B5 Chapter 84 – Undead Endurance

Power was a storm and Tyron lived at the centre of it. Arcane energy ran through him at a ferocious pace. Like water being forced through a narrow opening, he could feel the pressure of it, so intense that, were he unawakened, it may well have shattered his bones.

Without a pause or momentary beat of rest, Words of Power rolled from his tongue and gave shape to his magick while his hands flickered out multiple sigils every second. As relentless, and as fast as he was, the demands of the battle were higher still.

All along the line, level seventy-nine Soldiers unleashed their full capabilities. Their swords swept out in long arcs, blades of pure energy cutting ten metres away from the edge of the material blade. Shields were coated in golden light, rebuffing the weapons of his skeletons, and even the skeleton giants found their blades bouncing off, having never touched steel.

They moved faster, hit harder, burning through their energy at a faster pace than before, pushing hard against the front ranks of skeletons.

Mages all along the front had also lifted their game. Less of their energy was being spent on defense; instead they poured it into offensive magick. Beams of radiant light, pillars of fire, sizzling lances of yellow energy that crackled with power. Despite the best efforts of the skeletal mages and demi-liches, they weren’t able to keep up with the furious barrage, couldn’t contest against mages so much more capable than themselves.

Even the reserves had been committed, widening the front line and forcing Tyron to spread his undead thinner to cover more ground.

In the frenzy of battle, it was difficult for him to maintain the necessary focus as his mind was assailed with thousands of stimuli every second. Conduits blazed with power, connecting him to each and every one of his minions, feeding information back and forth. Commands from his wights, thoughts and impressions from his revenants, all rang in his ears like a room full of people shouting to get his attention.

With so much chaos, it was almost impossible to keep track of it all. Skeletons were falling at a rapid pace, no matter how much he worked to try and slow the relentless advance of the Golden Legion. At the same time, he saw their powerful lunge forward for what it truly was: desperation.

They were dying, each and every one of them. Tyron had made sure of that.

With every passing second, the curse that infected them grew that little bit stronger, spread that little bit faster. It drained their strength, weakened them, sapping their vitality, and as a result of his feats and spells, their weakness became Tyron’s strength.

Vitality flowed into him at a ferocious pace, and he burned every drop of it for more magick or to heal his minions, often both at the same time.

As long as he was able to delay the battle long enough, he would win. A little more time, and the first of the Soldiers he’d killed would return to the field. Even now they were being raised in the Ossuary behind him. Another twenty minutes, and they would be ready.

“I think it’s time I step in and make my presence felt,” Dove declared loudly from beside Tyron’s platform.

If he weren’t having to constantly keep casting, the Necromancer might have had something to say at that. The battle had been going for hours at this point, and now Dove felt it was time to contribute?

Although he might have said it was about time, on reflection, he couldn’t fault the timing. This was the most important period in the battle, and despite their impressive display of power, the Soldiers they were fighting had never been weaker than they were right now. If he was going to throw his summons into the fighting, now would be the moment they were the most effective.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Dove if he didn’t take some time to add his own theatrical flair.

After stretching, pretending to crack his back and throwing his snake over his shoulder, he was finally ready. Raising his bony hands, the Undead Summoner began to cast his spells. Occupied with a thousand other things, Tyron wasn’t able to pay much attention as he managed the battle, raised new undead and cast a constant stream of spells.

Cycle-charging the skeletal horsemen was helping to hold the centre, but the flanks were slowly collapsing, moment by moment. More than a few of Tyron’s revenants had already fallen on the front, but if things didn’t stabilise soon, he might have to commit more of his wights to the thick of the battle. So far, only a few had stepped forward. Losing any of those he relied on to micro-manage the horde in the thick of the fighting would require that he divert more of his own attention away from casting. To this point, the risk hadn’t been worth it, but now….

Catching a glimpse of something out of his eye, Tyron turned his head slightly, then almost recoiled instinctively.

Standing proudly next to his summon, Dove stood, hands on his hips, as the Soul Eater rose to its full height. Tyron forced himself to take a brief pause between casts to shout down to his former mentor.

“Are you in control of that thing?” he demanded warily.

Long, pointed nose tilting one way, then the next, the Soul Eater opened its maw, drooling at the banquet of food laid out before it.

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“Absolutely!” Dove declared. “That is to say, sort of! Go forth and feast, creature of the dead realm!”

Not needing to be told twice, the Soul Eater bounded away, powerful and lithe, an eerie, high-pitched whine emitting from its throat.

“I’ll send it around the sides. If it manages to feed a few times, it’ll get stronger,” the skeleton said with satisfaction.

“When did you manage to contract with one of those… things?”

“We all had our own projects in the Realm of the Dead,” Dove said airily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Tyron was all too happy to get back to his work while Dove summoned two Bone Hounds and sent them after the Soul Eater.

“I’ll go after them. I have some spells I can use to buff them, and maintaining control from up close is much easier.”

Given what he was doing, Tyron could only nod. Chortling to himself, Dove ran off, looping around to the right flank of the battlefield.

Atop his platform, Tyron gritted his teeth and committed his wights forward. They had to hold the line.