Warmth-sense checks the eggs.
Pulse. Writhe. Slick sack. Good-warm.
Click-call through tunnel. Nest replies.
Still-eggs. Hatch-soon. Feed-soon.
Or feed-now, if tunnels empty.
Feelers brush crack-stone.
Vibrations none. No prey-sound.
Air carries hunger-scent only self.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait breaks.
Click-click. Over eggs. Pierce-soft.
Anger-hiss answers. Legs scatter stone.
Broodmother shakes fury.
Mandibles slice. Fluid spills.
New meat. Not-egg.
Feed.
Feed.
Feed.
Satisfaction-vibration hums.
Air shifts. Warm-current from crack-stone.
Taste-lash. Foul-salt.
Warm-movers beyond stone.
Wrong-warm.
War-click echoes. Front-limbs rise.
Bite-ready.
Silence.
Tremor slow.
First prey. Second prey. Many.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Mandible meets flesh.
For the colony!
Slice-open— no.
Meat cold.
Wrong meat attacks.
Trap
Trap
Tra—
As
the defending veltid warrior forms rushed towards the invading rats,
a singular green arcane eye floated from the crack with the rats and
promptly rose high above to take in the scene.
It
had taken almost an hour to find the crack in the brick wall leading
to the cave. Seventh had almost missed it if his lanternlight hadn't
cast a suspiciously dark shade next to his legs. The crack was barely
one foot high and four wide, clearly dug low to avoid suspicion.
Looking
down at the snowballing massacre, Seventh let out a low whistle.
There were a lot more veltids than he had estimated.
The
bestiary he had read— well, lightly skimmed, really— had claimed
that veltids were pack hunters, but their social structure wouldn't
hold more than one or two dozen at the maximum before devolving into
a cannibalistic frenzy of the fittest.
Taking
in the crescent-shaped, gently downward-sloped, cavern Seventh had
counted twenty-five veltids before giving up in the headcount. They
blurred in their slithering mass, and their slight differences in
coloring didn't help much with Wandering Eye's Basic Darkvision— it
was almost all grey with occasional splashes of color here and there.
Seventh
did notice occasional blue strikes and brown spots in the basic black
coloring, but the differences were too subtle to be noticeable during
combat, so he focused more on the terrain.
The
cavern was composed of similar, jagged monster-hewn, light grey
stone. Not being a Geomancer, Seventh didn't know exactly what kind
of stone the cavern was dug into, but the porous and soft rock was
easy to crumble even with his hand.
Three
large stalagmite-like structures jutted from the floor, covered in a
fist-sized orange eggs. The liquid inside glowed soft orange light,
backlighting the small creatures growing inside.
Each
eggmound had three or four shorter, flatter veltids hovering around
them and checking the eggs with long antennae that warriors didn't
have. The egg carers didn't have as long natural weapons as the
warrior forms, but their armor looked thicker, and the plating
overlapped, closing the weak spots.
Far
in the back, next to the biggest collection of eggs, a large shape
loomed in the soft orange glow. Seventh didn't see details properly,
but he could easily assume it was a much larger variant of the
veltids, perhaps a Broodmother or even a Queen.
When
the fighting escalated, and the first veltids died to the rat
onslaught, bioluminescent veins lighted up in faint pink on the Queen
as the death screams echoed. The veins painted a picture of a man
sized head and thick segmented trunk ending on a long,
tail.
Seventh
couldn't see the mandibles, fangs, pincers, or any other weapons, but
he was sure the Queen had something wicked on her. His focus moved
back to the fighting as the last rat was cut open to pieces and
splattered all over the floor. A melodic clicking and clacking of
mandibles filled the cave.
Two
dead veltids in the price of three dozen rats. Kinda bad trade. Time
for the second wave.
Four
chitinous shapes slithered through the crack, towards their living
brethren. Looking around, Seventh checked his ratkin perimeter. He
had ordered the four ratkin in twenty-five-foot increments— Fang
was on his right, closest to him of course— in case there were
secondary entrances or camouflaged escape tunnels.
