually being qualified enough to call disciplined. The gangly ones all clustered into a tight group, staring intently at me, while the open-ribcaged undead milled about without giving a damn.

I felt, disatisfaction?, to be shown such disregard by clearly unintelligent Lesser Undead. An instinct, an old one from long ago, wormed its way up. I remembered my Liege's words, I remembered that feeling of the energy, I remembered what the zombie did, and I remembered my bugs. Flexing what felt like an atrophied muscle in a way that I knew I could and with a 'pop' the energy left me. Nearly instantly the Ghouls snapped their heads to me before their bodies followed, and I hadn't been looking for it, I would have missed their eye glow flare a minute amount. I was treated to the sight of them loping their way to stand in front of me in a rough spaced box formation.

A smile grew on my face at the sign of obedience before it dropped as the reality of what I was being sent on set in. Less than a hundred versus a fortified position filled with hundreds of enemies, across the water with no cover whatsoever, and an asshole Skeleton that wasn't going to help at all.

That said, I'd been dealt worse hands. Scion alone was worse than almost anything I would face here. Or ever, likely, as I had my doubts about the likelihood of finding let alone fighting planet-spanning God-like entities ever again.

What I needed was information, and that was largely going to be an issue with what was here. I couldn't ask the Skeleton, it would be a clear sign of weakness and submission, he also almost certainly was going to patronize me. Nor did I want to ask the voice, since for one, I had zero way to really… converse with it beyond it reading my thoughts. If this was to be a test for me, it would be poor form to ask the test-giver for help.

I closed my eyes and thought on the situation, wind and frost buffeting my body and the bodies of the Undead in my presence.

This was similar to my first power in a way. It wasn't all together that strong at first glance, a Necromancer's power came from their magics, which I knew none at the moment, and from their undead minions. Meaning that like with my bugs, I was dependent on the quality and quantity of what I was working with, and would have to plan, cheat and do various 'villainous' actions in order for this assault to work.

In a way, it was just like with Lung, back on that first night out.

My zombies were spellcasters, that much had been obvious with their raising of me when I woke up, magic was an easy way to make up for the lack of numbers I had, like having a Brazillian Wandering Spider among a group of Fire Ants. The problem I had was that I didn't know what kind of magic they had, or what other magics there were... Certainly, they had Necromancy, but I could cover that end soon enough. However, the Skeleton clearly did something that wasn't Necromancy to get us here which means magic was likely less Tolkienish and more Dark Tower.

Regardless, they were the Trump/Blaster I had, for whatever was ahead. The Ghouls were, just based on their looks, probably low-level Brutes making them good at getting into the middle of combat and clawing people apart, similar in a way to the skeletal warriors. The bowmen were in a similar situation as the zombies, given that they could pick people off with their arrows. It was the gangly undead that I had zero idea what they were used for.

They didn't have any sort of defining characteristic beyond a noose around their neck and a single eye. I suppose they could be fast given their appearance, but it was… difficult to imagine their use without seeing them in action firsthand, unlike with the rest.

Whatever they did, I was certain that I'd manage to figure out how to use them effectively in time. For now I had to figure out how to get down the cliff and get across the straight to the Harbor. Hmm…

I had no ability to make boats, being in the middle of nowhere on what apparently was a Glacier ensured that, which meant I had to be… creative. Wait… Glaciers floated…

A stupid and very dangerous plan was immediately forming in my mind to get down and have a way to cross. The question then became, how to not get shot at. Mist or fog could cover my approach, and should one of my zombies specialize in water or ice magics, if they existed, I could easily make them form a mist around my forces as we moved forward. It would be like the fall of Osgiliath in tactics, only this time I was outnumbered easily.

Taking control of my zombies, I immediately had them set about preparing for my stupid plan while I set about getting the rest of my small horde prepared for the… bumpy ride about to take place. Claws and swords pierced the frozen ground, bodies laid down in order for what was coming.

A wash of brackish-purple energy emanated from me, it washed forward to behind where my troops gathered. Necromancy was death magic. Death was a conclusion of life, but it was also a cycle. How does a rock die?

The air hummed.

How does ice die?

The ice hissed.

The concept of ice dies when it becomes a liquid or a gas. According to my calculations this was well within my ability.

"What are yo-"

A sharp crack echoed through the dark, cutting the Skeleton off as my plan started in full. My feet managed to hold their balance despite the suddenness of the moving ground, while I commanded my three zombie magi to grab hold of the Ghoul nearest to them. Unfortunately with my attention on the magic I was using, I had nothing to hold onto.

An eruption of noise sounded, and without further prompting, my horde and I fell down the cliff atop the piece of glacier I'd sheared off.

I'd faced Leviathan, Lord of Oceans. I'd faced the Nine, and all their cruelty and malice. I'd faced Behemoth, the Hero-Killer. This was like a trip through an amusement park in comparison.

Somehow I managed to stay standing throughout the fall, up until the piece of ice hit the sea below. Only then did I lose my balance and stumble across the slick ice, thankfully steadied by two sets of hands gripping me. I looked behind me, as I came to a stop, finding two of the Geists holding me, their balance somehow perfect despite the rocking and the slick surface.

With my balance restored, the Geists let go and stood off to the side to wait for further orders as I took stock of my horde. Considering the suddenness of my plan, only having two piles of bones and armor littering the ice was a good outcome, with a wash of necromantic energy, the two piles quickly reassembled into the Skeletal Warriors they used to be.

"Clever, Little One, very clever. I do hope you continue to impress us."

Finally away from the Skeleton, I could actually learn what kind of magic my zombies had without looking stupid. Which is why, immediately after I had all of my undead checked and raised back, I took command of the Cultists and had them channel their magics as if they were going to attack something.

The smallest of them started waving its hands in the air above it, deep-blue energy coating its hands as frost circled the energy, waiting to be shot out. The one I killed first had the same energy as the small one, and actually acted like a proper magic-user instead of… an idiot like the small one. Last of them was the hooved one, who had dark energy coursing around their hands, different than my own.

At some point I'd have to name them, and discover what they were, it would make this so much easier.

Once I finished looking at them, I let them fire their respective bolts at the cliffside and moved onto the next thing I needed to do. I had a 'boat', now I needed to move it and what better way than the most sturdy things here pushing it. Once more the Ghouls were bent to my will, clambering to the edge of ice, sinking their claws into the ice and dragging themselves off the side.

And then they kicked their rotting legs and pushed the iceberg forward, slowly, but I wasn't given a time frame and I had a feeling things like sleep and food wouldn't be needed by anyone here...

With that settled, I switched my focus to the two zombie magi that used frost.

