Necromaster
Chapter 3- the priesthood
"A fine second act." The necromaster announced, his imitation of a smile now an ungodly grin. Proud and devious as the stone mural of the frog creature crumbled to dust next to him. "I do hope this performance has more to show."
Veins suddenly appeared, or rather made themselves visible, around the glowing orbs that were once the necromaster's eyes and quickly spread throughout his face. They expanded not long after until his entire head and neck was the same color of decayed emerald as the glowing orbs, which had now dissolved and made the necromaster appear to be eyeless. The rest of his face wasn't far behind. The silver hair fell out, ears dissolved, the nose burned away, and the lips simply vanished. Turning the self-declared master of the undead into a glowing green silhouette inside of a suit that was quickly blackening with burns and decay.
Soon enough, the necromaster grabbed his golden dagger with both hands, visibly imbuing it with power and effort. The green flames around it vanished, or rather were absorbed into the dagger. Suddenly its blade grew and grew until the knife sized piece of yellow metal was now a sword, comparable to Marco's own. Though this one was double sided. Its glow now matched its golden ore, the green was gone.
His task completed, the necromaster plunged the sword's tip deep into the slab to Marco's right. Its mural was that of a monster. It had three eyes in a triangle pattern, two horns sticking out of its head to the side, an arrow tipped tail and its hair was twisted and spiked at impossible angles. The symbol behind it was of an inverted star inside of a circle made of chains. The mural began glowing bright red, as if they were made of hot iron. The symbol initially glowed the same before it flickered the familiar sickly emerald of its frogman neighbor.
Marco knew what was about to happen and pulled out his sword and held it at the ready.
You know those saint statues? They weren't statues. At least they weren't anymore. The not-statues began shaking, the once polished and now moss covered marble chipped away revealing more undead. As they freed themselves Marco could see these new thralls were quite the contrast to the last batch. As these guys weren't frogmen warriors. They were demonic priests, the same type in the mural. Serene and skinny, bound in bright scarlet robes held together in dark overlapping black belts. They also weren't skeletons. These looked like they could be saved by a snappy EMT. The only real evidence of their undead nature were they're extra pale ashen skin and their blank dead eyes.
Like before, the demonic priests turned their hallow gaze toward their summoner. All at the same time. All in the same way. As if they were made of metal and controlled by a switch instead undead flesh influenced by twisted magic. Seeing this, Marco knew the necromaster was smiling, or at least would have if he was still able too. The Green silhouette showed even less emotion than the frogman skeleton had.
With a quiet sigh, Marco picked up another fist sized stone off the ground and tossed it at the closest of the six undead priests. Unlike before, the demonic unholy man didn't wait for the attack to land. It raised its hand toward the incoming rock and invisible force stopped it about a foot away from striking its target. That's when the chanting began.
All six of the demon priests began uttering something. All at the same time. All in the same way. It was high pitched and whispered. None of it in a language Marco could understand, though it sounded angry, entitled, yet fearful. Soon enough their eyes began glowing, you can guess which rotten color.
But then everything suddenly stopped. The whispered chanting died. The only thing that changed was that now the demon priests turned their dead eyed glowing gaze toward Marco. The dragoncycle rider raised an eyebrow at this before the priest that was holding the rock he threw closed his hand into a fist, the rock itself morphing into a formless blob and glowing the same bright red as the mural. Marco backed up a step but the second he did it shot up straight up into the sky, going so far that the dragoncycle rider couldn't even track it, though he never lost sight of the red glow.
There was this loud metallic bending sound. As if steel beams were holding up something they were never meant to... that was when all the light died. Complete and total darkness. It looked as if Marco had closed his eyes under a blindfold, while wearing a bag made of lead in a tunnel a mile underground. Even the faint light of the red blob was gone. But that's not to say there weren't beacons of color about. A distinct six sets of three orbs in a triangle pattern were spread evenly throughout the sea of unending blackness, and one set of two a good bit above them all. All of them no larger than a coin. All of them were the same decayed emerald.
