Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

“What was that!?”

“An explosion!?”

Panic spread between the warriors at the checkpoint who had been expecting an isolated battle against a few trapped thralls. As soon as the pylons were shunted from the walls, Briarknights and Flesh Elementals descended upon the unprepared soldiers.

“Finally, a challenge worthy of my time!” Alberich charged forward, “Let the song of battle deafen our hearts to sorrow! Face me, you scab-encrusted minions of darkness!”

“Brother!” Mime yelled after the tiny king as he sprinted into the fray, “...There’s nothing for it! The odds are against us, but that will only make victory all the sweeter! Everyone - remain close to me and keep these thralls at bay! On my honour, I will not allow another Dwarf to fall!”

The time for careful strategy and thoughtful retreat was over. Those soldiers had been waiting for an opportunity to strike back against the destructors of their homeland, no matter how liable they were to perish in the process. With hands gripped tightly enough around their weapons to draw blood, both sides of the battle met in a climactic flurry of violence.

Ballista bolts pierced the chests of Briarknights, holy enchantments scoured the hordes with golden fire, and those crushed, chewed upon, or gutted by the thralls were attended to by Mime, who wielded his affinity for restoration with fervent shamelessness.

Between gouts of blood flying every which way and the screams of both the living and dead drowning out any warnings, nobody was perceptive enough to notice the Dwarves who suffered mortal blows from nowhere in particular, almost as if the weak points of their armour were being assailed by some invisible beast prowling the battlefield.

Baccharum struck with surgical precision, never overextending his aggression. His daggers slipped between the miniscule gaps between armour plates, stealing lives with graceful incisions that rarely overstayed their welcome, light as a feather against the skin’s surface but more than deadly in their execution.

With their bodies veiled by Drayya’s magic, the three infiltrators scarpered to the far corners of the checkpoint and looped around to where the ranged defenders toted their oversized crossbows and manned the ballistae. A pair of miniature barracks connected by an overhead bridge lingered above the entrance to the mountain’s magma chamber, where Dwarves armed with lightning throwers eagerly awaited their chance to burn anything - or anyone - that dared to draw close.

Taking care to avoid being spotted, Lieze and her two companions stole into the barracks via a side door. The iron interior, designed to serve practicality rather than comfort, was dotted with portraits of Alberich, weapon racks, and scores of rooms flanked with bunk beds of solid metal that couldn’t have appeared less inviting if they tried.

“Drayya…” Lieze kept her voice low, “How much longer is your spell going to last?”

Cursing herself for tempting fate, the refractive sorcery concealing their forms dissipated not a second later. Drayya shrugged her shoulders, feigning embarrassment at the spell’s poor timing. “It isn’t.” She said.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re out of sight for the moment.” Lieze turned her attention to a nearby staircase, “Baccharum - can you deal with those Dwarves on the bridge?”

“Naturally.” He answered, “-But I would be spotted. Partial to stealth as I am, there’s just no getting around that.”

“Good. Cause a commotion. Draw some attention away from the battle.” She nodded, “Drayya, find the winch controlling the portcullis leading towards the magma chamber. If we close it, the Dwarves won’t be able to escape - and we won’t have to deal with any reinforcements.”

“Ah, so now I’m the one sneaking around to close a portcullis?” Drayya tapped her nose, “Just goes to show how far you’ve come, Lieze. I recall a time when I was demanding the very same task of you.”

“Yes - and you weren’t too bothered about whether I died in the process, either.” She replied, “Be careful, Drayya. Come back to my side alive and well.”

“A-Alright… where did that come from? There’s no need to act so possessive all of a sudden…” Drayya averted her eyes, “I’ll be on my way, then. No, wait - what are you going to do?”

“Once Baccharum has cleared the bridge, I’ll reveal myself to split the Dwarves’ attention.” She replied, “They’ll want to kill me as quickly as possible, but to do that, they’ll be forced to fight a battle on two fronts. Once they’re divided, our thralls should have an easier time breaking through.”

“Painting a target on your back, as always…” Drayya sighed, “Just because you told me to be careful doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be! I’ll be back as soon as I find the winch!”

She stole into a doorway adjacent to the staircase. With tentative steps, Baccharum felt around for the staircase and placed one foot on the first step. The confines of the barracks were sized for Dwarves, forcing him to hunch over.

“I can hear them…” He muttered, “There must be eight, at least…”

“You can tell?” Lieze asked.

“An Elv’s ears are his greatest asset. The predators of the black forest can track a wounded animal across the peninsula with nothing but a drop of week-old blood to go on. A prowling beast is heard first, and seen much too late.” He mused, “...Of course, it also helps that these Dwarves never seem to stop speaking.”

Lieze looked up, “Can you take them?”

“Please… do you even know who it is you’re speaking to?” Baccharum’s daggers reflected a crimson light from the nearby sconces, “Observe.”

They scampered up the staircase to a quaint watchtower gashed with arrow slits. Light poured out from a nearby arch, where flashes of lightning accompanied the hollering of those stationed on the bridge. Lieze and Baccharum pressed themselves against either end of the opening. Perceptive as he was, the Elf was blind, and so Lieze had to peer out to make sure none of the Dwarves were facing their way.