The
soft rock was easy to cut with, and there could even be specialized
burrowers in the hive. All was possible with these monstrously
adaptive insects, and Seventh wanted to be prepared for once.
Most
of his rats had just been slaughtered, but a swarm of them was hidden
in the water channel like always, and two rats were next to Seventh,
silently biting into a short length of rope tied to a potion bottle
filled with black liquid.
It
was called an Alchemist's Fire, a concoction that transformed into a
sticky substance when coming into contact with air, seconds before
bursting into flames like a Fireball. Expensive like sin, but
effective in cramped spaces or dry forests, and Seventh had bought it
just for occasions like this: burning monster nests.
Checking
the situation inside, Seventh heard the veltid cheers loudening as
his four minions entered. The sound ceased the instant when their
returning kin dashed forward, ripping their first victims open. Death
Mana bloomed, and the panic started.
The
undead cracked carapace, severed heads, and sliced bodies open before
the shocked living even thought to react.
The
Queen's veins flashed red, a high click snapped, and veltids rushed
and swarmed Seventh's troops. Two of them were overpowered
immediately and ripped apart piece by piece.
That
was fine, the Necromancer of the Sewers had more than enough mana
floating all around in the battlefield and fresh bodies to use. Two
bodies under the warriors twitched as Seventh's magic imitated motive
force, giving them a new undead life.
Seventh
didn't even need to see the corpses himself. Wandering Eye worked in
tandem with Raise Dead's Undead Relay, allowing the Necromancer to
raise minions without seeing them with his own eyes. There was
probably a distance limit, but Seventh hadn't found it yet.
The
living weren't expecting their fallen nestmates to rise up and start
slicing them up. Seventh could barely make sense of the writhing,
wriggling mass of violence.
Thank
the gods the minions fight well without separate orders, Seventh
thought as he chugged Mana Potion to top off his bar and chose
another corpse to raise.
Siphoning
the ambient Death Mana through Area Channeling gave Seventh a stable
source of mana for casting, he only needed to make sure he didn't
drain all corpses. He needed more minions after all, so every second
enemy was destined to rise back up.
It
looked like for every two dead minions, three living monsters were
killed and reanimated. Slow and sure immoral mathematics, slowly and
surely eradicating monsters.
Focusing
out of the Eye, Seventh checked his vicinity. "Anything?"
Four
squeaks confirmed all was good in the rearguard, and Seventh dived
back into the nest view.
The
dead were devastating the living with their unnatural tenacity and
uncaring attitude towards mortal wounds. They stopped only when their
health slowly ticked to zero and slipped back to peaceful death.
And
then they were turned to ash to power up the next wave of undead.
She
was right, Seventh thought in an odd mix of satisfaction and grim
realization.
All
Seventh needed to do to win was to keep watch of his mana, avoid
overextending himself, and steadily roll new undead to the fight.
But
a loud series of clicks echoed in the small chamber filled with dying
and undead insects. The living gained momentum, secured each other's
flanks, and even grabbed Seventh's troops to give their comrades a
chance for lethal blows.
The
fight subtly moved away from the nearest egg cluster to the exit, and
Seventh saw a handful of antennae bearing veltids staying still,
close to the eggs. Another series of clicks later, the egg tenders
carefully climbed on top of the eggs, protecting them with their
bodies. The Queen flashed yellow, and she leaned forward to assess
the situation.
Oh,
isn't that interesting? What would happen if I poke her a bit?
All
of the reanimated veltids weren't immediately deployed to the
frontline. Seventh had kept a small reserve of three undead lying
still on the floor, just in case.
Whisper
Wind relayed his orders, and when they were clear from the moving
fight... a dash of chitin attacked the nearest eggmound.
Seventh
saw his minions struggling more than usual to puncture and slice
through the egg tenders' thicker armor. All they did against better
weapons and an uncaring attitude towards stubby mandibles was buy
time.
To
the necromancer's disappointment, all his minions achieved was a
handful of lower-end veltids to raise and a batch of unborn horrors
cut down.
As
a counterattack, the nest rerouted a portion of its warriors back.
