A wave of undead charged the mound. Their movements were hideous, shambling and erratic yet far faster than any ordinary human’s should be. Marek waited beside his companions. The enemy moved forward, the dark mage claiming a smaller mound of the long dead a few hundred strides away. He’d sent half of the dreadful fodder into the fray. In seconds, they would clash with the first of Marek’s squads.

  Archers, target the center of the horde. Fire! Two squads of the ranged spirits released a volley of arrows. Mags aided their efforts, firing three arrows for every one his Archers released. Her war bow had incredible range, and each shot landed in the center of a corpse’s skull. A score of undead crashed to the ground, the others clambering over them, heedless of the losses.

  Drawing on his mental connection, Marek commanded the spirits manning all four of the ballistae he’d crafted to fire. Using Soulforge Creation, Marek had been given the choice between half a dozen siege engines, the Skill allowing him to channel ether into the creation of various structures. He had no need for a bridge, but the ballistae immediately proved their worth.

  Shimmering bolts five feet long hurtled across the plain. Each found purchase in a corpse’s chest, hitting so hard the dead exploded. Two or three fell for every bolt. He ordered the ballistae reloaded as the three squads of Defenders absorbed a wave of shambling dead. Seeing his siege weapons would be of no use as such close range, he directed them elsewhere. Ballistae one through three, target the remaining horde. Ballista four, aim for the Casteran soldiers.

  With the shifting focus of a commander, he directed the skirmish below him. Healers, keep the Defenders standing. When the enemy begin to thin, Berserkers wade in and finish them!

  The ballistae thunked as they flung another volley of bolts. One flew wide but two more crashed into the waiting undead. The fourth speared two of the Casteran soldiers. Seizing the opportunity, Marek triggered Command Spirit twice, both completing instantaneously thanks to his Mad General perk. As soon as they were bound, he cast Elevate Champion. Both Tinricks, he ordered them to cause as much chaos as possible.

  One champion drove into the unwary soldiers, killing three more in seconds. The other, however, was hacked apart—not by the living, but the newly resurrected dead. Marek cursed as he seized more souls, siphoning one and raising the other two. Damn, it’s like the Graysoul fight all over again except we aren’t competing for the same resource. The Death Mage uses what I leave behind. He truly is my opposition.

  Another volley of ballista bolts landed successfully before the enemy mages erected substantial defenses. The second wave of corpses rushed forward while the Casterans slaughtered the other Tinricks Marek had elevated. They’d lost ten of their number, but these were commanded to join the fodder in the second charge.

  His Berserkers were still exposed, fighting the last twenty or so undead. Several spirit soldiers had died already, and he was loath to lose more so early in the fight. “Mags, Ashurai, Yuze! Can you help the Berserkers pull back?”

  It was strange, commanding his friends as well as his minions. Yet none so much as hesitated. Yuze had been insistent: If they were to survive this conflict, the Remnant Mage would need to be in full command.

  Mags led the others through the throng of spirits. A moment before they crashed into nearest of the corpses, Marek cast Spirit Ward for the first time. Ether poured from his Spirit Core, and a ghostly banner fell from the sky, pounding into the base of the mound. A half-sphere expanded outward and surrounded all allies within a twenty-foot radius of the banner. Its effects were immediately noticeable. Several of the injured Berserkers regained health when incoming attacks were absorbed by the ward.

  Ashurai and Mags carved through a swath of undead, and Yuze did the same on the opposite side of the Berserker squads.

  Seconds before the rest of the horde arrived, all had withdrawn and the Defenders were in position, their shields held high. Three died quickly, the wall of bodies too immense to withstand. Spotting two others near death, Marek siphoned their ether to refill his reserves, then commanded the Healers to focus exclusively on the Defenders.

  Mags panted at his side. Though he felt the pressure of her gaze, his focus never faltered. He knew the story her eyes would tell. That same look she’d given him after butchering the kobolds and upon summoning Allon for the first time. Mags no longer saw the scrawny young man from Misthearth. She saw him completely as he was now, garbed in power and bearing the weight of his ancestral Class. She was looking at the Remnant Mage.

  He didn’t have time to indulge the thought. He was in his element, observing the fray between Defenders and the horde of sixty of so animated corpses. A pulse of mana in the distance drew his attention. Five beams of black energy coursed across the battlefield, crashing into the backs of the undead. Five of the creatures roared as their mangled bodies were wreathed in black fire. And moments later, five monstrosities crashed into the Defenders. Each growing to ten feet tall and swelling just as wide, the bloated horrors pounded through the spectral shields with ease. In ten seconds, they’d slaughtered half of Marek’s remaining Defenders.

