Necromancer and Co., Book 3: The Underearth
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Chapter 6: Saving a Life
"The Stonewood trees stand eternal. Trunks of stone and leaves of light, they rise higher and higher until they are stopped. To the denizens of the Underearth, they represent hope. A way up. Escape from their prison; a return to their roots."
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[Alen]
In the same instant that Alen finished speaking, the remaining wraiths under his control tore through the wooden platform, their forms ignoring physical substance and lunging directly at the surrounding enemies. Some were prepared, and others succumbed to the shock, clutching at their throats as the ghosts buried themselves within their bodies. The stronger ones resisted, merely staggering back, but the weaker foes fell to their knees, their faces paling as their souls were attacked.
Alen immediately burst forward, his form blurring in his advance towards his friends on the other side of the platform. They had been backed against the wall along with the other hunters, with the only thing standing between them and the horde of enemies being the single old lady named Drizza.
He passed the obsidian-skinned demon of a man prepared to strike back if he was attacked, but strangely, the man stood still, observing him with interest as he passed. The young woman hanging in his grip was injured—unconscious, but not dead. Sieth watched Alen land wordlessly, the calm smile on his face never fading. He glanced back at his forces. The wraiths were already being destroyed. One by one, they fell. Zombies were running up the ram connecting the upper and lower platforms, ready to face his recovering forces.
The necromancer stared at him, his form ready to burst into motion. Alen watched as Sieth glanced at the old woman and pondered on what to do. He shook his head.
“I have no wish to tangle with you again, Drizza,” said Sieth, slinging the form of the young woman over his shoulder. “We have already accomplished our reason for coming here, and the current you is far too pathetic to be worth putting down. I will say my farewells.”
“Give her back,” Drizza said, her old, almost milky eyes staring coldly at Sieth. “I won’t ask again.”
Sieth laughed. “No, you won’t. We both know that our strengths were parallel before. Now? If fighting you posed any less of a risk of compromising my objectives, I’d be lunging at you as we speak. The moment you come to strike at me, my men will attack yours. Your Hunters have dwindled, foolish woman. As has your strength. Is your priestess worth the lives of the last of your tribesmen?”
Drizza lapsed into silence, her eyes boring into his. “You will pay for this, Sieth. Your god will bring your people destruction of the likes this world has never seen.”
“Nonesense,” Sieth shook his head sadly, as if disappointed in a disobedient child. “He will give us freedom. He will lead us to victory. We will return to the surface, you old hag, and your tribe of weaklings has no place in the world we are destined to reclaim. Make sure you tell the rest of those fools to hand over their priests and priestesses as well. We all know it is only a matter of time until they are given to the lord as sacrificial lambs, whether it be through the will of the martyr’s sacrifice, or a lamb taken for slaughter.”
He stopped, then stared past Drizza to give Alen a long look. “We are not finished, necromancer. Far from it. I know not how you control that power of yours, but there is a role in all this you have yet to play. Farewell.”
With this, the man turned and took an orb from within his clothes, before shattering it. A red light enveloped him and the rest of his lackeys, before suddenly, the light flashed, and they were gone, the sound of air rushing to fill empty space in their place. Alen’s undead arrived in the upper platform and paused in their tracks, blankly staring into empty space. Alen frowned at them, then waved his hand, severing his connection to the zombies and watching them fall too the ground, lifeless.
As they should be, Alen thought. He turned, and he spotted the rest of the survivors-turned-refugees. They stood around one another, wounded, covered in dirt and ash. A solid thirty of them were backed near the wall, and among them stood his three friends. Notably, Lynn, who was glaring at him.
She approached him. “Sorry,” he told her.
“Your luck won’t hold forever, you know.”
“I don’t have very much, to be honest,” Alen shook his head. “Even if I’d run out, I’d still come back for you guys regardless.”
“I know now,” Lynn gave him a long, drawn out look and sighed exasperatedly. “Where did you leave the ones I evacuated?”
