Hello everyone. Yes, its been a while. 2020 is many things, predictable and convenient are not some of them. There is good news though. This chapter is quite possibly the best I've ever written.
Oh, and speaking of. As this is my best work yet its inspired me to make it its own story. By that I mean by this chapter's nature it allows me to both use it as an update to a story and be the pilot to another.
Please enjoy.
You'll Do
Chapter 1- Pilot
The sky was on fire.
It was also green. Not yellow, or orange, or red or look in anyway how fire was supposed to look. It was an unnatural rotten emerald. As if anything that touched this infernal inferno would simply cease to be instead of burn to ashes. At the heart of this sky held blaze was a dragon. A dragon the size of a castle, a battleship. A vessel made for war. Its wings the size of sails. Its horns were spikes. Its teeth were daggers and its claws were spears. Its eyes were melted gold in a feline frame. Its scales were worn, rotted, and gray as they covered its body.
The malicious monstrosity was covered in rows of red flames.
It wasn't everything the beast was trying to destroy, but one thing. One tiny, annoying and dangerous as all hell thing. Another dragon. One no larger than a unicorn and had wheels for feet. It wasn't just avoiding the jets of green flame but outright flying circles around it, fighting back the whole time. Blasting balls of blue blaze and streams of red fire.
The monstrous beast, for all its strength and power was helpless to defend itself. That was until the beast engulfed itself in its own green inferno, forcing the much smaller dragon to break off its attack. After the emerald embers died away, the scarlet fires were smothered by the smoke.
It was far from over. The Beast was far from full strength and was showing it. Where there was once rows of red flames were now lines of burned black scales that were falling away like rain, leaving behind only charred and smoking raw meat. As it panted in the sky the beast saw its smaller adversary charging again. Looking around best it could, the beast spotted what it needed, its golden eyes glowered before roaring an emerald blaze at the smaller dragon... and turning around then flying away.
The dragoncycle wasn't far behind and catching up fast, but then openings suddenly appeared under and in-between the beast's wings before the same green flames erupted out, shooting the beast forward like a rocket. The dragoncycle was no match and was quickly falling behind. The beast smiled in triumph as it turned toward its prize and readied another blast as it approached- but suddenly the beast's golden eyes turned a sickly green, the same as its flames.
Just as the dragoncycle was about to give up its chase the beast turned around and gave a mocking taunt to its pursuer before using the same back jets to punch straight up into the sky. The dragoncycle tilted its head at this before fallowing. As it rose higher and higher the beast gathered its breath to its limit for one last storm of green hellfire. Though, when the beast peeked behind to judge its target, it discovered the dragoncycle was all but sitting on its tail. The beast tried to evade but it was too late. The dragoncycle bathed the beast's wings in bright scarlet scorn, burning away the fleshy membrane in a crimson inferno.
It didn't take long. Soon enough the beast stayed afloat only by its back jets, but the great dragon needed to breath. The beast's eyes green glow faded back to they're natural golden hue. The look of surprise on its face shifted to fear before it could blink and then despair soon after as its jet's fire failed and the beast fell... and crashed. Crashed into the same place it tried to lure the dragoncycle.
The dragoncycle itself stayed in the sky, staring down at the burning emerald flames that was once the great dragon, seeing the green embers morph into natural yellow fire and spread. Looking around, both the dragoncycle and its rider could see the beast had landed smack dab in the center of a large valley that was miles wide, miles wide of nothing but death. The grass, the wheat, the everything was brown, dry, and lifeless. It wasn't just the valley. The forest surrounding it. Tree's of all kinds.
Empty.
Cold.
Dead.
No sign of life.
That was until the Dragoncycle and its rider heard lighting, lighting on the ground. Turning over, the duo saw a single green flame in the graveyard below. Far from where the great dragon ever flew.
The rider looked behind where the great dragon had crashed and died. The now natural yellow flames had consumed what was left of the giant lizard's body and was quickly spreading into the valley around it. The rider glared at what he knew would come, but before he could do anything another clap of thunder from the graveyard demanded his attention. Turning back, the rider narrowed his eyes at the lone figure. With a ready smile, the rider grabbed his dragoncycle's horns and flew down toward his enemy.
It didn't take long. The dragoncycle was fast, even for its own kind and the graveyard wasn't far away. As the rider approached he could see that the figure was clad in dark green, the only notable thing about the figure was the ball of green flames held in his hand that matched the beast's, using it as a pilot light for the rider.
Getting closer the rider noticed it wasn't just a graveyard but a walled off cemetery. At the far end was a small temple turned to ruins, barely holding together. Three decrepit mausoleums and six surviving saint statues were spread evenly through out its walls, with rows upon rows of gravestones dotting the interior. The only clear point to land was the courtyard at the heart of it all, which the figure was pointing at the rider to land. The rider grew a daring grin as he accepted the figure's challenge.
Landing dead center in the cemetery, the rider could better see the figure. The rider's enemy was an ordinary man of middling height with gray hair, gray-green eyes, pale skin and a smile that could chill a volcano as he wore a Victorian era double breasted green suit of a nobleman. A small golden dagger clipped to his belt. Below him was a structure of three slabs of diagonally placed stone, all pointed at the center which the figure stood on. Forcing the rider too look up at him as the figure looked down, superior and smug. The rider's grin widened, showing his teeth to this host of death before whispering something into his dragoncycle's ear.
"So." The figure spoke, his voice calm and poised. Even casually friendly, but clearly full of inhuman rage. "What brings you to my latest summer home?"
"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd pay my respects." The rider answered as he hopped off his dragoncycle and onto the hard dirt below him, his voice equally casual, if more cocky. "That's' quite the guard dog you have there... or did."
"Yes." The figure looked to where the beast landed and back to the rider. "It wanted to lure you over there. Any idea as to why?"
"Fire. Dry everything. Sky full of smoke." The rider shrugged. "The dragons wouldn't have minded but I still need to breath."
