Gremlins materialized from the mist in great droves, the monsters immediately attacking the undead horde the necromancer had summoned. Darian moved to Jorg’s side as the bloody slaughter began, his sword held at the ready. But none of the little beasts attacked him or the others. Their attention seemed to be solely focused on the dwarves and their undead allies.
“I can’t stop the bleeding,” Krast huffed, his hands pressed to Jorg’s chest.
Blood ran freely from the crossbow bolt in the big man’s chest. His eye lids fluttered, and his muscles tensed as he tried to rise, but his wounds were too severe. And he’d used his healing spells on Isaac, leaving them with no magical means to help him.
Darian activated [Minor Rally] hoping the extra strength and constitution the skill provided could help. But even after the skill resolved, Jorg did not improve.
“He’s dying,” Krast whispered, defeated.
Darian scanned the battlefield, looking for some way to get the wounded out. But with both Isaac and Jorg down, there was simply no way they could escape without being overwhelmed. But I will not abandon them. He set his stance, ready to carve a bloody path through the forest if that’s what it took.
Roots erupted from the earth around Jorg, cocooning his body in bark before Darian had time to react. Then the wood started to press in tighter, threating to crush the paladin where he lay. Darian hacked at the twisting roots, but the wood regenerated after each slash.
“Leave him be,” a voice whispered from the fog, penetrating Darian’s thoughts.
The roots stopped moving and a golden light began to envelop Jorg, the air humming from positive energy.
“It’s healing him,” Krast said, stepping back. “What’s going on?”
Then more roots moved to surround Isaac, the boy grunting as they enveloped him. But then golden light spilled from the bark, and Isaac calmed, the red slash across his midsection slowly healing.
Two creatures hesitantly fluttered down from above, their voice reaching out to Darian through the clashing of steel and the howl of the undead.
“They’re safe!” Tellal called.
Darian squinted up at the fairy sister’s, confusion threatening to overwhelm his senses.
“We knew a fellow fey was close,” Lallet said. “But we never though it would be her.”
“Who are you talking about?” Darian asked, noticing the gremlins were slowly being whittled down.
“She’ll be here soon,” Tellal responded.
“We’ll keep healing your friends, but you’ll have to finish off the rest of them with the gremlins help,” Lallet added.
So these roots are from them? He glanced at the fog. But I have a feeling the fog and gremlins are from someone else. Darian turned toward the battle, Sparkblade gripped tightly in his hands. If his companions were being tended to, then he could focus his full attention on the enemies before him.
Mentally designating the remaining gremlins as allies, Darian activated [Minor Rally] and charged into the fray, his sword tearing a skeleton’s head from its shoulders. Then he deflected a rusted sword before hacking his way toward the necromancer. Shielded dwarves still blocked his path and he could hear the crossbowmen preparing another round of bolts, but he would find a way through.
The necromancer raised his palm and an orb of swirling flame burst through the mist. Darian ducked it, but another slammed into his shoulder. He gritted his teeth through the agony, his sword slicing through a zombie’s leg. Vaulting the tumbling monster, Darian slammed his blade down, the edge cracking into the rim of a metal shield.
The dwarf who held it stumbled back, the blow knocking him off balance. Then he made a halfhearted swing with his mace, the strike missing Darian as he dodged backwards. The other dwarf pressed forward, his shield lighting up. But he was too slow to help his companion.
Arcing his blade past the dwarf’s defenses, Darian’s sword sliced down the dwarf’s chest, his chainmail little defense against arcane steel. And with the aid of [Determined Strike] Darian pulled his arm back and thrust, his sword piercing the dwarf’s stomach.
Blood erupted from his mouth, and Darian pulled on it with his mind, solidifying it into a weapon. Jumping back from the other dwarf’s mace, Darian sent his blood daggers into the warrior’s shield. Distracted from the attack, Darian spun around and brought his sword downward. It carved into the dwarf’s shoulder, parting the meat like a butcher’s cleaver.
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The necromancer raised both arms, and the area around Darian erupted with pillars of ice. Darian managed to jump away before he was skewered, but one of the shards caught him along the leg. Hobbling, he ducked another fireball before returning with his own shard of ice. It hit the necromancer square in the chest, but it didn’t manage to pierce his robe. Damn thing must be enchanted. The dwarf Darian had been fighting slumped over, his body pierced by the pillars. Discarded like a useless tool. Darian had no love in his heart for his enemies, but seeing them so quickly cast aside their allies lit a fire in his chest.