Fast mandibles and pincers gleamed in the pale green light of the
Wandering Eye. Armor was punctured, flesh was torn, and undead ash
mixed with the yolk in the end.
Starting
slowly to recognize some of the living warriors, Seventh followed a
large brown veltid as it confusedly dragged its singular, jagged
mandible across ash. It had personally killed at least six of
Seventh's minions and was slowly becoming a problem.
The
looming shape of the Queen in the darkness stirred, taking a step
forward while its mandibles and scythe-like talons clang together in
rage. Over fifteen feet long and seven wide, the Queen of the Hive
rose high to observe the battle, turning its triangular head slowly
from left to right until looking up, straight to the magical eye on
the ceiling.
Seventh
unblinkingly answered the stare, and for a moment, the time seemed to
slow down as the two commanders evaluated each other. The Queen's
luminescent veins slowly shifted between yellow, orange, and red.
The
Queen broke the staring contest by making a long stride, slicing two
of Seventh's minions to pieces with ease. She looked back up,
clicking her mandibles, mocking the necromancer.
Seventh
licked his lips from his safe command post. Fighting close to three
dozen veltids was already a strain, not to mention fighting
thing. "Okay, plan Firebomb is a go. ," Seventh
said without breaking the Eye connection.
He
felt the two small rats skittering away, towards the fight. One of
them was Swift-Foot, the rat he had named on a whim while pranking
another adventurer.
Swift-Foot...
Stupid to name him like that. I shouldn't do that in the future.
The
two rats ran through the downward slope to the nest and slowed down.
The floor was flooded with insectoid parts, pieces of carapace,
blood, and gooey guts, making traversal difficult for the small
vermin.
Splitting
to make sure even one of them would survive to deliver the payload,
Swift-Foot took right as the biggest rat Seventh had ever seen, or
reanimated, took left.
The
Queen was too busy biting her former reanimated hivemate into pieces
to notice the curious rats, but she paused and looked around when a
rhythmic clicking from the egg protectors found her ears— or
whatever veltids used to hear sounds.
Seeing
the fat rat with a potion bottle legging towards the left eggmound, a
fast order from the Queen changed the battlefield once again. All
warriors not currently engaged with the enemy disengaged and rushed
towards the only rat they saw.
The
Queen herself kept the undead at bay with her advanced weapons. She
could have been even more terrifying if she hadn't secured every kill
with a stab through every corpse, killing two hiding undead in
passing.
"Clever
girl..." Seventh muttered. He'd have to make mental notes of
which bodies the Queen had bodychecked and raise them when able.
Deciding
one of the rats was expendable, Seventh ignored veltids chasing it
and ordered all undead to swarm the Queen.
Seventh
had never named the rat. It was for the best. The largest warrior
form used its tail to pin the rat down, and after cutting its head
off, eviscerated the body from neck stump to the groin.
The
glass bottle was still intact, held tightly by the severed head.
Seventh grunted when he saw the Ratkiller gingerly biting into the
head and slowly moving it with the dangerous object as far away as
possible from the eggs.
A
clear victorious click waved through the defending warriors.
Seventh's mana was running slow, he couldn't keep up the reanimation.
Downing another Mana Potion, a blinking icon appeared in his vision,
a blue potion bottle, telling him that Potion Toxicity had finally
kicked in.
If
Seventh drank another potion now, there would be painful cramps,
vomiting, and loss of consciousness. Maybe even death if it were a
high-quality potion. Countdown appeared next to the icon, telling
Seventh he had to wait five minutes before he could take another
potion.
Back
in the cave, veltids slowly moved the tide to their favor, and moved
more boldly, encircling the last four undead centipedes, eyeing the
crack on the wall from where the intruders had come.
Only
a few of them saw a faint glimmer of a flying bottle. A small, agile
rat had delivered its payload of liquid fire.
Stolen novel; please report.
The
Queen let out a loud, shrill shriek, pointing at the bottle in
flight. It was for naught as nobody in the cave could do anything
about it.
The
bottle shattered on the roof, raining down solidifying, smoldering,
tar-like substance all over the battlefield. Both the living and the
undead were pelted with the rain and were violently lit aflame when
the stuff finally ignited.
