Beginning- 'The Cursed Battle'

"Please do not shoot, I am coming out," said Arin as he emerged from the bush before Milean could finish counting to 'One.'

"What cretin do we have here?" Milean raised his torch to look closely at Arin. Arin closed his eyes after suddenly being exposed to the bright light of the torch. He wasn't sure whether this spontaneous reaction was due to being an undead now or because his eyes had become accustomed to the dim light. It seemed that Milean and his companions had dropped their guard, seeing him unarmed and in shabby condition.

Milean flinched his nose as he looked closely at Arin. "Are you a graverobber? Speak up!"

"Wh-what?" Arin fumbled.

"You reek of death, as if you were surrounded by corpses," Milean said with disgust.

"Or," spoke the man with the sword and shield, "he is a corpse himself!"

"Don't spout nonsense, you idiot," chastised the one with the greatsword. "When have you ever seen an undead with the ability to speak so fluently and walk without a master?"

"As if you have never heard of vampires before," retorted the sword and shield guy. "You Sir-Know-It-All, Saunder."

"Shut up, Damien," said Vireon, the one with the crossbow. "If he were a vampire, we would be dead before Milean could even raise his torch."

"Oh, for the love of Liatha, cease your prattle, you dim-witted knaves!" Milean shouted back at his companions. "We need to decide what to do with this dirty scum."

"Let me go, good sir," said Arin in a begging tone. "Even a little mouse can help the mighty lion one day, and maybe, one day, I too can be of help to you mighty lords!"

"Yes, we let you go, and you snitch us to Captain Duran!" Damien said nervously. "He already has his eyes on us."

"Will you stop your blabbering?" Milean shouted back again, now looking more frustrated.

"I am a simple graverobber," Arin pleaded. "I always avoid you people like deer avoid tigers. I would never even dare to come near your captain."

"You shut up, dirtbag," shouted the greatsword guy. "We are talking."

"If you dimwits shut your mouths for a moment, I could decide!" Milean raged.

"Who made you our leader anyway?" taunted Damien. "Why are you suddenly calling the shots?"

Arin observed that the group had started bickering among themselves. "Humans!" smirked Arin and spoke to himself. "Whatever world it is, they never stop fighting among themselves." However, he knew it was not time to discuss human nature. It was time to utilize the unexpected opportunity he had been awarded as his enemies were busy bickering among themselves.

Running away did not appear to Arin as a wise option. Just a shot to the back from the crossbow, and he would be dead. On the other hand, their quarrel did not seem to be getting serious enough for them to actually start killing or injuring each other. Honestly, it was too much to hope for. Arin quickly decided to check and utilize the weapons he had in his arsenal. One spell caught his attention: 'Dread Howl.' He wondered what it was about. And as if waiting for his cue, he was presented with the description:

[ Dread Howl – A cry from the netherworld that reduces the morale of enemies depending on the level of Dread Howl as well as the target enemy's resistance to Dark Magic. Non-living enemies without morale are unaffected by this skill. ]

"This is cool," Arin was overjoyed and excited by the information. "This is do-or-die for me!" Arin had learned how to cast a spell from books. It needed strong focus and had to be seeped with earnest emotions. An incantation was required as well to channel the emotion and focus it to perfectly cast the spell. It was now time to apply his theoretical knowledge to a real battlefield.

Arin straightened his spine, stretched his hands, and started chanting, "By the hallowed name of Dread Father Nerthazir, I command thee, tremble in dread! Let the primordial fear shatter your spirit, as I unleash upon thee the eternal throes of the deceased…."

"What in the name of Lathasa…" spoke Damien in irritation as he looked at Arin. His partners had also stopped bickering among themselves and were now looking at Arin. But it was too late. Arin had finished his incantation, and they suddenly observed that the whole forest had become quiet, too quiet. It was such a deafening silence that they felt like they could hear each other's heartbeat, which sounded like the drums of Turags. A sudden unknown fear gripped their hearts. Before they could react or do anything, Arin unleashed an otherworldly shriek, something they couldn't have experienced even in their nightmares.

[ You have cast 'Dread Howl' successfully. The morale of living targets around has been decreased. Each of the primary stats of every living being around has been reduced by 10. ]

Arin didn't know how many primary stats his enemies had to begin with or how effective the reduction was. But he had to assume it was considerable, judging by their stupefied condition. However, it was not enough for cautious Arin to feel confident. He decided to use all the spells he had in his arsenal.

