(FEMALES ONLY)
Tier 1: Witch
Tier 2 Cursemaker
Tier 3: Necromancer
(MALES ONLY)
Tier 1: Shaman
Tier 2: Spiritbinder
Tier 3: Necromancer
Name: Dal Rineloch
Class: Necromancer
Level:36
Abilities: Summon Undead (zombie, skeleton, fiend, Lord of Skulls) (Tier 3), Command Minion (Tier 3), Curse (Tier 5), Deceive (Tier 3), Shadow Bomb (Tier 1), Bonewall (Tier 2), Pool of Blood (Tier 2), Generic Spell Cast (level-1 spells only) (Tier 1)
Time Remaining: 11 minutes, 4 seconds
Chapter 15: The Magic of Death
In the blink of an eye, the light came and went, and though it may have just been Dal's mind playing tricks with him, he could have sworn it seemed brighter than it usually did. Perhaps it was because he was totally exposed, and even amid a horrific attack from a monstrous demon, he knew that close to a hundred heads would turn his way, the demon's included.
"What's that?" one of the guards shouted out. "God above, what now?"
The light faded, escaping the world as though returning to wherever it had come from, though this time around, it left behind far more than it had taken. Dal's outfit had once again changed, but so too did his sense of the world around him—and in a very outsized and unusually strong fashion. Something was off. Something felt strange in a unique way that was unlike anything he'd experienced before. He'd had no idea what a "Necromancer" was, and even after shifting, he still didn't—at least right away. Slowly, it began to come to him as Class-Draw and Class-Knowledge filled his awareness.
The dead, he thought. The dead!
Just ahead of him where the sidewalk ended and the street began, a large barrel filled with water had been knocked over and had spilled out onto the street and into an uneven section that had formed something of an indent, allowing for the creation of a shallow puddle. And it was the reflection of this puddle that allowed Dal to fully see himself.
He was different. So different.
He was wearing an outfit that was dark: almost perfectly black. It consisted of a tight, long-sleeved garment and matching pants, and around his back was an equally dark and hooded cloak that ran all the way down to just above his black boots and ended in a tattered, shredded pattern. Around his chest were thin strips of bone that formed a type of skeletal armor, and he now wore a belt similarly made of bone with the buckle in the shape of cackling skull.
And his face…!
His eyes were now completely black to the extent that there was no longer white in his pupils. His hair, too, had become as black as his outfit, and there were black, ink-like streaks on his cheeks. In his right hand, he now gripped a small, thin wooden staff with a grip on the bottom made of bone; the staff also ended with a skull, one similar to that on his belt.
Is this…really me? Dal wondered, lifting his hand slightly while staring at his reflection. It was only by seeing this movement that he could be absolutely sure that this was himself staring back at him and not the form of someone else. I feel so…different.
Pretty much from the moment the light had faded, Dal had lost all fear of death. But it was more than that. He'd lost all understanding of the fear of death. Why was it that humans would go their entire lives concerned with something so beautiful? Death was a gift. It was the living he needed to fear. The dead were his friends, his allies, and his children. Yes, his children. And this was how he'd always felt! He was sure of it. It couldn't be the CD that came with this "Necromancer" class.
No, no, I've always felt this way my entire life, he thought confidently. This isn't Class-Draw. I've always loved death and maggots. Or did I? I don't know. It doesn't even matter right now, does it?
Dal gripped the staff in his hand more tightly. Even with the Class Knowledge in his head, there were still so many things he did not know. He only vaguely understood what a "Necromancer" was, and he didn't know what any of his skills did. He also had no idea if this class was powerful enough to even hurt, let alone kill, a demon. Yet as Dal pondered his current circumstance, his attention became diverted as a wing-like thwacking filled his ears.
Was that from the demon? He smiled. He would very much like to make that thing dead. Yes, very much. Though he was slightly confused, because the flap of its wings sounded far quieter than it had before, and it also sounded much closer, too: like it was coming from directly above him.
It was.
"Well, this is just marvelous, isn't it?" an annoyed, sarcastic-sounding, but strangely elegant and female voice asked him. Glancing upwards, he noticed there was now a flying creature of some sort descending upon him. In terms of its body shape, the creature looked almost exactly like that of a parrot: an exotic bird that Dal had seen once many years ago when passing through the Jorminian Empire. But those had been colorful; this creature, on the other hand, was entirely black except for its crimson-red eyes, and it was also wearing a miniature skull necklace.
"Who are you?" Dal asked it.
"I'm Ravenia, your familiar—unfortunately." The creature landed on his right shoulder. "The Lord of the Underworld must have a particularly twisted sense of humor to create me." It squawked, loudly.
"My familiar?"
