Chris felt the seeping pus filled wound on his stomach and knew it was beyond him to heal it, the messy concoction of chemicals created by his uncontrolled and desperate exploration into creating mana was diverse. He could feel a strange substance creeping through him, like a river of ice. He tried to summon his mana, and at first it worked; springing forth like a spring. This was where it went wrong, the mana reacted with the ice in his veins and it flared even colder and began to spread faster. He was changing, growing colder, but at least the pain was subsiding. Maybe this was death. He felt the mana run rampant within him and he desperately tried to stop the cold from reaching his head, clinging to one last moment of life. He felt his mana weekly respond to his will, and pulse a little stronger. He used that faint resonance to grasp the substance creeping through him, and as he tried to push it away he realised it was his mana, and as he watched the mana he was using was assimilated into it. This was a magical disease, he had no idea how it worked but it was consuming him. Chris's faint hopes of purging himself of the aliment faded along with his resistance, the freezing cold mana surged and his mind faded to icy black.
----------------------------------------
While Chris was dying from his experiment gone wrong underground in the prison all hell was breaking loose above in the City of Darrow. They were currently under a surprise attack from a horde of the undead. It had been weeks since the start of the war and many field battles had taken place. All it took was for one commander in the winning army to forgo burning the bodys for an hour too long. The dead had risen. The armies of tens of thousands of warriors and mages using magic had saturated battlefields with blood and mana turning the dead and dying into mindless monstrosities.
They had started by swarming the city, fast. Sprinting under the command of liches, soul eaters and other intelligent undead they had taken the gate house. Then had begun the slaughter. Each citizen had become another soldier in the army of undeath. The icy cold presence of the undead had seeped into the air, the stench of decaying flesh followed the army like a stormcloud radiating sickness. Mages in the city would try to resist, but their most powerful mage had just that very hour flown away on a personal investigation.
The streets filled with fire, scorching undead flesh melting them to bone, but even then the bone marched on. Racing at inhuman speeds without the need for rest, to rend the flesh from the living, to unify them. Some used greatswords to break bone and tear limbs of the dead, the broken and served appendages remained in place suspended by invisible forces. The only success at killing them was vaporising the bone itself or as a mage was doing using divine magic to cleanse there mana freeing the corpses from control.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
----------------------------------------
POV : Graduate Darius Al-Twinklefingers
Darius looked at the oncoming undead and knew the city would fall, every time war happened an army of the dead would arise, yet they had never been this focused before. The leaders of the undead army had led a coordinated strike at their weakest moment in overwhelming numbers.
“[Purify Lesser Undead]” He had cast this spell more times that he could count and the mind chill was setting in. His companions and soldiers had been charging items for him to draw mana from. Only he and the other priests had had any effect on the undead soldiers. Undead were usually fragile when first risen and could easily be put down. But the longer they had to absorb mana the harder they became to kill. The mana would spread evenly throughout their body holding it together and making it more resilient in every way. This was where the leaders of the undead army came into play, strengthening their soldiers biding their time.
Darius looked to his comrades, a young female red haired mage looked on the verge of tears. She had supplied him most of the mana, and here flame spells had helped to weaken them if only slightly, she was not running on empty.
“Refil '' Darius said as he threw his hand back holding an amulet for replacement. No hand reached out to exchange with him and he looked back to see the grim faces of those gathered. He smiled, they all knew what would happen now. The clanking of bone and flesh approached at a herculean sprint crashing into the men and women, they fought tooth and nail, yet not an undead went down. They were soon running again, the light of mad desire in their cold blue eyes.
----------------------------------------
Location : Attop the Walls of Darrow
A pale haughty woman looked down upon the city. The screams of the living fading and the silence of the horde ever increasing. She would not have risked this attack had three things not fallen directly into place before their time. She had been nurturing this army near the city ready to attack for weeks now, since the start of the war and the first pitch battle.
But on this fateful day she had seen the one figure that she feared to fight fly away with haste, the next she had felt. A burst of cold, violent and untamed... growing stronger. The last reason was the gate was open and lightly guarded. Today she would enslave a powerful minion and refill the horde.
“When life gives you death, you make undead” The voice was cold and high, a smile coming from her beautiful face. For the woman was beautiful, a smooth young face, straight auburn hair, the perfect figure. It was only if you looked closer at her body, right near her heart. A small inch long red mark. And directly opposite on her back an identical slightly messier red mark.
This was the only sign she was not of the living.