Mordent surveyed the battlefield with cold eyes, standing nearly motionless on an elevated command platform. Underneath lands of growing fields and bustling towns, the city of abyss was being attacked. Again.

This time it was Lithauri raiders. The damn lizards had blitzed through two outposts, their speed giving barely enough time for a garrison to assemble at one of the Southeastern perimeter tunnels. A scant hundred soldiers were mustered, nowhere near enough to repel the incoming horde. Their commander immediately sent warning to the city, although he wasn’t quick enough to pull the soldiers into the tunnel fortifications.

In no time at all, the perimeter force had been driven back and defeated in a violent skirmish. The Lithauri split up, sending a vanguard to push deeper into the outlying areas while the rest stayed behind, entering the mining caverns. They killed anyone who fought back and took the rest as slaves, descending to the bottom of the mines for the excavation machinery. Completely disregarding the stability of the caverns and the delicate concentration of mana within, the monsterfolk carved great chunks of stone up from the ground and smashed them into pieces for the mana crystal growths within, filling bags with valuable pieces of rock to carry back.

As the raiders trashed the mines in a frantic spree, the vanguard reached a series of fortified gates and walls separating the outlying zones from the heart of Drastum city. Waiting for them there was Mordent Fallow, Necronum Lord and Paragon of the Abyss. Most people didn’t know of the Necronum Lord part, of course. They knew him as a level thirty-nine [Necromancer], one of the pillars who defended the city of abyss and kept it from falling to the monsters and monsterfolk tribes who lived beneath the surface.

He was facing one such tribe now. The monsterfolk were tearing across the eight hundred yards separating them from the Drastum fortifications at speeds nearly matching a horse at gallop. The attacking force consisted of the elite Lithauri Vorcen, massive warriors who acted as the main shock troops of the lizard-like Lithauri tribes. The grey-blue figures sprinted on all fours, closing the distance rapidly.

They were on a suicide mission, that much was clear. Faced with hundreds of Drastum soldiers manning the high walls and backed by a Paragon, it was utterly impossible to think of taking the defenses.

But the Vorcen weren’t here to win. They were here to buy time.

Their fellow tribesmen would be hauling the plunder, moving back into the depths of the underground. It was slow business, hampered by the slaves and sheer weight of the precious minerals, so they used proactive strikes as a way to retreat without being immediately run down. Drastum learned that it was dangerous to deploy tunnel crawlers or teams of mages straight in pursuit and risk running head-on into a bloodthirsty mass of monsterfolk.

For whatever tribes they come from, the loss of two hundred elites would be a harsh blow. However, the Lithauri didn’t value their lives in the way humans did and considered it an honour to be entrusted with the safe return of their brethren. There was nothing more important than the livelihood of the next brood.

A noble prospect, but one that would see them all dead in the next hour. Mordent was here to ensure that.

He watched the Vorcen close within maximum range of the ballista mounted on the wall, indicated by an inconspicuous cluster of magic lanterns on the tunnel walls. Two bursts of red sparks from his hand gave the signal to fire.

With sounds like hammer blows, the great weapons released, sending oversized bolts streaking towards the distant mass of mottled bodies. As the five-foot-long projectiles went on their way, the ballista teams were already at work, cranking the arms back and loading new ammunition with practiced efficiency.

The moment they heard the weapons fire, the monsterfolk split up. Even then, several were plucked to the ground, skewered and gored by the ballista bolts. Many were caught when the spell traps in the floor activated, sending spikes of darkness out of the ground.

Mordent watched the numbers of the group drop as they neared the walls. The raiders were soon past the lowest firing arc of the ballista, prompting the soldiers to stop after three volleys. As the men on the walls nocked arrows, he sent a mental signal to his mass of waiting undead.

A wave of zombies and ivory golems poured through a gate in the walls. The Vorcen didn’t even hesitate at the sight—they bulged with battle fury and seemed to sprint even faster. The ground behind them was littered with huge bolts, some streaked with blood after hitting the Lithauri. Only a small fraction of the raiders lay still on the ground, testament to the Vorcen’s ability to endure massive wounds. Over a hundred and sixty were left running to meet the undead.

Mordent judged the timing to be right and snapped out two abilities. “[Reach of Darkness], [Corrupted Grasp].”

