Overlord Rising - Chapter 29 The Overlord

Something filled the air that morning. Not a scent or anything visible, but a sensation. Warriors from both sides felt it rattle their bones. Their scales shivered, as their attention drew to a single direction in the chaotic battlefield.

This feeling had such power that it drew the entire battle to a screeching halt. To common folk, it felt not different from a prey sensing a ferocious predator lurking nearby, ready to pounce at any moment. However, to magical practitioners, the feeling differed greatly.

Mycelia and her apprentices stood almost still, as if something were restraining them. Unlike those around them, Mycelia and her apprentices felt as if they had been dragged deep into the abyss, where a great pressure slowly squeezed their bodies.

They could still move, but they felt as if trying so would require too much energy. They found themselves with limited time to inhale, as their senses struggled to keep them strong.

The Sightless Sister had greater resistance than her apprentices, but she could not deny the great and terrible sensation that consumed the entire field. So great was this sensation that even the buzzards chose to leave the scene. This feeling from a single person in the battlefield.

“My lady,” Mycelia grumbled through her teeth.

Not too far off, Uriel kneeled on the ground, surrounded by several enemy warriors. One of them, a warrior of the Pachy Clan, had brought down his club. His weapon should have shattered her skull into a bloody pulp. Blood did spill, but not from Uriel.

The Pachy warrior’s club dropped to the ground, followed by both of his hands, which had been cleanly severed, like butter. It took time for the Pachy warrior to process this. The pain had yet to hit him. When it did, the warrior’s eyes gaped wide open, and he screamed in horror, as more blood gushed out from his wrists.

“W-what have you done?!” he cried out with his head held up.

He stumbled about, screaming in agony. Those around him, both friends and foe, could only stare with shock and horror. His own dared not approach. They had seen their own share of blood spill, but never during a moment of pause. The red liquid shot out from his veins, like water being pumped from the earth.

Uriel stood, with her sword in hand. Her eyes glowed like green flames. A terrible and dark aura surrounded her body, warning all those around her to stay away.

A few moments after watching the warrior suffer, Uriel approached. She reached out and grabbed the wounded warrior by the neck. Without any effort at all, she pulled him over, and forced the lizard folk to stare straight into her eyes.

“As you said,” she hissed in a voice that echoed with several others. “It is time to die.”

The Pachy warrior trembled. Tears fell from his eyes. “P-please,” he pleaded. “Have mercy”

He begged for mercy, but Uriel’s expression showed none. With a deep breath, she gave a loud and terrible wail. It shrieked throughout the battlefield, and traveled further into the distance. Its sound pierced the ears. One warrior had gone deaf for a few moments.

As she let out this scream, the Pachy warrior found his strength leave him. His body started to shrivel. His scales fell pale, as the muscle around his body shrank. Air disappeared from his lungs, while his eyes withered in his sockets, until they became hollow.

After letting out that horrid scream, Uriel released the warrior. His body fell to the floor without much of a sound. Nothing remained of him, but bones and scales.

Mycelia’s eyes gaped, as her jaw dropped. She knew of this spell, or at least recognized it. The elf had never actually seen it before, but she knew it to be a terrible kind of magic that the Dark-Elves had not practiced anymore. Some referred to it a lost art. One that no one chose to pursue practicing.

“D-did you teach her that?” Jotun asked, unable to hide his aversion.

“N-no,” Mycelia stuttered, shaking her head. “I do not know how she learned of this sort of magic.”

“I’ve seen so many terrible powers in these Dark Lands,” Jotun remarked with a frown. “That reminded me of a banshee’s cry.”

“It should,” Uriel huffed, trembling slightly. “My lady just used Death magic, great and terrible power that had not been used since”

“Since what?” Jotun asked, raising a brow.

Mycelia grit her teeth, and then swallowed for a moment. “Since the time of the previous Overlord,” she answered with some hesitation.

The lizard folk around Uriel took a few steps back. Even Uriel’s own warriors found themselves retreating a short distance from her. Never before had they seen such a dreadful power before. It rivaled that of demons and monsters. None of their elders had told them of such stories or tales. Just what kind of monster is she? Most of them asked to themselves.

Uriel turned about and stared beadily at all those around her, waiting for them to make the move. She too fell silent and did nothing, but eventually lost patience.

