Hungry Necromancer

Chapter 197: Prep For War; Assault On Demme (P2)

Is this what it's like fighting me? The sheer number of these things!

I look up the stairs and lo and behold there are still more and more bodies filing out. Just how many of these creatures is the Daemon going to summon, and more importantly, is it going to leave any corpses for me to raise?

I'd say they're several times worse than my own undead. At least my undead bleed and can be subject to Necrotic energies...think. But these guys don't feel a think. 

By now, since their appearance they've been morphing and changing, worsening with each crack of their bones and explosion of mass, mass that seems to come out of no where to begin with.

Now the majority of them are toughened up and buff with excessive amounts of meat on their weak bones. They're slow but they pack a punch if the broken floor and several unfortunate bits of furniture were anything to go by.

Trying not to get hit isn't the challenge however, the challenge here is keeping these beasts out of the main city.

"Fragas!" I yell out the man, slicing and dicing uselessly at the tough muscles of the beasts, "You're nothing here! Go warn the militia, warn Juri, and get better armour!" 

Being distracted is also a luxury. The beasts have the numbers and the advantage of terrain so with them still filing out from upstairs, they could easily overwhelm Anselm and I. 

The man hesitates a bit but looking at his blunted knife he comes to his senses, tosses it and runs out of the Mansion.

Good. 

I look back to my many, many opponents, black hulking monsters of great distortion, abominations of the human anatomy and sigh.

This is possibly the worst kind of enemy for me to face off against. An enemy without a Soul, with immunity to Necrosis and an enemy that just won't die from normal blows.

Even with Anselm's frosting mace it takes more than just a few bashes to the head of one to put it down and frozen in ice. So far, among the three of us he's the only one to have done any sort of damage.

Alric has yet to show off what exactly he can achieve with his enchantments, but I'm not much one to talk as I'm just as useless, if not more so than he is.

Dodging yet another swipe at my head my mind races, trying to think of a way to sort this out. But nothing comes up, many of my spells, my good spells have requirements that need to be met.

Perhaps I really should learn another kind of magic.

A blast of sound resonates through the Mansion and my attention is drawn to Anselm flying fast and far away from one of the monsters.

His body slams in one of the walls and is embedded in there. "Fuck." He groans out. 

I concur, the beast that slapped him away is noticeably nothing like any of the others. Where the stairs divide there stands a single black, towering entity, giant teeth bared out at us and arms like slug hanging beside it. 

This beast stands several heads above the others and as such, its head nearly scrapes the top of the floor above this one. It growls and the slug hands begin to rise, splitting in two, then three, and four until there are several tendrils of it floating in the air.

"Alric, I don't think we can win this." I mutter in a soft, but calm voice.

The man, covered in sweat glances at me, "Huh?"

"Can you lock them in?" I ask, not turning to look at Alric, my eyes trained on the big guy. Ever since it's appearance and its prompt slapping of Anselm, the only person doing any damage, the little ones have since begun to retreat to its side.

"What?"

"There isn't any time, Alric." I say through grit teeth, knowing that if I waste anymore this thing will kill us all. "Get to the door and seal it shut! Get out!"

At my yelling it bristles and so do the little ones, growling all round it sounds like a jungle. Fuck.

"Hurry, Alric."

Fortunately, he gets the idea and he starts to move, sprinting for the large, long mansion doors. 

"What about you!" He yells, causing the otherwise calm monsters to start trailing toward me.

"You're the only one who can die here, Alric. Get out!" By now they've begun sprinting, leading the charge from the big guy. I take out my Dagger and breath the familiar Vamipiric mist on it. It may be useless but its still some form of resistance.

"Anselm!" I call out. He groans and gets himself out of the wall he'd been thrown into, mace back in hand.

Dashing to the side I dodge one strike and I'm immediately treated to another. Fuck! The blubbery, muscled fist slams into my chest, most likely breaking more than a few ribs. I realize the big guy is coordinating them, before he arrived it was the easiest thing to dodge their sluggish attacks.

As my body is tossed back several feet like a roll I get a glance of Anselm heaving into the air and slamming back down with a tidal force of ice.

And then, just then, watching him set them all up with ice. An idea finally makes it way up in my head. I breathe, or try to, coming out more as a sick wheezing.

The pain of a rib or two poking at or perhaps even into my lungs is unlike any other.

"Shaco." I barely manage, "Where is Panda!"

"Master, the moment I got there Panda was already fighting several giant wolfs and spiders." 

Fuck, forget what I said earlier, I might actually die here. It seems I've underestimated the Benefactor, the Daemon has played this game well, dividing us and even making sure we couldn't meet.

I'll be dead before any sort of help comes through

"Asher! I'm havi-" Anselm tries to communicate with the horde of black monsters reaching for him.

"Master, I may not have been able to bring Panda into the village, but I have had him come up around the sides, we're close to the Mansion now, just separated by walls."

Hope sparks in my heart and I force myself up to my feet, wheezing and reluctant to do anything but run at this point. But fortunately, I'm a resourceful person.

"Death Grip." quick and smooth as ever, I spawn dozens of hands and launch them all at my opponents. They're all sluggish so I hit all the targets, all thirty of them including the big guy.

Unfortunately, this spurs a retaliation from the big guy himself. Its dozens of tendrils frill aggressively and launch out through the air, much in the same manner my Death Grip hands did. 

In that moment I pull out another spell, "Corpse Ignition." With another, great exhausting pump of mana into what I only just realize and accepted were simply corpses, basically fancy undead but undead all the same.

"Anselm, run!" I manage to spare just before one of the tendrils is up in my face, it stabs me through the shoulder, but before the others can skewer me to oblivion, I utter the name of a spell I'm hoping will work,  "Dark Step!"

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