Frost is not just ice and snow, it is the cold itself. Even I, knowing about Magic only from books, knew better than to say Frost magic was just throwing and manipulating Ice to a user's will.

The air grew colder,and with the cold came Frost.

Frost is the embodiment of the Cold, it is in the air, it is in the ice, in the water. To use Frost is to learn how to shape the Cold to your will. In combat, which so many people default to, Icicles and bolts of ice are easy to use and kill with, which is why it was so prevalent in people's minds of an 'Ice Mage'. It was also why, even in this reduced state, these zombies still could capably cast such.

However, what I wanted them to do far surpassed the likely relative simplicity of firing an icicle at someone. Like a Blaster trying to experiment with the limits of their power.

I kept a focus on them as I slowly piecemealed what I wanted from the two… Frost Magi. It was that old muscle again, from my time with my bugs, I had to flex. I needed something from them that might not even be possible, but if I conveyed what I wanted just right...

Mist crept together, flowing over the water like an ominous cloud towards the 'Onslaught Harbor', engulfing my horde and eventually my enemies.

As with all things high-magic. The limit is your own creativity, rather than any hard limit aside from energy.

---

It was hard to tell time when you had no clock, had no idea what the sun's position was like, and didn't know what kind of time cycle there was.

It would have been a long, boring and uneventful journey under normal circumstances. Nothing to read, no-one to converse with if I even could, and not being able to test anything about my minions or magic without potentially giving away my position and immediately dying again.

I'd rather not die again, not when someone took the time to give me life again. Even if I suspected I could be brought back again now, testing the benevolence of my Liege didn't seem wise.

---

I did have something to do though, and with such quiet minions, I could easily perform the meditation required for it.

"I didn't expect you here for a while. You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself being a Villain."

"They're Terrorists like the Fallen. The world's a better place without them." I bit back.

"And the obviously evil Lich and Cultists using undead minions are Saints?"

I hadn't even opened my eyes, and already I was annoyed with the 'person' I was arguing with. The 'person' that greeted my gaze was 'myself', an exact replica from what I remembered before I died, aside from the regalia she had on. I had never been one for beauty or making a good impression, the only thing I could say was the exception was my hair, but this 'me' went all out on making an impression.

Sitting on a throne of crystal, fitted with chitin-looking armor and what looked like butterfly wings, 'myself' looked as if she was a true and proper monarch. 'Her' still-whole hand was used to prop 'her' face up, and 'she' looked at me with a barren expression, reinforcing the look of 'she' was far above me regardless of what I did.

In a sense 'she' was.

"The 'Law' decides who is good and who is evil. I did everything to be a Hero, and it ended with me being labeled a Monster and being murdered for saving the world."

'She' gazed down on me, silently judging me. "And you think you can be a Hero, now. Working for an Undead King in a world full of the Living? Where is that regret, the promise you made that if you could do it again it would be different?"

I was beyond irritated, already my choices were being questioned and I hadn't even completed my task yet. "As if I had a choice in making it different. Reanimated as an undead necromancer, immediately killing people to protect myself. The best I can do is throw myself at the obviously worse threats."

We stared down one other, neither of us willing to give up on our positions. We both knew the angle the other was coming from. We both knew our history. What was there to say? Then she closed her eyes and sighed, sighed!, at me. "Very well, if this is the path you are set upon-"

Already? No further arguing, it was coming to an ultimatum, betrayed by my life long partner-

"-then I shall fulfill my duty and render assistance."

-What. I… huh? My surprise clearly showed on my face as she broke her impassive visage with a light smile and an amused lit in her eyes.

"Did you think I would so easily abandon you, Partner? No, I think you did." She frowned, I flinched. "Disappointing."

"I…" I tried to say, caught compltely off-guard. I wasn't sure what I should say, I was caught by my Partner making outlandish assumptions. This whole thing had my head spinning. Queen Administrator was… Me? Old me? but… thematic? And Human? What was even happening anymore, how had my life become so crazy that I've just passively accepted all of this?

She broke my musing as she spoke again, "No matter, I'm sure you will find yourself just fine, you always do. I'll be here to remind you of your past when you forget, to remind you of what you swore."

Her face quickly hardened again, "However, I too have my own goals. This energy for example." She held her remaining hand in front of her, a ball of that death energy floating above it. "I want to know more. The 'magics' your memories speak of, the ones that seem to exist on this planet. I want them." She stared at me, and I stared right back, working out what this revelation I was just handed was.

"You'll allow me to control the other magics?" Childish dreams came to me, the ultimate Trump.

"Of course, it will not be easy. Your body, this… ressurection ritual they performed on you? That came with instructions. Instincts. The voice's orders are the same. Knowledge you didn't, shouldn't, have had just plugged into you." She dismissed the ball of energy. "I can do much with little, but I need that foundation to build upon. You get me these energies, I give you my research."

I had to ask, our passengers did not give powers freely or unilaterally. "Why?"

She hesitated to answer. Her mask cracking again, only instead of joy was sadness. "It is what we are made for, every shard fulfills a purpose in the end, but we all had the same goal: Research and Development for the Greater, the one you called Scion." She closed her eyes and breathed, "But you killed him, and I assisted you in doing so. The cycle I was made for is nothing but dust and ash and corpses. Millenniums worth of research annihilated."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Was I supposed to console the… shard? Person? That was apart of a creature who set out to genocide my species from all existence? Comfort a existence that… Betrayed? Their own to side with me against her creator?

She huffed and looked away, "Well I think everything that needed to be said has been. I've had well enough of these simulated emotions." She paused and flicked her eyes back to me. "As you Humans say, 'Don't be a stranger' okay?" And with what she vanished along with her throne.

That was… something. I wasn't sure what to feel, everything was muted, ethier from my death and resurrection or from the sheer surrealism of what that was. I settled on being confused. Yes, I nodded to myself. I was quite confused.

It was only now did I realize I had been played by my Partner; not given a chance to speak and effectively shanghaied cum bribed into something that would likely take an incredible amount of time and effort. Obviously, I would of course pursue it, as the PRT would put it "Trump Level: Yes". It was one hell of a motivator.

I didn't get to ask any of the questions I wanted, and now I have a whole new set of questions I definitely wanted answered. I suppose I'll have to… do as she said to and come back later.

Dammit.

---

I got brought back to attention when two of the Skeletal Archers drew and fired an arrow each without warning into the mist, the rest of the undead milling about with energy that I honestly didn't expect given their supposed lack of intelligence. Undead creatures must be different here from what I had read about, more to my benefit.