“What is wrong?!” Uriel bellowed. A second voice, one deeper and more masculine, echoed with her own, magnifying her presence in the field. “Have you all lost your nerve? Is there none bold enough to challenge me, the Overlord?!”

The enemy lizards turned to one another. They whispered and pushed, attempting to encourage others to go fight in their stead. Each one had their pride as warriors, but they still had their sense of self-preservation. After seeing the dastardly magic she had used on that one warrior, who would be so foolish to face her directly? An answer soon came.

From mass of warriors, two stepped out. One of them belonged to the clan of the Pachy, whilst the other belonged to the Raptus. Both came forward, unhinged with what they had seen. They stood tall and ready. Although not entirely confident, they showed defiance and willingness to surrender their lives against a monster.

Uriel growled, somewhat disappointed that only two came forward. “And who are you both?” she then asked, pointing her sword.

“Jakun, chieftain of the Pachy Clan,” the warrior answered, pounding the head of his hammer on the ground.

“Hestris, Chieftain of the Raptus,” the other warrior then answered. She stretched her fingers, emphasizing her claws.

“Chieftains, eh?” Uriel sneered. “I commend you both for coming forth to challenge me, but know that once you fall, so will your clans.”

Hestris raised her claws and took a defensive stance. “The same can be said about you,” she hissed. “These lesser clans fight, because you lead.”

“If we kill you, this entire battle ends,” Jakkun grunted, taking up his hammer.

“You are not wrong,” Uriel replied. “Very well. You shall both serve as an example of my power and skill.”

Uriel placed her hand against the flat side of her blade, and slid her fingers down the point. Instantly, the blade’s surface went from shiny silver, to obsidian black. It looked as if she held the darkness at the hilt of her weapon.

“Behold my weapon!” Uriel exclaimed, holding her sword. It did not speak, yet it felt as if voices cried out and screamed from within the dark blade. “See this sword. Coated with great power that can even harm the fiercest of demons. Do you still believe you stand a chance against me?”

Jakkun spat. “A weapon is only as good as its wielder,” he responded. “You may give an ant a spear, but it is useless if it knows not how to use it.”

“Then allow me to show you what a powerful weapon can do, in the hands of a powerful wielder,” Uriel hissed. “Come and face your deaths!”

The two chieftains made the first move. They launched themselves forward and attacked. Both of them moved with speed that only received praise. Hestris, however, showed greater speed and flexibility. The claws on her hands and feet swung swiftly. Warriors of average standards would have not been able to see her attacks.

As for Jakkun, he showed finer handling of his weapon. In the hands of a commoner, hammers would have been slow and difficult to properly use. Jakkun carried it about, as if it weighed little. He did not stop moving, except for when he needed to change stance. Primitive his weapon may have been, but it still had the blunt strength to break bones.

These two chieftains displayed the very might and skill that their clans boasted. Their ancestors and descendants would have been proud of their fighting prowess. They fought valiantly and well, but not well enough to subdue their enemy.

Uriel blocked every slash directed at her throat, and every strike meant for her head. She did not move as fast as either of the two, but she did not depend on swiftness to survive. Instead, she relied on focus and concentration, predicting where they would attack, and moving according to her predictions.

Not so far off, Jotun watched. Witnessing this level of skill, the Drow could not help, but drop his jaw. “I do not recall her ever being this good,” he remarked, recalling his few spars against her.

“And I do not remember ever teaching her of that spell,” Mycelia added, her eyes set on the sword. “She has managed to coat her weapon with her own power, but to do so requires such strict control, to avoid shattering the weapon. It is incredible.”

“Something does not seem right, however,” Jotun frowned, as he continued to watch the fight. “She does not appear to be herself.”

“What do you mean?” Mycelia asked, confused.

“Look closely at what she is doing,” Jotun growled, pointing at her two foes.

Uriel had many chances to deliver a finishing blow on her opponents, but did not. Instead, she landed light blows around their bodies, carving them with scars. With each line of blood drawn, Uriel would smile a devilish smile, savoring every the damage she had caused.

Her enemies could do naught but growl and howl in pain, as they desperately attempted to strike back at her, only for them to receive additional wounds around their bodies. Blood trickled down their scales, causing them to turn into a red mess.

“Has she always been this much of a sadist?” Jotun asked. His fist shook, showing some agitation and discomfort.

