Death’s Duel – The Battle in the Weeping Catacombs
A Deadly Clash Begins
The Weeping Catacombs shuddered with the force of necrotic energy. Arlan barely had time to brace himself before the grotesque abomination lunged toward him, its massive, patchworked body moving with unnatural speed.
"Shade—blind it!"
Shade flickered into mist, swarming around the creature's face. The abomination roared, clawing at the dark haze, momentarily disoriented.
Arlan took the opening.
His wand pulsed as he unleashed a [Shadow Bolt], the crackling black energy streaking toward the necromancer.
But his opponent was no fool.
The enemy necromancer twisted his fingers mid-air—a skeletal arm burst from the ground, absorbing the attack.
Arlan barely had time to register the counter before the abomination recovered. It lunged again, a massive claw sweeping toward him—
Too fast!
CRASH!
The impact shattered the stone floor where he had just stood. Arlan twisted, narrowly dodging, but a second limb lashed out—claws raking across his side.
Pain flared through him. He hit the ground hard, rolling to his feet just in time to see the necromancer smirk.
"Sloppy," the man taunted. "You call yourself a necromancer?"
Arlan gritted his teeth. "I call myself an adventurer."
His fingers curled.
He wasn't done yet.
The Necromancer's Wrath
The enemy necromancer raised his staff, his voice curling with a dark chant. The sigils in the chamber flared to life.
Bones, still standing off to the side, clicked his teeth. "Master. Dangerous!."
Arlan's eyes widened.
A curse.
A sickly-green wave of energy surged outward, aiming straight for him—
Arlan barely reacted in time, throwing up [Black Shroud]—a mist of necrotic energy swallowed him, absorbing most of the attack.
Even so—his limbs burned with cold. The curse had taken hold.
His vision blurred, nausea clawing at him. He barely had time to move before the abomination struck again—this time landing a direct blow.
CRACK.
He was thrown against the crypt wall.
His vision swam. His ribs ached.
Shit. He's stronger than I thought.
The necromancer strode toward him leisurely, as if savoring the moment. "See? Power means nothing if you don't know how to use it."
Arlan coughed, his vision sharpening.
His lips curled.
"Guess I'll just have to use it better."
Arlan Fights Back
Arlan thrust his hand forward launching a [Shadow Bolt], Necrotic energy rushed forward, wrapping around the necromancer's arm.
The man snarled, the necromancer's flesh began to rot.
The scream was satisfying.
The man jerked back, but his right arm was already ruined, the flesh shriveled, useless.
His eyes blazed with fury. "You little—"
Arlan didn't give him a chance.
[Shadow Bolt]— direct hit.
The energy slammed into the necromancer's face, searing through half of his face.
The man staggered back, screaming.
Half-blinded. One arm useless.
And yet—
He still fought back.
Snarling through the pain, the necromancer raised his good hand—black fire gathered around his palm.
Arlan's instincts screamed at him.
MOVE.
He barely dodged as the blast of necrotic fire ripped through the chamber, the heat of it unnatural, hungry.
Arlan rolled, cursing.
This bastard wasn't going down easy.
Bones Joins the Fray
The enemy necromancer staggered, blood dripping from his ruined eye, his arm hanging limply. But his abomination was still moving.
It lashed out, its massive claws nearly catching Arlan again—
CRACK!
A massive, brutal fist slammed into the creature's skull.
The abomination was thrown backward, crashing into the stone pillars with a deafening impact.
Bones stood there, grinning.
His Ogre form towered over the battlefield.
"Master," Bones rumbled. "Time to crush."
Arlan smirked. "Be my guest."
Bones turned, cracking his knuckles.
The abomination screeched—but Bones was already on it.
The Final Moments
The necromancer stumbled, panting heavily, his breath ragged. He was losing.
His eye was gone. His right arm hung limply. His power was failing.
Yet, even now—he refused to go down quietly.
"You…" He coughed, blood spilling onto the floor. "You… think this stops anything?"
Arlan's expression darkened.
The necromancer laughed—a broken, manic sound.
Arlan's gut twisted.
Something was wrong.
The necromancer raised his ruined hand—and despite the flesh having rotted away, his boney fingers still moved.
His own necrotic magic surged—this time aimed at himself.
Self-sacrifice magic.
A suicide curse.
The chamber trembled as the necromancer's body burst with raw energy, the very foundations of the crypt shaking.
He was going to bring the entire place down.
Arlan reacted instinctively.
One last [Shadow Bolt]—
The blast pierced through the necromancer's skull, shattering bone and tearing flesh.
The laughter stopped.
The corpse collapsed.
But—
The spell was already cast.
The crypt was coming down.
The Escape
Arlan ran.
He didn't even have time to breathe—didn't even process his wounds.
Bones, back in his normal form, grabbed him by the back of his cloak and hauled him forward.
Shade flickered beside them, weaving through falling debris.
The crypt shook violently, the walls splitting, the ceiling caving in.
They barely made it to the exit as the Weeping Catacombs collapsed behind them.
Arlan staggered onto the grass, gasping for breath.
The crypt was gone.
The necromancer was dead.
And yet—
As he lay there, staring up at the night sky, blood still fresh on his lips—
He knew this wasn't over.
Veyleigh had more crypts.
And somewhere, the remaining two necromancers were still out there.
He wasn't done yet.
Not even close.
Arlan clenched his fists.
This time, he was hunting them.