Chapter B3C77 - Purge

Chapter B3C77 - Purge

They noticed, of course they noticed. Shouts could be heard in the distance, feet pounding on the road, drawing closer. Questions, commands, one coming on top of the other.

Tyron blocked all of it out. There was only the ritual, only the magick.

Before they reached him, the ritual was complete. Rising from the ground came the arch of bone, inset in its centre, the door. Reaching out a hand, he opened it, sending a mental command the moment the space beyond became connected to the realm in which he stood.

Oh SHIT!

The Marshal at the forefront of the charge, the one Tyron had spoken to on the road, gaped in shock as the first skeleton emerged from the horrid archway. Dark purple light glowed in the eyes of the undead as it strode forth, shield and blade held at the ready. Then came the next, and the next.

Whos to say what they expected to see, but the officers of the empire reacted with admirable speed. As others arrived, they quickly organised themselves and made a wise decision.

They tried to run.

Tyron was almost a little surprised when the order rang out.

Retreat to the manor!

Almost.

The Shivering Curse descended on them before they could take two steps. A penetrating cold drove straight into their muscles, locking them up, and then further, into their blood, freezing their hearts in their chests. Before they could adapt, the first of the skeletal soldiers were amongst them, and Tyrons hands were still moving.

The undead moved with deadly grace and efficiency, crashing into the officers as they attempted to flee, using their rapidly swelling numbers to press their advantage, flinging themselves on their adversaries. Only two managed to escape the radius of the curse, but it was too late.

I really should have stored the revenants closest to the door instead of furthest away.

His latest creations were very different from his old revenants. Thieves and scoundrels, rather than proud slayers, they used very different methods to fight. As the Marshals attempted to flee, the former leaders of the Guild hunted them down. Nimble, light and fast, they slipped alongside their targets, slashing and stabbing from tricky angles with long, curved blades made of bone.

It didnt take long for the last of their opponents to fall.

This is going to be annoying, Tyron grumbled to himself. Lets get this cleaned up first. Put the bodies inside the Ossuary for now, then we can bring out the cauldrons.

His skeletons moved to obey him, lifting up the bodies and laying them out neatly inside the door. Marshals werent exactly a combat Class, but they did have much better stat gain than the average farmer or citizen. Tyron was already looking forward to how well his next batch of undead would perform.

Wha what the fuck?!

A strangled yell from closer to the road brought Tyrons head around. Giff, the carriage driver, had come looking for him. Most unfortunate.

He didnt make it back to the carriage.

Damned fiend, he choked, hand clutched to his shoulder where a spear of bone protruded, blood pouring into the grass.

I apologise. I promise you that your remains and spirit wont be touched after you pass. Die in peace.

Fuck y

Tyron ended it himself, then frowned when he realised what hed done. Progression for his Class wasnt granted if he fought for himself! Now the mans death was doubly a waste. He wouldnt repeat this error with the other driver, and he didnt.

Two more bodies tucked into the Ossuary, and Tyron dismissed the door, ordering his minions to obscure the circle he had created as best they could. Such a hasty ritual, performed without the proper diligence he would normally exercise for such a spell, it was bound to leave significant traces. Hopefully, his lack of a focus would make the residue too difficult for someone to accurately read.

Tyrons hands were already moving as the first defenders were enveloped by the thick cloud of black mist.

Death Blades.

He poured his magick into the blessing, stretching the range as far as he could. Within the cellar, the skeletons' weapons began to glow with an ethereal light as they were infused with Death Magick.

Shivering Curse.

Again, Tyron cast the spell with all the force he could muster, widening the area of effect to cover as much ground as possible. If they wanted to confront his skeletons, they would have to do so on ground that favoured him.

Tyron committed everything he had, holding none of his skeletons or revenants back. The silent undead rushed forward on bony feet, their heels clacking against the stone pavers of the courtyard before the manor.

Terror gripped the enemy. Marshals cried out in fear as they caught glimpses of glowing purple eyes coming towards them from within the darkness. Priests called out to the Divines as they raised their staves, trying to invoke a blessing, of perhaps just praying to be spared.

The exception was the soldiers. They were decisive, and quick to act. Though there were only six of them, they moved to rally the rest of the officers quickly. He could hear their voices rising above the growing din, shouting out commands, demanding that the cowards turn and fight.

Yes. Turn and fight. Itll be so much faster than having to hunt you down one by one.

As blades were drawn and the fighting grew more widespread, Tyron noted, pleased at how well his regular skeletons performed against the Marshals. Perhaps one on one they were still inferior, but thats what their numbers were for. Following his commands, they were quite capable of fighting in small groups.

At least, for relatively small skirmishes like this. If he had thousands of skeletons on his side, there would be no way he could efficiently command so many.

His revenants, he sent against the soldiers. They were the only ones with any chance at all to stall the soldiers long enough for him to get to the cellar. With a silent command, he ordered his trapped minions to try and force their way out from inside.

As the hundreds of undead came to life, he felt the drain on his magick increase precipitously. Although, it was nowhere near what it should have been. His investments in efficiency and enchanting to help defray the costs of his undead continued to pay dividends.

Right now, there were over three hundred minions moving, all following his commands, yet the draw on his personal reserves was still manageable. More than manageable.

With a deep feeling of satisfaction, he flicked his eyes around the battlefield before judging that the way was clear. Best he keep his minions in the fight and go to the cellar himself, keep himself out of sight and out of harm's way.

After watching the unfolding battle for a moment, he judged he was safe and began to run through the darkness. The skeletons wielding the cauldrons had remained back from the frontlines, protecting the constructs as they continued to pour out the black mist. He slipped straight past them, moving to the westward-facing side of the house. It didnt take long for him to leave the darkness behind, reaching the edge of the cloud and emerging into the light, but he didnt stop moving.

There it was!

The cellar door was twitching and jumping as his minions pounded against it from the inside. The damned thing was sturdy, way more sturdy than it needed to be.

Hed found that a comfort when originally locking his undead in there, knowing they would be safe, but now it was extremely inconvenient. As he ran, Tyron reached a hand within his armour and removed a small sliver of bone, words of power already rolling from his tongue.

With a thought, he urged his minions to retreat from the doors as he flung a hand forward, launching the bone shard through the air. Like a howling dervish, it blasted through the air and crashed into the wooden doors, splintering them.

His undead surged against the doors again. It wouldnt be long now until they broke through. All he had to do was wait.

Might as well find a spot to conceal myself until they break free.

He began to look around, only catching a glimpse of something flashing toward him at the last moment.

He raised his arm to neck height out of pure instinct, only for his own limb to crash into his face, sending him sprawling.

Throbbing pain exploded in his arm as he rolled across the dirt, scrambling to his feet as quickly as possible.

Thought I had you there, the soldier grinned at him. Youre quick, for a dead man.