Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Soldiers were pack beasts, confident only when they had the advantage in numbers. The few men who were still standing after Lieze’s attack were gripped with such terror that the punishment for desertion didn’t even cross their minds. In one moment, they had been convinced of the Order’s superiority, dropping their weapons to escape from the approaching horde.

Their spot of hope didn’t last long, however. As soon as they approached the arcade intersection, a horrifying roar lent them a few precious seconds to accept their demise before a Rot Behemoth barrelled through the group, crushing the skulls of soldiers underfoot as it careened straight into the confines of a nearby bakery. In its wake approached Gravewalkers, Flesh Elementals, and eventually a familiar face.

“...Marché.” Lieze took her gaze off Furainé for a moment, “You look terrible.”

“Yes, well…” The man lifted a hand to his face, only to succeed in smearing his features with blood, “Things weren’t too terrible up to the moment when our spells were sealed. We had to get a little creative after that…”

“What happened?” Lieze asked.

“Royalists happened.” He replied, “If you’ll recall, my duty was to reinforce and defend our territory during the battle. Soldiers and priests have been flooding into the district this whole time, so we’ve had our hands full with keeping them at bay.”

“Are more of them coming?” She tilted her head.

“Tonight? No.” He answered, “Tomorrow? Absolutely. But you already knew that.”

“Good work.” Lieze offered a rare commendation, “Our strategy didn’t go entirely to plan, but we were able to pull it back. Those men you just flattened were the last of Furainé’s squad. Now we only have her to deal with.”

“Furainé…”

Marché muttered the name with sadness in his tone. His eyes darted to the woman encased in a magical barrier just a few feet away.

“You’re the one who killed Alma.” He muttered.

“Ah, yes. What a sweetling she was…” Furainé replied, “It’s always upsetting to see such an innocent girl corrupted by the Order’s influence. I would have loved to re-educate her in the ways of our Lord, but His Majesty has no tolerance for treason.”

“You don’t have a problem with Alistair’s rule?” Marché asked, “Ricta’s ancestor was chosen to be king by the first Dragon Priest centuries ago. Alistair may be a Saint, but he had no right to depose the boy.”

“Oh dear… conversing with necromancers really is quite troublesome.” Furainé sighed, “A king’s mandate is no more than a suggestion. Ricta was a poor man and an even poorer king. The Order was the least of the city’s concerns when its own monarch was liable to destroy it from the inside-out.”

“Let’s stop playing these games, Morgan.” Lieze interrupted, “Alistair doesn’t care for this city - to say nothing of yourself. The two of you are only interested in one thing.”

“Oh?” The abjurator grinned behind the haze of her barrier, “-Please, do enlighten me.”

Lieze unfurled her fingers to reveal the golden scale fused to her palm.

“The power of the ‘Scions’ - this is what you’re looking for, isn’t it?” She asked, “This is why you fell in with Helmach, and why he resisted the urge to take my life. I’d wager it also had something to do with your decision to burn down the Library of Uke, where the last shred of information concerning the Scions was hidden.”

“You were there?” Furainé raised an eyebrow, “Hm. Now that is a problem…”

“Lieze.” Marché observed the golden scale, puzzled, “What’s all this you’re going on about?”

“Oh my - she hasn’t told you?” Furainé smirked, “Your resplendent leader is a host for our Lord’s power - the Scion of the Gildwyrm, just as Helmach was the Scion of the Blackbriar.”

“...Is that true, Lieze?” Marché asked.

“Oh, don’t act so dramatic about it.” She answered, “It’s a powerful tool, and we wouldn’t have gotten this far without it. You had better not be thinking of abandoning me after all this time.”

“No… no.” He placed a hand to his chin, “On the contrary, I find it fascinating. It certainly would explain your explosive growth…”

“Morgan is a Scion, too.” She locked eyes with Furainé, “As is Alistair - the Scions of abjuration and evocation, respectively.”

“Goodness. You really have been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, haven’t you?” She sounded genuinely surprised, “If you weren’t a necromancer, we could have been allies…”

“Somehow, I can’t help but think that ‘being a necromancer’ doesn’t have much to do with that.” Lieze replied, “What are the Scions? Do we serve a greater purpose? I could absorb Helmach’s powers - is that the natural conclusion of our existence? If so, then why didn’t Helmach kill me back then?”

“What gives you the impression that I’m going to divulge any of this information to you?” She asked, “My powers of abjuration extend far beyond the silencing of magic. No amount of steel or sorcery could penetrate this barrier which has been invoked by the God of protection itself.”

“Marché.” Lieze beckoned with her finger, “Come here and give this barrier a whack with your dagger.”

“Oh, no. I’m in no mood to be thrown around by a repulsion field, thank you very much.” He refused.

“The state of necromancers these days…” Drayya, who had been tapping her foot against the ground, stepped towards the barrier, “Stand back, you two.”

Drawing her dagger, she wasted no time thrusting the weapon into the barrier, expecting it to simply break apart as if she’d struck some kind of weak point. It came as no surprise to Lieze or Marché when she was suddenly thrown back by a repelling blast of magic, spraining her ankle as she hit the polished floor with a thud.

