The clearing was a tomb of my own making. Silence reigned, thick and heavy, broken only by the whimpers of my wounded teammates and the rustle of leaves in the alien wind. Derek's body lay cooling on the blood-soaked earth, his final expression of betrayal a permanent fixture. His life, and the secret he had paid for it with, were now mine. A wish. The ultimate prize. It was a concept so vast it almost eclipsed the carnage around us. Almost.
I looked at the four shadow puppets standing silent vigil. My limit was five. I had a space to fill. Dismissing the weakest of the four, the spectral Toximancer, I turned my attention to the most valuable corpse on the field. Derek. He was strong, imbued with the power of an artifact. His spirit would make a far more potent slave.
I stepped forward, my boots squelching in the mud. I placed my hand on Derek's forehead. It was still warm. The others watched, their fear a palpable thing in the air. This was different from raising the goblins. This was not just reanimating a monster. This was enslaving the soul of a man they had known, a leader they had once followed. It was a violation of a fundamental law, a desecration that went beyond mere killing.
"You thought you could be a king," I whispered to the corpse. "You were right. You will be the crown jewel of my collection."
I closed my eyes and pulled.
It was not like the others. The spirits of his teammates had been pliant, confused things, easily bent to my will. Derek's spirit was a raging inferno of pride, hatred, and betrayal. It fought back. As I drew it from the shell of his body, I felt a violent, psychic backlash. It was a scream of pure agony and rage that echoed directly in my mind, a phantom pain that had nothing to do with my body and everything to do with my soul. It was the raw, undiluted fury of a powerful will being broken and remade.
The shadows around his body writhed and coiled, far more violently than before. They weren't just rising; they were being forcibly compressed, forged into something new. A figure began to take shape, taller and broader than my other puppets. It was a perfect, dark silhouette of Derek himself, but the edges of its form seemed to bleed a faint, crimson light, an echo of the artifact that had given him his strength.
The effort was immense. It felt like I was wrestling a demon in the depths of my own mind. But I was stronger. I was the master here. With a final, brutal exertion of will, I shattered the last of his resistance and shackled his spirit to my command.
My new puppet stood tall. My fifth and final summon. The Juggernaut.
With the task complete, I took a moment to survey my new army, my collection of the damned. They were the proof of my power, the instruments of my will.
First, the Shadow of Derek, The Juggernaut. He was my masterpiece. He stood taller than the others, his form crackling with a faint crimson aura. He no longer had the physical sword, but he could manifest a greatsword of pure, solidified shadow. His skill was a brutal echo of his former might, a Spectral Strike that carried immense force, and his mere presence exuded an Aura of Dread that could instill fear in weaker minds.
Beside him stood the Shadow of the Wardcrafter, The Guardian. This puppet was my shield. It was a silent, stoic figure that could manifest shimmering walls of dark energy, its Phantom Ward capable of blocking both physical and magical attacks. It was the reason I could now stand on the front lines.
Then there was the Shadow of the Phantasmist, The Deceiver. A slender, twitching form that constantly seemed to shift at the edge of my vision. It could weave illusions, creating Ghostly Images to confuse and misdirect my enemies, turning the battlefield into a nightmare landscape of my choosing.
Floating silently was the Shadow of the Graviton User, The Anchor. This puppet was my control piece. It could exert a spectral force on a small area, a Weight of the Grave that could slow enemies to a crawl, pinning them in place for the slaughter.
And finally, the first shadow I had raised from this battle, the Shadow of the Toximancy user, The Corruptor. A hunched, seeping figure that constantly leaked a faint, spectral poison. It could create a Miasma of Decay to weaken enemies over time, a slow, insidious killer that perfectly complemented the brute force of my other summons.
Five puppets. A juggernaut, a guardian, a deceiver, an anchor, and a corruptor. My own personal team, bought and paid for with the lives of my enemies. A cold sense of satisfaction filled me. This was true power.
But the price was higher than I knew. The backlash from enslaving Derek's furious spirit was not just a mental echo. It was a physical toll. A sharp, searing pain suddenly erupted in my chest, as if a hot iron had been pressed against my lungs from the inside. The connection to my five puppets, especially the powerful new one, felt like five heavy chains pulling on my soul, draining my own life force to sustain them.
I tried to suppress it. I could not show weakness. Not now. Not in front of them. My control was absolute. I was their leader, their god.
My vision began to swim. The edges of the clearing blurred, the faces of my teammates becoming indistinct smudges of color. The strength drained from my legs. I opened my mouth to give an order, to command them to set up camp, but no words came out. Instead, a hot, wet cough wracked my body.
I tasted copper.
I looked down at my hand. It was splattered with droplets of bright, crimson blood. My blood.
The world tilted violently, and the last thing I saw before the darkness consumed me was the horrified face of Erica as I pitched forward and collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving ground.
A wave of panic washed over the team. For a moment, they were just scared students again, their invincible, monstrous leader suddenly rendered fragile and human.
"Dante!" Erica's scream was the first to break the silence. She scrambled to my side, her movements frantic. She carefully turned me over, her hands trembling as she saw the blood staining my lips. "Rina! Get over here, now!"
Masha was next, her usual composure shattered. She knelt, pressing her fingers to my neck, her face pale with fear. "He has a pulse, but it's weak. What happened?"
Rina rushed over, her healer's instincts taking over. "Get him on his back, gently!" she commanded, her voice shaking but firm. She placed her glowing hands on my chest, trying to weave her life magic into me, but she recoiled almost instantly. "His mana... it's in chaos. It's tearing him apart from the inside. My healing, it's not working properly!"
"What do we do?" Eric asked, his deep voice laced with a helplessness he had never shown before.
Erica took control, her obsession giving her a strange, fierce clarity. She cradled my head in her lap, gently wiping the blood from my mouth with the sleeve of her own shirt. "We need to keep him warm. Masha, get the bedrolls. Eric, Jin, stand guard. Talia, you have the best eyes, get to high ground and watch the perimeter. No one gets near us."
Her orders were sharp, and the team, leaderless and terrified, obeyed without question. Masha and Rina worked together, positioning me carefully on a bedroll, covering me with a blanket. Erica refused to move from my side, her hand resting on my forehead, her touch surprisingly gentle. She looked down at my unconscious face, her expression a complex mixture of terror, adoration, and a fierce, possessive protectiveness. In my moment of absolute weakness, her devotion had found its ultimate purpose. She was no longer just a soldier in my army; she was the guardian of its fallen king.