Book of The Dead

The Awakening.

Tyron Steelarm. Your expertise in wielding the energy of Death continues to grow. More power will be placed at your disposal; use it well.

You are Ascending.

You have received the Class: Bone Mage

Using a blend of offensive and defensive magick, the Bone Mage can conjure bone formed of magick for a myriad of purposes. Use it to shield yourself, or to pierce the flesh of your foes. To advance, cast Bone Spells in battle.

Class Attributes per level:

Intelligence +1

Constitution +2;

Willpower + 2;

Tyron Steelarm, you have proven your mastery over Necromancy time and again. You were made for this path, or perhaps it was made for you. The fire in your soul burns hotter than ever, and now your Legions will share that fire.

You are Ascending.

+40 to all stats.

You are able to advance Mysteries to the next stage.

You have received the Class: Imperator of the Endless Horde

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A conqueror who smashes his foes under the weight of a horde of undead feet. The Imperator is not in command of an army, but a force of nature. To advance, raise minions and have them slaughter in your name.

Class Attributes per level:

Strength +2

Dexterity +4

Constitution +6

Intelligence +6

Wisdom +4

Willpower +3

Charisma +2

Manipulation +2

Poise +3

The maximum Skill limit of Raise Dead has been increased to 60. Your knowledge of this Ritual has been expanded. You can now enact the ritual through capable minions.

The maximum Skill limit of Enhanced Minion Commander has been raised to 40.

The maximum Skill limit of Undead Control has been raised to 20.

You have been granted the ritual magick: Undead Imperator.

When he had absorbed all the information in front of him, Tyron nodded. It had been much as he’d expected. The increases to Enhanced Minion Commander and Undead Control were nice, but not overly important. No, what mattered was the changes to the Raise Dead ritual, and the new ritual he had gained.

He didn’t know what Undead Imperator did, but he was certain it would be powerful, perhaps even having an effect on his entire undead army. After all, he was connected to each and every one of them via the network of conduits that he perpetually maintained.

He’d done everything he could to ensure each individual skeletal minion was as powerful as he could make it, and he would continue to do so. However, now he would attempt to provide a boost to the power of the horde as a whole. With spells that could strengthen an entire Legion of undead applied to his masterwork skeletons… what might the result look like?

He would soon find out.

The status ritual finally came to a close once and for all, and Tyron was forever changed. The hand of the Unseen descended on him, and for the first time, he almost feared its arrival.

Gaining a full forty points to all aspects of his being was three hundred and sixty status points gained at once. It made the tooth-grinding sensation he had endured in the first part of the ritual seem like nothing more than a pat on the head.

Tyron writhed on the ground like a puppet dangling from broken strings, his limbs twisting painfully as he jerked from one position to the next without any conscious control. Through clenched teeth, he groaned and hissed as power flooded into him, working on his bones, his organs, his skin, his muscles and mind.

Several times his eyes rolled back as the Unseen remade him. When the process was finished, which likely took only a few minutes, he felt drained physically and mentally. Yet, there was no time for him to recover. He picked himself up off the floor, dusted himself off and rolled his neck. Tyron's constitution had reached absurd heights now;, he was able to endure far, far beyond the limits of most people, even most Slayers. This much was nothing compared to what was to come.

Knowledge still continued to trickle into his mind, the Unseen feeding him the outlines of his abilities. He could already tell that the new ritual he was being fed was going to be something… interesting. It would take time before he could tease out more, but it was clear that it required a lot of power to function.

Hopefully, whatever effect it had would be worth the price. He had high hopes, but even now, with the torrent of power he contained within himself, his instinct was to be stingy with it.

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“Filetta,” he called out.

The door was pulled open from the outside as the wight stuck her ethereal head in.

“Finished? You’re actually a gold rank now?”

“I wouldn’t call you if I wasn’t done,” he replied, irritated. “Yes, I’m gold rank.”

“What’s your new Class?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because it affects me! Probably in a literal way!”

It did, but he wasn’t going to say anything, a fact she could read from his expression.

“Prick,” she grumbled, pushing the door wider and striding into the room. “Ready to move to the next phase, then?”

“It’s time,” he nodded, pushing himself up.

Tyron found he was just barely steady enough on his feet to walk, but it would suffice. He would do what had to be done. The two of them turned to look at the wall on his left. There, a large ritual circle had been drawn, a huge, spherical core embedded in the wall. The core, the individual lines of the circle, all of it thrummed with black arcane energy.

“Once I activate this, we have ten minutes before it triggers,” Tyron reminded Filetta. “We need to get as close to the Red Tower as we can by then.”

“I know the plan,” she said, waving one hand to dismiss his concerns. “Just make sure that idiot knows what she’s supposed to do.”

For whatever reason, Filetta and Laurel had never really gotten along, despite Tyron thinking that they were fairly similar in many ways. Their bickering wasn’t really an issue, so long as it didn’t interfere with carrying out his instructions.

Rather than say anything, he simply turned to the ritual circle and spoke the words of power. It was extremely simple; with the bulk of the work already being done, all he had to do was set it in motion.

At the same time, receiving his command, Laurel did the same at another ritual site on the other side of the city. The moment he was finished, Tyron nodded to Filetta and the two made their way out into the sewer, moving at pace.