"Ah," The figure nodded before shaking his head. "A bit desperate."
"Desperate and smart." The rider eyed the figure, his voice growing more serious as he lowered his hood. The rider's eyes and hair were a matching warm dark brown. He was musclebound with tanned skin the color of copper and a daring smile that could light up a room with a little dot under his right eye. The rider wore a battle scarred black jacket with its sleeves rolled up, his toned torso and arms open to the world. A good pair of tattered trousers, charred combat boots, and a silver-steel broadsword handing off his back. All tied together with what looked like the remains of a torn red cloak hanging off his shoulders. "If you let it fight for itself, it might've won."
"Well, as I live and breath." The figure's lips creaked in a way that was only technically a smile. "If its not the man, the myth, the legend. Marco Diaz."
"Huh." Marco tilted his head at the figure. "Didn't know I was so famous."
"Oh, there's a list, but at the top is what grabs attention." The figure answered, his eyes narrowing at Marco. "Not since Toffee has someone challenged the magical high commission and lived. And I hear you got the better end of that arrangement."
"Someone's keeping score." Marco folded his arms, his smirk turning lopsided. "What do I call you, sunshine?"
"Necromaster will do." The figure said, his voice lowered to a whisper as his pupils started glowing the same rotten green as the great dragon's flames.
"A bit on the nose, isn't it?" Marco taunted as he swatted his dragoncycle's leg. The beast flew off and away, leaving its rider alone. "Though, I guess it does make sense. I mean a guy like you, any chance you're favorite brew is called 'Dad's dead, the money's mine'? Why not go all out?"
"Close, though I suppose your idea is shorter than 'Father's deceased, behead my brothers'." The necromaster snorted as he watched the dragoncycle fly off. The figure then looked back down at Marco, his hand resting on his golden dagger's hilt, his tone turned to that of a teacher to his student. "There is a fine line between boldness and arrogance."
"True." Marco shrugged, his hand grabbed his sword's handle. "But who would I be if I didn't press my limits?"
"Who indeed." The necromaster murmured as he raised his the golden dagger in the air, green fire erupting around it. The yellow metal glowing bright like an ember.
It was then that Marco made a second glance at the structure below his enemy. The dragoncycle rider could see that the walls contained a mural. Each one of a different image. A different being. A different symbol. The one to Marco's left began glowing a bright murky blue. Its mural was that of some frog faced toad monster. The symbol behind it was crossing tridents. The latter of which flickered the same sickly green as the necromaster's eyes. The rotten emerald quickly shined through the sickly sapphire. The creature in the mural sent a pang down Marco's spine, as it reminded him of someone he once knew. An enemy turned friend. Marco narrowed his eyes at that.
"I never thanked you for landing where I directed. So polite." The necromaster said, his tone acidly chipper. "So good at fallowing orders."
Marco dashed toward his enemy. High ground or not, Marco was not just going to stand there waiting to die. Though he only managed to make it about halfway to the structure before mausoleum's in the graveyard burst open, their doors flung straight at him. Marco dived and jumped out of the way just in time. Looking over, Marco could see a single creature coming out of each of them. They matched the monster in the mural only these were simple skeletons. Each one was about twice Marco's size, their bones were wider and thicker than any human's had any right to be. Their limbs long and gangly. Easy evidence that they were meant to carry and protect muscle and tissue that was denser and stronger than even being a head smaller could hope to achieve. But they were also chipped and damaged. Worn to the bone took on a whole new meaning for them.
They also weren't the usual naked skeleton one might expect. Though clothes were a bit too strong a word to describe it. Armor was closer but even then was a stretch. Their torso's and legs were covered in sheets of bronze, battered and chipped. More than one had a hole punched through it. Some even a few of varying sizes. Giving some hints as to how these creatures died. Their heads were covered by helmets that wouldn't look out of place in old Sparta, plume and everything as it covered their faces with only the eyes visible to the world. Though they were just as battered as the rest of the armor, even one dented in to well past where the skull should be. They also weren't unarmed. In one hand was the same silver-steel trident shown in the mural and a rusted iron net in the other.
There was no given order, or at least the necromaster didn't feel the need to give one. After fully escaping their graves, the frogmen gladiator skeletons looked up at their summoner. Their gaze was uniform. Dead eyed black holes in rusted battered bronze. Expressionless. The necromaster himself smiled down at his thralls, arrogant and superior as his glowing pupils overtook his entire eyes. Leaving behind emerald pearls that burned into his skin.
After a moment of this, Marco decided he'd had enough and picked up a rock the size of his fist and tossed it at the closest frogman. The one with the caved in helmet. Marco had aimed at that same dent, to get its attention if nothing else, but he was off and it landed just under the frogman's chin below the helmet. Diving back into where its neck would have been if it was alive and smashing into the vertebral column. The bones themselves didn't crumble, but instead knocked loose and apart, falling down into the its rib cage. The rest of the skeleton fallowed suit. Whatever magic that held them together failed or disappeared and the body fell to the ground and broke apart into a pile of bones and bronze.
"Huh, didn't expect that." Marco raised an eyebrow at the now defeated thrall. The necromaster opened his mouth and let out a shrieking wail that no mortal man should have been able to attempt without a special effects team. The two remaining frog gladiators let out their own answer to their master, though theirs was more of a normal croaking sound you'd hear from a bullfrog... if their lungs were the size of engine blocks. Not a moment later, they charged. "Oh, crap."
Marco dashed toward the pile of bones of their fallen cohort as it was equal length from the other raging frogmen. The gladiator skeletons themselves didn't run so much as hop like actual frogs, putting in more distance in a single bound than Marco could run if he had rockets for feet and they were heading him off. Grabbing some stones, Marco tossed them as he ran. Only for the gladiator skeletons to block or catch them with their weapons with even less effort than their jumps.
