Even as his powers wavered, they quickly refilled from the nearby locus. No wonder so many undead were thriving. It was felt like a limitless source of power, far stronger than the one Faust created before. Still, he was here to uncover some secrets, and his roguish instincts were flaring up. Following the trail deeper, he stumbled across his body.
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The room was very different from the previous lab he visited. Gone was the sterile atmosphere and smell of antiseptic. Instead, this chamber reeked of occult, a place where the veil between life and death was perilously thin. The air was thick with residual mana. Runic symbols etched into the stone walls flickered with an eerie, otherworldly power. Each one glistening with fresh blood that dripped down the sides in macabre trails. Undead piles of flesh slithered across the floor like grotesque serpents. Their wet, sucking sounds reverberating in the halls as they searched for that taste of fresh flesh. Golden stands with twisting filigree stood as silent sentinels. Each bearing ancient texts bound in cracked leather, jars of preserved organs floating in murky brine, and bottles of glowing liquids that pulsed faintly. Standing in the center of this chamber of decay stood Reas.
As the man worked, Ryland could feel the swirling aether prickling against his skin. It was a rush of sensations, both exhilarating and unsettling. While the previous teacher stuck to the science of magic, Reas was a follower of the occult, relying more on ancient rituals and the fudging of skills. He was a maestro of the forbidden arts.
Ryland’s body was being subjected to the [Necromancer]’s curiosity. It was restrained within a multilayered magic circle that shimmered with shifting lights. Hollowed out skulls formed a perimeter around the binding, and their sunken eyes stared inward. Each one encrusted with hardened wax from crimson candles released a smokeless flame. Groans of half-animated bodies accompanied the grotesque display…and honestly, it was a bit ridiculous.
Ryland knew necromancers cultivated a certain image. Or at least, that was what the Priest of Deas said. Dark wizards, blood sacrifices, and an uncaring attitude towards death. But this was like all those tropes amped up. Was it really necessary to have the blood-dipped candles perched in carved-out skulls? Was it some arcane necessity, or just theatrical flair? Still, Ryland couldn’t help but appreciate the man’s style. IF you were going to make a denizen of death, might as well go all in. However, he might have some…suggestions if they ever met later in life.
Still, that undying curiosity gnawed at him as he paced the perimeter of the circle. He poked and prodded at the boundary. Testing for weak spots in the flaring magics. But nothing could be found. Each time he drew near; an invisible wall of force repelled him.
“Hmmm.” He focused inward, trying to activate his newest skill [Bodyswap]. He wouldn’t try to escape, but he just wanted to test it out. But nothing happened; he couldn’t target his body within. The runic wall blocking his skill from working.
“Well, that sucks,” he muttered under his breath
Still, he wasn’t in immediate danger and that knowledge would be hopeful later. Just had to avoid carefully designed magical prisons in the future. Besides, he was only here to scout, gather some intel about the society, and hopefully, Steve will be awake when he returned. His body turned towards him as he closed in on the opposite side. Their eyes locked for a moment before a wave of annoyance pulsed through their bond. It creature wanted out, but it was more frustrated then angry. It was a complex sensation. Like dealing with a drunken, stubborn [barbarian] or a politician make false promises. Honestly, It reminded Ryland of the times his old party leader would ramble on. The man going on pointless tangents for hours at a time. Just a windbag who spent double the time covering half the normal subjects. But, maybe the leader was right. If He’d been paying attention instead of zoning out; he might be alive today. Not wandering the pits of a city learning about it’s terrible, hidden secrets.
Shaking off the rambling thoughts, Ryland refocused onto Reas’s work. The [Necromancer] stood at the circle’s edge, his skin-coat flaring upwards as various mouths appeared across it. Reas reached into one of the “pockets” and pulled out a jagged blade. With a swift, practiced motion, he slashed at his wrists. A crimson stream spewed from the wound, splashing into the inscriptions below. Ryland could hear him activate a few skills, but was too far to make out the words. Satisfied, the stitch-coat wrapped around the cut, stifling the flow of blood.