It would take multiple hours to reach the Red Tower through the winding passages of the sewers, and by the time he got there, he expected them to be prepared for his arrival. Lukas Almsfield had done extensive work as a consultant for the Magisters, and right now they would be desperately trying to uncover every little thing that he’d touched in his time there.

Of course, the bulk of his work was completely fine, but there were a few little surprises that he doubted even the Magisters would be able to find. At least, they shouldn’t find them before he arrived.

In the meantime, the rest of the city would have to contend with the torrent of Death Magick he was about to unleash in their midst. The trick he’d pulled at his shop would look like a candle compared to the bonfire that was coming.

Contemplating the chaos he was about to unleash, Tyron couldn’t help but feel his heart beat faster. It was finally happening. This was the day, this was the moment. The Magisters, the Lords, the Duke, the Gods themselves. Today, they were going to feel it, really feel it. He was going to bring the entire province down on its knees and cut the legs out from under the empire.

After waiting so, so long, his vengeance was about to be unleashed.

As Tyron ran through the dark, dripping sewer tunnels, he wasn’t even aware of the savage grin on his face.

~~~

“How did no one know that the sewers extended out this far?” Nostas growled, his eyes wild with fury.

To have his target so close at hand only to slip through his very fingers! It was maddening. The need to inflict pain on the man who had killed his kin was an almost physical urge with the Lord, and it took all of his self control not to lash out wildly at the people around him.

“I have no idea, my Lord,” Captain Mykl said, not mincing his words despite the dangerous mood his lord was in. “We have people down there and more coming through the tunnels in the city. The city watch has been turned out to patrol the streets, and even the sewer maintenance crews have been kicked out of bed. We’ll find him.”

After tangling with the cursed spirits, who had finally been put down with a combination of enchanted weaponry and magick, Nostas’ men had torn the basement apart, finding the dark cellar in which the Necromancer had performed his foul magick, along with a near-collapsed connection to a narrow sewer tunnel.

“I sensed the residue of powerful magick in that basement,” Sister Ceril noted. “This Necromancer is stronger than I thought; we should be careful confronting him. Anyone he kills will make him stronger.”

“He was strong enough to massacre every person living in the Jorlin Estate,” Nostas ground out. “Do you believe my House is filled with weaklings?”

His tone indicated the Sister should think very carefully about her reply.

“Of course not,” she replied. “I knew he must have power, but there was something about what I sensed down there. His mastery over magick is potent. I could practically smell it.”

Hearing the villain complimented only further stoked the flames of Nostas’ fury, and he turned from the conversation and continued to march through the city, lest he lose his temper. If he cut down one of the Duke’s servants, he wouldn’t escape without censure, regardless of the circumstances.

He and the bulk of his personal forces had returned to Kenmor some time ago, on their way back to the castle to report to Duke Raugrave. Mykl had insisted that he take a carriage or at least ride a horse, but Nostas had refused. If he’d been cooped up in a box on the way back, he would have exploded with anger.

As it was, the streets emptied when they saw him and his retinue coming, though the thunderous expression on the Lord's face was more than enough to send the citizens diving behind cover.

Even stewing in his own anger, Nostas was not so self absorbed that he didn’t notice the screams beginning to rise in the distance. They were shrill, filled with panic and something deeper; outright terror. He started to look around for the source, hand flashing to the blade at his waist, but Sister Ceril was by his side in a moment, pointing.

A pillar of darkness was forming, just like before, except this one was easily twice the size, large enough that they could see the peak even through the multi-storied structures of Kenmor around them.

“Gods!” Nostas bellowed. “The Necromancer must be there!”

His mind was immediately calculating. How far were they from the pillar? How much longer would it take for them to reach it? Already he was starting to fear the distance was too great, and the bastard would once again escape.

“My Lord!” Mykl called over the rising din of the city. “Over there!”

Nostas snapped around to find the Soldier Captain pointing in another direction. He followed the outstretched arm of his retainer and saw what he was pointing at.

A second pillar, rising just like the first. Already it was starting to twist and howl, eerie light flickering within. Soon the mist would start to spread, and the ghosts would emerge shortly after.

“Distractions,” Nostas raged. “He’s toying with us!”

“What do we do, my Lord?” Mykl asked. “Should we move to the closest pillar and protect the citizens?”

“Damn the citizens!” the young Lord Jorlin roared. “They are cattle! Born to serve! I want Tyron Steelarm’s head on a pike!”

“Right you are, my Lord,” Mykl replied, unruffled. “Where do we strike?”

Now that was the question. Where would the evil son of a bitch be going with the city in an uproar and thousands of ghosts roaming the streets? The madman wanted to bring down the nobility, the magisters, everything. There were dozens of places he could go to inflict real damage. The Cathedral. The Castle. The Red Tower. Any of the Noble Mansions in the city. Slayer Academies. Magick Towers.

“If I may, Lord Jorlin,” Sister Ceril stated quietly, walking up beside him again.

All around them, the hysteria was growing. They could hear more and more screams, and people were starting to emerge from their homes and shops, flooding the streets in panic. In the distance, the pillars swirled, a maelstrom of dark power that would soon spit out a horde of furious spirits.

“What is it?” Nostas demanded.

“I think I have an inkling where the Necromancer will be headed.”