“Not like this,” Mycelia admitted. “She has been known to enjoy the thrill of battle, but not tormenting her foes, during such fights.”

“Has something possessed her?” Jotun questioned.

Mycelia went silent for a moment. She watched the Overlord’s attitude and examined the enormous amount of power that burst around her body. It just happed so suddenly and unexpectedly. Could something have indeed taken hold of her? While she did not have the evidence to support such an assumption, she could not help but believe it.

Before long, the two chieftains stood with expired breaths. Bruises and scars covered their bodies, as they struggled to remain on their feet and remain conscious. So much blood had dripped from their wounds, draining their energy and exhausting their strength.

Compared to Uriel, she stood with injuries and scratches from other warriors. She had received no new damage from her foes. If anything, she looked as if she could continue much longer. Newfound strength coursed through her veins, making her appear far more intimidating than she already did.

“Is that all?” Uriel asked haughtily. Her voice had become darker, making her sound like an entirely different person. “I expected more from chieftains.”

“Vile demon,” Jakkun huffed. One knee twitched, ready to drop any second. “Why do you toy with us?!”

“To show that you are beneath me,” Uriel responded. “You may use all your strength, all your might, all your skill against me, but in the end, it is nothing more than mere child’s play.”

Hestris snapped. Gathering whatever strength she could muster, she pounced forward. “Die, you demon!” she screamed to the top of her lungs. She reached out to dig her claws into Uriel’s eyes.

The Raptus chieftain thought neither of any tactics, or the consequences of such a brazen and straightforward attack. She could only think of killing this monster. Unfortunately for her, such actions cost her.

With one swing of the sword, Hestris head flew off her shoulders. Blood sprayed from her neck. The chieftain’s head rolled a few steps away, with her tongue laid out. The body soon dropped to its knees, before crashing on the ground. The Raptus chieftain had died.

Jakkun stared with eyes gaped wide. “No!” he screamed. Now he found himself consumed with anger and frustration.

Like his fellow chieftain, he lunged forward with the single intent of killing. He too paid the price for allowing his emotions to take control of him.

However, rather than sticking her weapon through his gut, Uriel raised one finger. A stream of fire burst out of the tip, and completely engulfed him in flames. The fire consumed him so instantly that he didn’t have any time to scream. As soon as the flames had stopped, a body of charcoal dropped and crumbled into ash. The chieftain of the Pachy had fallen.

Uriel spat and looked around. “Is there anyone else?” she snarled.

Warriors of both Pachy and Raptus trembled more apparently, seeing what little work had been done to their leaders. They looked on with nervousness and fear.

“W-we, we have to kill this demon!” one Raptus warrior declared, his voice shaking. “We can’t let her live!”

With this one declaration, a Raptus warrior attacked. Fear and despair filled his eyes, but he pressed on the attack. Soon, other Pachy and Raptus turned away from the foes before them, and charged towards the greatest threat in the battlefield: the Overlord.

“Brave, but foolish,” Uriel complimented in a rather condescending manner. “However, it is time for you all to learn your place!”

Uriel plunged her sword deep into the earth. A great shadow formed under her feet, and extended throughout the entire battlefield, consuming the other shadows that lay present.

Warriors jumped at the sight of the shadow, crawling past under their feet. It did nothing to them, but it still caught them off guard. This caused them to stop in their tracks, and stare around them. Although they had already seen Uriel do terrible and dark things, the warriors still found it in themselves to wait and see what would come. It didn’t take long for them to receive an answer.

One Pachy warrior felt something grab his leg. Looking down, he found the corpse of another Pachy wrap its fingers around his ankle. It groaned and moaned in agony, as black blood poured out of its mouth and eyes.

The warrior screamed in shock and horror, as this undead began to tug on the rest of his body, trying to drag him to the ground. The warrior attempted to kick this corpse off, only to find another corpse grab his other leg, and then arm.

Voices of fear and terror cried throughout the field. The dead rose from the earth, attacking any foe within their reach. Using only their claws and teeth, they scratched and gnawed on the scales of their enemies, slowly and painfully ripping them to shreds.

Warriors attempted to fight back, but found their efforts useless. Even after impaling them with spears, or crushing their fingers, these bodies continued to attack. Only by attacking their heads did these fallen lizards cease, but other than that, they persistently pressed on.