The front line of zombies surged forward, reaching out to slash at the Vorcen even though they were a dozen paces away. Shadowy claws emerged to reach the distance, rending the approaching Lithauri. The saurian warriors endured the strikes, crashing into the front lines of zombies and tearing limbs off with iron weapons and bestial ferocity. The first layers of zombies crumpled under the charge, but more came forward, swiping with ethereal hands. The Vorcen were visibly accumulating wounds, dripping ichor and losing momentum. However, the zombies were no match for the monsterfolk elite, even while under the effects of Mordent’s abilities. However, they had already inflicted an unstoppable attrition, tainting the Vorcen’s wounds and causing miasma corruption to run rampage.

Only a few dozen zombies were left, but their job was finished. It was up to the ivory golems to keep the Lithauri away from the walls until they collapsed. The constructs wrought of bone were much sturdier than the zombies and would not fall easily, even outnumbered and facing the might of the Vorcen. The vaguely humanoid golems were a nightmare of twisted, sharp protrusions and skeletal blades, perfect for savaging foes in close quarters. A mental command from their Necronum Lord sent them stomping to meet the Vorcen.

The two sides collided, monster against monster. The raiders, afflicted with life-draining poison as they were, fought brutally. Their claws and heavy armaments cracked bone, splintering pieces off the ivory golems even as they were stabbed and torn into by the unliving monstrosities. The soldiers on the wall began shooting arrows, no longer having to worry about hitting zombies.

Mordent watched in silent disgust as the Lithauri began to dismantle his golems. The constructs were expensive to make and required large mana imbuement, but he was a Paragon of the Abyss, tasked with defending Drastum to the best of his ability—which meant deploying his higher-quality undead. He couldn’t directly participate, of course, even though he was a formidable spellcaster. A few monsterfolk raiders didn’t warrant personal intervention from a Paragon. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t throw his creations at them. Mordent was a [Necromancer], after all, and a good one at that.

Despite being on a much different level than the zombies, his ivory golems were losing to the Vorcen, although they were proving to be much harder to overcome. The bone constructs slashed with skeletal blades, moving with lethal speed belying their bulky appearance. The monsterfolk moved just as fast, though, smashing pieces off of the constructs until they could no longer function.

When the last of the ivory golems fell, rendered into white splinters, the Vorcen had less than a fifth of their original numbers remaining. None of the survivors were uninjured, and most looked like they should be rightfully dead. Grey lines ran through their bodies and countless shafts were buried in their scales from the continuous barrage of the soldiers.

Mordent felt a bit of satisfaction as several of the lizards slumped over where they stood, unable to endure the hail of arrows or potent miasma corruption any longer. The rest bellowed defiance and began scaling the walls.

Most of the Vorcen didn’t make it to the top before dying, exposed to arrows from all sides and runes on the walls. Only a few heaved their way over the battlements, barely able to gain footing before being speared.

It was honestly impressive that the monsterfolk made it that far, but they were ultimately stopped without much cost. To the soldiers manning the walls, that is.

The city was rather clear on not counting undead as casualties. The city tolerated necromancers, but they carried their hatred of the undead from the surface, even when there were far worse things to fear underground. Although they defended the city, the reanimated and unliving weren’t people. They were objects. Monsters.

Mordent didn’t quite disagree, but it was galling to see the loss of his creations be dismissed so casually. He watched the soldiers on the wall move back and forth, moving Lithauri corpses and restocking arrows. Seeing that the cleanup had already begun, he activated several runes on the command platform and sent it floating down, smoothly landing beneath the battlements.

The walls loomed over him as he stepped off onto the ground and dispelled the shield and barrier spells around the platform. Mordent headed to the central gate, followed by a detachment of officers, soldiers, and ghouls. The men at the portcullis were already working to get it open, pulling the heavy iron grating up enough for the retinue to get through.

They were used to Paragon Fallow’s habits. He was a familiar sight on the battlefield once the fighting was over, striding among the dead. Like all necromancers, he preferred his cadavers as fresh as possible, and there was no better time to pick up corpses than right after when they were… produced.

Mordent walked around the base of the walls, inspecting the grisly assortment of body parts, bone shards, and fallen Lithauri. The soldiers moved ahead to stab the Vorcen corpses, making sure they were dead. Ghouls followed behind to carry the bodies into the gates. The remnants of the zombies were mostly ignored, too broken to be reclaimed.

