B5 Chapter 81 – A Tide of Death

The Grave Moon bore down from above, unleashing an unceasing pressure that felt vaguely familiar to Tyron. From within the sphere, perhaps the size of a barn, thick drops of concentrated Death Magick began to fall. Many dissolved into arcane energy before they reached the ground, but others didn’t, falling onto the undead or clashing with the defensive light the opposing mages had cast.

It had taken days for the full Grave Moon spell to be decoded, and even longer for the preparations to cast it to be completed. From atop his construct, Tyron gazed up at his newest creation, well pleased with what he saw.

An engine, a beating heart, pumping nothing but death and destroying everything else. If his enemies wanted to cut him off from the flow of magick, they would have to overcome the power of the Moon, which would be an almost impossible task. Much easier than doing that, would be to try and destroy it.

No sooner had the thought struck him than fire blasted into the sky, streaking towards the ominous sphere of pure black that hung overhead.

Tyron almost smiled. It wouldn’t be that easy.

Ritual circles he had carved around the square flared to life, unleashing a wave of power that manifested in a grand shield protecting the Grave Moon. Destroying his fine work after he’d spent so much effort to put it up there? They would do so eventually, so long as they were willing to commit the necessary resources. Only after the defensive arrays he’d been charging overnight were depleted would the spell become vulnerable.

Even then, it wouldn’t be destroyed so easily—it was well-made, if he said so himself. For now, he would let it continue its work. With a little luck, the Golden Legion wouldn’t understand just what was happening until it was too late.

Raising his hands, Tyron spoke the Words of Power.

Feeling the force of his mind smash through the laws of reality was an addictive feeling, one that he needed to be wary of. He hadn’t amassed this power for his own satisfaction, but to kill. Despite knowing this, it was hard to suppress the satisfaction he felt when utilising his magick.

Ahead, he could see the Golden Legion were once again beginning to push back the ranks of his skeletons. Already he had lost several hundred of the rank and file undead, perhaps as many as a thousand. In return, the casualties he had inflicted were at a minimum, perhaps as little as a few dozen. That didn’t matter, all was in line with his expectations.

To kill opponents such as these, he needed to drag them down into the mud, sap their vitality, rob them of the strength in their limbs and blind their eyes. Only then would they die. Every minute that passed without giving away a decisive edge was a minute he came closer to victory.

Field of Death.

Mist poured out from around his feet, billowing outwards while clinging to the ground, obscuring the dirt and grass on which they fought. When it came into contact with the dome of light the Empire’s mages had conjured, the mist hissed and crackled, burned away by the defensive magick.

Tyron nodded to himself. He’d expected as much. If the enemy had allowed him to work his will on them without any pushback, the battle would have been a short one indeed. Against hundreds of mages, a direct confrontation would never work, he had to grind them down, exhaust their resources, tire them out.

Although it wasn’t accurate to say he was a single mage against hundreds, due to his skeleton mages, spellcasting revenants, and host of demi-liches, he was still grossly outnumbered. It would take a significant amount of time before his spells began to penetrate their defences, but that was fine. At the border of the miasma and the light, some of the soldiers were vulnerable, enough to supply him with the life energy he needed to keep fueling his magick and healing his minions.

“These bastards look hard to kill,” Filetta observed from her position beside the platform on which he stood. “Even those massive skeleton constructs are struggling.”

“The big boners,” Dove observed sagely from the other side. “I’ve never seen such powerful shafts.”

“Shut up, Dove,” Tyron and Filetta groaned.

“Are you going to do something useful or just stand there being annoying?” Filetta demanded.

“Oh, I’m going to get involved,” Dove promised her with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Sooner rather than later.”

There had been a change in the undead summoner over the past week. He’d been less frivolous, more purposeful. If Tyron were being honest, Dove was a little more like he’d been when he was alive. Annoying, yes, but also a man of morals and drive. Something had changed for Dove, drawing him out of the self-destructive spiral he had engaged in since Tyron had brought him back from the dead. Whatever it was, he hoped it stuck.

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Once more Tyron raised his hands and drew in a breath. Already he could feel the air becoming more saturated with Death Magick, slowly changing to become similar to what he had experienced in the Realm of the Dead. Given enough time, this entire area would transform into a place inimical to life.

“Yes, give them the business, boy,” Dove encouraged him. “Make them long for the soft days of being caned by their fathers.”

“Why do you always have to make it weird,” Filetta said, frowning.