  To make matters worse, the Death Mage capitalized on the momentum his creations had gained. All but a single rank of twenty Casterans rushed across the plain, seeking to overwhelm Marek’s defenses.

  His ballistae fired, thinning out the oncoming soldiers. Rather than raise the newly risen spirits, he absorbed every last one. Then he nodded to his friends and waded forward. Mags, Ashurai, and Yuze strode before him as his honor guard. Marek reached inward and seized another of his newly acquired powers. Upon binding Phantom Bolt to his core, he’d unlocked the Shadowmancer Trait. This passive drastically improved the base Skill, turning Marek into an instrument of death. He raised his ancestor’s staff and poured ether into an attack. A beam of shadowy mana blasted outward and struck the centermost horror in the chest. The monster’s body burst in a shower of gore.

  Again and again, he triggered the Ability, each use consuming a sizable amount of his ether. Marek regretted nothing. By the time the living soldiers arrived, all of the monstrosities had been blown apart. The Casterans pounded into the last squad of Defenders. The spirits died quickly, as did the Berserkers who rushed in to support them.

  Fearing the front line would soon collapse, Marek ordered his caster champions to unleash every Spell they had against the elites. Thristen the Frost Mage and Hargo the Pyromancer hurled ice and fire into the Casterans. The soldiers howled in pain, several dying instantly. Marek raised the spirits as champions, all Sir Rhinweld archetypes in the hopes of solidifying their defense. Of course, fresh corpses joined the battle as well. The Death Mage was never far behind.

  Three more bloated horrors swelled the enemy ranks, but Marek commanded Reshi Varr the Stone Slinger to destroy them with conjured boulders. Marek cleared out two more soon after, then siphoned several spirits to refill his Spirit Core to bursting.

  The battle was turning ugly for both sides. At this rate, both armies would be destroyed, and that would leave Marek and his living allies against twenty fresh elites, five mages, and the Death Mage himself. It was time he indulged the other half of his joint Subclass.

  Marek shouted to his companions, “Kill as many as you can but keep an eye out for the dead as well! Don’t be caught off guard!”

  He vanished and reappeared in the midst of the throng. Tier 2 of Wraith Step had fully unlocked the movement Ability. Every soldier he passed through was stunned for a full two seconds. The undead, of course, lacking souls, were unaffected. In three passes, Marek stunned nearly the entire group of Casterans, however. No longer limited to forty feet, he could teleport up to three times that distance. If he had to, he could cross the plain in three or four blinks and face the Death Mage head on. Such a power lent him a sense of confidence he hadn’t felt before. No one on the battlefield was safe from Marek’s wrath.

  Mags and Ashurai fought side by side. His skill and her increased power were a complementary match. Mags’ fighting style had already evolved from the few training sessions Yuze had given her. She wielded a long bone spear the Haikini had gifted her, lopping off heads and gutting Casterans with nearly every attack.

  Yuze, on the other hand, only exerted himself defensively. Gone was the boundless power the monk had displayed in Shirgrim. Using the waystone had indeed depleted his core.

  Marek himself quickly emerged as the true terror of the battlefield. Wraith Step made him all but invulnerable to attack. Having poured ether into raising Spirit Body to Level 4, he carved through the elites with ease. Clutching his staff in one hand and his two-handed sword in the other, Marek alternated between slashing attacks and bursts of Phantom Bolts, the volleys fired so quickly they ate through Casteran steel almost instantly.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  A few of the soldiers emerged as stronger than the rest. They triggered movement Abilities that allowed them to outmatch any of Marek’s remaining champions. Too fast, he thought. And more than I want to handle right now. With a thought, Marek cast Wailing Chains on each of the powerful soldiers. Bound in place, they only managed to survive a little while under an onslaught of Spells from Marek’s casters.

  After flashing through the ten remaining soldiers, Marek destroyed the last of the horde in short order. Flickering into the center of the decaying mass, he triggered Requiem Explosion. A blast of ether tore out from his abdomen, tearing every one of the corpses into pieces. And then he and his companions, along with a handful of bound spirits, were left standing. Marek located three souls rising from Casteran corpses. He siphoned them, then ordered the mages to blast the undead the Death Mage resurrected.

  Taking account of his forces, Marek faced the distant mound and met the hard gaze of the Death Mage. “It’s your move,” he said, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. “Waste the lives of your allies or retreat?”