Mordent focused on some of the larger pieces of fractured bone, sensing residual death magic inside. Those could still be utilized. With a thought, a few of his ghouls moved over to pick up the pieces. Several of the officers watched from a distance, taking careful tally of everything he collected for their reports back to the city. Mordent scoffed on the inside at their behavior, but he knew that caution on part of the city was for good reason. Plenty of necromancers would be eager to abuse ranking positions to build up their own power in secrecy.

He turned his attention to the Lithauri corpses. Vorcen were uncommon, dead or alive, and he wanted to make good use of the bodies. Previous experiments showed that their muscle strands were unusually dense, naturally forming in intricate layers to better combine their strength. Perfect for the crypt lords and flesh golems he was working on. The only difficulty would be isolating what made them so, but Mordent was a scientist above all else and had plenty of time for research in his laboratory. It would be much easier with access to plenty of raw, high-quality materials.

While he was musing about the monsterfolk bodies, one of the officers walked forward. “Your Lordship, we’ve finished with an official count of the Lithauri dead and the golem remnants. The soldiers will be out if you require any assistance with moving the bodies.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Mordent inclined his head, hiding his slight irritation at having his thoughts interrupted. The officer took the silence as his cue to leave and headed back to the gate. The necromancer let the man pass from his mind and returned to looking over the corpses, flesh connections and muscle tissue dancing through his thoughts.

If anyone was listening closely, they might’ve heard him humming.

— -

Linnik Soens looked up as a messenger knocked on the door to his chambers. This was perhaps the tenth time in so many minutes that someone was here to give him another report or stack of files to take care of. He sighed heavily, not caring if his secretary heard it from her position near the front of his office, and waved to her to receive whoever it was.

She hurried over and greeted the messenger. Linnik heard a muttered conversation and the exchange of several papers before the door closed. His secretary came to his desk and deposited a file on top of the growing stack of documents in his work pile. “The reports for ballista bolt restocking on outer wall sections four and five, sir.”

He nodded, absently noting the detail down on a small sheet of paper. “Thank you, Rhenna.”

She glanced at the note and winced, seeing that the page had already been filled with tasks to do. She was currently almost finished with taking care of damage assessments for the outpost stations, but there was still much to do with keeping track of what the raiders had done.

In the past few hours since the Lithauri first overtook the outer tunnels, the administrative offices of Drastum had been caught in a flurry of activity. The soldiers may have done all the fighting, but the bureaucrats were the ones who would finish the battle. Someone had to take care of all the reports for casualties, munition expenditure, troop dispatches, rune usage, and undead reuptake.

One of those someones was Linnik, Drastum Seneschal and [Quartermaster]. A man of prestigious, if unenviable, position. He dealt with the logistics and other going-ons of the city alongside a considerable staff of assistants. Dozens of important documents reached his desk every day to be evaluated under his careful eye. A necessary duty, indeed.

Linnik reached into the messy pile of papers on his desk and shook the top one out. He looked at a rune recasting form for all of two seconds before scribbling a note on the large ledger to his side and slapping a stamp on top. It went a bit off-center from the small box where his seal was supposed to go and he sighed, contemplating leaving it as it was.

“Damn. [Erase].”

The ink slid off the paper and he pressed the stamp down again, this time aiming carefully. Task done, he slid the form into a tray labeled ‘OUT’ and moved to pull out another document. For a few minutes, there was silence, only broken by the sound of a stamp pushing down and the irregular scratching of a quill. Someone periodically came in to collect all the documents in the ‘OUT’ tray.

The next document Linnik pulled out had a special mark on it. A grey circle, broken on the bottom. Necronum business. His breathing picked up slightly at the sight, but he just opened it like any other form, eyes quickly scanning back and forth.

He frowned and looked to the side where a map detailing the movement of the Lithauri raiders lay. He looked back. Apparently, a junior [Necromancer] had gone to the Kriloris dungeon for ‘private business’ earlier this morning and was due to return some time ago. He hadn’t turned up and some members of the Necronum got concerned. Being a secretive organization which dabbled—more than dabbled, really—in death magic and necromancy, the Necronum liked to keep tabs on its members. In case something happened to them. And so they contacted the [Quartermaster].