The
fighting had been eerily quiet. Clinks of chitin against chitin,
death screams, and occasional orders from the Queen had been the only
sounds.
Now,
the cavern filled with panicked screeching and screams as the fire
ate through the tough carapace or started to boil the insects'
insides. Flaming undead ignored being on fire and used the
distraction to their advantage and charged forward.
Seventh
sucked in his lips as he watched flaming veltids fighting with each
other and setting their surroundings and bodies on fire. Veltid goo
was apparently flammable, and the puddles of blood
slowly ignited all around the cave.
That
image of fire was going to stay with him forever.
Death
Mana flashed as the undead troops hacked and cleaved through the
nest. Leaving pieces and blood behind.
The
nest had fallen into pandemonium.
Clattering
and panic filled the air, almost overcoming the pain-screech. A mass
of black and deep brown surged towards their only way out, the
cracked wall. The burning bugs writhed and tried to pat the fire out,
only to spread the flaming substance all over their bodies and
passing nestmates.
Quickly
losing control and trying to get her children on the line, the Queen
concentrated too hard on ordering them and failed to properly defend
herself against an unfearing foe.
Seventh's
troops chomped down on the Queen's soft underbelly, aimed their
pincers through the weakly armored sides, and parried her sloppy
talon-swipes.
The
smaller veltids couldn't penetrate deep enough to deal killing blows,
but they did make her angry. Two of them even climbed on her back,
ineffectively trying to slice through the thick armor.
Deciding
that this had been enough, the Queen slammed herself on the wall,
crushing the bugs on her back, killing them immediately. The two last
undead met their second final fate as she swept the room with her
tail, uncaring what she hit. Bodies were sliced open, trunks split,
and gushing wounds appeared on both the living and the undead.
The
Queen wasn't the only one abandoning all civility of war. The
Ratkiller also stabbed his brethren on the back while trying to get
through the mass of his kin. He had almost got clean through the hole
when something smashed above him.
Black
solidifying goo rained on him and promptly lit his tail on fire.
Swift-Foot
had located the second Alchemist's Fire and had chucked it to the
exit. It had taken a moment to locate the bottle, but in the end, the
timing was perfect.
Panic
and pain echoed from the crack in the wall next to Seventh. A foul,
bitter smoke and red glow made it look like a gateway to Hells.
And
its flaming denizens were coming.
"Brace
for burrowers! Bone Wall!"
The
ratkin closed the perimeter and stopped in ten-foot intervals as a
white wall rose in front of crawling veltids, trapping them inside
with the fire.
Seventh
felt immediately the wall's durability being chipped away, but he
could raise three more, back to back, with only a small crack of
space between them. When the furthest wall broke, he raised a new
one.
After
two walls had been broken down, Seventh's walls were left alone, and
an ominous silence fell over the bricked tunnel.
It
was broken by a single brick falling and crumbling on the floor.
The
closest ratkin to the tunneling centipede struck a knife to its
thorax as the veltid tried to escape the burning nest. With a twist,
Death Mana lit up inside, and the other bugs behind the first one
started to scream in pain as the flames caught up to them.
The
wall started to crack and break as the monstrous insects found their
way out of the burning nest. Seventh chose not to use Shadowbolt, he
had a Cleave to rank up, and it didn't matter if he decapitated the
veltids.
Burnt
corpses were poor material for necromancers.
He
was Cleaving through his fourth enemy when the wall violently
exploded with burning chitin, and Seventh recognized the perpetrator.
Ratkiller had survived the bombing but was injured. Half of the
brownish armor was charred black, covering the subtle blue streaks.
Somehow, it had stopped the flames and was now looking around for
something to kill.
Ratkiller
met Seventh's eyes.
It
couldn't make the normal mandible click with its singular jagged
appendage, but a loud hiss told Seventh its rage and dissatisfaction.
The
clear challenge that was accepted with a gleeful screeching yell and
a dash of ratkin rage matching the veltid's own. Fang appeared next
to Seventh, already measuring up his opponent.