“It’s safe.” Her words came out so inaudible that she wasn’t certain if Baccharum could hear them, but the knowing twitch of his head told her otherwise, “-As safe as it can be, anyway…”

Baccharum wandered onto the bridge with all the urgency of someone taking a stroll. With their backs turned, the Dwarves remained oblivious to his looming form. It was only when he made his way to the centre of the formation that a panicked voice from below screamed out to warn them of the assassin in their midst.

“Oi! Behind you!” An arbalest hollered.

They were given the time to cast back stares of confusion, but not enough to turn around. With precision comparable to that of a wild beast, Baccharum slid his daggers into the necks of two soldiers, paring their flesh like sheets of wet parchment. In the next instant, he had already moved onto the next, slicing through arteries with such gentleness that his blades barely made contact with the skin of his victims.

“It’s that fuckin’ Elf!” Eyes turned from below to witness the near-bloodless carnage, “How in Alberich’s name did he manage to get behind us!?”

“...What’s going on!?” Nearabouts the entrance, Mime exploited an opening in the tide of thralls to inspect the commotion, “What are you all doing!? We need ranged support!”

The final Dwarf subject to Baccharum’s picture-perfect assassination couldn’t even get his fingers around the handle of his axe before he met his end. The last of the stocky, twin-pronged lightning throwers fell to the ground, and all that remained of the Dwarves’ rear guard was a single Elf.

“That fuckin’ traitor!” An arbalest braced one foot against his enormous crossbow and loaded a bolt with both hands, “Fire! Take that Star-Eater down!”

A hail of projectiles were diverted from the main skirmish towards the checkpoint’s rear. Baccharum ducked behind the iron, waist-high wall and shuffled his way back to the barracks, grabbing a dead Dwarf by the beard to drag his corpse towards Lieze.

“You’ll be needing this, I assume?” He tossed the cadaver as if it was weightless.

“You’re so thoughtful.” Lieze held out her staff.

Staff of Thraldom’s MP - 3,391 / 3,417

A feral light returned to the Dwarf’s eyes as it stumbled to its feet. One Gravewalker wasn’t much in the way of manpower, but anything was better than Lieze having to fend for herself. It wouldn’t be long, she thought, until the barracks were stormed by soldiers looking to take Baccharum’s head. When the rain of bolts concluded, she poked her head out from the archway, keeping the Gravewalker close by to serve as a shield if necessary.

“Eh!?” One of the Dwarves paused, “Who the fuck’s that?”

He yelped as another soldier slapped his helmet, “That’s Lieze Sokalar, you fuckin’ numbskull!” He said, “If we kill her, the Order won’t stand a chance! Get to loadin’ another bolt!”

“...Lieze!?” A gruff, commanding voice rose up from behind, “Get out of my way!”

“Alberich! The thralls!” Mime wasn’t given time to air out his frustration, diving back into the fray as his brother marched up to the twin barracks.

Alberich

Level 68 Enchanter (!SCION!)

HP - 3,972 / 3,972 MP - 2,030 / 2,030

BODY - 31 MIND - 25 SOUL - 12

It was the first time Lieze had ever set eyes upon the king. From the sculptures, reliefs, and portraits of his lordly visage, she had been expecting someone with far less wrinkles on his face. His obsidian-black armour enveloped him like the hide of some insectoid parasite, leaving only a raised visor through which the paleness of his rough features could be glimpsed.

“Lieze Sokalar…” He gritted his teeth, “Finally, after hours of cowering behind legions of my blistered kin, you’ve decided to show yourself. I suppose you think you’ve won, hm? Come to negotiate my unconditional surrender?”

“Whether you die standing or not isn’t of any importance to me.” Lieze leaned over the side of the bridge, “I can tell you’re about to launch into a tiresome speech, so I’ll ask you kindly to hurry it up. Not that it bothers me in the slightest - every second you waste is another my thralls can spend feasting upon your brother’s flesh.”

“Your Majesty!” An arbalest stepped forward, “Give me the order to fire! I’ll take out this corpse-fucker with one shot!”

Alberich held up a hand to silence him. “There will be no need for that.” He said, “The Order’s mastermind believes us beaten. Bruised. Fatigued beyond hope. She will discover firsthand that overconfidence has been the death of every starry-eyed fool hoping to take the mountains for themselves.”

He clutched the iron grip of his warhammer with both hands. As the battle behind him raged on, Dwarves were cut down in droves by the bloodstained blades of Briarknights and lashed with the coagulated whips of Flesh Elementals. The tide was too forceful for Mime to handle, who had been steadily mending his wounds whenever a stray blow happened to catch him off-guard.

Alberich’s luminescent hammer took on a brightness that swept the battleground with waves of golden light. His hands bestowed an enchantment that far surpassed the capabilities of any sorcerer, causing cracks to appear along the weapon’s metallic surface. Lieze couldn’t help but notice that, despite the effort he was putting in, Alberich’s MP remained unchanged.

“Oh no…” She blinked, “A Heavenly Favour!?”

“Be grateful that you were able to witness the full might of Alberich in your final moments, daughter of Sokalar!” Alberich hefted the warhammer over his head with both hands, “Die!”

His target wasn’t Lieze, but the earth itself, which split like a parting sea before the power of his enchantment. A thunderclap deafened all in the room to the chorus of battle as the barracks - and even the cavern itself - buckled and splintered from the carnage. Lieze barely had time to leap through the archway before the floor gave way beneath her feet, sending her and Baccharum tumbling into the rubble.