Having already run straight into one open trap once that day, Marco didn't feel like doing it again and changed his course to the closest frog gladiator skeleton. The second he was close enough the FGS tried entrapping Marco in his net only for the dragoncycle rider to hop right over it just as effortlessly as the FGS swatted away his stones. Speaking of, now that Marco had an opening he tossed his last stone at the creature's head... only for it to bounce harmlessly off its fittingly Spartan style helmet.
"Dang."
Marco mumbled flatly as the undead executioner thrusted his trident at him. Marco acted fast and grabbed the weapon at the curved metal between the prongs, barely stopping the attack. Death mere inches from his face. As Marco held the weapon he quickly discovered there was no push into the attack. Maybe enough force to thrust the weapon and pierce him, but that was it. Looking past the trident and at the creature trying to kill him, Marco could see how skinny and gangly the bones really were. How rotted they had become. The mass and muscle they were meant to hold together had long since perished and gone away.
Marco almost felt sorry for this undead warrior as he pulled the trident away, fully expecting to break away the skeleton's hands but instead snapped off both arms. Both Marco and monster looked at each other in confusion, well Marco did. Not a lot of emotion on a skull. The dragon slayer wasted no more time and thrusted the stolen weapon. The center and left prong stabbing into the helmet's eyes. The only part of the skull that was unprotected. The remainder of the FGS's body went limp before its neck snapped like its brother. The rest fell to the ground in a pile of bones and bronze. Arms included.
Turning over to the last of the trio, the last of the FGS either hadn't seen or didn't care how Marco had just defeated his fellow cohort in single combat as it continued its hopping charge.
Shrugging at this, Marco removed the skull from the trident and used that instead of a stone to hurl at his enemy. The third FGS tossed the net at the skull of its brother as it landed, clearing its path as it made its final lunge at Marco, its trident ready. Marco beat him to it, throwing his own trident center mass at the undead warrior. The stolen weapon effortlessly pierced the battle scared bronze, all three prongs impaling the undead warrior who quickly fallowed in his brothers footsteps as it collapsed into a pile of bones and bronze.
Walking toward his fallen enemy, Marco had found that the skull of all things was still- well alive wasn't the right word, still undead. That was probably closer. The frog faced skull continued to chomp away at Marco inside its shell of bronze. Looking down, Marco actually felt sorry for the creature. Had these warriors been allowed to fight him when they were still alive. Allowed the strength of the living, their armor was fresh forged and ready there was an excellent chance that they could have defeated the dragoncycle rider just as effortlessly as the trident had pierced the bronze plate. Marco sighed as he kicked off the helmet of a spartan hoplite, and with the same foot, stomped the skull to pieces.
"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.
"Meh, 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.
Turning over to the murals, the demonic stone slab was already crumbling to dust next to the frogman before it. There was only one mural left and after grabbing the runic breastplate, Marco was ready for it. As for the necromaster himself... he was shaking uncontrollably on his side atop the final mural, his emerald limbs flailing about not unlike the demon priest Marco had first impaled with the stolen trident. Not a moment later the necromaster, self-titled monarch of all things not-alive, actually tumbled off the center mural slab and fell elbow first onto a nearby tombstone before finally landing face first into the dirt. Strangely enough, the golden sword never left his hand.
Marco tilted his head at this, confused but still cautious as he raised his sword at the ready.
"Y-yesss..." The necromaster wheezed as he lay spread on the ground, his shaking not quite gone away. The glowing green silhouette of a man began laughing. This wasn't the same haughty, self-satisfied laugh from before. This one sounded like breaking glass. It was the nursery rhyme of nightmare's. The kind of laugh that belonged to a mind so twisted, its only purpose was to corrupt and destroy. The necromaster's head suddenly jerked at Marco. "You'll do."
Marco glowered at that, forcing himself to ignore his instincts to toss another stone at him. Weakened or not, it would do no good now.
Using the golden dagger turned sword like a cane, the necromaster forced himself to his feet, shaking all the way... and once again he changed. The blackened and charred suit finished its decay and fell of off its wearer like clumps of charcoal, showing the man to truly be a silhouette of rotted green. But that wasn't all. His bones appeared. His skeleton. It became visible. Just hovering there inside his body. Patches of black bones inside of emerald flesh, looking no different than than pictures from an X-ray. Marco didn't know how, but he knew that the necromaster was smiling at him as he stood there stiff as stone. The two enemies stood there for a moment, staring at each other before suddenly the necromaster raised his sword and pointed it at Marco.
"May the best man win." The necromaster didn't wait for Marco's reply and without taking his gaze off the dragoncycle rider, thrusted the golden sword behind him with a backhanded strike and into the final mural. Looking behind the necromaster, Marco could see that the last slab of the dead was that of a normal man. No clothes. No weapons. But the symbol behind him was that of a butterfly, with a crescent moon in its wings as the mural glowed purple. "And to the victor goes the spoils!"
As the mural glowed the same decayed emerald, Marco looked around the graveyard, searching for anything else that might contain an unforeseen undead champion like the mausoleums or statues, but all he could see were tombstones.
"Oh crap."
Just like that, as if on cue, a decayed hand shot up out of the ground to Marco's left and tried to grab his leg. The dragon slayer slashed it away before it had the chance. Then another to his right. Another, another, and another. Soon enough, the entire graveyard was moving. The bodies of the dead began pulling themselves out of the dirt. These folks, were folks. Human looking beings. Though with half rotted flesh covered in torn and rusted chainmail All carrying battered and blunted short swords, broken spears, even the occasional dented mace.
Just like the demonic priests and the FGS before them, Marco had to act fast or he'd die. Only now instead of being blasted to bits or impaled he'd be torn to pieces one handful at a time... if not mouthful. Looking around, Marco tried to find someplace where he wouldn't be surrounded by zombies, who's numbers grew by the second. He found but one, and it wasn't anywhere near the exit.
The dragon slayer knew what he had to do.