Uriel’s warriors stood in complete awe and shock at what took place. The dead may not have sought after their blood, but the warriors still found reason to tremble. Such a terrible thing happened before them, one that they did not wish upon their enemies. What made this sight worse were the corpses of their own companions also rising to join the fray.

At the end of the field, Mycelia, Jotun and the rest of the rearguard watched. They too found themselves saddled with discomfort and disgust.

“It it’s like a nightmare unfolding before our very eyes,” Jotun chuckled nervously.

Mycelia could say nothing, but just stare at the powerful magic. She had seen necromancers raised the dead before, perhaps two or three at a time. But never had she seen anyone manage to raise an entire field of dead within a short span of time.

Despite seeing such great power, Mycelia felt a sense of despair in her heart. Many times she had glorified the Overlord’s immense power, but only now did she truly realize just how great of a height it actually was. A power so beyond her reach that even centuries of study would not allow her to obtain it.

The massacre continued. Enemy warriors tried fighting, whilst most of them began to flee out of pure terror. The battle itself switch to the Ovoo’s favor, but none of them could truly cheer or celebrate to this shift.

“Face us, demon!” a voice bellowed.

Not too far off, three warriors stormed towards Uriel. Three members of the Triceran charged straight through the battlefield, knocking everything that came in their way. Grievous wounds and scars covered their battered bodies. One of the warriors even still had a corpse’s claw latched to his shoulder.

“It is I, Vork of the Triceran who shall slay you!” the Triceran bellowed.

“You may try, but that is all you shall be able to do” Uriel hissed, pulling her sword from the ground. As the blade lifted, the shadow on the ground disappeared, and no more dead rose.

Together, Vork and his two warriors attacked with everything they had. Their massive size and brute strength would have made them a force to reckon with. Unfortunately, the injuries prevented them from fighting to their fullest. Unable to perform well, Vork and his warriors fell faster that the first two chieftains that had challenged Uriel earlier.

“Do you see?!” Uriel cackled to the top of her voice. “This is the power of the Overlord! This is the power that shall take hold of Ebonus and-!”

Suddenly, a great bolt of lightning struck. It flew from the enemy encampment and punched right through her chest. It happened so quickly and without warning that Uriel didn’t realize it, until she found herself soaring off the ground. She flew for several feet, eventually crashing back on the ground.

“My lady!” Mycelia cried out. The elven sorceress rushed over, and inspected her master.

Uriel lay quietly with her eyes closed. The electric bolt had caused a few minor burns around her body and face. She still had a heartbeat and pulse, but it seemed very faint, ready to stop at any moment.

“Mycelia, is she alright?!” Jotun asked, approaching with a few of his Blood Crows.

“No, she isn’t,” Mycelia answered, clearly in a panic. “She had let her guard down with that spell. It has gravely injured her! I need to-!”

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud chorus of howls erupted from the field. One by one, the undead lizard folk dropped to the ground. They did not struggle or fight to remain on their feet. They simply ceased all function. The dark magic left their bodies, reducing them back to their inanimate state.

Several enemy warriors noticed this. A number of them still fled the scene, while others remained. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to strike back and claim victory, the remaining warriors regrouped. Forming a crooked battalion, they rushed back into the center of the field, and resumed the fighting.

“This is not good,” Mycelia snarled, clicking her tongue with frustration. “I need to get my lady to safety!”

Mycelia hastily reached into her pouch, and pulled out a handful of her magic dust. Without much care or concern, she simply tossed the sand about, drawing a crooked circle around her.

“Jotun, I am taking my lady back to Nul Hunur for treatment,” Mycelia explained with speed. “Fend off this attack and then have our forces retreat.”

“Retreat?!” Jotun repeated, looking around. “Retreat to where?!”

“I don’t know!” Mycelia yelled out, pulling her hair. “Taking them back to the Chamael Village, the Ovoo, or even Nul Hunur if you want! Just pull them away from this place!”

With those final words, Mycelia quickly recited her spell. In the blink of an eye, she and Uriel disappeared from the spot, leaving Jotun in charge of this chaotic battlefield.

Jotun frowned. Turning around, he looked at the field, where the battle resumed. “Fend off and then withdraw?” he murmured, flourishing both his swords. “Clearly, you haven’t fought in many battles such as this before, young sorceress.”