Chapter 69 - The Beginning of a Legend (Patreon)

Malachi hit the horde of zombies like a battering ram going through plywood. He gripped his spear in two hands, using wide slashes to carve open as many zombies as he could with each motion. He’d calculated the chance for a chain lightning bolt to erupt from his enchantment was somewhere around twenty percent, with some sort of internal cooldown on how often it could trigger; by cutting multiple zombies at a time, he made sure it triggered almost every time.

Lighting leapt through the horde of undead, dancing in dozens of arcs in an endless crackle and flash. The fact that he could see the obvious signs of Earth on the zombies’ shambling bodies only steeled his resolve to kill Ulcoth. He slashed faster and faster. If he killed them fast enough, they couldn’t surround them. Lightning may have been poor against bone, but against flesh, it seized their muscles, causing the horde to slow as the electricity danced along his blade.

Several of the baradaeth in the rear noticed he’d dropped down on their side of the stone wall and saw the zombies were insufficient. There were mages, a warrior, and a pair of summoners, each with imps and porcupine demons.

Malachi swapped to a one-handed grip with his spear, keeping the quick slashing cuts as he raised his lightning aegis in front of his head. A sharp spike of rock appeared in the air and shot at him. Three firebolts came too, both from the imps and a mage. They either smashed into his shield, sending out retaliatory lightning that further devastated the zombies, or into his armor. He felt the impacts; manasteel could only protect him so much. They were painful. They also weren’t nearly enough to stop his advance—and in his peripheral vision, he saw SERA had changed his interface so that his “Mana” was shown as a blue orb. With a glance, he could see it was filling back up.

He charged forward, taking advantage of his new strength to move through the zombies like a linebacker, sending them flopping to the ground as his aegis or body crashed into them. The baradaeth warrior came at him, and Malachi saw in those eyes something that was long overdue in these slaving, murderous bastards: fear.

His echo of the storm sent lightning crashing down. The warrior raised his own aegis above his head to deflect the bolts, but Malachi hadn’t stopped charging. Two zombies went flying and his spear embedded itself right in the armpit of the warrior, avoiding the plate and piercing the chainmail beneath. That wasn’t enough to kill him, but the lightning and shockwaves that erupted a moment later were.

One of the imps had died to the lightning without him even noticing, and one of the mages had gotten hit by several bolts. Malachi’s mana was draining fast, but he felt energy coursing through him that was more than just adrenaline. Endless hours of practicing the inexorable tempest technique hadn’t been for nothing; he fell into a flow state. When he stepped forward, lightning crackled and he moved a bit faster. When he cut, there was more lightning dancing from the blade than the enchantment alone could account for.

One of the mages thought she was a safe distance away, but when Malachi thrust with his spear, a lightning bolt stabbed out, nailing her in the chest. Two of the imps tried restraining him with fiery chains, but his aegis battered the spells aside. He didn’t even feel the smaller firebolt spells; all they were doing was replenishing his vital energy, and even as he went through the techniques forms, his mana was rising again thanks to endurance of the mountain. It didn’t give him unlimited energy, but what it did do was give him a hell of a lot more than the baradaeth scum in front of him.

Another echo of the storm came down, then another, and even as zombies came in from all sides, he sent more and more lightning crashing through them.

A crossbow bolt shattered on his breastplate, while an earth spike erupted near his feet. He danced away, lightning crackling across the ground, bringing his spear out in an arc that cut the throats of two zombies before sending another lightning bolt stabbing out at one of the mages. Two more bolts of stone came streaming at him. He ducked the first and swatted away the second with his shield, sending it crumbling into dust. A zombie hit him in the back, but all that did was set its arm on fire before he kicked it away and charged another of the mages. More spells came at him. Another stone bolt cut across his face. Another crossbow bolt came in, this one embedding itself under his armpit. He snapped off the shaft with a strike from his elbow; he could feel the sharp pain, but it hadn’t damaged anything vital. The palanquin was closer. Just another fifty feet and he’d be there.

An imp’s fire chains wrapped around his spear and tried to yank it away, but he let it go while it was still under his control. Now the imp’s fire chains were trying to combat the enchantment of the sheath and meanwhile, Malachi’s hammer was back in his hands, smashing a porcupine demon that had hit him with its iron quill volley into the ground. The summoner was backing away, but a press of zombies stopped him from escaping before Malachi ran forward again and caved in his chest.

His breathing was ragged as another crossbow bolt hit him, as another firebolt scorched his face, as another zombie’s club came hammering down on his shoulder. His mana was lower, but he still had enough; he let lose more lightning. Now he could see one of the necromancers, who was screaming something to the zombies and gesturing. Malachi stepped forward, only to find magical chains rip up from the ground to entangle him. When he looked down, he saw the source: one of the baradaeth magic circles. With teeth grit he struggled to raise his hammer, even as a dozen zombies shambled forward to surround him. He took more blows—to the legs, arms, chest, shoulders, and even a club to the back of the head, but he fought to raise his hammer. The magic chains crackled and strained. Then he brought the hammer down all at once on the nearest glyph. The ground shook slightly from his enchantment as the glyph shattered. The chains weakened, but still were wrapped around him. They pulled him to the ground, and he fell back hard with the clank of armor on rock. The zombies started beating down on him, raining blow after blow, even as he kept his lightning aegis in front of his face. Malachi let the hammer go, unable to move it in the press, and lashed out with a fist to smash the nearest glyph, then kicked at another. The chains crackled and dissipated.