  From this distance, Marek could only just make out the man’s sharp features. Thinly built and tall, the Death Mage stood as still as the dead. Then the man’s head swiveled sideways. He must have spoken a command, for the five mages moved in unison. Marek frowned, a memory he could never forget triggered. The mages, along with the Death Mage himself, crafted a six-sided star. Mana glowed as beams of connection formed between them.

  Panic rose in Marek’s chest. “They’re summoning a blasted demon! Allon, attack them! Don’t let them succeed!”

  The twenty Casteran soldiers formed a ring around the summoning. Marek’s daemon flew from his chest and soared high in the air while he himself blurred across the battlefield, leaving his companions behind with a final order. “Catch up when you can! Everyone, charge!”

  In the Crucible, Marek had been given a full ten minutes to stop the Priests from summoning their demon. In the waking world, apparently, no such grace was granted. Even as he crossed into the ring of soldiers, a blast of fell energy rippled outward. Marek’s Spirit Body armor cracked from the power of the explosion, and he tumbled fifty feet across the plain. His armor fell away in pieces when he rose again. Mind whirring, he watched the horrible scene unfold. All twenty remaining Casterans screamed as they died, body and soul, to feed the fiend in their midst. Twice the size of the demon of the Crucible, the creature drank in its allies’ life force. No sooner had it lapped up the offering the soldiers unwillingly gave than it extended five more threads to consume the lesser mages as well. Each of the five men howled in pain. Looks of outrage and betrayal crossed their faces, quickly replaced by horror.

  The Death Mage flung his cloak around himself. His body became as indistinct and ethereal as liquid shadow. Then he flitted fifty feet away to stand upon another mound nearby.

  Marek ground his teeth. His enemy was a coward—that much was certain—but the bastard had dealt one hell of a final hand.

  The pounding of feet could be heard, his companions and the spirits with them catching up. Thankfully, Allon was alive as well. The dragon flew a hundred feet above the plain, circling. Marek resummoned Spirit Body and invested enough ether to elevate the armor to Level 3. That would grant him the greatest degree of power without wasting any. The final fight would be against a few strong enemies, not an army.

  Allon! Now’s your chance to use those new Abilities. Keep the demon busy with your fire, and when you see an opening, use Tyrant of the Sky. Trusting his other allies would know where to focus their attacks, he steeled his nerves and teleported back into range.

  The demon’s attack was nearly imperceptible. Long claws blurred through the air. Marek blocked with Leyan’s sword. It clanked loudly and sent sparks flying. Twice more, the demon attacked, the last blow landing so hard Marek lost his grip on the sword. It flew across the plain and clattered in the dust.

  A set of Wailing Chains emerged from Marek’s palm. The demon roared when it found its movement restricted. Allon unleashed a cone of green flame that bathed the monster head to foot. Black fire burst outward from the demon’s body, melting the chains and driving Allon higher into the sky. It then held out both hands and summoned a pair of enormous swords.

  Blast it with every Spell you have! Marek commanded the spirit mages. Timing it as best he could, Marek blinked closer, recast Wailing Chains, and ordered the ballistae to fire. Four bolts pounded into the demon’s chest and a riot of Spells lit up the creature, forming a cloud of mana and dust around it.

  Marek sighed in disappointment when the demon’s roar told them all the outcome. They’d angered the cursed thing, but it was far from dead. The demon flung one of its greatswords into the cluster of mages, where it ignited with black fire and exploded outward. Marek’s spirits vanished from this plain, leaving only the common spirit soldiers commanding his ballistae.

  Knowing their attack had done far less damage than required, Marek siphoned their ether and faced the fiend with his Spirit Core filled. His friends now flanked him, though he worried for their safety. Only he had the protection of Spirit Body.

  Allon flew above the demon and poured out more of his veridian dragon fire. It would only distract their enemy, but for now, that was enough.

  “Yuze, can you do anything to help me? I know I can hurt it, but it’s damn strong. I don’t think I can kill it alone.”

  The monk nodded curtly. “If destroyed, the waystone can easily send that thing back to the hell it came from. We only need to figure out how to do that without one or all of us dying.”

  Marek held out his hand. “I can manage it. Are you sure it’ll work?”

  Again, Yuze nodded.

  “I thought the waystones were invaluable?” Mags asked.

  Her master shrugged. “So are the lives of men. It must be done. Marek, do not fail—we have only one.”