“Somewhere over there,” Alen pointed into the woods. “Giant beetle and lobster monster near them. They’re behind a couple large boulders. Should be easy enough to spot if you know what you’re looking for.”
“I’m leaving,” she said, then without waiting for his reply, she turned and jumped off the top, plummeting down towards the bottom platforms.
Alen sighed and looked to the side as an arm found itself over his shoulders. “I think you pissed her off,” Adam said, wounded. There was a cut on his neck—bleeding, but not fatal.
“Ah well, I guess it is my fault to some extent,” Alen pursed his lips. “I still I think I was right in what I did, though. I took the villagers to a safe place, and then I rushed over here to save my team. You guys need to stop relying on me so much though. Things haven’t changed at all.”
“Fuck you, dude,” Adam laughed. “You’re the one who sucks dick the most in this friendship.”
“Whoa, thanks man,” Alen grinned, his shoulders relaxing. He let out a breath, and looked around to see the new arrival from before looking down with a dark expression on his face. Who was he again? Alen thought. He was a new arrival. Dee something. Deeber? “What’s up with him?” He asked Adam, and immediately, the young man’s face turned grim as well.
“Kara’s gone,” said Adam.
Alen frowned. He really didn’t know a thing about the situation. “Listen,” he told Adam. “I have no idea what’s happening right now. First of all, who were those people? I saw some generic fantasy—well, not so fantasy races up in the surface, but I’ve never heard of people who look like the ones who attacked us. Plus, who the hell is Kara?”
“The priestess,” Dieter growled. “They took her.”
“Who is they, exactly?” Alen asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Pieces of shit. That’s what they are,” Dieter raised his head, eyes bloodshot. His eyes darted around, then settled on the old woman named Drizza, who was still standing in the same spot, her fists clenched and her large head tilted down to face the Stonewood boards below. He gritted his teeth and walked forward, passing her as he spoke. “Granny, I’m going to look for them. Those crystals shouldn’t have taken them very far. I’ll bring Razzan and the others and we’ll—“
“No,” the old woman said.
“No? No?” Alen watched as Dieter turned to look at her, horrified. “They have your granddaughter, Granny. They have Kara! You know what they do to the priestesses like her! We have to save her!”
“We can’t,” Drizza croaked, a tear sliding down her wrinkled face as she shook her head. “We mustn’t,” she repeated.
Dieter backed off, the flame hovering just over his shoulder dimming. “She’ll die. You know what they do. They’ll torture her. Kill her. She’ll die screaming! You’re telling me you’ll just let that happen? I know you two had a rocky relationship, but don’t you care about her at all!?”
“Don’t you dare muster the gall to tell me that I’d just let my own granddaughter suffer that fate,” Drizza said, her large, dark eyes flashing a deep sea green. A powerful pressure swept out, and Alen’s legs bent. Due to how close he was to her, he and Adam staggered to the side, a powerful wave of magic crushing down upon their shoulders. Dieter’s eyes widened in shock, but were soon replaced with worry as the old woman fell to her knees, gasping for breath.
“Granny!” He rushed to her side, supporting her before she could topple to the ground. He turned her over. Her face was pale, and her eyes were dark—darker than they should’ve been. Suddenly, her cheeks were gaunt, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. One of the men rushed past Alen, kneeling down beside the two and checking on the old woman. One of the Hunters, Alen guessed. He seemed powerful. Possibly even much stronger than Alen was.
“What’s happening to her?” Dieter asked, his face pale.
“Her life energy is about to sputter out again,” the man muttered, laying the old woman on the ground. He barked orders to the other villagers and Hunters, and they obeyed, hurriedly rushing down the platforms and sprinting into the forest while the surviving villagers dug into the collapsed houses.
Alen gave Adam a look and found that he had left his side, rushing into the ashen ruins of a half-destroyed home. Sam had done the same, tearing through a house in search of something. Alen approached Dieter.
“How do I help?” He asked, but was promptly ignored by the two people in front of him. They constantly checked on the old lady, the flame above the Deeder guy’s shoulders flaring to life and casting a warm glow over her, causing the strain on Drizza’s face to slacken. Alen pursed his lips and was about to leave when his eyes widened at the sight before him. He stopped and looked down at the old woman, sensing what was happening within her with his magic.