Ryland watched as the pool of blood bubbled forth. The flowing trickles reverse, clumping together with unnatural purpose. IT grew with every passing second, the blood uniting into a creature that wobbled to life.Tiny tendrils sprouted from the surface, blindly groping at the air, testing the world around it. But its existence was fleeting. In an instant, Ryland’s body lunged forward, driven by an intense hunger.
It seized the blood slime, nearly popping the mass of animated gore. Pressing it’s lips against the surface and sucking. Ryland could feel the satisfaction, the succulent treat that tickled the tongue. Something about the raw blood put it above all other snacks. But still, the slime resisted. Tendrils lashing out and stabbing into the zombie’s cheeks. The veiny appendages rippling under the skin trying to find any living ichor.
Normally, blood slimes were deadly opponents. The bastards could suck an adventure dry and gorge up like a leech. Once they got into an artery, unless the limb was cut. It was certain death. Unfortunately for the little gore-monster, zombies had none to give. Instead, the predator was turned into prey. The zombie was relentless, each second the mass of blood shrunk. Slurped down without care. With one final gulp, the creature was gone. The zombie licked the remnants off its gnarled fingers before turning back to Reas. Its milky eyes staring at the mean with a defiant glare. It would take more than a slime to take it out.
Reas responded with a sharp whistle, and the room quaked as a dread-knight lumbered in. The construct nearly touching the ceiling in height. It was a beast forged from dozens of bodies. Bone melded together into large plates. Bits of sinew stretching between the covered joints, a pulse of unnatural power radiating from its towering form. It stood patiently at the edge of the wards, its hollow gaze fixed on its master. Reas reached out, his fingers brushing a glowing rune, and quickly dispelling the magics. The wall of magic waivered and a gap formed in the cage. Reas signaled and the dread-knight stepped through. The creation raising the hefty mace high. Sharp studs of bone radiated out, the bits designed to tear flesh as much as liquifying the organs within. It settled into a fighting stance, the boney construct creaking as the heavy limbs pressed against each other. Reas simple nodded and the dread-knight charged with a deceptive speed.
Ryland shouted a warning to his body, but the zombie was already in motion. With the loci of death this close, the pulsating nexus of necromantic energy empowered it. That combined with the stomach full of fresh blood pushed his body to the upper bounds. With ease, it rolled to the side, dodging the overhead smash. The weapon slammed down, splintering the stone beneath it. It countered, a clawed hand raking across the dread-knight's ankle causing the thing to become unbalanced. But the construct quickly recovered, swinging its arm in a wide arc through the air.
A sickening crack echoed in the room as the arm slammed into the zombie’s shoulder. Huge chunks of flesh were torn off and hurtled across the room. His body lunched into the runic wall before collapsing into a pile. Reas moved to inspect the damages, but was taken aback by a sinister gnarl emanating from the downed creature. A wave of anger pressed on their bond as the zombie stumbled upwards. Its torn muscle knitting together in seconds. Bones snapping back to proper alignment while corrupted flesh crept over the gaping wound. It was only a few moments before the zombie regenerated. No damage remained as it gazed at the dread-knight in hatred.
“Interesting…” Reas murmured, his voice a mix of fascination as he signaled the dread-knight to attack.
Ryland silently rooted for his body to triumph. He truly did, but the towering construct was a juggernaut, its power dwarfing the zombie’s resilience. Even with its relentless regeneration, his body was little more than a plaything, tossed about the room like a ragdoll. Still, it landed a few solid hits. The deadly claws leaving shallow marks all across the knight’s reinforced bone. But that was it, just some minor gashes. Only for the deadly mace to slam down and shatter its spine. Ryland tried to think of ways to counter it, but the difference in power was far to great. Until they had some kind of weapon or skill, the only option was to run. Still, Ryland could see the frustration growing on Reas’ brow. Each time his body stood up, that frown grew.
