The next skeleton surged forward, its weapon already raised, a jagged, rusted cleaver clutched in its bony grip.
Del barely had time to react—his side still burned from the last hit, his fingers ached from the endless parries—but there was no pause in this fight.
No breath. No mercy.
It came in fast, faster than the ones before, the cleaver whistling through the air in a deadly arc.
Del twisted, bringing his sword up, barely catching the downward blow—
Clang!
The impact shuddered through his arms, metal screaming against ancient, corroded steel. His knees buckled slightly, boots slipping on scattered bone fragments, but he grit his teeth and held his ground.
The skeleton didn’t hesitate. It pressed the attack, cleaver hacking down in relentless, brutal swings, forcing Del to stay on the defensive.
Parry. Dodge. Block. Move.
He was too slow on the next one—
The blade sliced through his sleeve, grazing his forearm with a burning kiss of pain.
“Son of a cock-sucking whore!”
Del dropped low, shifting his weight onto his good leg, and drove his boot forward.
The kick slammed into the skeleton’s ribs, sending it staggering backward, the glow in its sockets flaring like an ember kicked in the wind.
Misty was still locked in her own battle, claws and fangs ripping through bone, her tail lashing wildly as she twisted through the undead.
‘Mind handling your own shit?’
“Working on it!” Del shot back.
The skeleton recovered too fast, already lunging back at him, cleaver raised for a finishing blow.
Del saw an opening.
He twisted his grip, stepped in close—
And drove the pommel of his sword straight up under its jaw.
Crunch.
The heavy hilt smashed through the skull, shattering ancient bone, the light in its sockets winking out as the creature collapsed in a heap of dust and ruin.
The foul air shifted.
A ripple of heat haze distortion shimmered from the other end of the crypt, folding reality in on itself.
Del looked up—
The necromancer stood untouched, still within the glowing circle of runes, its skeletal hand moving in slow, deliberate gestures.
It wasn’t fighting.
It was watching.
Controlling.
Directing.
Del’s breath hitched as his eyes caught something in the darkness just beyond the mage’s shoulder.
A figure.
No, not a figure.
A something? Ephemeral, translucent.
A hollow-eyed spectre, its translucent form barely more than a whisper of shape, standing just behind the undead master.
Del’s blood went cold.
It flickered—vanished—but the chill it left behind sank deep into his bones.
For a moment, his body refused to move.
‘Del!’
Misty’s voice slammed through his mind, sharp and urgent.
Del snapped out of it just in time to see a massive bone club swinging toward his skull.
“Shit!”
He threw himself backward, barely avoiding the skull-crushing blow, the club smashing into the floor, kicking up splinters of stone and dust.
His foot caught on something, and suddenly—
He was falling.
Back first. Hard.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs, bone fragments digging into his back as he hit the ground.
Before he could recover, the skeleton loomed over him, club raised for the finishing blow.
‘Oh, not today, asshole—!’
Misty’s hulking form smashed into it from the side, her fangs burying deep into its exposed spine.
She gripped it, pulling him down. The two of them rolling in a tangle of claws and bones, before she finally snapped its spine in half, sending the rest of its form crumbling into the dust.
She turned, panting, ears flat, eyes burning gold.
‘Seriously. Stop nearly dying.’
“Trying!” Del wheezed, dragging himself back up to his feet.
He didn’t have time to thank her.
The necromancer was acting again.
The staff slammed down again.
The circle ignited with energy and light; pulsing with twisting, jagged veins of red energy, slithering outward like living things.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Dark tendrils crawled across the floor, twisting and writhing, reaching out like grasping hands.
One latched onto Del’s ankle—
A white-hot pain shot up his leg.
Cold. So cold.
It ripped through muscle, locking his joints like iron chains, his entire limb numb in an instant.
“No, you don’t!” he yelled as he slashed downward, severing the tendril.
The moment the blade cut through it, the tendril dissipated into black smoke—
But the damage was done.
His leg felt dead, like it had been dipped in ice water, the numbness spreading into his hip and lower spine.
A feral snarl split the air.
Misty launched herself at the necromancer, claws extended, aiming for its throat.
For a split second, Del dared to hope—
And then—
The necromancer’s bony hand flicked.
The air shuddered.
Misty was thrown backward, her body hitting the far wall with a sickening thud.
She collapsed to the ground, her limbs twitching, her breath coming sharp and ragged.
Del’s heart seized.
“Get up, Misty!” he roared, panic clawing at his throat.
She didn’t respond.
The red glow of the necromancer’s eyes flared, locking onto Del.
The staff rose, and the ground rumbled.
Spears of bone erupted upward, jagged, lethal, a forest of death rising from the shattered crypt floor.
