Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Finding Sokalar was no great task. The eye-watering stench of death followed him like a curse, and his robed form practically exuded evil. With Lieze’s forces combining with the Order’s, there were just about 1,000 thralls wandering the district, leaving the Artificial Scions with very few opportunities to swoop down for uncontested attacks.

From that worry emerged a kind of stalemate. On the ground, the forces of necromancy awaited a hail of spear thrust, whereas in the sky, the Scions circled with ominous intent, surrounding the district like sharks in the water.

Lieze sucked air through her teeth as her false eye studded the inside of her socket with barbs. A hundred needles pierced her tender flesh for reasons that only the Gods understood. Drayya took note of her agony with uncharacteristic worry, having spent the majority of their trip casting glances towards Lieze’s mutilated face.

“If you keep this up, you’re going to be more Briar than human.” She warned, “Try to treat your body with the respect it deserves, Lieze.”

“No… this is good…” Lieze sighed as the pain subsided, “This black blood… it grants me power. As I’m wounded, my weak flesh is replaced by something greater, and the more blood I can harvest from this holy bark…”

She sounded insane - of that, she was certain. But with Sokalar’s return, there was no longer a line to be drawn in the sand. Lieze would happily mutilate herself if it meant having an edge over Alistair. And her father.

Sokalar observed the stalemate from the gatehouse. He was unguarded, which should have attracted the ire of the Artificial Scions, but they didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. In one hand, he held a stave of his own design which Lieze hadn’t seen since before the siege. It was a length of aged oak wrapped with flaps of rotting skin. A single, crimson orb was suspended within the spiral near the top - some sort of artefact created using alchemy.

Lieze paused before recalling that she could [Identify] such items with a thought.

Magical Focus (Staff of Thraldom)

Attunement - Necromancy Attunement Index - 100% Reservoir Quality - 89%

Stored MP - 3,417

Description - While wielded in both hands, [100%] of a [Necromancy] spell’s MP cost is syphoned from this item’s mana reservoir. The reservoir recovers MP at a rate of 1MP/minute.

Innate Ability: Wide-Range Master Necromancy

Description - Twice per day, this staff may be used to cast the [Master Necromancy] spell. When used in this manner, the spell’s range increases to include every applicable corpse within 100ft of the caster.

“That’s a powerful spell… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use it before…” Lieze thought, “It’s a better focus than my own staff, too…”

As she, Drayya and Marché approached the Lich, he noticed her intrigued look.

“You are late.” He greeted, “We stand to suffer great losses if these creatures cannot be repelled.”

“I think that’s the plan.” Lieze replied, “Alistair can’t win through numbers alone, so he needs to rely on the ability of flight to outrange us. This is exactly why I wanted to reinforce our ranks with Dark Casters, so we wouldn’t be completely defenceless.”

“...Your body has been touched by the Blackbriar.” Sokalar said, “What is this power of death you wield that binds the service of the Lord of Flesh?”

“Can’t this wait until we’re victorious?” Lieze asked.

“Now that you are here, the time for victory has arrived.”

That almost sounded like a compliment, but Lieze knew better than to assume her father meant it in that way. She recoiled as Sokalar pointed his staff towards her chest, only to feel an unwelcome nausea spreading through her body as the crimson orb began to glow.

“What…?” She gripped her chest, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Now that your abilities have progressed beyond those of an apprentice, you can fulfil one of your many purposes.” Sokalar explained, “You are my blood, and the nascent mana in your body can be traced back to my own. When called, the child will always return to their father.”

The orb flashed with such intensity that Lieze’s vision was caked in crimson for a brief moment. When her sight returned, there was an emptiness in her soul - a severe lack of the MP she had been careful with rationing up to that point.

Lieze’s MP - 0 / 1,390

“...You stole my mana?” She frowned, “For what purpose?”

She didn’t receive an answer. Sokalar didn’t seem particularly pleased with the paltry amount of MP he was able to syphon from Lieze’s body. The Lich levitated forward, towards the wide streets leading into the eastern district, leaving Lieze with a literal and not-so-literal wound in her soul.

“Where are you going!?” She demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Drayya folded her arms, “He’s going to end this farce. He was just waiting for you to drop by so he could steal a quick boost.”

For a moment, Lieze almost forgot that she was speaking to Ignas Sokalar. Her father - the greatest necromancer alive, who had unravelled the secrets of death and attained Lichdom. Her gaze wandered to the staggering [61] over his head. Was it even possible for someone without a Scion’s power to reach that level of strength?

Her answer came in the form of a spell. Not mere necromancy or [Blood Magic], but something darker and more grotesque. As Sokalar levitated into the air, he remained unmolested by the Scions, who seemed to be placing some distance between themselves and the Lich in preparation for something.

Raising his staff, the earth beneath Lieze’s feet began to quake. Seconds later, the cobblestone road split open, sending chunks of granite flying in every direction. It was a wound in the very earth from which unspeakable things could emerge - tendrils, namely. Tendrils so black and twisted that they couldn’t have belonged to anything other than the Blackbriar.

The crooked limbs extended hundreds of feet into the air, lashing like the whip of a demented torturer towards the shrinking forms of Scions hovering in the sky. One by one, more tendrils emerged from unseen fissures deeper in the district - 3, 5, 10, then 20, each of them carving into the statuesque Scions with wicked accuracy.

All the while, Sokalar remained deathly still, channelling the spell as the chaos unfolded around him. Some Scions attempted to attack the tendrils, piercing their lengths with spears, only to see their silver tips deflected or outright broken off.

