The Bloody Conqueror

Avartagh lounged about, watching his army as they re-organized. Taking this castle was a major coup for their conquering. It wasn’t the hardest battle Avartagh had fought – that would have been killing Thornfront’s Occultist, a strange creature known as the Deerling. But it had perhaps been the most profitable, as this little castle had been the source of the nation’s gold reserves. Fighting a war without the gold to manage all of the tens of thousands of wards and enchantments was like trying to cross the desert without water.  

Now, without their gold or their Occultist, Thornfront was finished. That was cause for celebration, so he had ordered one of his thralls to bring up his throne to overlook the field from the highest tower. 

“There’s something on the horizon,” one of the scouts called, and Avartagh froze, turning. Sure enough, a figure was rushing towards them, flying at a speed faster than any normal person should be able to manage, as it was outracing sound itself. Either they were facing one of the rare few mages who managed to successfully devote multiple mana types to flying… Or they were facing someone with compressed enough ungated mana to power a flight spell at the same level of intensity. 

Then the spiritual presence of the man flying at them hit, and the weaker members of his army folded like paper left out before a hurricane. The only ones still standing were the Arcanists, as well as a handful of the especially noteworthy Spellbinders. The presence had a depth and presence that outweighed Avartagh’s own, an absolute decree that somehow felt deeper than Avartagh’s own Title. He was able to push back, create a bubble of calm that stood against the incoming opponent, but it was far harder than it should have been. 

“Fuck,” Avartagh said, but he couldn’t help but let a smile crawl over his face as he stood and drew his sword. “That, my men, is the Undying King, the man who the nobility of Mossford report to. They say no man can kill him. Let’s test that theory!” 

His voice rang out across the field, and the artillery mages, those who had dedicated their entire garden to firing a singular, massively powerful ranged attack, let loose. The air exploded with lightning, fire, acid, and a half-dozen more esoteric elements. They slammed into the figure as it raced towards them, and Avartagh watched as his body exploded. Blood sprayed, bone chunks rained, the skull was caved in, and it was burnt to a crisp. 

For an instant, Avartagh dared to hope that the Undying King had been overconfident, and that he would at least be . He knew that the man was a lich, so it wouldn’t really kill him, but most liches that Avartagh had met – and killed – would take hours or even days to rebuild a body so thoroughly destroyed. Then the mutilated corpse began to twist and writhe. Bone popped back into place, blood streamed back into the body, and skin reformed. 

“He’s going to need to start slowing soon,” one of his scouts said, watching. The man was holding darts of force at the ready, prepared to rip the Undying King to shreds the instant he landed. “That will allow us to keep up a steady barrage of fire from more mid-range mages, as well as archers.” 

Avartagh nodded and held up his hand, stopping the artillery mages from launching their second round of fire. As they waited, he began to weave together his own magic. He might only be an Ib vampire, rather than one of the ancient Sekhem Court, but he had modified his legacy well in the sepulcher, and had formed imprints that made him not far off. He was confident that, even though he was only seventh gate, he was the best blood mage on the face of Ddeaer, save perhaps for some truly ancient blood monsters in the ocean, but they didn’t count. 

“He’s not slowing down,” his scout said, sounding concerned. “No, wait, he’s conjured something… He’s speeding up.” 

“Speeding up? How?” 

“Enchantments he’s purchased, I assume? I can’t say I understand fully, but he’s pushing close to double the speed of sound.” 

“If he wants to splatter himself against our wards, he can,” Avartagh said, letting a feral grin spread across his face. He’d enjoy feasting on the blood and body of the Undying King. Maybe it could even propel his advancement. 

“Open fire!” Avartagh ordered, and the sky lit up once again. Something else happened in the air, and the scout’s eyes went wide. 

“Prepare for impact!” he shouted, and Avartagh braced himself. He was confident, but he wasn’t a fool. 

That might have been the only reason he was able to see what happened. The Undying King began to pull things from the space around him, bracelets of bone with a single spear. The spear thrust forward, tearing a hole in the wards. It was short lived and small, but with how fast the man was flying, it was more than enough to get through. The rest of the bone bracelets began to glow as the material was charged with more death energy than it could handle, and the enchantments began to overclock and burn out. 