Her life force—the green motes of light—was fading. Like dying Christmas lights, one by one, they blinked out of existence, and as the warm glow Dieter’s flame cast its light upon her body, some of the motes were seemingly empowered, struggling against whatever was snuffing them out.
Alen licked his lips. So it’s a matter of those light things, then? He nodded, then pulled up the spell program for Vitality Drain.
It was extremely hard to get it right the first time he created it, but right now, Alen was confident that with a bit of tweaking, the life force could be transferred from him to the recipient instead of the other way around. That should fix the problem easily. A problem presented itself, however. If he somehow fucked it up…
He remembered Drizelda’s screams and shuddered. He grit his teeth and began editing the program.
“Deeder,” he said. “I have a way to—“
“Look, I’m not in the mood for jokes. My name’s Dieter, and if you’ve got nothing to do, then I suggest you either go down into the forest and search the Stonewood trees for life-based mana crystals or just leave.”
“Dieter, fuck, whatever,” Alen shook his head, pushing his hand out to the man. “Listen, if they don’t find whatever they’re looking for soon, she’ll die, right? In the event that they don’t find those crystals, I have a spell that could help her before she dies, but if I mess it up, the whole village will hear her screams.”
Dieter frowned, then cast a gaze at the hunter beside him. The hunter nodded at Alen. “My name is Razzan,” the hunter said. “How sure are you that your magic will work?”
“Thirty percent,” answered Alen.
Razzan and Dieter frowned. “The success rate is so low?” Razzan asked.
“We’re short on time, and quick isn’t exactly the best way to describe my spell-creation process.”
Dieter stood up. “You’re creating a spell on the spot for this!? Razzan, this is ridiculous!”
Old lady Drizza’s blank eyes flickered with life, and she gave Alen a long look. “…Let him,” she feebly spoke. “I am no stranger to pain. Seith destroyed the last of the crystals when one of his mages struck my home with a siege spell in the battle.”
She reached out and gripped Alen’s wrist. The grip was strong, even in her ailing state. “I am running out of time, young man,” she muttered. “…Do it quickly.”
Alen clenched his fist and gently pulled her hand from his wrist. “Give me a second. I’ll finish it as soon as I can,” he said, then sat down in front of the woman. Razzan and Dieter began to argue, but the noise soon faded to the back of Alen’s mind. He closed his eyes. With what he was going to be doing, he wouldn’t be needing the system notepad. Reading through all those commands would be far too slow.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He was going to scan the spell with nothing but his mental prowess. With the thought perception and analytical prowess his intelligence stat granted him, it should be well within his capabilities. He’d even done it multiple times before—changing the values of one or two lines in the middle of combat to change the effect of his spells. Now, it wouldn’t be near as simple. He’d be changing multiple lines—dozens, all the while they flashed by his thoughts like lightning arcing through the clouds. He let out a low breath, and then, he began.
Commands flashed through his head. The basic format. The spell blueprint—like scaffolding. Foundation. Support to serve as ground for his mana to build on. He passed it. The minor commands flashed into his head. Minimum mana value. Maximum mana value. Casting Range. Affinity channels—Target. It flashed by his head. He changed target to self. Sweat dripped from his brow. The entire structure of the lower commands shifted like sliding doors, thrown into disarray from a single change. Green mote ownership severing. Soul binding. Bodily adjustment. Health transfer threshold. He changed them all.
It kept zipping through his head, a noiseless roar of words and values thundering past his mind like a mindless stampede.
Vitality Drain was not a simple spell. It taken his new spell creation system to the limit when he’d created it for the first time, and now, it was pushing his mind to its brink. Each wave of information felt like a wave crashing upon him, yet, he was an existence akin to a boulder—an unshakeable structure that stood defiantly amidst a raging storm. He would make it through. He made more edits. The spell configurations sped by faster and faster. The green motes had a certain brand of ownership within them. In small amounts, they were insignificant, but in large doses, it was like inviting the Trojan horse into one’s own soul.