"Huh." Marco tilted his head, staring at the single pair of glowing orbs that were hovering exactly where the necromancer was standing before the lights went out. Which was more than a little odd considering the guy was nothing but a green silhouette in a charred black suit not a moment ago. "So he did keep his eyes."
"The third act begins!" The same vaguely aristocratic voice of the necromaster boomed from the pair of green orbs, even more self-satisfied than before if that was possible. "You've shown me your skill. You've shown me your strength. Now show me if you have a mind, or are you really just a brainless meatbag with an exotic pet?"
There was more, obviously. Guys like the 'necromaster' always love the sound of their own voice, especially when they're talking down to someone. And they never seem to learn how that always leaves an opening, and Marco took it. The dragoncycle rider searched around near his feet as quietly as he could, searching for another rock to throw. He found that and more. The trident that the final FGS had before he fell. Marco squinted his eyes at that. It didn't do any good. The dragoncycle rider still couldn't see, but it was a hammered in habit. Sliding his sword into his belt, Marco grabbed the trident as he hurled another fist sized stone at the single pair of glowing orbs.
There was no sound of surprise. No cry of pain. Not even the clacking of the rock hitting something. But the 'I am all powerful and you are nothing' speech did stop, only to be replaced by a cackle that could shatter glass.
"Sooo, act three always is a let down. Sad, but true." The necromaster's voice announced in a mockingly disappointed tone. "It seems you have a habit of walking into traps. Quite entertai-Ahhh!"
The necromaster howled in pain, stopping his speech just as he was about to say how great he was again... or how below him the 'brainless meatbag' was. Marco couldn't tell or care, as he used that opening he created with the rock throw to distract the necromaster and hurl the trident at the closest triangle of glowing green orbs. The distraction worked. The trident must've landed because short beams of emerald light shot out of the glowing orbs that quickly flickered to the same hot iron red that was shown on the mural. The beams of light were more than enough to show Marco that his trident toss had indeed landed center square, all three prongs piecing the demon priest right in the chest.
The light also showed that the priest had his arms flailing out and his mouth open as if it was trying to scream... but there was nothing inside to shriek out. Being dead and encased in marble all this time meant there were no breaths taken. Not a moment later, the flailing stopped and the priest fell off the little pedestal he was standing on and into the dirt. The light from his eyes dying away...and cracks formed in the sky. They were small, they were thin, and spread out by a large margin. But they were honest to goodness cracks in the sky, allowing little shards of light to shine through.
That didn't mean Marco could see though. Just that now the dragoncycle rider could know how far away his hand was from his face. That and the sets of glowing eyes left.
"Act three to this play isn't just a disappointment, but an insult." The necromaster announced, his voice patient but seething with rage, a modicum of pain the background. "The novelty of this encounter has officially worn off."
Marco raised an eyebrow at the clear discomfort his enemy spoke with, though he didn't have time to dwell on that as he heard the sound of stone being crushed coming from the trio of glowing green orbs to his far left fallowed by a loud buzzing sound. By instinct alone, Marco pulled out his sword just fast enough to block what looked like half a snake made of shadows, and a bolt of black lightning. The attack was stopped, glancing off the sword's edge and onto a nearby tombstone. It hurt. A lot. Like sticking a fork into an electrical socket while soaking wet. Painful, and a good bit of the energy shot up his arm. Marco didn't know how many of those attacks he could withstand, with the sword. Without it, there was no doubt in the dragoncycle rider's mind he would go down in one shot.
"Gah." Marco groaned, gripping the sword with his other hand as he clenched the one that was zapped.
Looking to his side, Marco could see the Tombstone that took the shot meant for him. The thing was just close enough for Marco to get a look, and not a good one. It didn't look so much that it was struck by lighting, but instead hit by an exploding hammer. The electrical burns were just the poisoned frosting on the radioactive cake.