Seventh
looked down at his companion and fractionally lowered his readied
halberd. "Alrighty then. You do you, Fang."
He
turned away to Shadowbolt a faraway veltid trying to get its burning
body out of the wall. The trusted Fang to hold up on his own, even
against a bigger foe.
Fang
didn't need to be told twice. After cracking his neck, he started
running forward.
Using
Ratkiller's surprise of an unexpected challenger, Fang ducked low and
aimed a long slice at the veltid's right legs.
Not
being a newborn, Ratkiller slammed its chitin armor down to the
floor, blocking Fang's knife, and swiped with its sharp tail. A
powerful knife throw unbalanced the strike, making it narrowly miss
Fang's throat.
Expecting
a backslash, the ratkin grabbed Ratkiller from the upper chitin and
heaved himself up and away from the slashing tail, finding himself on
the veltid’s left side that was unfortunately just a fraction too
high from the block, more than enough space for a ratkin hand.
Fang's
hand worked fast as he stabbed repeatedly at the softer underside,
making Ratkiller shudder in pain. Yellow blood squirted from a
multitude of wounds.
Quick
curl of a body and a closing in mandible make Fang backstep away,
blocking the natural weapon.
To
Fang's displeasure, Ratkiller didn't follow through the strike
properly, but headbutted at the midpoint, sending them both towards
the wall.
Fang rolled his eyes.
While
getting bone-crushingly bodyslammed to the wall, Fang calmly buried
his prized steel fang-knife handle-deep into the centipede's eye.
Holding tight, the veltid couldn't use its mandible to slash at Fang,
and the tail-pincer was too far a strike.
All Fang needed—
The tail curled, thinned, and swept at the ratkin's head.
Long
since coagulated blood and dead tissue arched in the air as Fang's
hold loosened and he was flung across the tunnel.
"Fang!"
He
crashed down hard, slid in the wet rock, and quickly flipped back up
almost immediately without a stop. Fang absently noticed his left leg
had been bent, and the fingers on his right hand didn't seem right.
Knuckles didn't usually let fingers bend far.
Wounds
and damage like that would have made a living fighter pause for a
bit, maybe even succumb to their painful fate. Even panic.
But
not Fang. Succumbing was for the living.
Thankfully,
Ratkiller was also dazed— dagger to the face had generally that
effect— and Fang had a fraction of a second to formulate a plan.
With
a sweep of his hand, Fang recalled his previously thrown dagger just
to throw it immediately at the burnt, bleeding, and confused veltid.
It bounced off the armor, but reminded the monster that the fight
wasn't over.
Seeing
unarmed, clearly wounded prey, it charged forward, mandible raised
for a finishing blow.
Fang
moved his hand, and the knife jutting from Ratkiller's eyesocket
returned to his hand. The pain and surprise made the oldest warrior
of the nest scream, raising its head up.
The
first and the last scream it made in its life.
Rearmed
and with a clear opening, Fang ducked low and thrust his blade
towards the faint orange glow of a weak spot under the veltid's head,
somewhere under its mouth.
The
chitin cracked and gave in. Fang's hand sank yet again deep into
guts. The tail slashed next to him, almost cutting him again.
Calmly
slashing and stabbing, Fang stopped only when he felt the muscle
tension disappearing from the dead foe.
He
carefully led the bigger body slam next to him, not on him. It would
be embarrassing to get crushed under a bested enemy corpse.
A
smile rose to his lips as he squeaked a small victory celebration,
just for himself.
Looking
around, Fang could tell the fight was over. The leftover enemies were
either killed in the walls, burned to a crisp, or were unlucky enough
to be on fire, survive their exit, and find the fire-quenching waters
were filled with a devouring rat horde.
Forgetting
his malfunctioning leg, Fang shifted his weight awkwardly, almost
falling before catching himself. Clicking his tongue, he stuck his
knife to the twitching veltid to free his only grabable hand, and
fetched a potion from his belt.
Seventh
had given him his own equipment, including potions to be used when
necessary. All Fang needed to do was return the used bottles, and he
would get a new one.