He had to change that. Each time his green motes passed through his fingers and into the recipient, he made it so that his ownership was severed, then made sure that the magic preserved the now ownerless blinks of life essence. It was not over there. More came. He frantically edited.
Next. The magic would forcefully invade the recipient’s own life force, squeezing against the brand of ownership to create a mold—an idea he’d gotten from his original AutoBone concept. After forming the mold, the mana would fill the gaps and throw itself into the ownerless motes, forging the brands and making the recipient’s body recognize them as its own without waging a nuclear war in the receiver’s soul in a crazed battle of dominance. The mana would then push the motes through the body like a river of life, having them sink into the recipient’s muscles. Their bones. Tissue. The soul itself. It would heal. It would mend—repair.
It would save this old woman.
Alen let loose a soundless roar in his mind as the final lines of magic flashed through his head. The final edit took its place. His eyes flashed open. The old woman lay withered. Skin and bones. Sunken face. Pale skin. Even more so than before. The green lights were fading away in her body faster than before. Two people frantically tried all they could to save her. A flame burned brightly, its purifying light slowing the decay down. Another watched, a hand to Dieter’s shoulder. The woman continued to waste away. She was dying. He suddenly remembered his grandmother. She was in her nineties. Sickly, but as energetic as she always was. She loved them; never forgot to smile whenever she saw him—as if to tell him that just seeing his face had made her day.
That old woman was alone now. He wasn’t there to visit her anymore. He wouldn’t see her in her last days. Alen always had a soft spot for his grandparents. Was she on her deathbed? His eyes watered. He was going to come back. He was coming back, and he was going to be there to tell her she was an amazing person before she passed away. He would do it every day. Alen promised himself that. He wouldn’t let her die without him, and just like his own gran, this old woman had her own grandchildren to see before her death.
He would give that to her. What he was going to do would hurt like fucking hell, but he would do it. This woman would not die alone.
The necromancer put his hand on her head.
Vitality Manipulation: Transfer.
His life force surged into the old woman’s frail form. A small throb of pain shot into his head. Alen’s body locked itself in place. Sweat poured out of his skin like water squeezed from a soaked sponge. His fingers began to twitch uncontrollably. He was trembling. A thought came to him, and a realization blinked to life in his mind: what he felt wasn’t just a small throb of pain after all.
It was agony.
His mind couldn’t process it at first, but now it was. It was sharp. It cut—bit deep into his psyche. Alen was never weak to pain. He had a strong resistance to it.
At least, that was regarding the pain inflicted upon his body.
This? This felt like his soul was being ripped apart. Numb Senses couldn’t do a thing to what he has experiencing right now. Piece by piece, mote by mote of green light. His magic severed it all from his own body. Snipped off like pointless extensions and rid of his ownership by the hungry decay of his magic. Each and every mote that left was another dagger of white hot fire that stabbed into his mind, telling him that once every bit had left, he would be robbed of what was most important.
His life.
It went on for what felt like an eternity. Once Alen had commenced the spell, it was as if he’d been electrocuted, his hand clasping around the old woman’s head like a vice. He couldn’t pry it open even if he had the mental attention to give his body a command. His life forced continued to surge in. A warm light washed over his back. Dieter’s flame, he recognized. It strengthened his life force and eased the pain, slowly growing back the green motes he had disowned.
His health continued to drain. When he’d started, it was near ninety percent. Now, it was dangerously close to reaching the twenties. It dipped lower.
Lower. Eighteen percent. Thirteen. Eleven.
Ten percent.
The spell shut down. Alen had set a threshold beforehand, and it had reached it. He reeled, his face pale and sallow. Alen staggered back, and his feet slipped. Just before he fell off the edge of the top platform, a strong, pale hand gripped his wrist and pulled him back. Despite his form, his eyes burned with life. He stared at the man that had pulled him up. Razzan.