Putting his sword away, Marco held the bronze breastplate in front of him and dashed forward. The dragoncycle rider crashed into a volley of undead as they finished freeing themselves from their earthly tombs. It was easier than Marco had thought, the runes on the battered bronze burned into the undead hoard as he barreled through. Repelling them like an electric fence. Peaking to his side, Marco could see that not only did his charge knock over the zombies but actually sent them ablaze. Though only where the runes met their rotted flesh and only with small orange embers. Some snuffed out and left no lasting damage. Others were engulfed and fell to piece soon after. Most zombies simply rose back to their feet and stumbled on, aflame or not.
Looking back even further, Marco could see that the necromaster had pulled his sword out of the mural and was steadily walking toward him at a brisk pace.
Marco grinned at that as he turned his gaze back to the front and double timed it to his destination, quickly battering through a small grouping of zombies before making it to a set of stairs. After smashing the skull of a knocked over the zombie with his boot, Marco sprinted to the top like his life depended on it... which it did. Finally making it there Marco found the door surprisingly locked, while the rusted iron doors might have been flimsy they refused to budge and his improvised bronze battering ram wouldn't get through it. Snarling at the door, Marco pulled out his silver-steel sword, jabbed it between the two slabs of iron and slashed it right down the middle of the doors. Hearing the rattling of chains behind the doors he hadn't heard before, Marco kicked in the slabs of metal and ran inside just as the undead legion had made it halfway up the stairs.
Marco made into the temple, but he was far from safe.
After slamming the doors shut, Marco grabbed the chain he'd cut to get in and tied the ends together best he could. Not two seconds later, the doors began rattling. It sounded like an army was pounding on the rusted metal slabs. Death had come for the dragon slayer, and they were mere feet away.
The dragoncycle rider smiled.
Leaving the ancient chain to hold the rusted metal doors and his life, Marco turned around and found exactly what he was expecting. The temple was even more decrepit than how it looked from the outside. The interior was little more than a large room. Remnants of pews laid around in parts, looking like they'd gone ten rounds with termites and lost. The walls were little more than battered brick that looked like it wouldn't take too much to knock over. The pillars were mostly knocked down, some even collapsed into the broken pews. All but the one at the center which was so chipped away it actually surprised Marco that it was still standing. As for the roof, it was actually easier to find parts that didn't have holes punched into it.
Hearing the battering on the doors, Marco put his sword away as he grabbed hold of the largest pew piece close by but the second he grabbed it the handful snapped off and all but crumbled to dust in his hand.
"Great." Marco sighed, eyeing the doors as it clanged against their hinges. Dust actually actually puffing out of the cracks in the brick wall holding them.
"What is it you mortals call it?" Marco's head snapped toward the voice coming from the back of the room and sitting on a stone coffin like tomb was a certain familiar face to the dragoncycle rider. The surprise guest had snow white skin, long bright hair held back in a pony tail that all but reached the floor and covered her right eye, a bright orange bell shaped dress that was pattered like a flame that did the same, spiked horns that rose from the sides of her head, and of course a small bright ember hovered above her head between the horns. The surprised guest was sitting casually on the tomb as it lay on an alter, leaning back with one leg slung over the other which showed more than a good bit of skin. A sly smile on her face as she eyed Marco up and down. "'Quite a pickle'. Weird phrase."
"H-poo, come to see the show?" Marco asked, putting a little extra base in his voice as he grew a sly smile of his own.
"Hekapoo. Hek. A. Poo- Gah. You know it sounds like something involving a bathroom when you say that right?" Heckapoo narrowed her one visible eye at him as she folded her arms in a pout. It didn't last. Heckapoo, the queen of the crossroads, maid of mischief, and patron saint of fun times gone bad was visibly fighting back a smile and lost. "And yes, not sorry. Its rare to see these kinds of fights. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"What kind of fights? Life verses death. Good verses evil. The even a mother couldn't love that face against... well, you know." Marco joked, gesturing to his own face with a shrug as he walked toward the alter. As he did, Marco could see that the stone coffin that was sitting on top of it was actually a carved tomb. It was immaculately sculpted and dotted with precious stones. It was the one thing in the temple, no, the area that hadn't rotted to ruins. Marco raised an eyebrow at that.
"Actually..." Heckapoo hummed, raising an eyebrow back at Marco as she teasingly flicked her exposed leg up and down. "More, 'Sweaty buff guys with clothes that barely stay on' fights."
"Are you telling me I should start doing shifts at Multiverse Chippendale's? I already got a name, Magic Marco." The dragoncycle rider teased, doing a little pose. One hand on his jacket, the other on his iron belt buckle. Muscles flexing galore. The dragon slayer didn't fail to notice Heckapoo's eye twitch before her smile grew a bit wider. "I could use some extra cash."
"I'll see if they have an opening." Heckapoo teased, her gaze never reaching his face. Marco was guessing she wasn't looking at his belt buckle. The dragoncycle rider tried not to snort as the banging on the old rusted doors grew louder and louder. "You're looking for part time, right? Maybe, Fridays?"
Suddenly the banging stopped. The shuffling, shambling, and faint moaning outside the doors of the temple vanished. In its place was the familiar vaguely aristocratic tone of the necromaster. Though neither Marco nor Heckapoo could tell what he was saying. His voice was too muffled by the thick iron.
"Top three guesses for villain on verge of victory speech, go." Marco joked, pointing at Heckapoo.
"Triple alliteration, with a 'V'. Dang." Heckapoo snorted a laugh. "Okay, ruling the universe."
"Pretty standard." Marco tilted his head at her. "Lets give the D-mover lister some credit here. I'm thinking, dead stuff is cool."
"Ummm, Uh." Heckapoo snapped her fingers, her eye flailing about the temple as if visibly searching for an answer. "Come one, I hate being put on the spot. How about, Something, something darkside?"