That same sound of crushing stone came again, this time from Marco's right. The dragoncycle rider didn't bother to block this time and instead darted to his side and hoping he didn't land face first into a tombstone. He didn't but the one next to him exploded. Some of the earthly shrapnel bouncing off Marco's shoulder. Flipping over onto his back, Marco rubbed the point where he was hit. Comparing the pain to being struck with a ballpoint hammer by an angry blacksmith. Not a moment later, Marco heard that same crushing stone sound.
"Ah, the Dodge of death. My favorite game as a child." The necromaster hollered, his voice filled with malice ladened amusement. "I never played myself, but it was always fun to watch."
Marco had to move or he'd die, and he knew it. But he couldn't do any more than make another jump and he'd lost his bearings on where he was. Before he could make a decision another shadow snake of lightening had come his way. He'd spent too much time thinking and was forced to block again with his sword. He did, the attack ricocheting off to the side. As another tombstone close by exploded, Marco felt another jolt of pain fly up his arm. This time it he all but lost feeling into it and his arm fell to the side, hanging limp.
Hearing yet another round of stone being crushed, and yet again it came from a different trio of green orbs. Marco shrugged as he simply darted forward, uncaring if he smashed his head open or broke his neck in the landing. Better that than being roasted by an angry snake of static. Luckily he didn't land on a tombstone, instead it was the pile of bones of the fallen FGS. The newly freed Bronze plate clanged from his landing. Marco also felt the pole section of the fallen warrior's trident tap against his leg. The one Marco had used to defeat it. Feeling up the pole, Marco found that the tips were still firmly in place of the golden brown metal.
"Why not?"
Marco grimaced as he held up the trident, pointing the bronze plate it was stuck into at the crushing stone sound. Using the plate as a shield for the coming attack, fully expecting the same jolt of pain. Leaving the dragoncycle rider defenseless and not long after, game over. Marco closed his eyes at that and waited… but there was nothing. Oh there was a push against the trident and a hissing sound, but no pain. Not a moment later Marco heard a howl of surprised agony coming from where he'd last seen the necromaster.
Opening his eyes, Marco saw runes on the battered bronze breastplate he hadn't seen before glowing the same murky blue as the frogman's mural. Looking past the plate Marco saw that short beams of emerald lights were blasting out from the trio of glowing orbs, quickly flickering to the same hot iron red. The demonic priest appearing behind the light before falling to the ground. Looking up, Marco could see cracks in the dark growing and expanding. More than that, new ones appearing and growing to match the old set. Allowing more light.
Marco could see… Well, no detail. But the outlines, yes. Marco knew what was where and with a quick glance, knew exactly what he had to do.
"Fool!" The necromaster howled, his outline now hunched over, his voice filled with overwhelming rage. If the guy still had lips, Marco wouldn't be surprised if he was foaming at the mouth. "Die."
Hearing the same stone crunching sound as before, Marco hopped to his feat and turned his improvised shield toward the latest demonic priest. With just enough light to see their outline, Marco saw that the attacks were actually part of the tombstones dotting the place. Pieces ripped off with the same unseen force and molded into formless blobs, or at least that's what the latest demon priest was doing before another snake of shadow lighting snapped his way… and blasted directly back at its caster when it hit the FGS breastplate. Marco could actually see a whole smashed clean through its sternum, fallowed by a burning effect that bleed into the rest of the body.
The usual routine fallowed. Jets of green light shot out of the glowing orbs that flickered to red. The demonic priest falling over and into the dirt from whence they came. More of the sky cracking open as light shined in. The necromancer crying out like a wannabe gambler getting beaten up by bookies, either through pain or plain o'l tantrum trowing. Marco didn't know and he didn't care, as the last of those was the starting pistol and the great dragon slayer didn't waste any time and darted to the second closest of the demonic priest left.
