Birth of a Necromancer 046

“So, to summarize, we’re going to the village to get the carriages and the oxen to drag them. Does that sound about right, Hans?”

“Y-yes, sir!” were the young man’s words.

Then the party of three, Zennereth, Hans, and Ash, headed out into the strange cold wilderness.

Ash had no idea why he was thinking of that when the creature emerged from beneath the mound of snow, but for some reason the memory just popped up in his head. Maybe because all of it could have been avoided, if only he hadn’t decided to go to Nefar.

First, the beast’s ugly head burst through the great big mound, as if it was but a few centimeters deep. It opened its mouth and revealed two rows of jagged teeth, protruding from each of its horrid purple gums.

It blinked a few times, shook its head to get rid of the snow in its thin hair, before fixating its yellow, pupil-less eyeballs on the man spearheading the expedition, Hans. Its blue lips split into a humorless and terrifying grimace, senseless and unfeeling as the dead under Ash’s command; cold and cruel as the snow the creature had rested under.

“Ice troll!” was all Hans managed to scream before being swept away by the veritable avalanche, caused by the rest of the troll’s body sprouting from the snow. Its arms hanging limp at its sides, like the leaves of a plant ready to rot away at the gentlest touch of its withered corpus.

As if compelled by some invisible force, the young elf who saw it all go down before his eyes, jumped off his comfortable spot in the wagon behind Hans’s. Ash landed face-first in the many meter-deep snow and grabbed onto the northerner’s collar, dragging him out of the whiteness, just in time to save him from being violently buried and left to suffer a cold death beneath its surface.

“Th…anks,” was all Hans managed to mutter through clattering teeth and rapid breathing.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ash said, pointing at the giant from the ice, “worry about that.”

Apparently taking that as a challenge, the ice troll’s massive body, which was around three times larger than Zennereth’s, tensed up. Its before-so dead-looking, ice-blue frame was now bulging with muscles; its arms were like tree trunks and its legs like cemented pillars.

“Master, let me slay it!” came Zennereth’s voice from the carriage behind Ash.

“No, Zennereth. I’ll handle it. It’s been awhile since I’ve had an even fight,” the young elf replied, pushed Hans behind him, and charged the giant monster.

The ice troll hadn’t made a move yet. But now that it could see the young elf sprinting towards it, it seemed to have made up its mind about whom to slay first.

It bared its sharp, jagged and uneven teeth and threw itself at the elf with outstretched arms. Its intent was clear—it wanted to devour him; tear his body limb from limb with brute force and feast upon him like pork, fresh from the grill.

Ash managed to jump to the side, letting the troll slide a few meters behind him on its belly. He then pulled out his knife, bent his knees a bit and waited for the monster to pull the same stunt again.

“Come on, motherfucker! ‘s that all you got?”              

It wasn’t clear if the troll understood exactly what its opponent was uttering, but it clearly understood the meaning. Instead of standing up, the troll used both its arms and legs to launch itself at Ash with surprising agility.

The young elf started sprinting, trying to get behind the troll.

Mid-air, the massive monster let out an enraged cry at the sight of its target slipping past it. Ash couldn’t help but smirk at that reaction.

“Negative Surge,” he whispered, palm facing the troll.

As the last syllable left his lips, a familiar, pulsing beam erupted from his hand and hit the creature’s back, which absorbed every centimeter of the dark ray.

For a second, it stood still. The necromancer couldn’t see its face, nor could he hear its voice, but he could see the slight twitching of its fingers. A black blemish, similar to the one on Ash’s chest, appeared at the point of impact, and was steadily turning every visible vein in its body into a dark shade of purple.

Then it let out a deafening screech, and turned around. It seemed to be in great pain.

The necromancer repeated the same spell, expecting the same results. The troll, however, wasn’t going to play along. With complete disregard for the malevolent torrents of blackness being absorbed by its huge body, it charged the elven necromancer with monstrous speed. It wasn’t playfully throwing itself around anymore. Its smile had faded slightly, without having disappeared entirely.

“Watch out!” Zennereth shouted as one of the troll’s muscular arms came swinging at his master’s head.

Ash dodged, throwing himself into the snow.

‘Why didn’t it work this time?’

He didn’t have to wonder for long. The troll had prepared another devastating blow, aimed at the young elf’s abdomen.

Snow flew in every direction as the monster’s fist nestled itself in the young elf’s stomach, pushing him many feet into the snow. A sickening cracking sound and blood followed. Ash had no desire to know exactly how many bones were broken, but he could feel some loose bones pushing against his lungs. He couldn’t breathe; he was suffocating; he was dying.

‘No,’ resounded a clear voice within his mind. The young elf was looking at the troll who towered above the impromptu grave it had made. Its yellow teeth were covered in saliva, and its purple tongue was hanging out its smiling mouth. ‘This isn’t where I go; this won’t be the opponent that makes me go,’ he assured himself, and put his hands against the floor.