"Awwwe, you did watch those movies I gave ya." Marco teased with the cutsiest voice he could muster. Before either could say another word, the mumbling stopped. Turning back around, both could see a faint fade of jade creaking through the cracks in and around the metal doors. "Oh great. He's doing the villain power up thing again. We got about twenty seconds."
"Marco, you're a super amazing badass with a great big sword. Whatever." Heckapoo asked, straightening herself up as she folded her arms at him. "But are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh, I'm just building suspense for..." Marco let it lay there as walked right up the queen of the crossroads and gently grabbed her beautiful round face with both hands, kneeling down to kiss her just as she was about to say something. After a moment or two, just long enough for a confident tease, Marco broke the kiss. He gave the confused maid of mischief a look before turning his gaze to the stone tomb she was sitting on. Heckapoo fallowed where he was looking and it was like she had a light-bulb was above her head instead of an ember. "My big finish."
Marco blew out the flame above Heckapoo's head, her body vanished into a puff of smoke. Not a moment later the doors were blasted off their hinges by an emerald wave that lit up the entire temple. Strangely enough the doors were still held together by the chain. Turning back around the dragon slayer saw the skeletal necromaster strut in with a few dozen zombies not two steps behind him.
"Behold, I shall be a blight upon the land. Everything I touch shall wither and die!" The necromaster bellowed, his arms reaching out with his head tilted so far back it looked like he was about to fall over. Marco tried not to let show how unimpressed he was at that.
"When it comes to entrance speeches, I give that a six outta ten. Mostly for how short it was."
"Defiant to the end. Some may find it charming. Personally I find it rather irritating." The necromaster straightened his stance. Though he couldn't show it, Marco knew he was being glared at. "Though there is hope. You can escape this fate."
"So..." Marco tilted his head at the necromaster. "You offer to-go baskets, take out bins, or just the standard swag bag?"
"All those that have challenged me, have been crushed." The necromaster announced, ignoring Marco. "Their remains join my army. This one singular graveyard is but one outpost in my empire I have spent centuries building. But you have proven yourself. I give you this one offer."
"A smart, living attack dog is better than dead cannon fodder." Marco eyed the necromaster blandly. "Tired of your generals smelling like rotting meat?"
"Accurate. But no." The necromaster gave a mocking laugh before he gestured at himself. "This body. My current vessel has run its course."
"I feel for ya man, I really do. But," Marco gave a mocking shrug. "You can only screw around with the dead so much before you catch something."
"Your entire incursion into my territory has been a test. Can you not see that!" The necromaster snarled, all but seething at Marco. "One way or another, this battle was your final proving ground. If you think we are the only ones to witness this conflict, you are wrong. Many eyes are lurk the shadows. All on us."
"Well, dang." The dragon slayer gave a mocking smile. "I feel like a sports car fresh outta the factory."
"Beings such as you and I are not mass produced, boy." The necromaster put extra emphasis on the last word there. "Last chance. Accept my offer, and a part of you will live on. You shall be the face of greatness as I make my return. The conquests will be all the sweeter with your hands at the helm."
Marco gave no answer, at least not with words as he reached down and pulled out a small knife from his cast iron belt buckle and threw it at the necromaster, its arc was straight and true as it landed home. Its blade sinking fully into the necromaster's chest between his ribs, right where the heart would be. But, of course. It wasn't that easy. The necromaster just stood there, not even flinching at the knife in his heart.
"Such a shame when someone with your potential dies so young." The necromaster sighed, real regret in his voice as he pulled the knife from his chest without a care before he tossed it to the side. "Very well, fool. You refused to be a king. So you shall be devoured by one."
The necromaster raised the golden sword at Marco, the tip aimed right at the dragoncycle rider's own heart. Unlike before, there was no gravitas. No splendor. No dramatic gathering of power. Because this enemy of life wasn't raising the dead, but releasing it. The dragon slayer knew this because the skeletal shades of the necromasters teeth shined through his emerald flesh. There was no hiding that the necromaster was mumbling something under his breath and while the sword was pointed at Marco, it was also pointed at the overtly enchanted tomb sitting behind him.
Marco stood perfectly still, trying not to give the game away as while he didn't hear anything, the dragoncycle rider felt the air pressure change behind him… not to mention the stench that just appeared out of nowhere. As if some long isolated pocket of air was just reintroduced. It was the tomb. Whatever magical lock that kept it shut was broken. Whatever was inside it had just slided the stone plate that covered it, something that would weigh hundreds of pounds easy, without making a sound. Marco knew this new zombie was both smart and strong.
Peaking down at the battered bronze plate he still carried under his arm, Marco could see through the reflection that this latest undead was another skeleton. One with a crown on its head no less and as it pulled more of itself free, showed its body covered by a fine black satin robe meant for royalty. It was silently reaching for Marco.
The dragoncycle rider smiled at this, the necromaster visibly flinched back as he did before Marco pulled out his sword and in one quick graceful motion, shifted around, sliced off the head of the zombie king at its neck, and returned to where he was before. Even giving the necromaster the same stare. The newly freed skull flew up into the air and caught by its decapitator when it arched over his shoulder. After seeing the skeletal body go limp on the tomb's edge, Marco put his sword away again as he looked down at his latest prize. The skull was laying upside down in his palm, the jeweled crown still firmly attached to the bleached bone, though the jaw was still moving. Even having its own voice, though it was no louder than a whisper and could mutter only empty threats. Strangely enough, the latter wasn't at the one who decapitated it, but the necromaster.
There was a silent moment in the temple after that. The zombies themselves hadn't moved, at all. Which was no surprise. Though the necromaster's attention was firmly on the skull sitting in Marco's hand. The so called master of all things not alive didn't look so much surprised or scared, but terrified, and not at Marco… But at the skull.