Thanks, he wanted to say, but the words never left his dried throat. He was too drained—too weak to say the words. With the help of the hunter, Alen ambled off to near the wall before sitting down, his body lame and heavy like a sack of rocks.
He looked up and gazed at the old woman. Drizza, he remembered the name. He had been in this world for nearly a quarter of a year, and he’d taken hundreds—thousands of lives. Plants. Animals. Humans.
This was the first that he had saved.
He weakly leaned against the wall, watching the back of the hunter named Razzan as he went to check on the old woman. A crowd of villagers had gathered in the time that he had spent transferring his vitality to her. They surrounded the old lady, relief washing over their faces as they gazed at her relatively healthy complexion. Her cheeks were no longer as sunken, and her body exuded a sense of healthiness.
She had been restored.
A villager sent a gaze of gratitude towards Alen, nodding towards him in appreciation before running off somewhere. Dieter walked up to him and offered him his hand.
“Thanks,” the man simply said. Alen took his hand and stood up with a grunt. His knees groaned against his own weight.
“Now that she’s okay,” Alen croaked out, “what’s the plan?”
“We leave,” hissed Dieter, through gritted teeth. “We’ll retreat to another safe location in the cave, get in contact with the Father, and then, I’m coming back to track those Xargith down.”
“Xargith?” Alen questioned. “What is happening, exactly? I’m going to be risking my life for you people, so I better get an explanation soon. I don’t like fighting for something I don’t even understand.”
“Ask Adam and Sam,” said Dieter. “I have a lot of things to take care of, so take this and rest up. We’re heading out for the Hall of Pillars soon.”
Alen received the vial of glowing blue liquid that Dieter handed him and watched the man walk off, following the hunter Razzan as they dashed off into the lower platforms. He stared at the vial and its crystal-like surface. Slowly, he uncapped the wooden lid and let the smooth, tasteless liquid race down his throat.
He let loose a breath and leaned back against the wall. Alen watched the villagers carry Drizza off, and for once, his heart felt light. The sticky, viscous sensation of blood on his hands that he usually ignored had faded. It lingered, but for now, his feelings towards it weren’t near as strong. He had saved someone’s life. It was a wonderful feeling. He smiled and closed his eyes, intending to doze off, when a hand patted his shoulder.
His eyes blinked open to look straight into the large, black eyes of one of the big-headed, pale skinned villagers. Alen recognized him—it was the one that had run off after giving him a nod. He had a basket in his arms.
It was full of food.
The man nodded at him and pointed at the food. “I do not speak Common often,” the villager said, in the same strange accent that everyone in the Underearth did. “Do you understand me?”
“Y-Yeah,” Alen said, nodding awkwardly. It was silent for a few moments, and Alen found himself pursing his lips. “Um… hey? What’s up, man?” He asked, then nearly grimaced at himself. He really had to thank Lynn and Roland some time for putting up with him for so long.
The villager laughed. “You speak just like those other two. Sam and Adam. You three are strange people,” he said, before setting the food down in front of Alen. “And while I believe that to be true, you are good people as well. Thank you for saving lady Drizza. She has been the pillar of our little community for generations, but she is being weakened by age. We had hoped for Kara to take her place, but alas…”
He sighed, closing his large eyes in weariness. “Fate has not been kind to us. The Xargith, doubly so. Eat up, small-eyed man. Rest. We will handle the departure preparations,” he said, then turned, leaving the necromancer on the spot.
“Did he just call me small-eyed?” Alen murmured, staring at the food. It was a simple collection of meat, fruits, and nuts. Bare, but appetizing in his own way. Alen laughed at the villager’s remark and plucked a piece of the meat from the basket before throwing it into his mouth. He sat there, idly chipping away at the food given to him, when he spotted three heads walking up the ramp to the top platform. Brown, dark, and snow-white hair.
He immediately knew who they were.
“You’ve lost weight,” Adam smiled helplessly, pointing at Alen’s tired, somewhat sunken face. He shook his head. “I know I retched my meals out in high school to lose weight, and it ended well for me over all, but I didn’t think you’d follow such a bad example, Alen. You disappoint me.”
