Gareth locked eyes with the necromancer, who smirked from within the protective shell beast even as more corpses emerged from the hole, spreading out around him to guard their master from every angle.

  "That won't last long." He warned, staring at where his attack had left charred bone behind.

  The necromancer chuckled darkly. "And so the rebels come, charging blindly into their deaths. This city will be mine, and its defenders will rise as my soldiers. You are no different than the rest! Just thralls waiting to serve."

  Gareth's resolve to end the man only hardened, and he stretched out his senses to grasp how an Expert had managed to defend himself against his attack. Necromancers were notoriously hard to put down once they had time to build up and could reliably punch above their weight, but at the admission of the man himself, he had arrived in Volten only after the loyalist forces did.

  There was something else going on that he didn't understand.

  "Listen well," he growled. "You've defiled holy ground and played with forces you can't hope to understand. Whatever power you think you have—" he lifted his spear, pointing it at the creature towering above him, "it won't be enough."

  He pointedly did not look at where Yarea had disappeared during the commotion. Even if he didn't manage to pierce the bones, she'd deal with the man. He wasn't a lich yet—though he was getting close to the power needed to transform into one—which meant he could be killed by a blade much like any other mortal.

  Behind him, the living soldiers prepared to face the skeletons. Though exhausted, they felt the fire of righteous fury, and with Gareth leading them, they knew they would take back the heart of their city. Such was the effect of having a Master guide them.

  The skeletal colossus moved then, fully emerging from the ground and coming to stand at twenty feet. It lumbered forward and reached with its massive arms to crush them. Gareth could have avoided it, but that would have left his men in its path, so he stood his ground, biding his time until the last moment. There, he thought, spotting a rib that seemed to have suffered more under his lightning—a weak point in the strands of mana anchoring the necromancer's control.

  He surged forward, lightning coiling around his spear. Channeling the energy outward, he launched arcs at the bone colossus. The bolts struck true, shattering smaller, brittle bones and illuminating the temple with violet light.

  His outwardly flashy display successfully disguised his true purpose.

  He ducked low as the colossus's arm swung down with a thunderous whoosh, sending another bolt upward, aiming it at the arm's joint. The purple lightning hit the elbow, deflecting its swing just enough for him to close the distance. With a quick twist, he repositioned, spear raised to aim directly at the necromancer.

  The man, clearly alarmed, shifted back, allowing more bone to cover his position and obscuring his sight. In that split second, Gareth adjusted his aim and lunged straight at the weakened rib.

  The impact shattered the bone, and as Gareth drove his spear deeper, he unleashed another surge of electrical current, forcing it through the entire construct. Blue and violet lightning streaked through the cracks, snaking along the creature's bony frame and illuminating the runes carved into its bones. Sparks erupted as the arc reached the necromancer himself, who let out a scream.

  Foul curses spilled from his mouth as he forced the colossus to rear back, swinging its massive limbs in a frenzy. Bony spikes erupted from its surface, each sharpened to a razor's edge, and the ground around Gareth trembled as the creature lashed out.

  At the same time, the smaller skeletons guarding the temple fell into a maddened frenzy, their bones clattering as they descended upon the soldiers. Discipline held firm among his men, though, and they maintained their ranks, using [Bashes] and [Thrusts] to drive back the smaller undead. Yet even in their tight formation, the soldiers struggled. Their fatigue began to take its toll, and often, they were forced to withdraw men who had been snatched by bony claws or injured by the frenzy of flailing skeletons, weakening the line.

  Gareth could spare only the attention necessary to send a bolt their way, charring a good portion of the skeletons and allowing his men some respite. His reserves were stretched thin as he continued battling the necromancer.

  To think that even as a Master, I can waste so much mana. I haven’t felt this low since I took Stonebridge.

  Despite the disarray among both groups, the core of the formation held. The undead were fierce but uncoordinated, and their attacks were dulled by Gareth's men's rigid adherence to their tactics. He knew, though, that this balance would last only so long; he needed to end this quickly.

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  Before him, the necromancer screamed himself hoarse, his skin now blistered and charred. But he was far from defeated. Clenching his hands, he poured more of his corrupted mana into the creature, strengthening its defenses and knitting his own flesh back. Despite the pain he must have felt, the necromancer's eyes gleamed with spite as he threw his head back, laughing in wild defiance.

  "Do you see, foolish knight?" he crowed. "You think you're so powerful, yet you are all worms writhing beneath my grasp. I have turned this holy place into my sanctuary, my fortress! I have centuries’ worth of material! Nothing can stop me here!”

  Gareth didn't bother bantering. He wouldn't give the man more time to recover.

  He charged again, attacking the creature's legs, where the bone was cracked and brittle from the previous surge. He knew he'd have to break the colossus down piece by piece, as it had proven capable of resisting his attacks. Anything more powerful than what he'd used, his men would perish too, and he couldn’t afford more than one big attack.

  Every strike chipped away at the creature's legs, sending shocks through its entire frame. The necromancer, visibly straining to sustain the rate at which he was pumping mana into the construct, grimaced as Gareth's strikes came faster and harder. Small fissures spread up the creature's leg, traveling toward its torso.