"There are plenty of reasons why I didn't join you, but I'm pretty sure a guy like you would only understand one." Marco said, tossing the skull in the air and catching it with his other hand without a care in the world. Like it was some ball the dragoncycle rider hadn't played with since childhood. The necromaster's whole body shifted with its arc like a hungry dog after a discarded dinner bone. "You're a loser."
"What?" The necromaster's gaze cracked like a whip to Marco, completely ignoring the skull. "What did you just say, boy?"
"You. Are. A. Loser." Marco said, tossing the skull to his other hand again with the same degree of casualness. The necromaster visibly struggled with where to point his attention. Marco was actually more surprised that the guy could actually keep his mouth shut for so long. "You'll always lose. Its who you are. No amount of power or minions will change that. Do you know why…"
Marco tossed the skull again, this time at the necromaster. The glorified bedazzled bone landing center square in his chest, right where the knife had struck before. The necromaster was visibly surprised at the human's brazen act of defiance and fumbled to catch the skull. Forced to let go of the golden sword as he all but dropped the skull on the ground before slapping both his palms to the face and back of it mere inches from the stone floor. The necromaster was actually shaking from pure relief as he held the skull in his hands, right up until the skull bit down on his green fingers.
Apparently the necromaster did feel pain or at least surprise as he audibly yelped and pulled his hand free from the skull's jaw. After regaining his bearings, the necromaster panted as he gathered his power. Seething in rage at Marco like a rabid animal before the necromaster snarled a curse and an emerald ball of infernal fire blasted from his hand.
Of course Marco was ready for this and already had the bronze breastplate held up waiting for this latest batch of necro-tantrum. The green ball of hate and death bounced off the runic sheet of metal and back at its caster, blasting him several feet back and into his zombie backup squad. Knocking both himself and several of them over. The closest of which were actually set on fire and crumbled to ash before anyone could blink. The necromaster himself was visibly hurt, twitching in pain on the ground. The arm he cast the spell with was gone, blown off at the elbow not unlike the final demonic priest. The skull was fine, protected under his remaining arm.
"You never learn."
Marco announced, his voice full of triumph as he eyed his final target and with all his might, threw the bronze breastplate like a disk at the final surviving column of the temple. Turning around, Marco yanked out the body of the skeleton king and tossed it to the side like the bag of bones it was before hopping in just as the breastplate made contact.
It didn't take much to knock away the last of what held the column together. Even the parts that weren't hit started falling away until the final survivor joined its brothers in death, and smashing rotten wood that were once pews. The ceiling of the temple wasn't far behind. Robbed of the last thing that gave it stability and holding it up, the hole riddled material stared falling and burying everything.
Marco himself had no time to dwell on it. After stuffing himself into a stone box that was clearly meant for someone that was half his size, Marco used all his strength in all four of his limbs to pull the carved stone cover back over the tomb. The last thing he saw was the necromaster crying out in hatred and despair as tons of rock fell over him. Burying the necromaster and whatever zombies were inside the temple. Trusting the enchantments of the tomb to protect him, Marco closed his eyes in the dark stone box as he felt and heard rock after rock pound against the one thing keeping him alive.
Then, just as fast as it began, the pounding stopped. It was over. Marco was alive… he thought. Feeling how uncomfortable he was cramped in the stone box he decided he was. Pushing against the lid, Marco tried to get out but found that he couldn't. Either the magical lock that kept the skeleton king imprisoned was activated again, or the tons of rock he brought down on himself was doing the trick. Of course the dragoncycle rider planned for this and reached for his sword… and discovered his body was completely immobilized. The now necro-slayer was squished.
"Oh boy."
"Marco. Marco, are you still alive?" Heckapoo's voice rang out, her voice muffled by the stone. "Marco… aren't you supposed to say Pola or whatever you told me?"
"H-poo. H-poo, I'm here." Marco hollered, doing his best to knock on the lid of the tomb.
"Marco? Marco, I told you not to call- Wait, you're in there? Wow." Heckapoo answered, her voice closer than before, her tone more than a little surprised. "Awww, you got me a stud in a box. I'm touched."
"Funny, H-poo. Funny." Marco forced himself to laugh, the stench of the zombie king starting to get to him. "A-any chance you could get me outta here? I… I'm kinda stuck."
"Honestly Marco, going out to the club. Even just a nice dinner. Date night doesn't have to be balls to the wall nutso." Heckapoo joked, clearly tapping her fist on the stone covering of the tomb. "Tell you what, next time we just jump over the death canyons on our dragoncycles. How does that sound?"
"Hek, seriously. I got about a minute of air left in here… Please?" Marco pleaded, it was about as uncomfortable for him as being squished in that stone box. Before he knew it, a small knife the size of his finger pierced the stone slab not two inches from his face, the enchanted locks holding it in place doing nothing to stop it. Like a crowbar, the small knife cracked open a corner of the stone allowing air to funnel into the tomb. Marco took a deep a breath as he could in relief. "Oh, thank god."
"Goddess, actually." Peaking out the opening best he could, Marco could see Heckapoo shrug as she casually grabbed hold of a rock the size of his dragoncycle sitting on the stone slab and tossed it to the side as if it was just another brick. "Semantics, whatever."
"Sorry, Hek, I…gah." Marco grunted as he tried prying off the stone slab himself, again with all four of his limbs. Unlike before the slab wasn't already half closed and he didn't have the threat of impending doom to motivate him so it proved a bit harder than before. Still peaking out the opening, Marco tried to keep his mouth from falling open as he saw Heckapoo grab hold of the slab and with the strength of just one of her fingers flicked it off of him like it was a dinner plate. "I-I always forget how strong you are, damn."
"Meh, divinity has its perks." Heckapoo smiled at Marco as she sat next to him on its ledge. Marco himself sat up and enjoyed a good deep breath then exhaling before leaning over and kissing the queen of the crossroads. "Someone's glad to be alive, or is it just because you get to add another thing to that list of yours. Skeletal slammer. Zombie smasher. Wait, I got it. Divine dead guy damner?"