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“You should be down by now! That’s the 37th reanimation!” He wasn’t as mad at the zombie as he was at the universe itself. Just a rage of misunderstanding and frustration.
It didn’t make sense. Even empowered by the locus of death, this was just a low-level undead. A shambling zombie that everyone has seen. The kind falls apart after a few days. The kind that a novice [necromancer] strives to create. IT didn’t matter how much the environment bolstered it, it should only withstand a certain amount of power. This nearly limitless endurance went against all knowledge of undead. What had Faust done? What secret had he uncovered in his studies? Reas had hand crafted hundreds of undead in his decades of study. But nothing could last as long as this. Even his most resilient creature made from the rarest ingredients only lasted five to size cycles before needed major intervention.
With a flicker of rage, he waved off the dread-knight and stormed back to his desk. It was a cluttered expanse of parchment and half-empty inkwells. Like Geraldo before, he buried himself in his texts, flipping through brittle pages with borderline obsession. Searching for any one clue that could unravel this mystery. His eyes straining as he poured over the pages, reading between the lines, trying to get some hint to it all. His hands cramped as the mad man scribbled notes, arrows pointing to different terms as he formed a map of knowledge. But it all led back to one piece–the cave. He had to get back to Faust’s cave, the place where it all began. If he could find a clue, it might start off this next project. Only then did he remember Steve’s story. Those Priests would have cleansed the place by now. Not a single trace would remain from their purges.
“Dammit it all” He flung the books to the floor in a flash of anger.
“Calm down Reas. At least you have one. More tests and maybe you can figure it out” he muttered. Talking to himself to calm the raging thoughts. Glancing up at the creature caught in the array. His mind started brainstorming new trials.
But, he did promise Steve to keep the thing happy. It was stupid, zombie’s were basic minions made to serve. Getting up, he deactivated a few wards. Letting the cage dissipate to nothing. It wasn’t like the thing could attack, his guards would tear it apart with ease. Instead, he tossed a few chunks of raw, dripping meat at the thing. The creature rushed the flesh with a ravenous drive, tearing apart the meat with ease. Yet while it feasted, it’s eyes never left Reas’ own. A spark of something different sat there. A different kind of intelligence staring back. Was this really a simple zombie or did Faust create something new. It almost reminded him of a shape-shifter. Maybe he got some of their parts and created a new species. A higher-tiered undead cloaked in the guise of a lower minion. An infiltrator or assassin that could blend into a horde only to strike with deadly precision.
But it didn’t fit his other tests. All accounts pointed to it being a simple thing. Even down to the constant hunger for raw food. It really was nothing more then a shambling, diseased husk. And yet, its reaction to the pit kept Reas on edge. Whatever was fueling it acted as a activator for the bubbling pool of deathly magics. That was it! That was what he needed to try.
Dozens of ideas rushed into his brain as he scrambled about the room. Reas gathered vials of blood and other reagents. Quickly painting out new ritual circles against the ground.
[Set to Space - Ritual]
It was a mid-tier magical skill. One that allowed him to visualize runes before drawing. Adjusting them in his mind's eye to match the area he worked. A faint glow appeared on the floor, symbolizing where he needed to draw. The first layer was a standard reanimation array, a mix of runes featuring death and life. The second a containment array featuring runes of the moon and sun. Lastly, a failsafe. It was jagged and harsh in the images. An incomplete magic circle that would shatter the inner rings if it absorbed too much energy.
With the blood drying, he went to the relic room and carefully donned a few of his favored artifacts. A robe of greater negative resistance settled over his shoulders, its dark fabric shimmering with protective runes that dulled the sting of necromantic backlash. The ring of undead unsight slipped onto his finger, rendering him invisible to most undead should they turn hostile. Finally, he adjusted the goggles of aetheric flow over his eyes, their lenses gleaming with a faint amber hue, granting him sight into the unseen currents of mana that threaded the world.
