“Look, all I’m saying is that a Necromancer without an undead army is . . . basically a goth with an unhealthy fascination with graveyards.”
Steffan, as he had been for the last few minutes, did his best to ignore Hild. Instead, he bent down and picked up a bloodless, decapitated head, which appeared to be all that remained of the last of his Zombie Cheerleaders. He had been doing his best not to brood too much about what had happened to him over the last few days, but it was hard not to dwell on the death of all your friends, having just witnessed them die for the second time. Especially when the cause of their second demise was you ordering them into a one-sided battle against a huge, poison-spitting spider.
Mind you, 'friends' might have been pushing it a little, though. He assumed they had viewed him as a 'tolerated oddity', perhaps? Or probably something a little less kind if he was being scrupulously honest.
Whatever.
Steffan had long accepted he'd been somewhat of an outsider in the Dudley Stars cheerleading squad: being male, bespectacled, and possessing neither strength nor rhythm. However, his mother had insisted he do something to get offline and out of his room, and his brother had pulled a few strings with his university mates to get his 'baby bro' on the team. Well, not 'on the team', but in the wider squad. Carrying drinks, ensuring the P. A system was working and the like.
Fortunately - well, fortunately for Steffan anyway - this meant that when an articulated lorry had crashed into and through the studio in which the squad were practising - the driver presumably fatally distracted by a sudden wall of text appearing before his eyes - he had been out back, filling water bottles rather than front and centre for the carnage. There had been the briefest of brief moments when he regretted he'd missed his chance to be truck-kunned, but then the sight of mangled bodies and eviscerated torsos convinced him he might have got the better end of the deal . . .
When the deep booming voice from the sky had commanded him to "Choose your Class!" the first thing into his head was whether there was a way he'd be able to save his friends. Seeing the mess that had been made of them, the strange notion entered his head that, while becoming a Healer was clearly not going to help, maybe a bit of resurrection action might not be the worst thing?
Unfortunately, it did not work out like that.
Instead of raising his friends from the dead like some sort of geeky Jesus, he'd ended up stuck with a Class that creeped him out and a bunch of mindless drones that only seemed good for being meat shields. And, after the Shadowweaver Arachnis had finished with them, not even that . . .
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "Are ye aal reet, lad? They were ya mates, weren't they?
Steffan managed a thin smile for Pete. "No, not really. But they put up with me. Most of the time." Dropping the head, Steffan straightened up and activated the notification that had appeared in the corner of his vision.
You have exhausted your current zombie supply. Use your 'Raise the Dead' Skill to summon more minions and continue your dark reign!
Steffan wasn't sure what he'd been doing thus far could be considered a 'dark reign'. Truly, it was little more than a 'light sprinkle'. However, he couldn't disagree with the System—nor Hild—that he had precious little to offer the group without any Zombies at his disposal.
"Did ye get owt good on yer level up? That second spider gi' us a new skill
Steffan moved his lips slightly to understand what Pete was saying to him, then clicked a second notification to see whether he, too, had gained a new Skill.
The first thing he noticed was that being part of a party that had killed two Shadowweavers had given him a massive XP boost. Looking around, he could see that everyone in the group was now sitting at Level 6, which wasn't bad progress at all. Considering. Constantly being thrown into life-and-death struggles against superior foes had some advantages, after all.
However, whereas everyone else was playing with their shiny new Skill - Hild seemed to be able to emit a burst of lightning from her skin, some sort of defensive talent, presumably, and Zorrobar had added another fire-based A.O.E. which he was using to reduce groups of abandoned cars to slag. Kris had picked up an offensive skill and was sending little darts of light into the chaos of flame the big mage was creating. Michael and Michelle were nowhere to be seen, so he presumed they were off practising with whatever unholy new ability those two rogues had just been granted. Just a little way off, Chrissy was experimenting with vanishing and reappearing, which suggested it wasn't just her Class name that was chameleonic. - it did not seem Steffan had any new toys.
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The young Necromancer frowned. Well, that was rather unfair, wasn't it? Of all of them, he had used up the most resources! Surely, he should have been rewarded with something! But then he realised that whilst he himself might not have ended up with a new Skill, he had some greyed-out options available that would be connected to one of his minions. Of which, at the moment, he did not have any.
Pete tapped him on the shoulder - almost knocking the slighter man off his feet - and pointed at the Shadowweaver Arachnis that was still largely in one piece. "One o' them would be dead useful in wor group, ah reckon. Why divvent ye try an' summon it?"