"Uh, necro-slayer." Marco smiled, stepping out of the tomb and onto the alter.
"What was that you said about 'standard'?" Heckapoo shook her head playfully. "For shame."
"With badass titles you don't wanna make'em too complicated." Marco gave a quiet chuckle. "Patron saint of good times gone bad."
"Glossaryc knows why, I actually don't know how I got that title?" Heckapoo rolled her one visible eye. Marco folded his arms at her. The maid of mischief opened her mouth to speak but decided to just shrug instead.
That was when they both heard the sound of stumbled shambling coming from the temples entrance. Looking over, Marco could see that just like the expected large stones and debris littered the temple grand hall. The relatively few zombies there were inside when it caved in were flattened into necro-pancakes. As for the necromaster himself, there was no sign in all the rubble. The new zombies were pouring in, stumbling and climbing over their fallen cohorts and right at the only two living souls in the temple.
Marco was tired. No shame in admitting that after four rounds of combat and a cave-in, but one last fight had to be fought. The necro-slayer pulled out his sword.
"No, no. I got this." Heckapoo said, putting her hand on his chest and gently pressing him back as she stepped toward the legion of undead. "You just sit back and relax."
And like that it was decided. As Marco sat back on the tomb that saved his life, he saw Heckapoo divide herself into around two dozen or so clones of herself. Not unlike the demonic priests that Marco fought earlier, every last one of the Heckapoo's pulled out a pair of scissors, and in the exact same way broke them apart and held the pieces at the ready like daggers. Then, they charged.
Looking at it like he was sitting in an arena, Marco couldn't help but think it was a little unfair. For the zombies. In mere minutes, the small army of Heckapoo's cleared out the cemetery and as he would learn later, the greater graveyard outside the walls. Turning any surviving zombies that managed to stumble into her into mulch. As she did, Marco looked to his side and discovered that the zombie king's body some how did survive the temple's collapse and was still sitting pretty in the dirt. Noticing he still had the black ichor on his blade, Marco pulled at the fancy robe on the skeleton and used that to clean his sword. Amazingly it did the trick.
"Hey, Mar-Mar." Heckapoo said walking back into the temple, her eye playfully narrowed at Marco as she emphasized the last bit. The necro-slayer didn't know how, but he could tell that it was the real, original, whatever her. "Thanks for luring that idiot out in the open. He wouldn't have come out if he knew I was here."
"A bit forced." Marco shrugged as he put his sword away. "And you're welcome. How long was he hiding form you?"
"Uhhh, I don't even know anymore. A long time."
Heckapoo shrugged herself as she looked around at what remained of the temple's grand hall, eventually stopping at where the necromaster had stood before the collapse. Marco watched, again trying not to let it show how impressed he was when with the same casualness as she saved him, Heckapoo grabbed hold of the large rocks dotting the spot and tossed away them like they were made of paper not stone. Soon enough, Heckapoo found her prize. What was left of the glowing necromancer was just as battered and smashed as one might expect. Strangely enough the skull of the zombie king was perfectly fine, it was even still jabbering as Heckapoo ripped off the still green arm of the necromaster and grabbed the skull.
"Finally."
Heckapoo sighed in cold satisfaction, staring down at the zombie king's skull, which actually stopped moving. Narrowing his gaze, Marco had to admit, he'd never thought a skull could look terrified before. With about as much care as taking a cookie out of a jar, Heckapoo slid the crown off the skull before tossing the thing like it was yesterday's garbage at a wall. The skull burst to pieces on contact.
"Sooo, that's what he was after?" Marco tilted his head at Heckapoo, her gaze firmly at the emerald sitting center in the crown. "Besides the graveyard, I mean."
Heckapoo's eye snapped over to Marco, not unlike the necromaster when the dragon slayer insulted him, though instead of a snarl he received a sneaky little smirk. Marco felt a little pang in his gut at that, he tried not to let it show, though he did raise an eyebrow at the maid of mischief as she raised the crown at him. An emerald was entombed dead center in the front. Sitting there, Marco could see Heckapoo gathering her power and focusing it into the crown. The dragoncycle rider gripped his sword.
Before Marco knew it… Look, Heckapoo is called the queen of the crossroads for a reason. She's able to cut holes in thin air, or water, or even nothing at all and it creates a path. A path that can take her anywhere. The now necro-slayer, with permission, had used it more than once. As anyone who'd seen it happened will tell you, what was happening now didn't look anything like it.
A ball of green lightning appeared in front of Marco before bolts the same electricity shot out into three arms which then connected themselves to each other, turning what was once just empty air into a triangle of emerald lightning. A portal. A path to another point in space, time, or dimensions. Hell even all thee above. Marco didn't try looking directly at it, peak through its threshold to see where it led. His eyes were already starting to hurt, and he wasn't even looking straight at it. Instead, Marco peeked around it to Heckapoo, who's smirk had twisted to a rage filled snarl, her gaze fixed on the jewel before she gripped it with her other hand… and crushed it. Crushed a solid crystal of magical power into powder like it was a clay cup. The portal vanished not a moment later.
"Finally." Heckapoo breathed, dropping the now bent ring that was once a crown. Landing atop a pile of jade dust in a clang on the ground. "You have no idea how much trouble that thing caused me back in the day."
"He said he spent all this time building an army." Marco said, looking up from the crown. "Should we be worried."
"Meh." Heckapoo shrugged, rolling her eye. "Their king's dead. The top stooges will kill each other just for the chance to be in charge. I give the so-called empire of 'stuff not alive', a week or so before it crumbles."
"Well, you would know." Marco said, hopping off the stone coffin and walking over to the crown before picking it up and tossing it back where it belonged. In the tomb. Though now it was just a twisted ring of gold with no power.