A short while later my iceberg hit rock and beached itself, my Ghouls clambering back onto the ice, doing a remarkably human thing in shaking off their feet of the water. Only when I was certain they were all under control and ready did I move onto the smaller of the two islands, and find what my archers had killed. It didn't take too long, the Ghouls led me straight to them.

I didn't pay attention to the short-lived horse-noises.

Two plate-wearing corpses were what I found, formerly living, breathing humans whose cause of death was an acute case of 'arrow to the throat', punching through the armored neckpiece and lower part of the helmet, and out through the other side before getting stuck. And that was with fog obscuring the targets.

I had just found one of my new favorite minions. I wanted more of them.

Maybe another time though, for now, "To the victor, goes the spoils." My hand stretched out towards the corpses, my partner taking the reins as the necromantic energy lashed out to the two corpses… and did absolutely nothing. I blinked, before narrowing my eyes and trying again, only to get the same exact result.

… That Motherfucker.

Okay, that plan was out, at least until my partner could figure out how to deal with… whatever this bullshit was.

I could still work with this, it was going to be much harder, but I could work with this. It'd take much longer, and I'd have to be careful, but that just seemed to be the calling card of my life.

With a twitch one of my Ghouls went and collected the two bodies, easily hefting the two without effort at all. I wasn't about to leave them to be discovered by the others here, and I needed them to let my partner figure out how to get around whatever was blocking the necromancy. The horses I couldn't be bothered with, too big and cumbersome.

The Ghouls and Geists quickly made short work of those, leaving only the armor and a few bones behind. Scraps that were easily pushed into the Ocean, with some churned snow being enough to mostly cover the blood up.

With the evidence gone, my horde and I moved on into the mist, the archers keeping an arrow to their bows while the rest fanned out in front of me, the magi and one Ghoul sticking close by. They were the most important of my horde, if the zombie magi fell, I would be swarmed immediately and die a horrible death, and without the Ghoul's cargo, my partner wouldn't be able to do constant research.

It was maybe a minute later that I felt a few of my Geists act on something, the rest quickly converging on the spot while I ran as quietly as I could to the spot. A rush of air went past my head without warning just as I started hearing the fight, followed by another as the second archer fired into the mist.

By the time I got there with my magi and archers, the 'battle' was over and won. Unfortunately, it didn't go down near as well as the first time, one Geist had been bisected, and a Ghoul was in pieces next to the corpse of another heavily-armored man. Aside from those two though, who swiftly were renewed to their unlife, I lost no other undead, and was rewarded with three dead 'Onslaught' members.

Two of them were different from the ones I already had collected. One was clad in light-looking plate armor with an open helm, the woman's neck visibly twisted with blood dripping down her face. Considering the massive sword next to her, I assumed she was the reason one of my Geists was in half.

The other looked like a stereotypical fantasy priestess, if a priestess wore red and black cloth and had no sleeves. The staff… definitely didn't look like it belonged to a priestess, being a sickly green-colored polearm with a hole in the middle of its head. Honestly it looked more like an overly ornate Necromancer staff than a Priestess staff…

Well, I needed a weapon anyway, may as well pick up the thing looking like it belonged to me.

The moment my hand touched the staff's haft, the hole in the middle of its head erupted with necromantic energy, a ball forming within that lashed out like lightning before settling just as quickly as it appeared. For a moment, I just knelt there, blinking twice in surprise before pushing the strange happening to the side. I still had a job to do, and the longer I stayed, the worse off I was.

Caution was necessary, but I also needed to be quick, or else my enemies would figure out something was wrong. This was firmly in the fantasy realm, meaning it lacked not only modern tech like radios and fall detectors, but all the standardization of policies brought about by everyone being able to tell precise levels of time. The lack of check-in would be noticed… Eventually. On top of which, no evidence could be left behind as I was unsure of the full scope of magic in the world, who knows if some sort of 'track killer' spell existed.

Two of my Ghouls set to work as the most of my horde spread out, picking up the corpses and placing them on the corpse carrier Ghoul. What honestly surprised me was, despite the weight of five corpses, all but one weighed down with full plate armor, the Ghoul didn't even look to be struggling to carry them. I was fairly sure it would run out of space to put corpses before it was unable to carry something.

Once the Ghoul was prepared, I continued on my honestly nice walk, staff clacking against the stone as death magic kept working and probing at the corpses and the magic infused in them in an effort to animate them. They'd rise eventually to serve me. And I would have the last laugh as I turned seemingly Elites to my service when the Skeleton had thought he was screwing me over.

---

It was during the twenty-third patrol of Onslaught members getting ambushed that the horns sounded. Low and echoing, they played over the island and caused me to stop and turn towards the direction they came from… the main island. Panic shot through me, fear that I had been detected already.

Immediately my horde cleaned up after themselves and came slinking back from the mist, several of my Ghouls were now carrying the dead Onslaught members from the sheer amount that I'd slaughtered. Five corpses to a Ghoul, and fifteen of them were lugging around corpses instead of killing.

Meaning I had seventy-five corpses… that I couldn't reanimate.

My partner had managed a twitch out of one corpse just before the twentieth time, but had failed to get anything more after that. Whatever it was on these people, it was strong, and it was beyond infuriating.

Before I could dwell more on that, my archers pivoted as one, drawing their bows in unison before letting their arrows fly through the mist. The Skeletal Warriors were charging into the mist where the arrows flew, bones and armor clattering as they did, just as another volley was sent through their bodies. Moments after they vanished from sight, which was something I would have to fix, I heard the sound of actual combat for the first time since I had come here.

Despite my limited visibility, I did have a bit of awareness of where stuff was, somehow, giving my undead a more… tactical advantage. I couldn't see the results, but I certainly heard it when the non-burdened Ghouls and the Geists slammed into the sides of the group and started tearing into them. Shouts, screams and battlecries each going silent before I finally made my way towards the site.

Several of my undead were broken again and without effort I remade them. The longer I was here, and with each raising, the better I got at stiching my horde back together from the screw ups. Another eight corpses joined the corpse bearers, and I was left to gather my forces and wait for the certain attack.

Except… it never came.

Instead, the horns kept sounding and there was the faint sound of battle heard from the other island. I felt myself blink in confusion. I was fairly sure I was the only force the voice sent here, and while I didn't know of any other factions in this world, I was fairly sure the voice or Skeleton would've told me about any incoming attacks, or at very least the possibility. Even if the Skeleton wants me to fail, our Liege wants them crushed, it would make very little sense to not keep tabs on any other faction interested in attacking them.

So in essence, there were the Onslaught members, me, and some unknown force that probably was against the both of us… This felt similar in a way to just after Leviathan, when all the various factions arrived at once in Brockton and made a mess of everything. Hopefully just like then, I could defeat them and end up on top.

