Dreamer's Throne - Book 3: Chapter 18

Launched from high above, the charged hair raced through the darkness. Arriving at the statue like a ghost, unseen, it pierced into Agma-Yoth’s thick mental energy. Though Garrett’s mental energy was outclassed by the strength of Agma-Yoth’s, the concentrated attack began to penetrate the thick barrier, slowing drastically. Just as it looked like it wouldn’t make it all the way through, Paskal’s palm landed on the same exact spot, and all of his power was forced through the tiny gap that Garrett had made. Though barely a sliver of his strength touched the statue, it was enough, and the dark wood shattered, filling the air with a bloody scent.

A fierce roar of rage seemed to rise from deep underground, filling the air and silencing the battlefield for a moment. Terrible fear filled everyone who heard it, and Paskal trembled, yet a moment later, madness seemed to overtake him, and he let out a roar of his own, shaking off the influence that had seeped into his gang’s hearts.

“Fight! If you don’t want to die, fight!”

His yell brought renewed vigor to the gang, and they threw themselves forward with wild abandon. Paskal turned his gaze to the necromancer, who was trying to drag himself away, leaving a bloody trail from the stump. A low growl escaped his throat, and he pounced forward, intending to crush the life out of the robed man once and for all. Yet before he could, a powerful-looking zombie with white bone-like calcifications threw itself in the way, taking the strike and falling back. Though Paskal’s blow had broken many of its bones, causing its stomach to rupture and organs to dribble out onto the ground, the zombie lurched back to its feet and threw itself toward him once more.

All over the battlefield, these zombies began to appear, and worse yet, they seemed to have appeared in the middle of the Brass Tiger Syndicate’s battle line. Unsure of what was going on, Paskal scowled and looked around. It was then that he heard Joseph’s faint voice over the din of the battlefield.

“They’re coming up from the sewers!”

Swearing fiercely. Paskal darted back towards the line where his men fought. He would have to spare the necromancer’s life for the moment. With a fierce shout, he hammered one of his fists into a calcified zombie, transforming it into a splash of blood and viscera that flew up into the air. Sensing an attack coming towards him from behind, he spun, his palm meeting a long curved dagger that stabbed his back. The attacker fell back after the unsuccessful strike, her hood falling to reveal a pretty face. With an appreciative eye completely unsuited for the bloody battlefield they were on, Delrisa looked over the leader of the Brass Tiger Syndicate.

“I didn’t realize the Klein Family had such handsome minions,” she said, “and strong too.”

Confusion filled Paskal’s face, but instead of engaging her in conversation, he launched an attack, forcing her back. With a laugh, she engaged him in battle, dancing away from each of his blows and using her zombies to block his advance. Across the battlefield, the wounded necromancer had dragged himself into a corner, his face white with pain and blood loss. Faint green energy crawled through his eyes as he began to mumble under his breath, hoping to activate his transformation. The pain made it hard, but he fought through it. Just as he was about to finish his spell, he heard a voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can let you do that.”

Shock raced through him as hair seemed to appear from the wall behind him, wrapping around his throat. His mumbles were cut off as it squeezed down, choking the air from him. With scrabbling hands, he tried to pull it off, but the hair continued to tighten until, with a faint crack, his neck snapped and the life faded from his eyes.

The death of the necromancer caused the zombies that had been under his control to begin to lag as the command that drove them vanished. Delrisa, fighting against Paskal, was the first to notice this and realized that her necromancer companion had died. A fierce shout broke from her lips, but the tide of the battle was already beginning to shift. It was one thing to face up against a horde of zombies in a focused, unified attack, and entirely another to face off against zombies who attacked slowly and milled about in every direction. The confusion among the enemy forces allowed the Brass Tiger Syndicate to regain their footing.