Then the Undying King slammed into the wall of the castle, and all of the tremendous energy of the flight joined with the power that the overcharged bracelets held, and they exploded so violently that the bone tore through the thick stone walls of the castle. The entire castle shook as bones raced through the army, cutting lesser mages apart like wheat before a harvest scythe. One of them was headed right for Avartagh, with a speed and power that was utterly absurd. He used the blood coursing through his vampiric body and twisted, but the shard still ripped through a lung. 

Then the entire castle collapsed, and Avartagh was falling. He caught himself with his impossible reflexes, even as he worked to heal the gaping chest wound, and was suddenly very glad that Ib were the second best healers among the vampiric lineages. 

He pulled himself to his feet and surveyed the destruction while powering his healing. His entire army was dead, save for himself and a few of the Arcanists good at running. The conquest of Thornfront was undeniably over. That was fine. Well, it wasn’t, Avartagh was absolutely livid about the fact his hard work had gotten stolen by the Undying Plaguerist, but at least the man had annihilated his body with that blast. That would give Avartagh time to flee to another nation. Maybe even another continent. He could build up his power, prepare countermeasures, and then re-take what he had earned.

“I am immortal,” Avartagh whispered to himself. “Time is on my side.” 

“If you’re immortal, then it seems I missed a spot,” a growling voice came from behind him, and Avartagh whirled around, lashing out with thorny vines of blood that tore through the entire area, only to fade away an instant later and reveal the Undying King. He stood there, little more than a skeleton with a mass of blood, sinew, and assorted giblets. The skeleton’s arms were glowing, and Avartagh noted with horror that they were biological enchantments, worked into the man’s very body. How had the lich done that without disrupting the anchoring effect?! 

“You… you can’t be here! Your body cannot have survived that!” 

The skeleton stepped forward, and before Avartagh’s eyes, he could already see the body starting to put itself back together. The man gave him a smile, and even for Avartagh, who was used to feasting on the blood of humans, it was horrifying. Burnt, exploded, reconstructing itself from nothing, but still there. 

“You have no idea what’s possible with the power I wield.” 

That was enough. Avartagh thrust his hand out, forming a whip of blood. It was a simple thing, but it was easily the most powerful attack that Avartagh used. It conducted his Intent unlike any other attack, molded with his Title of Bloody Conqueror, had been spellbound to allow it to compress blood – not just the energy in the blood, but the blood itself, though the energy within the blood was automatically compressed by the effect, causing it to grow in power with every single strike as it gathered more energy from the surroundings. It had been marked by a root of destiny that gave it massively more energy, and helped it channel all of his other vampiric draining spells. 

Simple, yes, but that first gate spell had killed kings and monsters, and it would kill this monster before him. 

Until a bone spear met it, and the whip stopped dead. The Undying King held the spear in one hand, but there were at least a dozen others floating around him, spiraling in a geometric pattern that was almost artistic. Each and every one of them was enchanted, and there were lines of magic bouncing between all of them, creating a complex network that released far more power than it should have. 

“You know, Thornfront offered me an excellent deal of service for my help in killing you and driving off future threats. But if you can make me a better one, I'll let you live.” 

Avartagh stared at him, then exploded with a thousand blood attacks. Constructs that seemed to be made of shadow and bone alike, like some sort of warped, unnatural revenant appeared from nowhere, matching his spells, diverging flows of blood, and blocking his attacks, while the Undying King lifted his spear. It was suddenly blazing with light, and the fully healed monster, a kingly looking man in his thirties, smiled again. 

“Wrong choice.” 

The Undying King’s Title bore down on him then, ripping apart the Bloody Conqueror, and Avartagh felt his entire body freeze. He had no idea how the Undying King was so thoroughly overwhelming his Title. Was the man burning drops of resolve just to overpower him? 

Then the spear struck, ripping through Avartagh’s heart, and the powerful Ib vampire died.