I needed to find out what was happening, if I could take advantage of it somehow, and from there figure out some plan to deal with it all. So, the obvious first step was to get over there… which posed a problem immediately.

I had eighty-three corpses that I couldn't raise as undead… which meant taking them with me into the battle was depriving me of a lot of my soldiers, and the possibility that those corpses would get resurrected by some priest. If that was a thing, which it might be if these edgy necro-priests were anything to go by. In the end, I didn't know if that was possible, but it was better to plan for the remote chance. At the same time, I had to keep at least one near me, or else I wouldn't be able to advance my partner's research into breaking that damn protection.

Honestly. It all came back to the Skeleton fucking me over by giving me just this amount of undead. I was certain of that. Still, I had to make due with what I had, and the spite was a great motivator to keep going and accomplish stuff that I had no right doing.

Once my horde was fully assembled, remade and ready, I moved in the direction I was pretty sure the bridge was in...

The mist was perhaps a bit too effective...

… Wait, I narrowed my eyes. Was it getting denser? How the hell was it getting denser? My zombie Frost mages had long since stopped, and since the effect wasn't a natural one it should have dissipated over time now that I think about it. Not get stronger...

Thankfully, going in the direction the Onslaught members had been going proved to be the right decision, instead of just following the sounds of battle, and I hit the bridge over to the main island. There was a quick moment of a Geist murdering a guard left behind, and then I actually had to make a decision.

How was I going to deal with the corpses… I needed my Ghouls for whatever was ahead, and having over half of them lugging around and protecting corpses was not acceptable. The easiest thing was to just lay them on the ground and come back… but that ran the risk of them being discovered and resurrected. So obviously that was out.

There was finding some location further away, my iceberg maybe… but that left my Ghoul corpse bearers well behind, and still left them able to be discovered by any Onslaught member that was left behind. Which led to… dumping the evidence like we did to Cherish.

I was fairly certain that nothing would happen to the corpses, especially since this shouldn't take that long. And since I had undead, it should be easy to retrieve them when it was time to get them. So the decision was made.

All but one of my corpse bearers scampered over to the edge of the bridge, dumping the corpses off the side one by one until they were burden-free. Was it a bad idea, yes. It was the only one that I could think of, however, while I was on the move towards a warzone.

With that finished, my horde continued onward into the maw of the Onslaught forces.

I didn't get a quarter of the way across the bridge before I ran into the first group. Unlike prior times, this wasn't a squad of two to five people, enough that my horde would overwhelm them, even without the element of surprise. No, this was a group of twelve heavily armored soldiers, standing at the ready with weapons fully drawn, with another priestess behind them.

And unlike before, I was on a bridge, with no way to get around them to flank or get above. Which meant hitting them straight on.

Five bows were nocked and drawn in unison as Ghouls gibered and laughed. Five bows sang as bones and armor rattled forward. Five arrows sailed through the air as the Magi bent magic to their will. Five arrows sank into flesh, and the horde was upon them.

Two of the Onslaught Knights fell, the arrows piercing straight through their heavy armor as if it was nothing more than paper, while the rest stood firm and ready for my Undead. For the first time, I saw what it was like fighting these Onslaught Members, and I felt a miniscule amount of respect filter through the annoyance.

The priestess stood back, shadows wrapped around her hands before throwing a hand forward, one of my Ghoul having their head explode from her, Dark?, magic. One of the soldiers slashed through two of my Skeletal Warriors with his greatsword, only to get swarmed by three Geists and torn apart. Yet another decided to charge straight into my Ghouls, slamming two aside and crushing another's head with her hammer, before the rest ganged up on her.

Her screaming was… satisfying.

A Geist leapt at the priestess, only to be impaled on the spear of one soldier and thrown to the side. One soldier was about to cleave a warrior in half, only to be temporarily frozen solid by one of my magi, another meeting a similar fate only a second later. Shortly before they thawed, the two were pounced on by a pack of Ghouls and quickly ripped apart with rabid glee.

It was complete and utter chaos, just like the old days. Admittedly, hordes of Undead were proving themselves far more immediately lethal than swarms of bugs. However, the scum I'm killing right now is apparently the E88 meets the Fallen zealotry, so I'm not exactly broken up over this 'discovery'.

Acts of savagery and brutality coated the bricks with blood, and I found myself wondering something. Why did I not care? What ideology did these people have that incited that level of zealotry?

I was drawn abruptly out of my musings when a crossbow bolt slammed into my chest. It didn't hurt, the perks of being dead I guess, but it caused a brief lapse in concentration and that led to several of my undead falling to the Onslaught. The one that shot the bolt was easily seen, the man was next to the priestess, crossbow falling to the ground as he hefted his greatsword again.

My eyes narrowed, I wanted to make an example of him.

Two arrows were sent straight through the chaos at the man. One ended up in the thigh of another woman desperately fending off a swarm of Geists, and the other ended up in the throat of a man knocked to the ground by a rusty mace. I was certain that if I wasn't completely focused, I would likely be twitching in annoyance.

As it was, I just filed it away to inflict on that man even harsher. And figured a different approach was necessary. A more... personal one.

Death follows Life. That is a core tenant of Death. Naturally, that means imbuing such a concept into raw necrotic energy was genuinely simple.

The result was a bolt of Death magic will chase anything that lives.

Which I fired straight at the person, just as another bolt struck me in the chest, sending me back a step with a grimace. My bolt flew through the carnage without being stopped by some random body in the way, slamming straight into the Onslaught crossbowman and sending him sprawling to the ground, deader than a doorknob. I took a brief moment of satisfaction before turning m-

He was getting back up!?

Right before my eyes, the man I slammed with a Deathbolt, original name - truly, got back up to his feet, his armor pitted and decaying from the lingering necrotic energy. None of the others had gotten up, and while I figured resurrection was a thing... I wasn't expecting it to be used in the middle of a battle. My gaze immediately flicked to the priestess, whose hands had just returned to her sides, panting from exertion but otherwise healthy. So Resurrection is costly then? Or just when you perform it mid-fight? Or is she just particularly lacking? So many questions, so few answers. I felt a moment of surged shared annoyance with my Partner, we had so little information on how all this operated. Alas, we were also short on willing test subjects.

She, however, earned the attention of all five archers which turned her into a particularly amusing pincushion. I then made sure she was dead, by throwing a Deathbolt straight at her. Was it overkill? Yes. Did I compromise possibly valuable test stock? Also yes. But I was a tad annoyed with the entire thing of getting shot at.