Re-establishing their defensive line and focusing their efforts on fighting against the calcified zombies under Delrisa’s control, it also bought Paskal the focus he needed to intensify his attack against Delrisa. Fury seemed to bubble up around Delrisa, and she attempted to fall back, but Paskal was not about to let her. He threw himself forward, unleashing strike after strike at her. Eventually, one clipped her shoulder, crushing her bones and sending her tumbling. All of this Garrett watched from the shadows, making sure to stay well hidden. He was currently controlling Isabelle, and her ability to blend with the darkness was strong. Between her ability to hide and her ability to pass through reflective surfaces, he was able to monitor the battle without trouble.

So far, Paskal and the Brass Tiger Syndicate were doing well, better in fact than he had thought they would do, and that suited his plan just perfectly. His intent was ultimately to crush the Syndicate, eliminating the rival gang, but he needed them to last long enough to blunt Agma-Yoth’s main attack. This necromancer, and the zombies he controlled, had been only the first of dozens that were headed this direction, funneled north by the fierce defense the grave walkers and the Klein Family awakened had mounted at the southern wall of the royal graveyard. There were well over 4,000 zombies currently being pushed north to this gap, and in Garrett’s plan, it was Paskal and the Brass Tiger Syndicate who would plug it, facing the full brunt of the enemy assault. His hope was that this would crush their strength, ultimately removing them as competitors, however, he also couldn’t allow them to fall too fast, which is why he had deployed Isabelle to monitor the situation carefully.

Each and every necromancer he had seen so far had the ability to transform into a greater undead, and Garrett was worried that, driven to desperation, they would become a force too strong for Paskal to contain. Sure enough, after being wounded, Delrisa fell back, sending a wave of zombies forward to try to block the Brass Tiger Syndicate gang leader. A moment of hesitation crossed her face, but it was soon replaced by fanatical madness, and she withdrew the rod that she had tried to touch Garrett with down in the sewers below.

“Agma-Yoth, Great Ruler of Bones, Skeletal Hand of Lesrak. Awaken my power!” she screamed, and thrust the bony finger on the end of the rod directly into her chest.

Sensing something terrible about to happen, Paskal lunged forward to try and crush her into paste before she could activate whatever cursed ability she was attempting. However, a blast of mental force erupted from the rod, throwing everyone on the battlefield back, and then sinking into Delrisa’s limbs. It poured out like a stream, baptizing her body with its evil stench. Darkness rolled in the sky above, and the torches flickered wildly as the wind and rain ripped through the street. When it cleared a moment later, Delrisa threw off her cloak, laughing loudly. Pale skin, and a flat nose that was little more than two gaping holes, with long, pointed ears, and heavy fangs protruding from her top lip, gave a clear indication as to what she had become: a Lord of the Night, a vampire.

His face going pale, Paskal fell back, adopting a defensive stance for the first time since the battle had begun. Delrisa, who had only been in the lighting stage, had transformed in more than appearance alone. Her every move had increased her strength tremendously with this transformation. Each of her moves seemed to burst with power, and a sinister charisma seeped out of her. Garrett, sitting in the Dreamer’s throne, let out a low whistle. Even from here, he could feel how much her strength had grown. She had transformed into a powerful monster, and her first attack against Paskal proved it. Darting forward, too fast for the eye to follow, her long nails raked at Paskal’s skin, leaving faint red marks across his bronze arm.

Paskal, up until this point, had moved without care, his skin acting as armor that blocked every attack thrown at him. Yet now, with a casual swipe, beads of blood began to appear on his arm. He hissed in pain and tried to land a counterattack of his own, but Delrisa flitted backwards, laughing sinisterly. Her body, entirely devoid of hair, made her look like a smear of white in the darkness, and her skin was so pale the veins could be seen under it, pumping black blood this way and that.

“You have forced my hand,” she hissed, “and made me greater for it. My master has blessed me with the ultimate power.”

Her strength and speed had grown considerably, but what was even more impressive was the density of her mental energy, and as she lifted her hands, it rolled out of her, pulling every zombie in the area under her control.

“Come to me, my minions.”

With all of the zombies now firmly in her control, the attack resumed in earnest. Delrisa and Paskal threw themselves against each other, fighting fiercely, each throwing attacks meant to end the other’s life in a single hit, while all around them the gang members fought against the zombies. At first, Delrisa was still getting used to her new power, so Paskal was able to keep up without too much trouble, but slowly he began to fall behind as her superior speed took control of the flow of the battle.