There was something about the idea of being connected to the massive spider that did not appeal to Steffan whatsoever. However, looking around at the debris of the motorway, he could not see much else that would be worth resurrecting. And, as Hild had kept saying, without Zombies to control, he was less use than a cock in a blender.
"Fine," he said reluctantly, pulling the sleeves of his robes up his forearms and moving to stand over the fallen spider. The others stopped with their various experimentations and watched him prepare himself to cast his spell. Thus far, Steffan had refused to add any other Zombies to his army for as long as they had been in a group, so they were interested in seeing what would happen.
The Necromancer stood over the lifeless body of the Shadowweaver Arachnis, his hands starting to glow with the sickly green light he most associated with his abilities. Seriously, he couldn't have chosen to be a Paladin or something like that? Sighing, he began the incantation. What, everyone else could just trigger their abilities with a thought? How lovely, Him? No. He needed a whole song and dance number to be able to
Steffan lowered his voice to a guttural pitch and felt his words begin to resonate with Necromantic power. The air around him thickened, and the others took another step back. There was being interested, and then there was . . . well, being freaked out. An awful chill spread outward, making the hairs on the backs of their necks stand on end. As Steffan uttered the final words of the spell, the green light intensified, enveloping the spider's corpse. The Arachnis's body shuddered violently as if resisting his magic. Its legs, once limp and lifeless, twitched grotesquely, the joints cracking with a sickening snap. A memory sparked of the same movements happening to the bodies of his friends the day before, and that nearly broke his concentration.
This was the reason he hadn't used the Skill since. It was hard to see the impact of his magic and not, in the words of Mitchell and Webb, become concerned whether you were one of 'the baddies'.
The spider's exoskeleton began to creak and groan, a chilling sound that echoed down the length of the motorway. Segments of its shell shifted unnaturally, splitting and reforming under the force of Steffan's will. Black ichor oozed from the cracks, bubbling and hissing as it made contact with the cold concrete.
With a wet, tearing noise, the spider's abdomen inflated and deflated rapidly, as if drawing breath for the first time in death. The myriad of eyes flickered with a pale, greenish glow. He gulped at the sight, then doubled down on pouring out his energy. What he wouldn't give for the cleanliness of Zorrobar's fire right now . . . Mandibles clicked together rhythmically, producing a grating, chitinous clatter that sent shivers down the spines of the group. Pete stepped in front of Chrissy, protectively, raising his fists in a pugilistic defensive stance.
Steffan didn't blame him: the transformation was horrifying. Chunks of decayed flesh sloughed off the spider, revealing a sinewy, rotting interior that pulsed with newfound, necrotic vitality. The stench of death, mixed with the acrid smell of decay, filled the air, overwhelming the senses. Finally, with a thunderous crack, the Shadowweaver Arachnis reared up, its body fully reanimated. It let out a ghastly, unearthly screech, a sound that surely came from the depths of the abyss. Then the reanimated spider stood before Steffan, its allegiance now bound to his will.
"Fucking hell, mate!" Hild breathed. "That was some seriously dark shit."
The Shadowweaver, sensing its master's irritation at the Valkyrie's words, skittered around to face Hild. She stepped back, raising her axe in terror at the sight. Steffan clicked his tongue and the creature - which he decided he would call Creepy-Crawler Mk. Dead - settled down.
"Are ye sure ye've got it completely unda yer control, Steffan?" Pete said, not dropping his fists.
Steffan shrugged. "As much as I did with my . . . with the Cheerleaders."
Then, remembering his notification, he looked at the options available. "Hmm, it seems I can choose one of CCMD's Skills to become active. What do you think will be most useful?"
"Cee-cee?" asked Chrissy.
"CCMD. My Spider. It can either have
Michael popped into being next to him, his sister seconds behind. "No need for
No one else disagreed, so the Necromancer assigned that Skill to the giant spider, which, he was momentarily annoyed to see, had scaled down from Level 10 to his own Level 6. He wasn't sure why that narked him so much. He just felt that when you took out three Level 10 Shadowweavers, it was a bit rude that the one you summoned back ended up being a Level 6. It was like when you unlocked a boss on Street Fighter. An opponent it had taken weeks to be able to defeat turned out to hit softer than a week-old kitten when you got a chance to control it.
Hang on. Three Shadowweavers?
Steffan's mind whirled. Lorelei had kited the one away, hadn't she?
He spun around, looking in the direction of a suspiciously brightly smoking petrol tanker. "Does anyone know if Lorelei is okay?"