I leveled my rifle again.
Jana screamed, her back hitting the floor as she scrambled away, heels kicking uselessly against the stone. Richard raised his shovel, hands shaking. Iron Fist stepped forward, but even he hesitated.
The figure in black raised a single hand, palm open.
Dozens of corpses jerked upward like puppets on invisible strings. Some wore Cleaner uniforms, half-rotted flesh underneath. Others were fresh—our attackers, the ones we had fought on the way here. One still had a hole where I'd shot him in the thigh.
It was clear now: we never stood a chance. We were just prey, caught in a dark web.
They were grinning now.
"Tch."
My hand clenched around the rifle. One mag left. No spare. I could create more, but it wouldn't have mattered against things that didn't care about pain or bleeding out.
The Necromancer tapped his staff once against the floor. The spectral boss beside him stirred.
No… not stirred. Shifted.
The black sludge peeled away from its body like rotting muscle, sloughing off in slow waves. Beneath it was something that should never have belonged to a slime.
A ribcage. Metal plates grafted onto bone. Mana lines glowing like veins.
This wasn't a slime king.
It was a corpse golem made from hundreds of adventurers, dissolved and compressed over an unknown period–perhaps years–animated by the will of something far worse than simple mutation.
Necromancers. Beings who profaned the dead and manipulated the soul. Closer to mad biologists than true magicians, they were the creators of abominations.
It was one of the highest-tier class advancements for Dark Mages, recognized as a one-man army class since the potential of the Necromancer was nearly unlimited, and they could advance to the rank of Undead Emperor.
Since it was a class that could only be obtained after advancement, all Necromancers were at minimum D-rank, and Necromancer Liches would also start at a minimum of D-rank.
To subdue a Necromancer who transformed into a Lich, you needed a full party with a Cleric who was at least one rank higher than the Lich. Liches were very hard to kill if you couldn't find their phylactery—the source of their immortality.
What made Necromancers so dangerous was that, with enough preparation and time, even a D-ranked Necromancer could cause significant damage. This was why all people who advanced to this class were under strict regulation. Gates that had Necromancer-type monsters were immediately destroyed regardless of how profitable they were.
This was what the Necromancer represented in this world.
What chance did we have against such an opponent? We were a group of seven, five of whom were not even Hunters. One of us was severely wounded, and another was an F-ranked healer who couldn't heal because of PTSD. We also had a retired ex-D-ranked Hunter and an I-ranked Hunter.
[The Silent Watcher observes with bated breath.]
Whether the one facing us was a Hunter or a monster, it didn't matter. What mattered was that escaping was nothing but a dream in this situation. Death would not even be an escape.
The Necromancer gestured toward us lazily, like a man inviting guests to sit.
"I suggest you don't run," he said with a faint chuckle. "The door won't open again, and I'd hate to waste good material by damaging it too early."
Material.
He meant us.
"What do you want from us?" I asked, my mind working furiously even as I tried to buy us the smallest second.
"I see. You wish to try negotiation. A commendable, albeit futile, effort. Negotiation is only possible between equals or when the strong give mercy to the weak. Sadly, I have no intention to grant such mercy."
"Yet you're still talking with us. This means you want something, or maybe you're simply bored."
"Farmers still talk to the cattle they will kill the next day. See it as nothing more than boredom."
Negotiations broke down, or perhaps they had never existed in the first place.
I lowered the rifle slightly and activated [Focus] again. My vision narrowed. My pulse slowed. No time for panic.
I counted nine undead between us and the back wall. Three ranged. Two close combat. Four wild cards, slower but bulkier. The boss was behind them—massive, unpredictable.
And the Necromancer…
He was too calm.
That meant he wasn't worried about us at all. He seemed more intrigued than anything else, tilting his head as he sized me up with what I could guess was curiosity. Deciphering the expression of a skeleton was not exactly easy.
Iron Fist stepped in front of us, cracking his knuckles. His breathing was calm, controlled.
"You kids, get behind me," he muttered, eyes never leaving the enemy. "Richard, any traps left?"