The [Necromancer], one twenty-five-year-old Anthony Crishaw, most likely took the most direct path to the dungeon’s second-floor hidden entrance and back. That meant he would pass through the Southeastern perimeter tunnel and the Crags, a network of natural passageways which ran close to monsterfolk territory. Coincidentally, it happened to be where the Lithauri raiders were tracked to be headed, a few hours ago. Right about when Anthony should’ve returned.

It wasn’t hard for Linnik to connect the dots. He shot up and ran to the door.

— -

Two hours ago…

Anthony stared at the remains on the ground. A few had shreds of clothing on them, but they were unidentifiable bones for the most part. That was because the bodies had been ripped into, flesh torn away. Eaten. He fought not to throw up. Even though he’d seen his share of death, this was something else entirely.

The revenant appeared at his side. It looked around at the destroyed compound, barely seeming to register the mutilated bodies. Anthony gripped its arm, feeling the cold skin underneath his fingers. It looked at him, confused. “Is something wrong?”

Anthony was taking shallow breaths. “Something came here and killed everybody.” And then ate them.

The revenant was still confused. “Yes. A monster?”

“Yes, a monster. What else would it be? They were all fucking eaten!”

“No. They were not all eaten. There are still bones left. And clothes.”

Anthony wanted to scream. Instead, he pushed the urge down and moved over to one of the bodies. Once the initial horror had faded away, he could deal with this. Mostly. A bunch of dead people? Nothing worse than what was currently following him around. He looked back at the tunnel bend, where three zombies and a ghoul were standing around aimlessly. A mental command sent them over to what was left of the outpost.

He looked back at the skeleton and rolled it over with surprising ease. It felt wrong to just move the corpse like it weighed nothing, but most of the mass was gone… somewhere. Anthony quit thinking about it and inspected the ground underneath where a puddle of blood had formed, not yet entirely dry.

Wet blood. That meant whoever this was had still been bleeding a short while ago. As in, whatever monster killed all the outpost soldiers wasn’t long-gone.

Anthony felt a cold trickle of fear when he realized all of the corpses were similarly lying in still-wet pools of red. He immediately sent a mental signal for his undead to group up and go into what was left of the tower. Still holding the revenant’s arm, he followed them, trodding gingerly around the bodies and blood splatters on the ground.

The inside of the tower was hardly more pleasant than the outside. Skeletons lay on the ground in their own spread of crimson and there were pieces of broken furniture everywhere. Anthony ventured further into the tower, finding a small living area, armory, and command room. Everything of value had been taken, including the weapons and—Anthony was disappointed to see—the messaging orb.

At least the investigation gave some conclusion. Monsters wouldn’t have taken the swords and crossbows in the armory. That meant the outpost hadn’t been rolled over by some random high-tier monster, but rather an attacking group of monsterfolk. He wasn’t sure if that was a better prospect, considering monsterfolk were hardly more than monsters themselves.

They were actually much worse. Monsterfolk could think and reason as well as any human, but their primal behavior, questionable morality, and tendency to eat people meant they were lumped together with traditional monsters.

In many ways, monsterfolk were more dangerous. They were found in organized tribes and used weapons and magic. Oh, and they also liked to steal things from humans, which involved activities like raiding outposts. Go figure.

As he walked back to the first floor common room of the tower, Anthony saw more evidence that the outpost was the victim of a monsterfolk attack. Enchanted doors hadn’t been smashed in; the hinges were cut. Clothes and food were all missing, containers opened and locks broken into. They’d taken everything that wasn’t nailed down, and plenty of stuff that was.

The only good thing was that the raiders were gone. Besides that, well, nothing else about the situation was particularly good. There just wasn’t anything he could do. He didn’t dare venture back to the city in case monsterfolk were headed in that direction, and going back to the dungeon was pointless. He didn’t know his way around the Crags very well, so hiding in the tunnels wasn’t a smart choice. Anthony decided to just wait it out in the outpost until a Drastum patrol came.

Satisfied with his logic, he sat down on an empty wooden box and took his pack off his shoulder, rooting through the contents. He pushed aside an enchanted metal container, a book, and a rolled-up map before reaching his prize: an apple. Fruit was a rare treat down here, where much of the food came in deliveries from the surface and the freshest options were mushrooms and monsters.