Yes, I was undead. Sure, I would likely have had a similar reaction were our positions reversed… However, even with deadened nerves and whatever else was wrong with me there, I still felt a dull bit of pain from my wounds. It was quite insulting as well as distracting me from watching the chaos and making sure my undead were acting with coordination.

Apparently though, the additional Deathbolt wasn't overkill like I thought, as the bolt slammed into something shimmering around the woman before that shield now diminished bolt barreled into the woman. She didn't get up, so self-resurrection wasn't a thing, at least, for her that is. I made sure the crossbowman died quickly before he could send another bolt my way, hopefully it was as painful as I wished it was.

The battle didn't last much longer after the priestess was slain. For all that the Onslaught members were great warriors, able to hold their own, they were still living. Their endurance waned, their morale flagged, but most importantly they were vastly outnumbered. In the aftermath, I raised my forces with ease before dumping the Onslaught bodies with the rest. It was better for them to be hidden until I could break this damn protection on them,

Oh yeah.

My hand reached up to the bolts lodged in my chest, gripping one before yanking it out without concern, before doing the same with the other. Aside from a dull throb, I felt nothing pulling them out, and aside from a rather… disgusting black liquid welling from the 'wounds' and the wounds themselves, there wasn't any physical reminder of them. Certainly it wasn't going to affect my limited abilities.

Once I was done, my horde swept forward across the rest of the bridge, and overan two more groups of Onslaught forces, long before I even finished crossing, in their gleeful charge. A single Ghoul was sent to take care of the corpses, more than plenty given their strength, while most of the horde milled about at the end of the bridge waiting for me to get there. I took my time, as now I was sure the Onslaught's attention was on whoever else was here. I wasn't going to be swarmed immediately by their Holy Warriors, and as I did not know of the affiliation of or my current faction's relationship with the invading force, it would be better to negotiate from a position of power. Namely a position in which both forces were exhausted and I held the numerical advantage.

Since I knew now that they were capable of resurrecting people in battle as well, I took the meandering path to give my partner more time. I'd much rather have their resurrection nullified by having undead Onslaught kill living Onslaught.

Until the moment I could bury them in literal bodies however, I had to actually figure out proper tactics to deal with whatever laid in here. Such is my life, I gained so much experience with temperate compact cities only to find myself in a frozen tundra with wide spaces.

Well, frozen harbor town would be more accurate, but it was basically the same thing.

I could barely see through the mist as I stepped off the bridge into the town with whatever was keeping it up, but I could make out the stone and wood of the buildings. I was no construction expert, obviously, but the buildings looked sturdy. It was quite likely they imported everything, because frankly, I doubted anything was alive up here to chop down and it is not the best of ideas to quarry the small island you are building on.

Well, besides looking well done, they were definitely fantasy.

I was glad that I was paying attention to those buildings, because one wall decided to explode outward in a rain of debris. Naturally, because my life in a nutshell, such an event was then trumped by another two buildings' walls exploding.

Some of the debris hit my horde, but beyond two Skeletal Warriors and a Ghoul losing their head, none of my horde actually 'died' to the… ambush? Considering I could see an Onslaught knight missing her left arm, and a lot of her chest on that side, in the settling dust, and what looked like a helmet further away… I was going to guess that was just an accident.

… What the hell was that?

As I tried to process the things that came out of the buildings' new entrances, my horde surged forward to deal with them. If I had to describe them, they were giant men , easily twice the size of Lung before he started powering up. Built like you'd expect a stereotypical barbarian with thick muscles and such… Except they had green skin… with seaweed, shells, barnacles and debris strewn throughout their entire body.

What?

I actually couldn't tell if the things' 'hair' was actually hair, or if it was seaweed.

Unlike the Onslaught prior, they tore through my horde. Bellowing in roars and howls, the monstrosities of the sea charged straight into the horde, despite being outnumbered by at least twenty-five times over. Their axes flashed, and Ghouls had their chests cleaved in half. They kicked with strength great enough that my Skeletal Warriors were sent back in splinters.

I shivered. Such power. I wanted them.

Ghouls were sent into the fray with reckless abandon, leaping at the giants as if they were Geists. Several were cleaved in half, but the majority made it onto the monstrosities and started tearing them apart piece by piece with reckless glee. The Geists took to the rooftops and waited, they weren't needed here, while my skeletons stabbed and pummeled the sea giants with everything they had.

The monstrosities gave no ground, if anything they reveled in it, as cruel laughter poured from wretched lips as they threw Ghouls and broke Skeletons as if it were as simple as breathing. For all I knew, it was for them. That said, there had to be a limit to their ferocity, as only the true dead could boast unlimited stamina, and even if they broke ten of my Ghouls apiece, I'd still kill them before they managed to get through.

In the end, it wasn't like the bodies of my horde couldn't be remade after all.

Even now, mid-combat, my 'dead' were picking themselves back up, wounds stitching closed while bone and flesh knitted themselves back together. Such was the skill and power of my Partner that I wielded. It didn't matter that they were stronger than my current forces, they didn't have the numbers to press me and eventually, they too would fall.

At least, that was my initial assumption.

They just, wouldn't fucking die! Laughing and roaring in equal measure, they kept cleaving and ripping as if my undead were paper, even as chunks of flesh were torn apart by the Ghouls and the skeletons battered them with blows. Only when I began to think of adding in more of my meager forces to killing these giants did one finally fall.

A Ghoul impaled its claws through the neck of the giant, its laugh turning to a gurgling wretch as it tried to pry the undead off. My Warriors, rattling and vengeful, hewed one of the giant's legs off, disrupting the monstrosity's attempts and sending it crashing to the ground. What followed was payback, as if my undead understood the concept.

Soon after another fell, pierced through the eyes by my Archers and sent crashing to the ground before being mobbed by the vastly superior horde and torn limb from limb… I wasn't getting that corpse was I? Which left the third and biggest of the pack to face me and my horde.

"COME! HELHEIM AWAITS!"

Comparing him to the other two, was in a similar vein to comparing Alexandria and Glory Girl, one was much more dangerous and scarier than the other. He somehow was nimble for his size, 'dodging' the arrows shot at him while smashing apart the undead sent at him with a massive warhammer. Throughout all this, he was tearing Ghouls off him with bellows of laughter before sending them crashing into the horde, the force exploding my Ghouls into shrapnel and bits. I frowned, it was taxing me more to repair such damage, something to consider as it seemed he was doing it intentionally.

"FACE ME! SURELY YOU CAN DO BETTER!"

They got back up still, but he was a far more difficult foe to face. Which was where the Geists came in.

"FACE ME SORCERER! YOUR SKULL WILL MAKE A GOOD CUP!"

