No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

Damien didn't flinch.

He stepped forward to meet it.

Time seemed to stretch.

He tightened his grip on the invisible blade. His death energy compressed inward, sharper than razorwire, silent as falling snow. Flickers answered his call, dozens, then hundreds. Each one a final act of desperation. Courage. Fury. Hope.

A warrior's scream before impact.

A widow's cry turned to vengeance.

A child's last defiance.

They all surged into the blade, not as chaos, but as harmony. A choir of ends.

And then Damien struck.

Not horizontally.

Not vertically.

But downward like judgment.

The moment his sword met the Wyrm's skull, there was no explosion.

No flash.

Just a rupture in reality.

A soundless break in the world.

The Bonewing Wyrm froze mid-charge. Its wings spasmed. Its tail twitched once. Then…

A shiver passed through its body.

Bone split cleanly down the center, from crown to spine. Soulflame guttered out like a snuffed candle. The beast let out one final breath… A sigh.

Like someone finally setting down a burden.

Its massive frame collapsed into the earth, sending ripples through the swamp that rolled outward for miles. Not violently.

But softly.

Like a homecoming.

Damien stood still, blade lowered, chest rising slowly.

The air was silent.

And then, above the corpse, a faint light lifted.

Not bright.

Just pale and steady.

The Wyrm's soul. No longer fused. No longer resisting.

Drifting.

Toward Damien.

Toward home.

His Core pulsed once.

The rune on his fingertip shifted.

Something inside him twisted, opened.

The air turned cold.

And then, with a soft breath, Damien activated the new power.

Soul Flicker.

From the creature's remains, a shadow peeled upward, not a ghost, not a full soul. But a memory. A fragment. The dying instant of the Wyrm's final attack, preserved like a spark on tinder.

The shadow solidified.

And then lunged.

The exact movement the Wyrm had attempted, claws extended, roaring furiously, repeated itself in a single, perfect loop.

Inside, his Core pulsed with quiet satisfaction.

That final strike hadn't been a spell or an illusion. It hadn't relied on necromancy, or the summoning of bones.

It had been the Wyrm's own rage, distilled and caged within Damien's intent, unleashed as a weapon with no warning, no delay, no mercy.

An echo of death, sharpened to a killing edge.

Damien exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

"This skill… it's broken."

It was like reviving a soul, but only for its strongest moment, its most devastating attack, without the need for flesh, bone, or form.

No summoning armies. No dragging corpses. No waste.

"Soul Flicker is perfect," he thought. "I don't need thousands of undead marching behind me... when I can carry their final wrath in my blade."

It was elegant. Efficient.

A death god's answer to war.

The air still hissed with dying echoes as Damien stood over the collapsed corpse of the Bonewing Wyrm. Its immense frame had already begun to sink into the swamp, as if the world itself was eager to bury the monster. Around him, the wind stirred ash and broken roots, yet the silence felt heavier than the battle.

His breathing was calm, but the weight in his heart had grown.

This had not been a victory to celebrate.

It had been a warning.

With a flick of his wrist, Damien dissipated the death energy coiled around his blade. The invisible sword vanished into its sheath with a whisper, leaving only stillness behind. Then he turned his attention to the crumpled forms a few dozen meters away.

"Rage Monkey. Blackie."

He blurred across the swamp in two strides, death energy pulsing around him like trailing silk.

Rage Monkey lay slumped against a shattered tree, his fur scorched in patches, fangs cracked, one eye swollen shut.

A few paces away, Blackie, in her human form, was sprawled motionless. Her long black hair was matted with blood and ash, her robes scorched and torn at the edges. Deep gashes crossed her arms and side, and her breathing was ragged.

Both of them had taken direct blows during the Wyrm's frenzy, more than enough to kill a normal beast a dozen times over.

But these two weren't normal.

They were his.

He crouched beside Rage Monkey first and placed a hand on the beast's shoulder. Thick, boiling death energy surged from Damien's palm, slipping under fur and skin, into muscle, into marrow. But this wasn't energy that killed. This was energy aligned with Homecoming.

Not destruction.

Restoration.

The black runes swirling beneath Damien's skin shimmered, pulsing with rhythm. Cells reknit. Burned nerves realigned. A cracked fang fell out, only for a new one to erupt in its place like a thorn from dark soil.

Rage Monkey's good eye blinked open. He growled softly.

"Easy," Damien said. "You fought like a berserker. Almost impressed me."

Rage Monkey snorted and flopped back down dramatically.

Then Damien turned to Blackie.

Blackie groaned, her legs trembling as she struggled to stay upright. Damien stepped closer without a word and placed a hand gently against her side, just above a deep slash that had nearly pierced through to her ribs. His death energy surged forward, not in a wave, but in a focused current, slipping beneath her skin, through sinew and bone.

Her draconic essence reacted immediately. The fractured scales along her side began to shimmer, realigning one by one like falling dominoes. Torn muscle knit itself together. The bruising on her chest faded to pale shadows.

Blackie hissed through clenched teeth, her fists tightening, but she didn't pull away.

The shell of her dragon form, hidden beneath the glamour of flesh, pulsed once. Then again. Steady. Strong.

Damien withdrew his hand. "You're lucky I was feeling generous."

She spat blood onto the ground, wiped her mouth, and managed a smirk. "No. You just didn't want to carry me."

Damien smiled, but didn't deny her words.

A powerful truth gnawed at Damien as he stood again, scanning the horizon.

That was one Bonewing Wyrm.

One beast.

And he'd needed everything except his Legendary Spear trump card to survive it.

The Lotus and Lily enhanced body. The invisible sword. Soul Flicker. Super soldier reflexes. Years of training. All of it.

And still he'd been wounded.

Still he'd almost lost.

"I'm nowhere near the top of the food chain," he muttered, eyes narrowed. "Not yet."

He instinctively understood that even though a Necromancer's strength laid in his revived undead, his life and death was ultimately in his own hands.

He would embrace the power of his summoned undead to accomplish his goals, but he'll be damned if he trusted them with his life.

His life is his own to protect.

And for that… He needed personal strength!