  The creature staggered back as Gareth drove his spear into another fracture, reaching a level of damage that couldn't be mended with more mana. Shrieking, the necromancer commanded the colossus to retaliate.

  The creature's massive, bony arm crashed down with terrible speed. Gareth braced, smashing the fist aside with his spear through physical strength alone and opening the way to the torso.

  In response, the necromancer's guttural chant accelerated, and bolts of foul energy flew from the creature's spikes. Gareth's skin tingled with the palpable corruption in the air, but he merely upped his aura, wreathing himself in purple electricity.

  "Enough of this!" the necromancer screeched. He forced the colossus to take a defensive stance, positioning itself between Gareth and the altar. Then, with a furious scream, he abandoned the construct, leaving it behind to earn some time. The skeleton lunged, now moving without being constrained by the need to protect a squishy human, while its master ran for the altar.

  Gareth's eyes darted from the man to the construct, and he found himself trapped. If he chased the necromancer, he'd leave his men to take the creature on, and they'd undoubtedly suffer significant losses. If he fought the construct, he’d give the enemy time to work even fouler magics.

  Unfortunately, he had a duty to fulfill, so he prepared to unleash everything he had left, hoping his men would survive the consequences.

  An immense current of mana flooded the temple as the air ionized and the marble floors melted to slag. Angry lightning arced around him, and Gareth released all his restraint.

  The night became day as [The Storm King's Retribution] pierced the heavens.

  For but a moment, Gareth thought he could feel a warm hand on his shoulder. Gold filled his vision, and he knew things would be all right.

  Once the light faded and he could see again, he was glad to find that his men were seemingly unharmed and that little to nothing remained of the bone construct. Nothing was also left of Volten's ancient painted dome, and the entirety of the temple's ceiling was simply gone. Above, the clouds had parted, and the moon shone through.

  A triumphant sound brought Gareth back to the present, and he was stunned to see that the necromancer was still alive.

  Missing both of his legs, which had been cauterized by lightning, but alive. He had somehow managed to reach the altar before Gareth could unleash his attack, and though he had paid for it, the protections inlaid around it had protected him from the worst.

  Dark, foreboding miasma swirled around him, and the man cackled in delight, apparently not feeling any pain. "Yes! Yes! It worked! It just needed a sufficient power source! I have reached beyond the veil!”

  The mana coalesced into a singular point, a pure black marble, which the man lifted in delight, appearing poised to swallow.

  Or he would have had a gleaming silver dagger not found its place between his eyes.

  The necromancer wasn't afforded even the dignity to understand he was dead before his head was vaporized.

  In a richly decorated room of Volten's castle, Gareth sat, a crystal goblet in hand, its rim resting idly on his lip as he considered the wine—deep, red, and fragrant. He had requisitioned the label from the late Count's collection. It was a vintage brought out only to celebrate alliances or great victories, and though he couldn't claim to have been flawless, he felt it fitting nonetheless.

  He drank, finding its strong taste a bracing comfort after the gruesome battle.

  The highest-ranking officers of the Eastern Army gathered around him for an overdue meeting. With an iron-straight posture, General Oz settled into his chair, lips pressed together tightly.

  Commander Sparrow shifted uncomfortably, already bristling to get the debrief underway and get back out there, where his presence was needed. He was young, barely in his twenties. He'd learn that some things couldn't be fixed, no matter how hard he worked.

  Oz, as the nominal leader of the army, began the meeting. "The city's been searched thoroughly," he started. "Our men cleared the streets, markets, and sewers. Not a single remnant of the undead or the necromancer's influence remains. Whatever he summoned died with him."

  "Excellent," Yarea murmured. "We are fortunate that he didn't have the time or the inclination to develop a cult. The last time I took part in rooting one out, it took years before we stopped being attacked by rotting corpses."

  Gareth raised his glass slightly, his expression more thoughtful than celebratory. "Arrogance," he explained. "He was far too jealous of his power to share it. Even if the Barons hadn't found him, he wouldn't have taken apprentices until he was sure of his supremacy." He watched the men nod in agreement. Yarea instead gave a soft, musical laugh.

  "Always is the way with such men," she replied, lips quirking in a half-smile. In moments like these, Gareth remembered elves weren't quite mortal like humans. Kin to fae, they were, and their approach to life showed it.

  Oz leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Then our next move is clear. We need to re-establish the gates and bring order back to the streets. The eastern districts are the priority, and the best way to gain their trust is to return the docks to stability. Luckily, it's where the local patrols were heaviest, which means the necromancer didn't have the chance to seed his creatures. We'll start by bringing laborers and the fishing guilds back to work—their livelihoods sustain Volten, and we can't keep the city fed on its winter stores for long. Once they feel safe, the rest of the populace will follow."

  The general's words hung in the air, and all eyes turned to Gareth, who had refused a role in the new administration. He set his wine down and looked at the dark marble.

  It was smooth and chillingly inert, yet he hadn't gotten rid of it. He rolled it slowly before answering the unspoken question.

  "I'll leave Volten in your hands, General," he said calmly. "My place is at the Grand Marshal's side."

  His eyes never left the marble.

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