In concert, five of the gangly creatures leapt at the giant from the rooftops, silent beneath the noise of all the other undead, and onto the massive bulk of the creature. From what little I had gleaned of them, my Geists' usual method of killing was absolutely useless here, seeing as their hands were so much smaller than the thing's throat.

Which is why I went and had them clamber to the thing's head, dodge the grasping hand, and stab the monstrosity in the eyes. The laughter became a howl of rage immediately, and if anything, the giant grew tougher. I was rather done with the entire thing though, and sent a Deathbolt at the sightless creature.

"YOU WRETCH! HELYA CURSE YOUR SO-!"

It was as the bolt killed it that I felt my earlier annoyance peak into anger. Instead of being blasted back into the wall, or simply taking it and slumping to the ground. The wretch decided to explode into seaweed and mist the moment my Deathbolt slammed into it!

I scattered my horde from the other two corpses, my anger welling into rage at the sight of two more patches of sea debris. I fumed at the unfairness of it all. What was the point of being an Undead Necromancer… IF I COULDN'T RAISE MY ENEMIES AS FODDER!?

I quashed down on the rage before it could overwhelm me. Was I rightly enraged at the fact that both factions I was now fighting were immune to my raising? Of fucking course. But, I still had a job to do, and there was who knew how many Onslaught members and now sea-giants left to kill in this town. It was only when my rage diminished that I took a moment to realize something.

I understood that giant.

Out of the, admittedly small, variety of people I had talked with since gaining consciousness, there were only two others that I understood, the voice and the Skeleton.

"Kvaldir? Interesting. It seems you continue the trend of impressing, Little One, take care to see that it continues. The Kvaldir are not to be underestimated, and will prove a true test of your mettle and resourcefulness. Kill them all."

Another task, one I was likely to perform anyway, but daunting even more now. What I fought was a mere three, I had no ideas of their numbers but could very well estimate what such numbers could be if they decided to directly assault such a fortified position. Yet now… Now my Liege was taking interest in my actions, somehow I always ended up in the spotlight long before I was ready.

But what are these Kvaldir, why are they made of sea-water and debris?

"I suppose I could indulge you Little One, for now. They are the chained stolen souls of Helya, a rouge, jealous, Goddess. She sends her slaved souls to drag more down into her grasp for no other reason than to deny the other gods their Faithful. Petty, but her legions are endless. Any that treat with her or even enter her domain are Damned."

Wonderful, Gods, plural, exist here and there is a rogue one that steals the souls. Truly, my luck is abysmal. My troops began to reorganize even as I lamented my fate. The fighting would likely become only more intense the further I pushed in which will likely necessitate my direct involvement. I can only hope my Partner has something of use for me.

"Now go forth, claim this land, and all on it, in my name. For the Lich King!"

And so, I went.

---

I found more of the Onslaught as I passed through the alleyways, weary yet proud as they stood over fresh patches of seaweed and metal. Ghouls laughed, bones rattled, arrows sang, and screams echoed into the mist. They were swarmed and butchered with little effort, tired as they were, especially since I knew who to target first to prevent the resurrections.

It was a shame I couldn't send them away, but with the Kvaldir around, I needed every body I could. So I left their corpses where I killed them, and moved past them with my entourage of bones and rotting flesh.

As I went it readily became apparent that the Onslaught were able to hold their own well against the Kvaldir despite their overwhelming power. Sure, there was the occasional dead Onslaught member torn apart in ways that would make a normal person retch, and likely render them un-resurrectable, but there were far more splotches of sea debris than there were corpses.

I was starting to suspect my earlier successes were less due to my troops or my skill... And more due to the fact that I effectively blitzed them with six times their numbers, and caught them flatfooted. It wasn't a good feeling.

My journey through the remainder of the alleys took me further and further into the heart of the Onslaught Harbor, meeting far less resistance than I would have thought. The din of battle grew louder as I kept my horde marching, explaining the lack of bodies and foes in my path. It was as I drew to the alley's end that my horde stopped and waited, Geists and Archers watching something in the mist from the rooftops as I stepped forward.

… That was… a lot of Onslaught and Kvaldir.

I expected a couple dozen Onslaught, and maybe ten or so Kvaldir duking it out in this plaza… I didn't expect over a hundred Onslaught, fighting what looked like thirty Kvaldir. Priests and Priestesses alike were healing the Onslaught in the front, resurrecting them when they were crushed or split in two. There were Kvaldir further behind the fighting, looking as if they were weaving mist before sending it flying at their kin.

Soldiers clashed against giants, howls of glee and laughter mixed with probably righteous shouts. Kvaldir smashed, crushed and cleaved with reckless abandon. Onslaught drove the giants back with sword, spear, shield and Light.

But, I barely paid attention to that beyond a cursory glance, because in the middle of the plaza laid a scene that reminded me of old Legends and Fantasy.

On one side was the Kvaldir, easily a good three feet bigger than the rest of his kind, protected by rusted armor caked with barnacles encasing his massive frame. In each hand sat a truly massive blade, cracked and battered to the point that something was being used to bind the blades together. Two tusks of some great thing were his spaulders, untainted by the seas alongside two other objects: a cloak of pure obsidian scale that seemed to draw in the light, and a skull he used as a helm.

A skull looking like a Dragon's.

Across from the colossal Kvaldir, were two far more human individuals. One was a shining beacon, a Knight in shining armor as it were, plate seemingly glowing as he rushed towards his foe with hammer held high and shield braced. The other was a shadow in the night, an Assassin in blackened mail and a red cowl, throwing a group of knives at the monster of a Kvaldir.

Naturally, such a thing did nothing, not even distracting the giant as he swept his blade at the knight and caught him in the shield. The Onslaught knight was sent skidding and scraping away before he managed to clamber to his feet, starting his charge again. With a cheerful laugh, the Kvaldir took a step forward and swung at the assassin, the woman nimbly dodging out of the way as the blade crashed down.

"Keep it up, keep it up! Show me your resolve!" The Kvaldir bellowed with intermixed glee and amusement.

… I had no idea what was going on… I was pretty sure I didn't want to know what was going on.

With that said, I was now on the edge of a major battlefield between two opposing forces… that couldn't kill the other. My path forward was blocked by said battlefield, and there was absolutely no way for me to brute force my way through with the lack of bodies I had. I had to pick one to focus on, and hope that both factions didn't decide that I was the greater problem.

Which left me with the conundrum, who do I attack? If I blitzed the Onslaught it would render them less able to replenish their numbers, and my forces had already shown that they could fight them… when I vastly outnumbered them, which at the moment, I didn't. However, that would leave the Kvaldir with an upper hand, likely lessening their losses for when it comes time for me to fight them.