  Marek caught the stone in his gauntleted hand and then faced the demon. It had resummoned its second sword and was walking across the plain toward them. Speaking a few commands to his daemon, Marek teleported into range. The demon predicted Marek’s movement perfectly. A black sword crashed into the mage’s chestpiece, shattering it and sending him hurtling through the air. Marek triggered Wraith Step again and this time managed to appear behind the creature. Requiem Explosion sent a burst of ether into the demon’s back. It roared in pain and swung its sword in an arc.

  Marek teleported away just in time, flung Wailing Chains at the fiend, and shouted to his familiar, “Now, Allon! Do it now!”

  The demon yanked against the restraints, snapping them one at a time. Marek hurled the stone at its feet as Allon descended from the sky. Teleporting to the full range of his Ability, Marek spun in the air to see his daemon’s attack land.

  Head lowered, horns flaring a bright green, Allon pounded into the plain at the demon’s feet. The stone detonated. Brilliant gold energy expanded outward rapidly, fully enveloping the demon. Then, as quickly as it had emerged, the waystone’s mana pulled inward. A hole in space formed, and the demon was torn from the mortal world, howling in outrage.

  Marek comforted his familiar who’d been destroyed as well, praising the daemon’s bravery.

  The Death Mage stared on silently.

  Wind sent a curl of dust rising from the plain. Bowing their head, Marek’s enemy spoke for the first time. “Well fought, Remnant Mage. Next time, I’ll be sure to come with a full horde.”

  “No need for a next time!” Marek shouted. He channeled ether into Spirit Body, increasing its level. Marek flickered into attack range, sword already moving in an empowered slash. He triggered Rending Cut, and the black sword vibrated in his hand. The still form of his enemy remained perfectly still. A thin arc of crimson ran down the length of his blade, and he slashed at the Death Mage’s robed shoulder. The figure blew apart in a cloud of black smoke. Marek slide across the hard-pan, searching all around him.

  The smoke stank of burning flesh, an all too familiar smell. It thickened around him, blotting out his vision. Intuition flaring to life, and not knowing where the attack might come from, Marek teleported ten feet away. Now outside of the smoke screen, he watched his enemy complete a thrust. Then the mage dropped into the ground itself, vanishing from sight once more.

  Damn, he has a movement ability, and what he’s controlling the smoke, I know it! Marek back-pedaled, preparing to teleport in a moment’s notice as he reassessed his enemy’s capabilities.

  The Death Mage materialized twenty strides away. He stepped clear of the smoke and flung out an arm. A portal, like the one Yuze had opened, appeared in the sky.

  “No!” Marek screamed. “We settle this now!” He teleported toward the mage and swung Leyan’s sword. The Death Mage caught his attack and turned it aside efficiently. Then the figure seemed to blur before Marek’s eyes. A bony hand slipped past his guard, and two fingers tapped the side of his neck, sending a jolt of pain up into his head and down his shoulder.

  “I’d rather not,” the mage answered, chuckling dryly and stepping toward the shimmering gold portal.

  Marek staggered back, his right arm going numb from the strange attack. His sword clattered to the ground. Growling, he raised his staff and unleashed a volley of Phantom Bolts. Yet the Death Mage had already stepped through. Marek’s attacks burst against the shimmering gateway. Clenching his teeth, he was forced to stand idle and watch the portal shrink.

  In the last moment before it closed, his enemy turned and exposed their face.

  Marek’s eyes widened as he beheld the elegant features of a woman, not a man, within the dark cowl. Her smile was the last thing he saw before the portal vanished.

  “The Death Mage is a woman,” he muttered, somehow vexed at the revelation. It disturbed him to think of a woman taking up such an evil mantle. He grunted, hand beginning to throb. The side of his neck ached, and a burning sensation crept up onto his cheek, the curse spreading.

  Mags ran up beside him then, panting from the run. “Marek, your face! It’s turning black! What happened?”

  He didn’t want to know what his neck and face looked like. A necrotic stench made his eyes water, and he knew it was coming from the wound. “The Death Mage happened,” he said.

  Summon me, master! Allon shouted. I can consume the taint! Similar to the graysouls’ curse but stronger! Summon me quick!

  Still staring at the place where the portal had closed, Marek did so. The daemon emerged from his chest, and whirling around him, breathed in the wretched stain the Death Mage had left behind. Ashurai, Mags, and Yuze stood in a half circle, every face creased with worry. Marek knew his own looked the same. “I’m fine, thanks to Allon.”

  Ashurai took a tentative step closer. “And the Death Mage?”

  Marek shook his head. “I couldn’t even land a single blow, I’m afraid. The enemy will need to be dealt with another day.”