“Gods damn it… I just had that healed…” She winced, “One of you - come over here.”

“Healed?” Lieze paused, “Do your cultists practise restoration, Marché?”

“Only as a result of their circumstances.” He folded his arms, “Some of them have been excommunicated from the faith. It’s only natural that novice priests would have some understanding of restoration magic.”

“Well - I won’t complain. Anything’s welcome so long as it aids us.” She replied.

“That doesn’t sound like a statement sponsored by the Order.”

“Let’s keep this conversation for another time.” She turned towards Furainé, “I’m surprised that dagger wasn’t enough to break through the barrier… it doesn’t seem to be in the best shape.”

Perhaps as a result of her [Corpse Explosion], the magical shield had a network of cracks running across its shimmering surface. She was surprised it had retained so much of its strength, but Marché could only stare upon the barrier in confusion.

“It looks quite sturdy to me…” He muttered, “What gives you that idea?”

“What are you on about?” She pointed towards a particularly large fissure, “There are cracks all over it. I didn’t know magical barriers could be cracked - they’re either active or inactive, as far as I knew.”

“Are you well, Lieze?” He blinked, “I don’t see any cracks.”

“As much as it pains me to admit, your comrade is correct.” Furainé said, “Of all the wards an abjurator can conjure, there is no greater protection than this. It is impervious to any damage - physical or magical. Did you really think I would be leading an army if I didn’t have a method of protecting myself?”

“Say whatever you like, but what I see is what I see…” Lieze shrugged her shoulders, taking a step towards the barrier.

The gaps in its spheroid composition were large enough to sink one’s fingers into. With her twice-reconstituted arm, she reached out to the surface expecting her touch to be repelled, but was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing but a static tingling as the tip of her index finger hooked around a break in the barrier.

“Do you see?” She wiggled her fingertip to prove a point, “This couldn’t stop an arrow.”

“What!?” Furainé took a step back, dragging the barrier - and Lieze - with her, “How are you-”

Her eyes widened upon spotting the discoloured, barky flesh of Lieze’s arm.

“The Mercuria…” She whispered, “You- you fool! What have you done!?”

Furainé’s exasperated tone was music to Lieze’s ears. It was the first time she had ever seen the unflappable nun’s attitude waning. It struck her at that moment that the dynamic between them had been completely reversed. She was now in complete control of the conversation.

“This is Helmach’s ability.” Lieze explained, “But, something doesn’t make sense to me. Despite losing his tongue - and some other rather important bits - he never once made use of this ability to regain his lost flesh. Why is that?”

“You… that’s how you were able to stand up again…” Furainé muttered, “Have you no shame? Usurping the flesh of a God for your own needs… just how depraved of a necromancer are you?”

“I don’t think you heard me, so I’ll ask again: why did Helmach never use this power?”

“I will tell you nothing.” She spat, “You meddle with forces beyond your control, Sokalar.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that.” Lieze smirked.

With a yank of her arm, the barrier’s perimeter ripped like wet paper, dissolving into a soggy mess before vanishing completely, exposing Furainé to the world around her. She didn’t hesitate to run without saying another word, but Marché had already stuck a foot out to catch her ankle, sending the nun tumbling into a tangle of her comrades’ melting flesh.

An urge to vomit bubbled up to her throat, but she was able to swallow her disgust. Before she could even think of standing, however, a hand had already descended to lift her by the collar.

“How I’ve waited for this day…” Drayya’s voice slithered into her ear canal, “Do you recall our first meeting, Morgan? You had quite a bit to say about my father’s barbaric execution.”

“...Don’t dirty my body with your blood-soaked hands, heathen.” Furainé spat.

“For how many days did he endure the torture of your foetid priests, I wonder?” She continued, “3? 4? You spoke of his suffering with such poignant ecstasy. Are you the sort of woman who delights in witnessing pain, Morgan? If so, you’ll be positively delighted by the fate I have in store for you.”

“Drayya.” Lieze spun the girl down with her tone, “She mustn’t die.”

“Oh, no. Perish the thought.” Drayya chuckled, “Death and undeath - twin fates too luxurious for one so deplorable. She will spill every secret, and I will work the details out of her so methodically and exquisitely that she will be begging to divulge them.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the task.” Lieze turned to her subordinates, “-As for the rest of you, there is still work to be done. The northern district is not ours - not until every last royalist has been purged from its streets. We must accomplish this task before the crack of dawn.”

“We’ve lost quite a few thralls…” Marché rubbed the back of his head, “Then again - how bad of a problem is that, really? I’m sure there are still plenty of civilians foolish enough to have remained after the evacuation order.”

“Excellent. You all have your orders then.” She turned her head, “And Morgan - the faster you reveal Alistair’s secrets, the less time you will have to spend with Drayya. And I do not exaggerate when I say that your mind will be better off for it.”

“Fools…” Furainé spoke through clenched teeth, “Your hubris will be the death of you all…”