Unlike the FGS, the demonic priests seemed to need their master's control to do anything and Marco knew he didn't have much time before the necromaster regained his bearings. Forcing his numb arm awake, Marco pulled out his sword again with it and the second he was close enough he stabbed his target right in its face. As the demonic priest fallowed its fallen brother's to true death, Marco sheathed his sword before ripping the trident free of the bronze plate and hurled it at the priest he passed before. Just like the first unholy man Marco defeated, the trident struck straight and true. The glorified spear's prongs landing diagonally. Hitting the left shoulder, abdomen, and bellybutton.
With only one demonic priest left, Marco held up the rune enchanted battered bronze breastplate with both hands as he dashed toward his last target. His caution was rewarded, as the final demonic priest actually responded to his approach. As the priest made another formless ball of death from a nearby tombstone, Marco peaked over to his side as he sprinted. Enough light was shinning through to allow Marco to see the necromaster was actually down on all fours and panting as he glared the dragoncycle rider… Well, glaring as much as one can with orbs for eyes. Marco grew a wolfish grin at that.
Guys like the 'necromaster' just can't seem to roll with the punches and learn from their mistakes, or even adapt to a problem. Such things are beneath them. Which suited Marco just fine. It made beating them that much easier… and way more satisfying when they have their little breakdowns.
Marco turned back to the demonic priest just as it finally launched the same snake of shadow lighting… and it instantly bounced right off the glorified sheet of battered bronze and back at its caster. Though unlike before, Marco actually felt the same jolt of pain like when he used his sword to redirect the attack. It wasn't nearly as bad though. Kinda like grabbing an electric fence with sweaty hands.
Strangely enough there were no cries of pain from the thrall's master, there were no more cracks opening up. A confused Marco looked over to his last undead enemy, the darkness now being little different than a light fog, the final demonic priest didn't die from his own redirected attack like his brothers. Instead his arms were gone, just gone. Singed off from the elbow with the only sign being charred stumps. The great dragon slayer, Marco Diaz stood there stunned… until he saw the ash covered remains of the arms start waving around at a nearby tombstone and he snapped out of it.
It didn't take much. Marco was little more than a few feet from his final target and slammed into the infernally damned creature with the enchanted bronze plate, knocking them both off the pedestal and into the dirt. Interestingly enough, the tackle that would make a professional football player proud didn't' instantly kill… well, extra-kill the demon priest. Instead the dragoncycle rider heard a sizzling sound. Moving the bronze plate just enough, Marco could see that the runes were actually scorching brands of themselves into the skin of the demon priest. Much like the old legends of earth with symbols of faith. Standing up but leaving the bronze plate on the demon priest, Marco pulled out his sword and stabbed it right in its third eye.
Familiar with the routine by now, Marco looked up at the sky. The cracks that had appeared in the blackness had grown and expanded until they reached the entire horizon. To the dragoncycle rider it appeared like stained glass in a way that was not dissimilar to what would be found in a place of worship. Designs appearing in no discernible order. Only one of which Marco recognized. The inverted star inside a ring of chains at the center looking down at the cemetery courtyard. At the challenger that had defeated its test. The chained star was staring down at Marco Diaz.
Marco himself smiled a triumphant grin at that before the final cracks appeared, the same of bending steel erupted and then... The stained glass sky broke apart, the shards falling to the ground. Though, thankfully, all the shards dissolved or disappeared before coming close to the graveyard.
Once the eyes stopped glowing Marco pulled his sword out from the long dead body's eye, black ichor oozed down the silver-steel blade like tar.
"Gah, I hate cleaning this thing." Marco grumbled as he leaned down to grab the unholy man's robes to wipe his sword only to stop himself at the last second. Looking down at his defeated foe, the last of the demon priests, Marco felt a similar stab of misplaced guilt, well earned disappointment, and begrudging relief that he had with the frogmen gladiator skeletons. If the dragon slayer lasted a minute against the FGS in their prime while alive, he'd be amazed if he lasted a moment against the priests. Even at their weakest, how Marco had fought them, it was a contest and could have gone either way.
Of course, Marco knew who to blame for all of it.