Chapter 178: Prep For War; My Beast

I'm quite nervous actually.

Not because of anything…normal, but rather because of my expectations for the ritual.

I watch in lost silence as Anselm strikes the stumbling Werebear with steady strikes at its newly attached feet and envelopes it is ice, effectively freezing the growling, howling creature in place.

With Juri's unwavering discipline he managed to get more than half of the injured men healed, now many of them are either patrolling a set perimeter or paying close, unnerving attention to me.

Not like I've started to do anything really. Their stares, weirdly enough, add to my anxieties about the ritual.

I don't think I've ever thrown myself into a ritual with anyone but Anselm present.

That aside, I am still nervous about what to do with the undead that will be born of the ritual.

In the System it's presented as a spell.

[Witherling: Creates A Witherling Undead]

A single line of sentence that could have many meanings if my experience with the System is worth anything.

It continues to list out the requirements.

[Requires: At Least A Single Live Humanoid]

That's all I get really, very sketchy if I'm honest.

With a swing Anselm slugs the Werebear onto it's back and is quick to hammer down on its raised claws, freezing those in ice as well.

He huffs and gives me a look. I nod and step forward.

It's time for the ritual.

My other spectators seem to realize this and all give me wide breath.

Unlike the other rituals I've performed, the only item I need is here, a live sort-of humanoid being, struggling against its restraint, only hunger and rage in its black eyes.

Far too dumb to realize it needs to be afraid, at least not yet.

I pull up the spell on the system and get ready to read out the incantations, it's the only thing I'm required to do with rituals; read out the incantation and have mana.

"Jyop. Grol. Desxer." I start. The word entirely foreign in sound to me but I'm sure, with the Systems seemingly omnipotent guide that I am pronouncing it the right way.

"Desxer. Jyop. Grol." A meaning starts to form in the back of my head as I read out the incantations, a meaning I can't yet decipher, but a meaning nonetheless.

"Grol. Desxer. Jyop." I'm sure, like my other spells, the more I use practice a ritual, the more the words have meaning, the more I'll understand the flow of mana and its intent.

But for now, I'm satisfied simply being guided, the sinister pressure behind the meaning of these words feels almost revolting, I wonder how I'd feel when I begin to understand it clearly.

"Hetyuli! Hetyuli!" The words change and I feel my mana begin to flood out of my pathways, turning green and thick, it begins to swirl around me.

"Tuyil Hetyuli!" For some reason, as I say these words, I understand that it means thanks, a form of appreciation to…something. 

I realize that perhaps, this spell requires the intervention and permission of some other being. But I'm far less concerned with this realization that the sight I'm currently beholding.

My mana, swirling around me like a thick, foggy dome sends tendrils of itself to the Werebear.

The growling beast soon ceases its noises as these tendrils melt away the bonds and picks it up like a doll, raising it several feet in the air and forcing it to face me.

And now I see it. In the beasts' eyes I finally see it. 

Fear. No, terror. It seems it is indeed intelligent enough to recognize, to gain an inkling of what is happening to it.

It's horrible, but I feel a smile smear itself on my face.

Instinctively, with the tendrils of my mana holding it up I know to shout out these words.

"Jyop!" I scream, pushing down the urge to cackle at the feeling of arcane power that seeps into me.

The tendrils split and stab without mercy into the Werebear's body. It screams but I don't let its voice over shadow mine.

"Grol!" I let out again, I know something, something I've never met nor heard of is assisting me in this ritual, something that isn't just the System. Perhaps it is truly another God or Goddess. 

Either way, the dome of green necrotic mana, swirling like a torrent tornado around my surroundings shrinks as it shoots out several more tendrils, all of them stabbing straight through the Werebear, skewering it to the point it's simply held up by the fact its body has been crossed in all angles.

"Ha…Desxer!" I scream with finality, the dome instantly collapses, it washes over me and rushes to cover the floating beast.

The wave of necrotic mana wraps the Werebear in a cocoon of sorts, changing it, modifying it.

Killing it.

The Werebear hangs in there, in the cocoon for a few more seconds and then I notice it, the beast, it's absorbing the cocoon.

I don't resist the grin that spreads across my face.

In a few more moments, the cocoon of necrotic mana is completely absorbed into the beast and then it drops.

It falls onto the ground with a lazy, audible thump. But I'm not worried, my grin doesn't falter, instead I approach the fallen beast.

The grass and all the bushes nearby have been turned to ash from the necrotic powers of the ritual, and likely the powers of whatever other being was part of it.

The Werebear is no more. One the ashen ground is a creature of undeath, black, long and tall.

It has retained some of its previous muscle but I can clearly see bone in some areas, strong, white as snow bone. 

"Rise." I command.

It shuffles, and then springs to life, jerking off the ground it was laying on and I get the full view of my first self-sustaining undead.

It's tall, hunched over, but still, it towers over me. It still has the features of a bear but hardly any of that matter as its eyes glow a vibrant green and it breathes hot and hasty breaths.

Not that it needs to breathe anyway.

For the final test. I pull out my dagger and offer it to my beast.

"Take this and stab the dirt." It's a simple order, but one ghouls and zombies could not comply with.

Slowly it picks the dagger out of my fingers. Its paw is still a bit too big for such a small weapon so it holds the hilt with the tips of its fingers.

"Hruuh" It groans, looking at me.

I nod.

And beautifully, it stabs the dirt.