Lining
up his leg bones for a better fuse, Fang downed the potion and felt
the muted healing magic fixing the biggest injuries. There were
probably more broken bones that Fang didn't notice, but the leg was
the most important and was fixed now.
Apparently,
the living fussed a lot over the bones, something about spikes and
wrong angles. Nothing that an undead ratkin would care about.
While
making a test jump, Fang wondered where his other knife had bounced
off to. He didn't have enough mana for Recall Daggers, so he would
have to do scourging the good-old-fashioned way.
"Fang?"
Seventh's tone told the ratkin he had done something naughty, like
broken the family heirloom vase. Fang turned to look at Seventh's
incredulous expression.
"Was
that a Skill? You've had Skills all this time, and you didn't tell
me?!?"
Fang
looked up to the ceiling in thought, scratched his cheek, twitched
his ears, and finally, inevitably, shrugged.
Groaning
loudly, the necromancer drew his hand over his face, mumbling
incoherently. It was probably his fault for not asking.
Garth
is never going to let me leave the sewers if I tell him that I
haven't used Identify on Fang.
He
opened his mouth to ask more questions, but a loose thought made him
realize he had forgotten a small, or very big, detail.
What
happened to the Queen?
Something
slammed the farthest Bone Wall, shattering it immediately and
damaging the wall behind.
Walls
crumbling down, the smoke and flames being held back sprouted from
the crack, lighting the underground battlefield for a split second
before Queen's elongated head and one of her long scythes appeared
from the smoke.
Her
chitin was burnt, cracked from the heat, and the scythe had been
blunted from her excavation. Nevertheless, her rage was apparent. A
bright red flashed on her luminescent veins, and her multitude of
eyes searched the destroyer of her nest.
All
she saw was a man raising his hand and chanting a spell.
Carefully
shaped, sloped, and almost sharp Bone Wall sprang from the floor,
cutting off the Queen's scythe and burying itself halfway to her
neck.
Surprisingly
to Seventh, the Queen could still scream. A melodious, haunting
screech filled the sewers as the veltid struggled against the
conjured wall and Seventh took his position.
Bloodied
halberd rose high, and with a word, came down.
"Cleave."
Chitin
snapped, familiar yellow blood mixed with the filthy water, and the
Queen's pained yells only intensified. The red veins turned to yellow
and orange, slowly dimming out.
It
took three more swings before Seventh successfully decapitated her.
It was an easy kill for him. The Queen hadn't thought out any exit
strategies, trusting her size and brood to resolve everything. The
nest had been her small empire, so Seventh had decided to prove her
wrong with fire and a brood of his own.
The
narrow crack in the wall was an excellent way to keep the nest
hidden, but not too much of an escape tunnel. Trapped, she had become
an easy prey for the Necromancer.
Breathing
heavily, he leaned on his weapon and stared at the colossal severed
head. Only now did he notice the warm okra tones of her carapace, and small yellow flecks along its edges.
The
rainbow of pink, blue, and light green Death Mana was almost
soothing. He didn't need to wait long before the System message
popped into his head.
"And
that's how we do it!" Seventh yelled at the sewers while raising
his halberd above his head in triumph. He had to push himself not to
start dancing and secure his position first.
As
Garth had suspected, it was an Agility Skill, but not what Seventh
would have liked. It was a passive ability that improved his overall
stance, but his build really needed something that got him moving
over the battlefield. Seventh was expecting a dashing, teleporting,
or even jumping Skill, something active.
It'll
probably be useful at some point. I can always look for a skillbook
or trainer, Seventh thought as he closed the window and turned to
check his minions. Not that he had money for such luxuries. Yet.
Against
all odds, the ratkin trio was still around, not even badly injured. A
healing potion shared between them fixed them all to one hundred
percent.
Most
of the rats in the water had survived, only eight had been killed,
and the initial sacrificial wave had given a little more room for
minions. Seventh still had to wait between every veltid reanimation,
and had now a grand total of six of them in his command.
Well,
no matter. I have over a dozen fresh bodies waiting for their turn to
be my minions, he thought while storing the burnt and decapitated
corpses.
Waaait
a minute...