Blood was leaking from his nose, as he awkwardly pushed himself into a sitting position, eyes fixated on the gloating troll above him. He couldn’t tell if it saw him as a threat, but he was going to make it see him. He was going to make it see true fear.

It was going to get a good, hard look at the last opponent it would ever fight.

The young elf was grateful that Zennereth hadn’t disobeyed him yet—this wasn’t a fight Ash wanted help with. If a troll, like the one above him, could be slain, then surely the Countess would be no issue.

With that resolve, Ash endured the pain from his broken ribs, stood up and dragged himself out of the godforsaken pit.

The troll seemed thrilled and slammed its fists against each other.

“I gotta say—” the necromancer began, only to be interrupted by suddenly vomiting, “...you’re one annoying motherfucker.”

Ash wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, and bent his knees, preparing for an attack.

However, he only managed to register the next attack—a kick—when it was already too late to fully dodge it.

“Negative Burst!” he wheezed, desperately hoping the impact would be blocked by the black shield that formed in front him.

He could hear Hans and Zennereth shout something, while he was flying through the air. He wasn’t sure what it was—cries of despair, maybe? Ash had to wonder how low his onlooking servants’ opinions of him were dropping, watching him being smacked about by some mindless beast. His vision was blurred, and, when he landed, he could barely stand on his own.

He didn’t want to look at his two servants; didn’t want to see their disappointed faces—‘I’m not done.’ He could see the troll charging him with full force—‘I’m not fucking done!’

‘Die.’

Black light engulfed the elf. Everything was black, as black as the void itself, and could be mistaken for being the void. Except it wasn’t. Ash knew that. He could still feel the fractured bones in his body. But what gave it away the most was the troll still standing right in front of the him, wide-eyed and scared.

Not just scared—in pain.

It was clawing itself all over, as if its skin was drenched in searing acid, burning away at its cold skin. It was screaming, as if hell itself had manifested in its mind. It was turning blacker and blacker, as the darkness seeped into every cell in its body.

The darkness only lasted for a second or two, but it seemed like an eternity to Ash. His pain suddenly seemed negligible, compared to what the troll appeared to be suffering through. But he didn’t feel sorry for it. The beast had humiliated him in front of those whose respect and reverence he depended on. Not that Ash knew what was going on, he was too badly wounded, and frankly too worn out to care if it was himself or Evitagen, who had come through for him in his time of need.

Everything was white yet again, and only Ash was left standing. The troll wasn’t lying on the ground, nor was it a pile of bones in the snow.

It was gone.      

Ash felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Zennereth, who had come to his side. The lich dragged the elf to his feet, and helped him back to the carriage without saying as much as a single word. Hans, who was waiting for them on the carriage, was just staring at Ash. His mouth was hanging wide open.

“You… You do realize you j—just… Are you okay?!” he stammered.          

“Do I look okay to you?”

“No, not really.”

Hans helped Zennereth load Ash onto the wooden carriage, before going to calm down the unsettled oxen, who, surprisingly, hadn’t run away in the turmoil.

“Master…” Zennereth began, “What was that… spell?”

“Oh, so that was me, after all, huh.”

“What’s that… supposed to mean?”

Ash let out a pained groan, before speaking, “It means that I have no idea how I did that. I didn’t chant any spells, I didn’t call upon the help of a Dark One. So… one has to wonder what the fuck just happened.”

“Indeed,” came the reply. “Well, congratulations on winning your fight… it was inspiring to watch.”

The young elf let out a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I bet it was a real joy to watch,” he said pointing to his ribcage, which, beyond the shadow of a doubt, was completely shattered. “Be a dear now and do something about that so we can move on.”

Zennereth fixed Ash up in a matter of minutes, but since healing via Light Magic wasn’t possible, for obvious reasons, the young elf was only patched up to where he no longer experienced hammering pain and swelling around his chest. He still had a bit of trouble breathing, but the lich assured him that that would go away with time.

Hans had come to watch the healing session. He watched with an excited expression plastered across his face, despite the horrific nature of the wounds his master had suffered.

“I can’t believe you killed an ice troll!” he ecstatically shouted, the moment Ash was out of mortal danger.

“All the villages, I know, that’ve been attacked by one, got completely destroyed! Seeing you kill one has

made me realize”—he paused for a bit—“…that my tribe wasn’t wrong to follow you.”

“Are these ice trolls considered strong?” the young elf asked.

“Very.”

Ash smiled.

‘Ah, Evitagen, what an interesting place you’ve brought me to. I can’t wait to make it all mine.’

“Let’s get going!” the necromancer exclaimed, and smacked his hand on the carriage’s hard wooden floor.

They rode the ox-driven carriage for many hours, till’ a walled town, decorated with spires, into view.

‘Mine.’

Chapter end