Turning back, he nearly fainted. His fingers clutching at the desk for support. Was this what had driven Geraldo into such a frenzy? The zombie blazed with deathly magic, vast ribbons of inverted light streamed from its body. The roiling streams coiling upward before merging seamlessly aetheric flow from the nearby leyline. No wonder it overcharged their pit, the thing was a walking, groaning locus of death. A conduit of power packed into such a small body. Still, it was a start but didn’t explain it all. It still regenerated over thirty times, even the pit’s strongest spawn perished after a handful of revivals. But he could ask questions all day, only experiments would yield the truth.
He needed to start small. Reaching down, he plucked a severed hand from the pile of writhing flesh. It pulled against him, reluctant to surrender a piece of itself. But Reas’ will forced it back. He needed some of his students to clean out the space, if left alone they’d soon become shambling horrors. But that was for another day.
Tossing the hand into the reanimation array, he pressed his finger against the rune. Unlike the others, he could move the aetheric flow with thoughts alone. The runes lit up at his touch as the tingle of magic tickled his palms. With the connection made, he began to activate a series of skills. This wasn’t a lesson, and it would be fine to “cheat”. Ryland tried to listen in, but was too distracted by the waves of power emanated from the man. His aura strangely warm, a general sense of purpose pressing into him. The man’s eyes darting back and forth, carefully tracking the mana flows as they wove into a complex web. It was a dangerous spell, something a novice [Necromancer] should never do. It opened the doors to unlife, letting in unlimited amounts of magic without restraint. Surely enough, the bonds thickened and connected with the writhing hand. It was a loop connecting the hand, the zombie, and the locus together. The three working in tangent to create new life.
Reas and Ryland watched with pure fascination as the hand transformed. Extra fingers sprouted from its knuckles, dozens of stubby protrusions bursting forth like grotesque buds. Each digit sprouted into new growths until it resembled a quivering sea urchin straight out of somebody’s nightmare. The hundreds of misshapen digits squirming chaotically, giving a jerky locomotion to the foul creature. But it kept going, the mass of fingers split open. Glistening cracks of gore webbed through the flesh as toothy mouths erupted from within. Foul-smelling gunk oozed from the toothy maws as mangled tongues hung out. But soon it reached the limit. Bulbous chunks of meat swelled upward, straining against their limits. Seconds later, the cancerous flesh burst, showering the containment wards in glistening viscera. before bursting in a shower of viscera that splattered against the containment wards.
Undeterred, Reas repeated the experiment, this time halting the process after a few moments. Reaching out, he carefully lifted the multi-limbed monstrosity, turning it and inspecting it, trying to discern its nature. But something was off. Returning to his desk, he pulled out various instruments and propped the fleshy creation. He stabbed the thing, carving out the innards and investigating how it formed.
“This is…wrong” He muttered
Normal death magic didn’t produce these aberrations. Yes, it bolstered undead, fortifying bones, thickening muscle, or elevating them into greater forms like wraiths. But it followed a blueprint. A natural order from the realm of death and decay. A template that prevented things from failing. Yes, aberrations could be created under certain conditions. But only skilled [Necromancer]s had the capabilities of doing it. Sculpting the creation with intent and precision. Left to its own, this hand should have become a flesh golem or a bone servant. A minor creature that was only dangerous in swarms not…this.
Reas scribbled notes with manic energy, his quill scratching across parchment as he chased theories down a dozen branching paths. Why did the zombie’s presence trigger this variant? His mind buzzed with possibilities. Could it finally happen? Could this thing be the catalyst he needed for the next phase? Every observation fueled his conviction: the regeneration, the mutations, the raw power.
Ryland watched in horror as the man crashed out. His wild, giddy laugh echoed in the halls as he screamed in joy. He began humming like a madman as he twisted a chalkboard. His dozens of notes transformed into a perfect map of the city above. Various marks showed where the loci were, with lines tracing them together. It took Ryland a few moments to see it, but it mimicked the reanimation array on the floor.
“I need to get Steve” was all he said as he rushd back through the halls.