But now the problem was that all the other spells he had were single-target, and he had to quickly decide which curse to apply to whom.

Arin was raised on the streets, among the most cutthroat of people. So, one trait he had developed over the years was his quick wit and ability to take and execute decisions swiftly. Milean was the makeshift leader of the group and the one calling the shots. Arin pointed his finger towards him, "As the cloud of death shrouds life, let my curse cloud your mind," and cast 'Haze' on him. Arin, as well as everyone else present, witnessed their self-proclaimed leader, Milean, standing dumbfounded, holding his gear like a statue and drooling like a dummy.

The other three, who had already lost their morale and their leader's guidance for the time being, soon found themselves surrounded by four grim-looking revenants. "What was your name again? Ah, yes, Saunder?" Arin asked the one with the greatsword. "Are they the undead you were referring to a while ago to Damien?"

"Ee…ee…ee…" Saunders fumbled but couldn't form a cohesive sentence.

"My boys, kill these three, just don't touch the one with the torch right now!" Arin commanded his revenants.

"Don't act so cocky, you vile necromancer," Vireon mustered all his remaining courage and aimed at Arin, pulling his trigger.

Shaaa The bolt was knocked off from the crossbow and grazed Arin's neck.

Vireon had most likely aimed for his forehead or throat, but his hands were shaking, and there was a lack of illumination in the area to take a clear shot. Not only that, but at that moment he was being pounced upon by the grim-looking revenants, causing him to miss the shot.

Arin suddenly felt a sharp pain. He was surprised as hell. As far as he knew, the undead didn't feel any pain. So, why was he feeling pain? This question had arisen in his mind previously as well, when he realized that he didn't feel hunger or sleep but felt mentally fatigued after reading for three days continuously. He put his hand on the neck grazed by the crossbow bolt and found a liquid oozing out from the cut. He took some liquid on his finger to check if it was really blood. It was a bright green viscous liquid with a faint glow. Suddenly he felt enraged and stretched his hands, pointing towards Vireon. "From thee, Life's essence, into me," Arin chanted and started absorbing life force from Vireon, who soon began withering like a husk.

"Gwwggg…gwwa…" a revenant made a noise. Arin stopped the drain and looked at the source. Vireon dropped to the ground as a lifeless husk. Saunder, the greatsword guy, had swung his greatsword and lopped an arm off a revenant from its shoulder.

"Prowess depart, weakening thy heart," Arin cast a weakness spell on Saunder, who started shaking his hands as if the greatsword now felt too heavy to wield. He dropped the sword, and the revenant that had lost its arm pounced on him, biting his neck and tearing it to his death with a ravenous bite.

Damien was trying his best to hold himself against the onslaught of two revenants bashing on his shield continuously. Arin, now getting the hang of casting curses, cast 'Erode' on him. "Upon you, mine curse is cast, let thine armor turn to rust." His shield broke like a rotten pile of wood against the next bash of the revenants, and they tore him apart with their bare hands like he was made of paper. Blood and entrails splattered in the whole area.

The splattered blood broke the trance state of Milean. However, he woke up to a gruesome scene. One of his companions was lying on the ground like a dried husk. Another was lying dead in a pool of blood with his neck nearly torn from his shoulder. When he looked at Damien, who was inside out at this point, he dropped his torch and sword and started puking. The blood and gore were too much for him to stomach.

Arin enjoyed how the tables had turned and how the enemy he was afraid of only a few minutes ago had now dropped his defense and was just vomiting his insides out. He looked at the revenant which had lost its arm and commanded it to come to him with its severed arm. He had witnessed that when he was draining life from Vireon, his wound was getting healed. He wondered if he could do the same for this revenant as well. Arin pressed the severed hand to its shoulder. Then he tried to envision that the excess life-force which he had sucked from Vireon, and was remaining inside him after closing his own wound, was being channeled to the revenant's wound from Arin's hand; and the revenant was being healed. To his surprise, it actually worked.

*Ding* a notification window appeared, [ Congratulations on unlocking new spell 'Necromantic Healing'. Level 'Novice'.]

Arin was elated with joy, but it was not the time for him to get overjoyed, as Milean was beginning to regain himself. Arin shifted his attention to Milean.