Arthur landed atop one of the skyscrapers of Camelot. The city was a ghost town. Those who had survived had left, fleeing to towns and cities away from the thousands of corpses that filled the city. Even from where he was, Arthur could hear the buzzing of billions of flies feasting on the bodies of men, women, and children.
The millions of corpses stirred as he looked down upon the undead army. The flies chewing at their rotting skin didn’t bother them as they moved about collecting weapons, their glowing baleful gazes sweeping the streets for anything living to tear into. Two days ago the dead had started raising and they had kept raising more and more.
Camelot, despite the massacre that had just occurred, was not cursed ground so there could only be one reason for the mass numbers of undead. A few hundred or thousand could be easily explained, but the millions would only be the result of one man: the Necromancer.
Arthur continued to survey the undead horde. Somewhere among that mass of death was the Necromancer but where was he? Other Champions had tried to kill him before. Some had died while others had wiped out his forces, only for him to escape every time. Arthur continued to scan the area moving from rooftop to rooftop until he saw the undead start rising in power.
They went from simple ghouls, zombies and other base undead to Wraiths, Death Knights and hulking masses of skeletons. Arthur crouched and looked at the mass of abominations. Finally, he spotted who he was looking for: A dark robed figure, though he couldn’t identify him at this range, but his gut told him this was who he was looking for.
Jumping off of the roof, Arthur activated his wings and they snapped out just before he hit the ground, the gears of his Atlas armor whirring as he charged forwards. Excalibur flashed out and slashed through the figure, but a ghoul toppled to the ground in two pieces instead.
“So,” a sibilant voice whispered from the horde around him. “The King of Camelot finally returns. You failed to strike down the Warlord and now you’ve come to fail again.”
A wave of black energy washed over Arthur, and he could feel his body weaken as debuffs plagued him. Golden light suffused him as he pushed out the debuffs and empowered himself. A death knight attacked him from the front and he blocked the swing of its sword, but then a wraith came in and its sword passed through the Atlas armor, digging into his flesh within the metal shell.
Arthur continued to cut down undead and spirit alike again and again. Soon he was atop a mountain of corpses only the heavy weight of the Atlas armor keeping him from just slipping and falling on his face or back. More and more spectral blades continued to pierce into his flesh as his body grew weaker and weaker.
Minutes dragged by, but eventually, Arthur sagged to his knees. Undead piled on him, their weight too heavy to throw off. Cruel, mocking laughter echoed through the silent ghost of a city as the Necromancer walked forwards.
“Was that the best you had?” Jas’trel asked.
Arthur looked up, reading the description of the man he had come here to kill.
Jas’trel, the Spirit King, Champion of Mournresh, Gifted- humanoid/bone-fey, Exarch, Rank 1,054
“You are as arrogant as they say,” Jas’trel said shaking his head. “You aren’t even Exarch rank and you come to challenge me alone. I thought it was a trick, but I searched the city and you are all alone. I’m almost insulted, at least you gave the Warlord the respect of bringing an army to fight him.”
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“Mordred taught me a lesson,” Arthur panted. “If you want to gain strength, you have to reach above yourself to reach the stars.”
“And how is that working for you?” Jas’trel asked with amusement.
“I got you out of hiding didn’t I,” Arthur said. “Face me, Jas’trel.”
The Necromancer stiffened as the notification popped into his vision.
“Gravitational Forces,” Arthur said.
The weaker undead around him just popped as they were crushed by the weight that landed on them. Buring golden light exploded out from Arthur incinerating all the undead within a hundred feet of him. A wraith on a spectral horse charged forward, hitting Arthur with a lance.
Arthur smiled inside his Atlas armor as one of The Necromancer’s minions attacked him. He flashed forwards in an instant, Excalibur swinging down. The Necromancer tried to teleport, but Gravitational Forces kept him locked down. He tried to block but he was just a thin boned fey with only his flesh and blood empowering his attacks while Arthur was fully empowered by the suit of Atlas armor.
Excalibur couldn’t cut through the artifact staff, but it batted it aside and kept on moving, cutting right through The Necromancer. Since one of his minions had broken the duel, he was vulnerable to the damage and died in a single stroke of the rank V artifact sword. The Necromancer’s body collapsed to the ground.
Righteous Zen: (Rank 1); To enact justice for the fallen is why you were called, dispassionate and unfeeling, the rage of your enemies only empowers you. When faced with an enraged enemy and you remain calm, their Might, Speed, and Toughness are reduced by .5% per second while this ability is active, and they remain enraged.
Each rank up increases your Spirit Attribute by 2.
Cost:
7 Mana per second
Casting Time:
Instantaneous
Undead collapsed around Arthur in droves. Not all as some had enough of their own internal energy to continue without their master. Now undirected, they charged the nearest living creature, Arthur, and were met by the sword. After a few more hours. . .
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Jeriah roared, collapsing the tunnel behind them as they kept running. Syvia waited for him and he glared at her but couldn’t stay angry.
“I told you to keep running with Irina,” he told her.
“I’m not going to leave you,” Syvia said, her golden wolf eyes flashing with defiance, but he could read the fear behind them.
Hammering echoed behind them as the forces of Camelot by Lancelot continued to hound them. Jeriah’s shoulders sagged. They had been on the move for so long, but they still hadn’t shaken their pursuers. The Dogs of Camelot is what they had taken to calling them as just like a blood hound, they never gave up.
“You must go,” Jeriah told her. “I’ll hold them back.”
“I will not leave you to your fate alone,” Syvia refused.
A deep growl filled the tunnel as her father came back down the tunnel.
“This is not a battle for the young,” Korsis said. “Go, I will buy you an hour. Keep collapsing the tunnels behind you.”
“Father…!” Syvia protested.
“Go!” Korsis said, his voice rising with anger and authority. He softened his look and pulled his daughter into an embrace. “I love you my little cub, but I have many children I must protect and this is a father’s duty, not that of his children.”
“Sir,” Jeriah said bowing his head to him.
“I am entrusting my daughter to you alone, now,” Korsis said. “Protect her with your life.”
“I will,” Jeriah promised.
He and Syvia ran, turning as they heard the stone behind them shatter. Korsis stood with a giant wolf at his side as the soldiers of Camelot rushed towards them. A howl ripped down the tunnel promising blood and pain with more and more howls answering it. The chief of the Wolf Clan was joined by numerous howls as wolves with fur made of moonlight emerged from the shadows.
Jeriah couldn’t see the battle anymore, but he heard the screams of men and yelps of wolves as the two armies clashed. It would be a bloody cost, but the outcome was already certain: Korsis would take many with him, but he had already paid with his life even if he still drew breath.
Jeriah stopped, and though it tore him apart inside to leave his father-in-law behind, he stomped and roared, cracking the walls and ceiling. He and Syvia ran on as the tunnel collapsed behind them, again sealing Korsis’ fate.