“Ah, great. Looks like I haven’t lost my touch in regards to that either,” Alen nodded in agreement, before looking at the three of them questioningly. “What brings the three of you here?”
“I heard some faggot saved Granny Drizza and I was about to congratulate him, but as it turns out, it’s you, so…” Adam shrugged.
“I just tagged along,” Lynn chimed. Alen sighed a breath of relief in his head. It looks like she'd calmed down after seeing that the villagers he'd left were safe.
Sam pointed at the dark, now lightless cavern roof and thought of a reason. He nodded. “I’m scared of the dark.”
“Yeah, he’s still dumb, it seems,” Alen gave Adam a pitying look.
“Sometimes—no, I’ve always wondered why any of us are friends at all, really. Sam’s dumb, you’re socially retarded, and I’m good looking and my hair is fucking godlike. I need cooler friends.”
“Excuse me?” Sam raised a brow at him. “All cool people are inherently human and guess what? I’m human. That means I’m cool.”
“First of all, your hair is garbage,” Alen pointed at the messy windswept mop of a hairstyle Adam worshipped, then pointed his finger at himself. “And secondly, I’m the coolest friend you have.”
“You literally just proved my point.”
“Fuck.”
“Whoa dude,” Sam spread his arms, pushing them apart as if he was breaking off a fight between two angry drunkards. He gave Alen a look. “Drop the profanities man. Those words are bad. You shouldn’t be saying them. Think of the children.”
“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “You should really be considerate of the kids, Alen. You shouldn’t be hearing these words man.”
Alen flashed Adam a rude gesture and glared at Sam. “I don’t think we’re going to work out, Sam. We’re breaking up.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.”
“Fuck you whore,” Alen spat. “I’m leaving you for Lynn. She has a bigger dick.”
Lynn shrugged. “I probably do.”
“And what the hell have you done to her? My wood elf friend told me that snow elves were noble,” Adam said, pointing at Lynn in horror. “I thought Wood Elves were the only vulgar ones!”
“They do get quite rude after warming up to you, don’t they? Elysia was especially bad. I thought she was such a nice girl, but when she started talking…” Lynn shuddered, then leaned in close to whisper something to Adam. “She’s pretty easy too, though. If you go along with Alen’s jokes, he’s more likely to pay for the meal as well. Join me.”
“I see, I see,” Adam nodded. Both of them stared at Alen, nodding to themselves.
“I knew you were a gold digger!” Alen cursed at the elf.
“What’s that?” Lynn asked, tilting her head at Adam.
“Uh, a girl who hooks up with a rich dude to take advantage of his money.”
She shook her head, sighing helplessly with a barely suppressed smile on her face. “Can’t dig for gold when there isn’t any to dig for in the first place. I was the one who paid for his last meal too.”
“You caught a fish and roasted it while I was asleep!”
“I paid with effort.”
“I’ll pay you back with gratitude.”
“That means nothing to me,” said Lynn, innocently.
“Fuck you.”
The three in front of him laughed, and Alen’s shoulders relaxed as a grin crept onto his face. He threw a strange, triangle-shaped berry into his mouth and chewed, motioning to the place around him. Dark cavern roof. Gloomy walls. Burnt down buildings. Perfect place for a nice chat, he noted.
“Alright, so now that we’re all here, and we have a bit of time until we set off for whatever, are you guys down to just chill here?”
“Yo, I’m down,” Adam swiped a fruit from the basket and bit down on it, finding a comfortable seat on a charred, wooden plank. Sam followed suit, merely opting to sit down on the dusty Stonewood boards beneath them. Lynn leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, stealthily grabbing various pieces of food from Alen’s dwindling basket. He slapped her hand.
“Ow, hey!” She glared.
Alen coughed, ignoring her, and smiled, the warmth in his chest unmistakable in the cold caverns on the Underearth. He looked around at his companions and grinned.
“So,” he clapped his hands together happily.
“Who wants to talk about the awesome shit they almost died doing first?”