Glancing about, the situation looked grim. The gremlins were all dead, leaving the remaining undead to wander toward the others while a few shuffled at Darian from behind. And there were at least two dwarves in the trees above, with who knows how many more potentially coming from the tunnel or the forest.
But looking at the tunnel, Alistair emerged, his body still being cradled by his skeletal minion. He spotted his fellow practitioner of the dark arts, and frowned.
“Porter,” Alistair called, his voice a dry crackle. “Never expected to see the likes of you again.”
The necromancer turned his attention away from Darian, his lips curling around a sneer.
He was about to say something when Darian activated [Dash Strike], shooting forward with enough speed to catch the necromancer off guard. He brought an arm up to defend himself, but Darian’s sword sliced clean though it and into the man’s shoulder. With a scream, he fell away, blood gushing from the searing wound.
Before he could finish the necromancer, Darian was forced to jump to the side, a crossbow bolt thunking into the dirt where he’d been standing. Then he heard the pull of a trigger, and another bolt was flying at him from above. Ducking, he managed to barely miss the attack, but then a fireball exploded against his chest, knocking him backwards.
The necromancer was readying another spell when Darian activated [Rebound Pain], the skill he’d absorbed from the nightmare’s blood. The skill amplified and reflected whatever pain the user felt, and all of it mentally slammed into the necromancer.
Whatever spell he was attempting to cast failed, and he instead began to writhe on the ground, his voice cracking as he screamed in agony. But he did not scream for long, as the edge of Darian’s blade soon split his throat. And with him dead, his undead summons crumbled into nothingness.
Darian knelt onto the ground and gripped the necromancer’s body. His fangs sunk into his neck, warm blood filling his mouth.
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Blood Consumed: Necromancer Lv. 11
Temporary skill gained: [Summon Horde]
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The crimson nectar eased the burning in his chest and shoulder, but it also boosted his strength and agility. Tossing the body down, he spotted one of the dwarves in the branches above.
Putting all his strength into his legs, Darian jumped, the dwarf’s eyes going wide as Darian slashed. His sword cut into the man’s ankle, and he tumbled to the ground. Landing, Darian sprang forward and plunged his sword downward. It pierced right through the dwarf’s leather armor and the tip sank into the ground.
Tearing his sword free, Darian searched the canopy for the remaining crossbowman, but he couldn’t find any trace of him. All that remained was the silent hum of the healing roots and the low drone of wind through the forest.
Alistair shuffled forward on shaky legs, his skeleton marching at his back. He paused before the dead necromancer, his brow upturned as he observed the blood dripping from Darian’s chin.
“Hope he wasn’t a friend of yours,” Darian said, wiping his mouth.
“Hardly,” Alistair replied. “But he is only an apprentice. His master won’t be far off and in our condition, a battle with him could prove troublesome.”
“Our?” Darian nodded at the forest. “Planning on hanging around?”
“Until I’m out of this forest, yes.” Alistair placed his hand against a tree, his face sweaty despite the cold. “We need to start moving. More will be on us soon.”
Darian walked past the necromancer and to Krast. The fairy sisters hovered above him, their wings frantically buzzing.
“I won’t leave without them.” Darian knelt beside Jorg, the paladin seeming to be in a deep slumber.
“Stay and you’ll most likely die,” Alistair said, leaning on his undead minion for support.
“The Deeproot will be here soon,” Tellal said, her voice edged by a mixture of fear and excitement. “And she is a friend.”
Alistair glared at the fairy. “Fey do nothing without a price. So what is hers?”
“Doubt we’ll have to wait long,” Darian said, rising to his feet. “Someone is coming from the north. Steps are soft and deliberate, but they’re moving quickly.” He turned toward the tunnel, the echo of boots coming from the entrance. “But we’ll have more company before she gets here.” He activated the temporary skill [Summon Horde] he’d absorbed from the necromancer, summoning a mixture of low-level skeletons and zombies. He used them to form a barrier of bone and meat between the tunnel and his downed allies.
“You planning on helping?” Darian asked Alistair. “You mentioned a bone golem while you were in the cell. How about you summon it?”
Alistair shook his head. “I fear that in my weakened state, that particular unique skill will drain me too much. I wouldn’t be able to walk after using it.”
“I will protect you,” Darian assured, the men within the tunnel drawing closer. “I promise.”
The necromancer didn’t seem fully convinced. But when he looked around, he seemed to realize his best chances of survival were to stay and fight, even if that chance was slim.
“Fine,” he said, the ground before him swirling in solid darkness. “Just make sure to stay out of its way.”