"One," he replied. "Acid burst. But you know it won't to do much here."
"Good. Use it when I say. Cain, what about you? Ready for one last round with me?"
I gritted my teeth, knowing that we were walking toward certain death. Yet, how could I say no to that old man?
"I'm sorry." If only I hadn't insisted on becoming a Cleaner—perhaps this situation wouldn't have happened.
"Apologize after we escape." Even in this situation, Iron Fist showed no signs of despair. He had already done too much, fought too long, to back down in the face of adversity.
The moment he said that, the air thickened.
"How rare—usually people give up the moment they see me." The Necromancer chuckled. "This opportunity is quite hard to come by. Well then, amuse me until the end."
With a flick of his fingers, the corpses charged. Their movements were completely different from what they displayed earlier.
"NOW!"
Richard slammed the activation rune. It was a simple talisman that required mana, but it had low utility.
There was a hiss. A burst of green vapor erupted from the floor, catching two of the faster ones mid-leap. They shrieked as the acid chewed through their flesh. It didn't kill them, but it made them stumble.
Iron Fist moved like a tank. His fist caught the nearest undead in the face, caving it in. His Gatling whirred to life and tore through two more. Richard jumped in beside him, shovel swinging hard. It wasn't elegant, but it bought us space.
The other three Cleaners were useless. One was still down, the other was trembling and shivering. As for Marquez, he simply stood behind us, paralyzed. In a way he was clearly ditching us. But, it was for the best, however. They would only be liabilities if they got involved.
Jana? She didn't run. She didn't cry, either. She stood steadfast. She raised shaking hands. And light—pure, bright—gathered in her palms.
"Light of Life… mend this world, guide the fallen, burn the rot—"
The spell ignited. A wave of holy light spread out, not strong enough to kill the undead outright, but it staggered them. Their corrupted mana recoiled. Even the golem stopped moving for a beat.
But the Necromancer… he smiled. The fire in his eye sockets flickered.
"I suppose I should get a little serious."
He tapped the ground with his staff, and the world warped.
A glyph spread out beneath his feet, so dense with magic that I could feel my skin itch. Not a simple death spell—a domain.
"Fuck!" I shouted. "He's anchoring!"
If he finished the casting, we were screwed. No escape. No mana regen. We'd be sitting ducks inside his world.
I made my decision before I could regret it.
Dropping the rifle, I drew my knife abd bit the tip of my thumb.
"Cain—what are you doing?!" Jana shouted.
I ignored her. Blood welled in my hand. I poured it into my [Maker] skill—no time for safety, no time for subtlety. If I didn't have enough mana, I would simply use my life force. What did burning a few years of life matter when death was at the gate?
I shaped it into a bomb, a crude one. The mana density nearly shorted my already-useless circuits, but I didn't care.
I sprinted forward, straight at the golem and the Necromancer.
One shot. That's all I had left.
Iron Fist, understanding this was our best action, provided fire support. Jana's light covered me, even healing my wound slightly.
I hurled the bomb, using every ounce of strength in my body. The glowing red orb arced through the air, sizzling as it flew.
The Necromancer's head turned toward me.
"Oh?"
It exploded just before impact due to Iron Fist's well-timed bullet, making sure that he wouldn't be able to escape.
A wave of heat, pressure, and searing light blasted the chamber. Bones shattered. Limbs flew. Even the boss reeled, its upper half torn apart by the blast.
I felt my body lift and slam against the far wall. My ribs cracked and my vision swam. The metallic taste of blood rushed into my mouth. I was sure some of my internal organs had ruptured from the impact.
Nearly incapacitated, I didn't bother to question if what I'd done had any effect. I knew it had been futile.
"My…I must admit. I am surprised. Young Hunter, you have my respect. I will make sure to create a beautiful Death Knight from you."
The Necromancer walked towards me, completely unharmed. The destroyed undead stood up, as if time had been rewound, their bodies reconstructing. This was one of the horrors of Necromancers. As long as they had enough mana, they had an immortal army at their disposal.
From the very start, our chances of winning had been zero. Our struggles were nothing but a game for a bored immortal.