More blows. Most of them landed on his armor, but not all. Some sort of bladed weapon slashed his temple, but now the zombies were so thick that they were interfering with their own ability to beat down on him. His fiery retaliation enchantment triggered again and again as the zombies battered him. The fire was searing through their flesh and disrupting the enchantments that were keeping them mobilized, but not fast enough. Another club cracked off his skull. Malachi’s teeth were still clenched, fighting through the pain as he pushed a zombie to the side so he could get to his knees.

Then with a roar, he stood, sending zombies tumbling about as the zombie-pile broke apart. He cast another echo of the storm, then used the piles of undead as a ramp to step on their backs and shoulders, strength and stability enchantments steadying him.

He emerged from the zombie horde, stepping on top of a head, then launched himself at the shocked necromancer.

A wall of bone erupted in front of him, and Malachi hit it and bounced off. Then the wall erupted with grabbing hands. He tried to summon his hammer, but when he glanced back, it was still trapped in the zombie horde, banging up against several bodies. Instead, he used his fists and elbows to smash the bones trying to grab him, then brought an armored knee into the wall. The necromancer’s hands glowed with pale light as a skeletal arachnitaur crawled from the ground, the summoned undead’s white chitin materializing and solidifying. Malachi grabbed one of the legs and yanked. It wasn’t true bone or carapace, but a concept of it; the leg cracked apart, white sparks leaking from it as he pulled.

Some sort of curse spell came at him next, but a notification off to the side told him he’d resisted it. Malachi grabbed at one of the arms next, yanking it out of the socket. He threw it to the side as it dissolved into sparks, but by then the summon had emerged. Seven needle-like arms stabbed down at him.

The sharp arms cracked as they hit his armor. Fire and lightning burst out as Malachi grabbed and tore at another arm. Again, he willed his spear and warhammer to come to him. By now, the bec de corbin had broken free, and with both hands he, brought it sweeping up into the arachnitaur’s torso. Light erupted where it impacted, and the conceptual bone shattered. Even as the summon dissolved into motes of light, Malachi was running through it. When the necromancer put up another bone wall, he stepped up on it as it was growing, launching him into the air.

He came down with a two-handed swing, several hundred pounds of momentum, and magically enhanced muscles.

The ignian necromancer’s head exploded.

Malachi landed heavily. He turned, seeing another blob of zombies ambling towards him. Unfortunately, the deaths of any of the necromancers wouldn’t affect these. He could see his spear banging up against the limbs of several zombies. The durability of his belt would be dropping rapidly as the aetheric enchantment used energy. He charged into the group, hammer swinging, smashing apart heads and cracking rib cages until enough had fallen the spear could reach him, then swapped it for his spear. The palanquin was there, just beyond a dozen more undead.

He took a moment to catch his breath. He lungs hurt, and it wasn’t just from the exertion. He’d been battered repeatedly by spells and weapons, and there was another crossbow bolt, this one in his thigh; he couldn’t even say when he’d been shot there. Blood was dripping town his face, and he could feel the sting of the burns.

The wall was still up. Parts of it had become molten, while other parts had small holes in it, but it was still up.

He looked up. There was a baradaeth mage looking at him.

He snarled at the man and started advancing.

The mage took off running, pushing his way through more zombies.

The palanquin was near. He could see the flapping canopy over the heads of the incoming undead. He advanced slowly this time, using the same strategy he had before of inflicting as many cuts as he could on the undead. Lightning leapt about, chaining through them. A zombie wearing jeans collapsed to the ground. Another, wearing a dress, fell, smoldering. Another still had the remains of his glasses, the lenses broken and frames mangled. These people had done nothing to deserve this.

He carved through the horde, putting his fury into his focus. A blade smashed into his aegis, a club into his thigh, but he kept going. Two more zombies fell—five, then ten, then a dozen more.

Then the palanquin carriers were there. And there was Mrs. Jones, flesh pitted enough he could see parts of her skull beneath, jaw partially missing, still wearing that old lady dress she had been the day this had all started. He’d hoped he’d saved her, all those years ago. Back then, he hadn’t been strong enough.

That had changed now.

You deserve to rest, he thought as he lunged forward with his spear. Lightning crackled amidst the palanquin zombies, and as one, they let go off their burden. The structure crashed on the rocks, parts of it breaking. There was the whine of a dog, and a cloud of ash.

Ulcoth stood up from the wreckage, even as Malachi finished off another zombie. He turned, brushing ash from his dark robes. His horns were twisted, and his eyes a sickly red.

“Annoying,” the baradaeth leader hissed. “Now I need replacements. You’ll do fine.”

Malachi didn’t say anything. There was no use trading word with a dead man.

He leveled his spear, kept his aegis raised, and charged.

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