He threw his strikes as quickly as he could, but she darted between them, her feet seeming to barely touch the ground as she rapidly changed directions. Though Paskal’s defenses were tough, her long, claw-like nails were sharper and soon he was covered in hundreds of thin lines of blood. Drawing back, she stopped for a moment to lick her blood-covered nails with her tongue, her eyes fixed tauntingly on Paskal.

“You’re a lot weaker than before. Or maybe I’m just stronger!”

Ignoring her gloating, Paskal did his best to suppress the rising frustration in his chest. When he had first led his men out to fight he had assumed that it would just be a small group of zombies that had been blown out of proportion, but instead they were drowning in undead and there was no end in sight. To make matters worse, he was now facing one of the most feared greater undead in existence, and it was starting to go really poorly.

Knowing he couldn’t afford to waste any time, Paskal took a deep breath and went on the offensive, throwing himself at Delrisa, who met him with a shriek. Each of their attacks destroyed everything around them, and any zombie or human foolish enough to get close was instantly blasted apart. Laughing maniacally, Delrisa stabbed at Paskal’s eyes as if she would rake them out, forcing him to lift a hand to block. Transforming the attack into a feint, she dodged sideways, raking a claw across his shoulder and leaving bloody scratch marks.

“I’ll cut you apart bit by bit,” she screeched.

Paskal didn’t react, all of his focus fixed on the fight. He threw strike after strike, but couldn’t so much as touch the tip of her ears as she danced away. Still, the Brass Tiger Syndicate was holding well, and for every one of their members that fell, dozens of zombies were killed. With fewer and fewer zombies on the field, it was getting easier for them to gang up and slay the zombies that came forward. But all of that changed when a fresh group of zombies covered in green pustules raced from the shadows at the end of the street.

A fat necromancer who wore a dark robe but no hood stomped forward, leaving a trail of slime behind him as the open sores on his body dripped to the ground.

“Looks like you’re having trouble, Delrisa,” he bellowed, spit flying from his fat lips.

Flashing backwards, Delrisa hissed at him, and the man recoiled, realizing only now that she had transformed into a Lord of the Night.

“Be careful how you speak to me, Zazor,” Delrisa hissed.

“Yes, Lord Delrisa,” Zazor said, bowing his head quickly. “Allow me to assist you.”

Paskal, who was breathing heavily, saw that another necromancer was going to enter the fight, along with a new batch of zombies, and his face fell. Delrisa was already too much to deal with, and adding reinforcements was going to make things even harder. With a sinister, merciless laugh, Delrisa pointed a finger at Paskal.

“I will peel your skin from your body and make you watch as all of your men are forced to serve Lesrak,” she said, her cloak billowing out behind her like two bat wings.

With a shriek, she launched herself forward towards Paskal, forcing him to block with two powerful strikes that shook the air. Zipping to the side, Delrisa landed on the side of a building, one of her hands stabbing deep into the stone, allowing her to hang there for a second. Zazor, the slime-covered necromancer, bellowed out a command, and all of his zombies lurched forward. As he strode towards Paskal, the leader of the Brass Tiger Syndicate didn’t know who he should focus his attention on.

Delrisa was about to launch another attack when suddenly, a faint sense of danger surrounded her, and she heard a light voice speaking in her ear.

“You know, you’d look a lot better if you had hair.”

Startled, she whipped around, her hands hacking at the hair that was shooting towards her. At the last moment, it pulled back, rising out of range of her strike, even as she destroyed the wall she was hanging on. As she began to fall towards the ground, Delrisa looked up and saw a lady floating above her, on the top of the building. Long hair stretched in all directions, and a barely visible smile hung on the woman’s beautiful lips. She could see the pale bare feet peeking from beneath the dressing gown the spirit wore, and a shriek tore from Delrisa’s lips.

“You! Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you, my dear,” Isabelle replied. “You’ve been using my mirrors, and it’s time to pay the price.”