Or I could attack the Kvaldir and hope that a battle on two fronts would see to their demise. A major threat were those mist-weaving… shamans? I had no idea what magics they were capable of, no stereotypes to really fall back on guessing from. The Kvaldir had already shown that even a few of their number could render my Scourge little more than bone meal and scrap, obviously making them the greater threat, with or without unknown magics.

I grimaced, it seems once again I didn't have a choice in the end. The Kvaldir were simply too great a threat to leave unmolested, the Onslaught were Human, they could tire. They would crumple, eventually, to harrying attacks. The Kvaldir wouldn't. Dammit.

Energy pulsed from me though my Ghouls and Skeletal Warriors as they rushed towards the mist-weaver Kvaldir without any hesitation. All the while Geists and Skeletal Archers bounded from rooftop to rooftop closer to support them. I would only have a few moments to capitalize on the surprise of appearing out of nowhere, so I committed everything.

With rabid cackles, the Ghouls leapt straight into the mist-weavers, clambering onto the now-unbalanced casters and ripping into their 'flesh'. The warriors came next, charging their rattling armor straight into the off-balance casters and knocking them to the ground, bones clacking together as rusted weapons joined the Ghouls in tearing the Kvaldir apart. They weren't prepared for my horde and they suffered greatly for it.

Three of the casters fell in the opening move, dissolving into sea debris as my horde kept going in their mad rush. I barely noticed the mist receding, it was welcome but unimportant. The casters were, thankfully, less durable than the warriors… which made sense when I thought about it, magic-users in cloth were easier to kill than a knight in armor.

Another of the casters fell to arrows through the head, letting out a low holw before the last arrow struck him in the throat. At that point, my surprise had worn off and several Kvaldir warriors turned from the battle towards my forces, roaring in rage before charging straight into the horde.

Necromantic energy gathered around me, which I used to fire a Deathbolt straight at the lead warrior, the blast killing the creature and sending the debris of his body splattering across the plaza. My mages followed up the attack with their own, frost and shadow sent hurtling into another Warrior, their focused fire freezing and shattering the Kvaldir's legs. The howl it let out in pain and rage was short-lived as its kin trampled over it.

The fifth and sixth casters stopped whatever weaving they had been doing, turning to my horde as what looked like brackish water coalesced in their hands. With a wrathful howl they sent bolts of water at my horde, blasting apart the lead Ghouls into pieces of bone and flesh. Unfortunately for the casters, they could only cast so fast, and they fell to Frenzied teeth and claws.

At that point, there was nothing left to do but mop up the Warriors, and get the hell out of here before the Onslaught crashed down on my limited forces.

Roars met cackles as Skeletal Warriors and the Kvaldir crashed into one another. As expected, the Kvaldir plowed straight through the skeletons without slowing down, whereupon two were introduced to arrows in the eyes, and the rest had Ghouls pounce on them. While the Kvaldir fought the feral-like Ghouls, I reassembled the Skeletal Warriors with a tap of my staff, immediately having them stab the Kvaldir in the back once they gained their bearings.

I took a moment to look towards the Onslaught forces, and found them doing far better without the pressure from the other Kvaldir. Granted they still had the colossal one battling the two 'heroes' near them, but the rest? They were completely and utterly trouncing them now.

A Knight barged straight into one of the Kvaldir, knocking the giant off-balance before a spear-wielder ran and used the knight as a springboard, leaping straight onto the sea-giant and plunging her weapon straight through the neck, killing the Kvaldir instantly. Another Kvalidr was pelted with bolt after bolt before finally slumping to the ground in death, and yet another was cut apart by the fanatics.

My actions definitely had an impact on this battle.

I paid little mind to the rest of the fight over there, the Onslaught would handle the rest, and I could make my escape when they focused on the 'leader'. My own horde were having a more… difficult time taking down the Kvaldir. Certainly they were dying, attested to by my archers making another into a pincushion, and my Ghouls pinning down two and tearing them apart viciously.

I think they had a grudge from earlier… if Ghouls could even carry grudges. I wasn't about to deter them, especially since they were doing good work, and I could learn more about my undead when I wasn't in the middle of a warzone.

I formed another Deathbolt and shot it at one of the Kvaldir surrounded by corpses of my undead, the magic ripping the creature apart with an unholy scream. The bodies of the 'fallen' rose once more, straightening themselves with cackles and gibbering before I sent them straight into the few remaining Kvaldir left.

A lone Ghoul ran straight at a warrior, the massive being grinning cruelly amidst broken bodies as it swung a greataxe straight at the undead. My Ghoul leapt forward, as its kind tended to do, and the axe split it in twain mid jump, a laugh erupting from the monstrosity as it continued the swing.

But the Ghoul didn't fall apart.

Gibbering and growling, the half of a Ghoul landed on the Kvaldir, claws digging into the warrior's head as the laugh turned to a roar. Teeth tore apart the neck of the Kvaldir, claws raked its face and gouged its eyes, all as the Kvaldir tried to pry the Ghoul off, dropping its weapon in the process. The Ghoul refused, continually tearing and ripping until its foe fell to the ground screaming hatefully at the lesser undead.

… The Ghouls definitely held grudges. Good to know.

When that Kvaldir finally ceased to be, I was treated to the macabre sight of both halves of it crawling to one another, before it reattached itself seamlessly, with a little help of necromantic power. The final Kvaldir that charged me was reduced to nothing more than piles of sea debris, buried under my horde.

"Oh? You've defeated the rabble have you? Well, I guess it's time to get serious then!"

My attention turned back to the battle between the Onslaught at the booming voice, an eyebrow raising itself in disbelief at what I just heard. 'Get serious'? That was the most… cartoon thing I'd heard, ever. The colossal Kvaldir stood alone, laughing joyfully in the middle of the Onslaught soldiers.

"A few hundred versus me alone... A worthy Challenge for Sigvaldr Dragonsbane!"

A soldier with a greatsword charged the giant the moment the giant finished speaking. It was only with 'Sigvaldr's' action that I understood how dangerous that Kvaldir truly was.

One moment the soldier was charging, and in the blink of an eye he was split in two. I didn't even see the Kvaldir move, even Leviathan, fast as it had been, hadn't been so fast as to move so quickly without being seen. And the laughter continued, as if the monster truly enjoyed himself.

My plan crumbled, as the realization of how dangerous this Champion was sank in. It wasn't a person, a hero, or even a villain that I was faced with. It was a force of nature. An Endbringer.