In a matter of seconds, the tide of the battle had changed. The Artificial Scions were malformed beasts, but a considerable amount of their human intelligence had been retained post-transformation. They understood that retreat was the most realistic option. Distancing themselves from the tendrils, they took to the west like migratory birds, and soon, the skies above the eastern district were empty once more.

“What a show-off.” Lieze frowned and crossed her arms, “I could do that.”

“Could you?” Marché smirked, “I’ve never seen nor heard of such a spell - assuming it was a spell. Who’s to say Sokalar doesn’t have the Blackbriar’s favour?”

“Let’s ask it, then. Lieze?” She called, “Could you do something like that?”

“No.” The girl said.

“Hoh… that was a quick answer. How can you be so sure?”

Lieze had grown used to experiencing a surge of fresh knowledge whenever she witnessed a new spell or technique, whether it was necromancy or not. Sokalar’s profane summoning hadn’t struck her with any such inspiration. She could only conclude that it was some sort of innate ability granted to him - perhaps a natural power obtained through Lichdom.

It was her first time witnessing her father taking to the battlefield personally. He had always relied on strategy up to that point. It was a gratuitous show of strength intended to solidify his position as the Order’s uncontested leader.

With a thought, Sokalar willed the tendrils to disappear into the earth, leaving gaping holes in the road. Some thralls had been in the way of their emergence. They had been reduced to little else but bone-studded pulp - necessary sacrifices.

Sokalar levitated down to street level. The crimson orb suspended at the top of his staff had been drained of its lustre. A quick usage of [Identify] told Lieze that the reservoir was completely devoid of mana. Whatever her father had done, it had left him borderline defenceless.

“We shall be accosted no longer.” He declared, “A counterattack is in order. Gather your thralls and report to the district’s westernmost perimeter.”

“I’d like for you to explain what you just did before ordering me around.” Lieze replied, “That was a necromancy spell, wasn’t it?”

“It is none of your concern.” His gaze was unyielding, “Let this be a lesson. No matter how chaotic your ambitions become, attempting to depose me is suicide. You have a choice before you: either step in line and understand your natural place in this world, or perish.”

That was a genuine threat, not mere wordplay. Lieze felt a tinge of fear in her heart as Sokalar’s glare burned a hole straight through her chest. He had tolerated her rejection of his will for as long as his meagre patience would allow. Lieze’s answer would decide her fate.

She paused.

“...”

Her entire life had been leading up to that moment. Did she have the will to carve a path through the tortured world with her own hands? Or was she content with the idea of serving her father until every last soul had been delivered to the heavens?

She didn’t want to consider it. She didn’t have to, really. Her answer had been decided from the day of her awakening, only reinforced by the victories and conquests of her short month separated from her father.

“...No.” She answered, “I won’t do that.”

“Hoh…” Sokalar was surprised, “You have grown into a fine necromancer, Lieze.”

“E-Eh?” She stammered out.

A compliment. Not mere praise, but a genuine compliment.

“There are those who consider ‘ambition’ an extension of one’s desires.” He continued, “Their dreams, their ideals… the belief is held that these qualities combine to create ambition. But this mindset is adopted only by the weak. By individuals such as Graeme.”

Lieze remained silent as Sokalar levitated around her, forcing Drayya and Marché to step back.

“These people - these worms - are quick to shy away when they are threatened. When confronted with the possibility of death, their ‘ambition’ crumbles to dust. They choose to submit.” He said, “But you are no worm, Lieze. Your ambition is true. You understand that the line which separates life and death must be challenged in order to exert your will. From the very beginning, you have remained untalented, but there has always been a knot of courage nestled deep in your heart.”

He came to a stop in front of her.

“Would you oppose your own father with such shamelessness?” He asked, “Would you cast aside your flesh in search of ultimate power? Do you have the will and the bravery to lead this Order to greatness? Is this what you believe, Lieze?”

“Yes.” She furrowed her brow, “-And I’m not going to let you stand in the way of that.”

“Excellent…” If Sokalar’s frozen features could move, he might have smiled, “Yes… truly sublime…”

With a quick flourish of his wrist, he pointed the staff towards Lieze’s chest.

“Then die.”

Lieze’s HP - 0 / 290

Whatever sort of attack it could have possibly been, there was no time to react to it. In an instant, Lieze’s consciousness dissolved away. Her body fell into a heap on the road, a smoking, blood-spewing hole carved straight through her chest.

“Shit! Lieze!” Drayya rushed over to the girl’s body, “Lieze!”

“Fall in line, daughter of Bran.” Sokalar commanded, “Leave this one. We have business to attend to.”

“What are you doing!?” She screamed, “That was your own daughter!”

“She was a failed experiment. Nothing more.” He replied calmly, “I will forgive your impudence on this occasion. Now - fall in line.”

There was nothing more to be said on the matter. Lieze was dead, and Drayya couldn’t do a thing about it. She wanted to launch herself at Sokalar. She almost did. But the thread of rationality in her brain wouldn’t snap so easily. She would only be guaranteeing herself a similar fate.

“Report to the district perimeter with as many thralls as you can muster.” Sokalar said, “You have until midday.”

-And with that, he was gone, levitating into the sky without a second thought dedicated to his deceased daughter.

“Shit…” Marché blinked. He hadn’t taken a breath for quite a while, “...Shit.”

“...’Shit’ is right. Shit!” Drayya punched the ground, shaving the skin from her knuckles, “I can’t believe… what are we going to do!? What could we have done!?”

There came no answer from Marché, for the truth was already plain.