Turning back around Marco couldn't help but notice how… out of place everything was. The baddies he had to take down. Not the enemies themselves. That wasn't the strange part. Now that the walls had come down, Marco turned his gaze toward the mausoleums in the courtyard, the statues, then the rows of tombstones. Each one was different. Different strengths. Different power. Different species. All of which had the scars of battle carved into them, with signs pointing they got'em before they died. All of which was capped off with how the place they were laid to rest in was a site of burial. Of morning. Common cause. All of which were buried with both their weapons andwhat looked like uniforms. It hit Marco like a steel fist to the face.
This was a military graveyard.
"Ya know," Marco turned toward Heckapoo… who was just standing there looking at him. Not in the playful way like before, but like how one might look at a rat that just made it through a maze. "All the stuff here. Where it is. I can only guess the story of this place."
"It does have a story." Heckapoo said, as if she just stated the color of the sky while she walked up next to him. The queen of the crossroads looked about the place herself, though her face gave nothing away. Not even disinterest. After what felt like a moment too long, Marco opened his mouth to talk but Heckapoo beat him to it. "Its a remnant of a war from long ago. A bad memory for those that still know about it. Its why necro-whatsit wanted it so bad. Perfect recruitment source."
"Creepy as it gets right there."
"Which is why we're leaving." Heckapoo waved a hand, dismissing both Marco and their conversation as she walked past him to the nearest hole in the wall. Which just happened to be the actual exit before the doors were blown off.
Shrugging as he fallowed right behind her, but Marco stopped himself when he saw the familiar green glow. Looking down at a certain pile of rubble, the necro-slayer kneeled down next to the necromaster. His body wasn't just broken, but pulverized. As his meaty bits were still green, his bones still made themselves visible... or rather the snapped twigs and broken glass that were once his bones were still visible. Because that's what they looked like. Some of which even managed to break the jade skin and snap out to the surface, which showed they really were just as black and charred as advertised. Not so strangely, there was no blood to be found. If it had been anyone else there should've been a splatter. As for his skull... it was somewhere between a rolled up tube of toothpaste and a smashed pumpkin. Marco shook his head at that as he stood up. Bad way to go. But it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. The necro-slayer sighed as he walked over the body and out of the temple.
The both of them stopped about half way down the stairs. Heckapoo crossed her arms as her visible eye started darting around before landing on the trails of smoke a fair bit outside the graveyard, not far from where the beast landed. She tilted her head to the side at that. Marco smiled to himself and at the lack of flames in the dead valley. Doing his best not to step on or in the various zombie parts littering the place, Marco raised an eyebrow as he stepped in front of her.
"Where's nacho's… actually, why'd you send'er off? She would've been real handy in that fight."
"You saw the beast crash, right?" Marco tilted his head at her. "I had to send'er to take care of the fire before it got out of control."
"And how would your own fire-breathing beast stop it?" Heckapoo tilted her own head at him. "Seems like adding on more fuel, doesn't it."
"You'd think. One wildfire is all but unstoppable." Marco said holding up one finger. "But two snuff each other out."
"Huh, hadn't thought of that." Heckapoo raised her one visible eyebrow at him. "Clever."
"Ya know how some people might have a dry season?" Marco folded his arms at her with a smirk. "Where I'm from has a wildfire season. I know a thing or two about putting'em out."
"Explains a bit." Heckapoo smirked back at him. "Never stop surprising me Muscles."
The necro-slayer gave a little bow before he put two fingers to his lips and whistled as loudly as he could. A few breaths later, Nachos the dragoncycle dropped out of the sky with the speed and grace that would make a war hawk jealous and landed in front of them. The both of them took their seat on the winged beast that had wheels for feet. Marco up front, using the horns as handles. Heckapoo was right behind him, her hands wrapped around his stomach. Feeling like he should show off a bit, Marco revved up Nacho's lungs and flew off the ground with a small gust of fire behind them as they soared into the sky.
"Sooo..." Marco shrugged, trying to think of their best interdenominational watering hole to go. It was usually what the two did after something like that day. "Tavern?"
"Actually, I have a better idea…" Heckapoo whispered into his ear, her breath hot and teasing on his skin, her voice all kinds of enticing. Marco felt his eyes all but shoot out of his head as he felt Heckapoo's hand slide down from his gut and onto his belt buckle. Just hovering there and pulling it tight against him. "Slayer."
"Uhhh..." Marco was tired. He really was. After a day like the one he had, there was no shame or reason he shouldn't be...but when an actual goddess has her hand on you like that? Well, its hard to say no. Still didn't change the fact that the necro-slayer was so exhausted that he wouldn't be surprised if his legs fell asleep the second he sat down on his mount. "Hek, I'm flattered but ah... I-"
"Feel like you're gonna pass out for a few days?" Heckapoo interrupted him, using the belt buckle to give him a half hearted front wedgie... which had the effect of showing to Marco, that his lower body was indeed dead tired. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get any ideas there Muscles."
"I-I... That obvious, huh?"
"How'd you phrase it..." Heckapoo asked, letting go of his belt buckle and scratching the back of her head. "Ah, I've ridden you like a mechanical bull in worse places. But when I went to leave, not a word from you Mr. Slayer. That said everything."
"Yeah..." Marco sighed, growing a lopsided smile as he did. The necro-slayer could already feel the adrenaline wearing off and his eyes getting heavy, even as he was traveling faster than most animals had a right to hundreds of feet in the air over a land of death. "Any chance I could crash at your place for a bit?"
"W-What? No. You will not be crashing at my place." Heckapoo said, her voice confused and insulted. "You're crazy. Just land there. I've already got clones making up a bed and food's waiting for ya. Eat some before you clock out, okay?"
"Ha, you really should open up you're own temple. You'd have people lining up to worship you, ya know that?" Marco joked as he leaned back enough to kiss her cheek. "Thank's H-poo."
"And just like that, I'm going to draw on you when you sleep." Heckapoo teased before kissing the back of Marco's head as she opened a portal in front of Nacho's path.
"Worth it."