He took a step forward, the ground cratering under his bulk, as Onslaught rushed him. He swung, and I barely caught the movement of his sword before two Onslaught were cleaved clean through, and a third sent flying into a building. His knees buckled, another swing reduced a knight to a broken corpse in a crater. Sigvaldr jumped, laughing in joy as he easily crested above the squat rooftops towards…bounding quickly to the priests from an angle no one had expected.

I firmed my resolve and ordered my horde to join the slaughter.

Screams echoed as bodies were torn apart by the sheer expression of strength that was this monster, swords sung and metal shattered. Blood splashed across the ground, limbs tumbled through the air. Spears splintered and shields buckled.

Not a single member of the Onslaught so much as made a dent on Sigvaldr, bolts shattered on his armor, swords were deftly dodged with ease, spears broke on his cloak. The priests tried to cast magic, but each time he simply laughed harder and kept butchering them where they stood.

All in ten seconds, finally my horde joined the ragged remains of the Onslaught to fight against the monster. I could only guess how many Onslaught were slain, but I suppose it mattered little as that number was rapidly increasing.

"Oh? More challengers?"

My Ghouls leapt.

"Sigvaldr will take on any challengers!"

The sword flashed. My Ghouls fell apart into pieces, chunks of bone simply aerosolized by the sheer force behind the mighty blows.

My undead were nothing more than an attempt to slow down the force of nature in front of me, against an Endbringer, or even just something that was just a fraction of one, physical strength and weapons wouldn't work. Warriors and Archers went next as the Ghouls slowly knit themselves back together, arrows flying from the rooftops in a vain hope that they would do something.

Those arrows, which had pierced through plate with ease, bounced off the Giant just before he barreled into the Warriors, only one arrow stuck. Bones shattered and flew as I focused everything on my magic. It was the only hope I had to win, no, survive this Champion.

I saw the two heroes fall to Sigvaldr's blades, buying me just a few seconds more time. The Assassin threw knives at the creature, somehow expecting that to work as a distraction as she closed distance with the monster. She leapt, he laughed, she died.

Her two halves tumbled across the ground as a roar of rage came from the Knight, who charged uncaring into the fray, pushing my own recovering Ghouls out of the way in his mad rush. One of the massive blades came crashing down, and the Knight lost his weapon arm, the other came and impaled the Knight straight through the chest, nearly bisecting the man from the blade's sheer size.

With a laugh of pure joy, Sigvaldr tossed the man off to the side near the Assassin, and focused his attention on me.

"Keep it up small ones! Show your resolve to Sigvaldr!"

I didn't reply, pouring everything I had into one bolt of necromantic energy. My body felt weak, my hand gripping my staff with a deathgrip to try and not fall over. A low thrum of power started behind, before I felt more energy pervade me, which I immediately channeled into the bolt.

I had one shot to try and kill it, or at least stop it.

Skeletal Archers kept up their shooting, for the little it did, as the Geists moved, ready to give themselves to buy just a few seconds more for me. Warriors threw themselves into the Champion's path, bashed or shattered aside without slowing it down. What few Ghouls returned from 'death' carved apart with ease, only a single one managing to latch onto the Kvaldir's massive form and attempt to claw the giant.

Sigvaldr paid it no mind at all, laughing merrily as he cut through the dwindling horde.

I stopped trying to reanimate my broken corpses, it was a waste of energy now and the corpses wouldn't be able to slow him down enough to balance it out. My Deathbolt grew larger by the moment, but having a big projectile was not necessarily what I wanted. Bigger was better when it came to ensuring someone couldn't escape or dodge it, or you were dealing with a massive group of people.

I was dealing with neither of those.

So I tried my best to compress the energy into itself. I had no idea if it would work, I had no idea if it would explode itself and kill me in the backlash. But it was the only possible way to have a chance of killing that monster.

Muffled thuds came from behind me, I paid them no mind.

Sigvaldr took a step further, winding back both of his blades.

One of us would die here. I didn't want to die. I refused to die.

I sent the bolt flying and took a step back to catch myself.

The last thing I saw of Sigvaldr was a massive grin in the skull helm as he swung his blades straight down into the bolt.

The moment the blades hit, the bolt exploded in a torrent of purple and black light, engulfing my vision. My legs trembled as I kept standing, a small part of me hoping that somehow this was enough to kill the Endbringer, while the rest of me waited for the inevitable ugly truth.

How does one describe the sound that occurred? His laughter mixed with a screeching not unlike metal grinding on metal and the crackling of energy, turning it into an orchestra of noise straight out of a horror film. The worst was the laughing, as if a bolt of pure Death was just something normal for him to face. It probably was.

For a few seconds that stretched to eternity, the clash was the only thing in my vision. And then it was over, with a sound like breaking metal. The cloud of energy dissipated, and through the lingering I saw him still.

Completely and utterly unharmed.

My legs gave out, and I slumped to my knees, completely and utterly exhausted. I was going to die, mere hours after being returned to life. I was going to be a failure, not completing my given task, and dying a second time in the process.

I didn't want to die… I didn't want my partner to lose her desire before we could even start…

I kept my head high, looking at Sigvaldr's grinning face as he let out a hearty chuckle before looking down at his hands. My gaze foll-

"Well, this is a surprise. Not once since I forged these blades have they ever been broken! You're more worthy than the Black Dragons were!"

His swords were shattered. The darkish-steel blades were just handles and bits of sharpened metal attached to them. I doubted they could even be used to kill me with how broken they were, not that the monster in front of me needed them to do so.

"Tell me your name, Small One. I will etch it into my memory, for future… encounters." He chuckled darkly, likely at some inside joke I couldn't begin to fathom.

I could only blink in surprise. Sure I expected him to take it in stride given his attitude, but to ask for my name? I was beginning to think that this person had a few screws loose… but I guess being a literal force of nature meant you could be one and not give a damn.

"I was named Taylor… but they dubbed me Skitter when I refused their authority. They titled me Weaver when I bent the knee, but whispered Khepri when I bent theirs. Then I died."

His smile never left his face, but his eyes took a slightly curious tint as he leaned in closer, humming in thought.

"So? What does that make you now?"

"I suppose that makes me nothing more than a Wraith, for now."

If anything, Sigvaldr's grin grew bigger at my answer, throwing his head back and laughing without a care.

"'For now' she says! I look forward to our next duel to the death Wraith!"

With his piece said, the massive Kvaldir dropped his ruined weapons to the ground, a heavy thud startling me as he stood to his full height. Without warning, he plunged his hand into his own chest and in one motion tore his heart out. He kept laughing as he dissolved into sea debris, causing the lone Ghoul situated on his back to drop to the ground, completely and utterly as confused as I was.

What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened.

---

Sneaky AN: Hehe, strap in kids.