To be fair, rock worms didn’t taste bad, but monsters just weren’t the same as stuff that grew on trees. Anthony scratched off a small preservation rune and took a bite. His group of undead stood in silent vigil among the broken bodies as their master spat out a seed.

— -

Nearly an hour had passed and no patrol had come. Anthony alternated between reading from a monster bestiary and looking out an observation slot on the second floor. He was beyond bored, but it only took a glance around the room to remind himself that venturing outside was a bad idea.

Probably a bad idea. But it wouldn’t hurt to stretch his legs, would it…?

Ah, damn it. Anthony stood up, feeling his muscles protest at having to move. He descended to the bottom floor and nudged open the door. The sight outside, or whatever passed for outside underground, was just as grisly as before. The only difference was that the puddles of blood around the bodies were darker and they were starting to smell.

Anthony grimaced, but raised his hands above his head and yawned. He peered around the gloomy tunnel, seeing nothing of interest. He turned around and saw his undead suddenly jerk into motion.

That was the moment when a long, thin dart hit him in the leg.

It didn’t hurt, but there was a strange feeling of pressure. Anthony just looked at it in shock, seeing the fur on the end quiver slightly with his movements. Then he felt it—liquid flowing into his bloodstream. He hastily reached down and ripped it out, feeling his skin tear with a sickening sensation as the barbed needle came loose. Curiously, there was still no pain, only a dull feeling that was spreading up his leg.

“[Static Purge], [Static Purge]!” Anthony felt his heart racing as he used the spell. The numbing sensation lessened a bit and it stopped spreading, but the damage was already done. His left leg was immobilized.

He turned around awkwardly, seeing several figures drop from the ceiling and advance towards him. Anthony cast a [Light] spell to banish the murkiness of the tunnels, squinting through the harsh brightness to see the figures in more detail. They recoiled, momentarily wavering as they were blinded. Anthony didn’t keep the light up for long because it was hurting his own eyes, but it was enough for him to get a clear glimpse of the attackers.

Monsterfolk. Of course. And given his luck, these were probably scouts for a much larger party.

The light had let him see that they were lizard-like with grey and blue scales, holding bows, short blades, and blowpipes. Anthony pulled his glaive off his back and began channeling his magic, determined to try and scare them away. His undead were arrayed in front of him, mindlessly protecting their master.

His mana responded sluggishly, as if it didn’t want to move, barely giving a flicker of power to the glaive’s focusing gemstone. Anthony tried to calm himself down. He tried again, but this time, none of his mana moved at all. His heart sank as he realized that there was some kind of magic-blocker in the dart’s injection.

One of the monsterfolk called out, “Is something wrong, necromancer?”

It was a male voice, raspy and barely understandable but strangely normal. Not something you’d expect from a monster. Anthony started at the sound and nearly tripped over his paralyzed leg, but caught himself. He placed the butt of his glaive on the ground and discretely put his weight against it, testing how immobilized he was. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to fight.”

The lizard person who had originally spoken made a sound like a snort. “What you want does not matter. Throw down your weapon and perhaps we will not kill you.”

Anthony glared at him. “Let's see who gets killed.”

A few of the monsterfolk chuckled. The original scout bared his teeth, the gesture visible even from the other side of the tunnel. “You have spirit, human. But not magic. You have felt our An’ishkatar venom, yes? It will take much time to wear off. Longer than you have here. Submit or die.”

Anthony closed his eyes. He was dead either way. In a fight, there were eight of them, and Anthony only had five undead, not including the revenant which hadn’t exited the tower. They would butcher the zombies and eat him here. If he surrendered, they would probably also eat him, but he’d just have to wait a bit longer.

He opened his eyes and looked around at his small group of undead, regretting that he didn’t bring more. Anthony eyed the skeletons on the ground. He briefly remembered Drastum laws against unsanctioned reanimation and, for what it was worth, his clean criminal record. A clean criminal record didn’t mean much if you were dead, though. Neither could you get arrested, for that matter.

The monsterfolk, impatient that he hadn’t responded, moved forward. Anthony watched them approach. He thought for a second longer and made a decision.