Seventh
stared at a veltid head resting peacefully on the brick floor. He
looked over the Queen’s enormous head. Fang was looking it over,
curiously poking at it with his knife. Seventh looked back at the
smaller veltid's head.
Realization
hit him like a dragon bodyslamming him. "Fuckfuckfuckfuuuuuck!
Of course, you decapitated her! Suuure, why not? It's not like you
wanted to reanimate the strongest damn monster in the whole damn
sewers!" Seventh's yells devolved into incoherent swearing, and
Fang looked over at his master, whiskers twitching in amusement.
"Oh!
Don't you think I forgot your stunt, my furry balled ball of knives!
Get your ass over here!" Seventh shouted, and Fang quickly
obeyed the command, running on all fours in front of him.
Seventh's
hand landed on the ratkin's head and squeezed lightly. Fang lowered
his ears and started to duck away.
"Don't
you try. Stop moving. ."
Fang
crossed his arms as Seventh's left eye twitched as he read the
results from Identify. Garth would be displeased.
Seventh
blinked the screen away, slowly turning his gaze to Fang. The ratkin
calmly picked his nose, sniffing his findings. The dabbling
Necromancer sensed a long, detailed conversation over the tea in his
imminent future.
“Okay...
So, Skills and Classes are a thing for advanced undead. Wait for a
second,” he said, and tilted his head while focusing.
Information
trickled in his head, confirming that after a full day, all Skills
and Classes should deactivate in any undead with Seventh's current
Skill-rank, making Fang once again a System-defying oddity.
Well,
maybe not System-defying. There's just something that Garth and I
haven't figured out. And then there's that missing Presence...
Slowly
turning his head, Seventh looked at his oldest companion. Fang was
happily examining the scythe-talon the Bone Wall had sliced off from
Queen. Seeing him like this, it was hard to remember there wasn't a
soul inside. Only magic tugging some strings.
Feeling
a cold washing in his chest, Seventh continued his head-turn to look
at the severed Queen's head, Seventh sighed deeply. He really should
have taken the post-combat reanimations into account while thinking
his plan, but this had been by far the most effective plan.
“No
crying over spilled milk.” Seventh shrugged and lifted the enormous
head. He could barely hoist it up from the ground, an important
condition for his voidspace. He could only drop things in and out
when they were lifted up from the ground or in his hand.
The
undead were another thing entirely. Being dead matter that could
cross the purple portal's threshold, they could walk in and out, one
undead per Skill activation.
Looking
at the Queen's body, Seventh decided it wasn't possible to start
digging around. It could cause a collapse or create a drainage
somewhere dirty water shouldn't go. If the city hadn't noticed the
nest by now, it was best left alone as is.
He
could still use it to identify if it really was a Queen.
It
had been a coin toss between Broodmother and a younger Queen.
Broodmothers didn't lay eggs, but received batches of them from other
Queens and carried them to term in separate nests.
No
way Seventh could have killed a mature one, and he suspected the city
would notice a full hive of veltids before juveniles fully maturing.
He'd have to check a monster manual on the bugs, but Seventh
remembered it took around five years for them to mature. Less if they
had evolved again, and more for the Queens.
Continuing
his post-combat checklist, Seventh reanimated the bodies he could and
looted the rest. Fang was oddly defensive of him to reanimate the
biggest of them, Ratkiller. Seventh shrugged and stored it instead of
reanimation. Better to keep his partner happy than have one irregular
veltid on a leash.
Walking
around, opening purple portals and raising the dead, Seventh noticed
his steps were different than before. The cold, wet stone had gained
more traction, keeping him better upright, and his boots didn't slide
as much until he willed them to do so.
Must
be Combat Footwork's effect. I wonder if it works on ice, too? I'd
have to wait for winter or ask for a Cryomancer to freeze a floor for
me.
He
was still a little bit sour about the lackluster Skill, but it was
something at least. Being passive, he didn't even have to think about
actively training the Skill until it started to lag behind, but a
Skill that affected his walking? It would rank up without him even
noticing it.
“The
System is great,” Seventh said mockingly. Hopefully the next skill
would be a more exciting one.