"Yes," the creature replied, sounding none too pleased. "The greatest honor that can ever befall a Shaman or Witch is surviving to the day he or she promotes to a Necromancer and is granted a familiar. And so here I am, having been brought to this world to serve a…" The creature squawked angrily. "…a charlatan!"
"Charlatan?"
"You heard me, master. I am a magical being of the noblest and highest order. And what manner of Necromancer do I serve? Squawk! A man who won't even be one in ten minutes! By the way, activate Bonewall. Do it right now or you will die in three seconds."
Dal laughed. He had no idea what the creature was talking about, but he decided to humor her. He activated this power—Bonewall—and then the ground in front of him exploded: the concrete simply shattered. Now, emerging from below was a flat, solid, and slab-like piece of bone that simply rose directly upwards from the ground and continued to do so until rising just above Dal's head.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" screeched the voice of the actual demon as it flew straight into the wall of bone, its sword stabbing into it but not quite penetrating through. It then went on a rampage, attacking wildly just as it had against Denin's barrier, which like before, meant alternating between swings of its sword and claw-strikes with its opposite limb.
"Disgusting demon," the parrot-like familiar said with even more disgust in her voice than she'd used when speaking to Dal. She squawked. "Are you telling me this demon peasant caused this much carnage? Humans are in big trouble!"
"This is a peasant?" Dal asked. "I thought this was a Greater Demon."
"Hah! This thing? Look how it struggles to destroy a Tier 2 Bonewall." She squawked again. "I can't believe I'm stuck with you. I hate you, Dal Rineloch. You are not a real Necromancer."
Of all things, Dal chuckled. "That's fine. A Necromancer is not a real class anyway."
"What? Are you stupid? A Necromancer is one of the twelve Great Classes!"
He turned his eyes to observe the creature. "Hm?"
"Of course a Necromancer is a real class! What a foolish, insulting thing to say. Egregious, even. I hate you more now, Dal Rineloch. But I'm bound to you. So jump backwards and activate Pool of Blood. You have four seconds until death."
Dal laughed. He was enjoying this. Distantly, he knew it was strange. He should be terrified right now. But he did not fear death. He feared nothing at all. He embraced all that was happening, and he did so with a calm sort of joy he was unaccustomed to—at least when it came to such a perilous situation.
And so, to once again humor his so-called "familiar," he jumped backwards while the black, parrot-like familiar flew off his shoulder just as the bone wall crumbled. The demon, bursting forward with a single, powerful flap of its wings, screeched and swung its sword right where Dal had been standing, missing him completely. Then Dal activated Pool of Blood, and the concrete beneath the demon's feet went through a rapid, surreal change in shape, texture, and form.
Before Dal's eyes, he watched as the concrete softened and became a liquid—and then it changed colors, turning red as though it were a literal pool made of actual blood. The demon, who was now hovering just a few feet above ground level, actually widened its maddeningly hateful eyes in what Dal took to be surprise as dozens of decaying, pale white hands then shot up and out of the pool, grabbing hold of the demon in any way they could as they began dragging it down such that its ankles submerged into the blood.
The demon, lowering its goat-like eyes, screeched as though enraged, and…could it be? Frightened? It struggled against the hands dragging it into the blood, its wings flapping harder and even more frantically; the demon was also now close enough to Dal so that an oddly refreshing blast of wind rolled across him and ruffled his cloak with each frantic attempt.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
As the demon screeched and struggled, it at last began to rise, climbing upwards until its ankles emerged from the pool of blood and then its clawed toes at last were free—only for the hands to grip the demon even more tightly and yank it right back down to knee level inside the pool.
"It's going to escape eventually," Ravenia said, dropping down and landing back on his right shoulder. "Use this time to start summoning."
"Summoning?"
"Yes, you charlatan fool! Hmm, let's see. You can probably manage to put out three skeletons, two zombies, and let's go with just one fiend to preserve your energy. That'll buy you enough time to bring out Lord of Skulls. You should be able to do all that without collapsing, I hope."
Dal shrugged and adjusted his hold on his staff so that he squeezed both his hands tightly around the bone grip of the weapon while raising it directly upwards and above his head. He also tried to filter out the many, many distractions taking place around him as guards, a few civilians, and now even Prince Alain were all calling to him.
"Dal, is that you?" the prince asked. He was back on his feet with his weapon at the ready. Lord Ashmere was also regaining consciousness and picking himself up.
"What the fuck am I seeing?" he grumbled. "Is that…? God above."
"What's that bird?" Rethi asked, still seated and panting from her use of Magic Shotgun. "It's cute."
A commotion had begun to form, and through sheer curiosity and intrigue, it seemed the guards had unintentionally formed a wide circle enclosing Dal and the demon within it. But Dal did his best to tune all of that out. He had a demon to slay, after all.
Time Remaining: 8 minutes, 13 seconds