Del had no choice.
He threw himself onto a sarcophagus, barely avoiding the spikes that would have impaled him.
His balance wavered—his leg barely responding—but he managed to stay upright, chest heaving.
Then the necromancer laughed.
Not a normal laugh.
Not even a human laugh.
A sound that echoed through the chamber, ancient, hollow, and beyond evil.
It wasn’t just amusement.
It was mockery.
It was the sound of something that knew it was going to win.
Del gritted his teeth.
No; not today.
Pain screamed through his side, leg, and spine, but he moved anyway.
With a desperate lunge, he hurled himself forward, ignoring the searing fire in his body, his blade coming down in a reckless, furious arc.
Straight for the staff.
The necromancer moved faster than he expected.
Its skeletal hand snapped up, catching the sword mid-strike.
Bone met steel with a thunderous clash, sparks flying as they locked in place, strength vs. strength.
Del’s muscles strained, his arms shaking.
And in that moment—
Those twin red eyes burned into him.
And the malice behind them was enough to drown the world.
But Del didn’t back down.
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
With a roar, Del twisted his weapon free and swung again, putting everything he had left into the strike.
This time—It connected.
The blade slammed into the staff, shattering it with an explosive crack, shards of blackened wood splintering outward, scattering across the stone floor like fragments of a dying star.
The necromancer screamed.
Not a human scream. Not even the hollow echo of the undead.
This was something older, something furious, a sound of pure hatred and unravelling power, as if the very act of destroying its weapon had ripped apart the bindings of its existence.
Its skeletal frame convulsed violently, the glow from the circle beneath its feet flickering, pulsing erratically—
It was breaking.
“Down!”
A voice cut through the chaos, sharp, commanding.
Del’s head snapped toward the entrance.
Elara.
She stood at the threshold of the chamber, bow drawn, her body rigid with focus.
Her eyes locked onto the staggering necromancer; her expression set in a way that left no room for failure.
The arrow in her grasp glowed, pulsing with a deep, unearthly magic, its tip humming with raw power.
No hesitation.
Del threw himself down, landing hard against the cold stone, feeling the reverberations of the circle’s dying energy pulse through his ribs.
Elara released.
The arrow streaked through the air, cutting through the crypt’s gloom like a meteor burning across the night.
It struck home.
The impact slammed into the necromancer’s chest, sending it reeling backward, its bony arms jerking wildly, the remnants of its dark robes flaring in some final, desperate attempt to resist.
Too late.
It stumbled out of the circle.
And the world shattered.
The stone beneath the circle cracked, deep fractures spiderwebbing outward, glowing crimson as though something beneath the surface was rupturing.
For a moment, the necromancer jerked violently, caught between existence and oblivion, the malicious light in its sockets flickering wildly.
Then—the circle flared one final time… and died.
The energy collapsed inward, swallowing itself in a sudden void of silence.
The remaining skeletons crumbled as though their strings had been cut, collapsing into lifeless heaps of bone and dust, their connection to the unholy force severed.
The necromancer itself fell, its ruined form hitting the ground in a heap of blackened fabric and brittle remains, its robes pooling around it like spilled ink.
The twin lights in its skull faded to nothing.
Del staggered backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body screaming in exhaustion.
The fight was over.
The crypt—silent.
No more unnatural whispers. No more shifting shadows.
Just stillness.
A familiar warmth pressed against his mind.
Del glanced across as Misty limped toward him, her movements slow but steady, her body still wound tight with tension.
He dropped to one knee, wincing as his ribs protested the movement, but it didn’t matter. He needed to check on her.
His fingers found her fur, warm and real beneath his touch.
“You did good, girl,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, but relieved.
Misty exhaled through her nose, then nuzzled his hand, grounding him in the simple fact that they were both still breathing.
As he watched, her form began to shrink, her massive battle-ready shape fading back into her normal, compact cuteness.
Her expression, however, remained the same.
She wasn’t happy.
‘Next time, kill the bastard faster.’
Del huffed a weak laugh.
“I’ll try.”
Elara stepped further into the chamber, her bow still in hand, her gaze locked on the necromancer’s remains.
Her fingers tightened around her weapon as she studied the lifeless heap, her voice wary.
“Is it dead?”
Del followed her gaze.
The broken staff.
The cracked ritual circle.
The motionless pile of robes.
It had to be. But still—he didn’t look away.
“It better be,” he muttered, but he didn’t relax.
Not yet. The chill in the air was fading, but Del had learned not to trust the quiet. Not in places like this.
The stillness didn’t last long.
A familiar chime echoed in his mind, breaking through the remains of the tension.
[Congratulations. You have killed Skeleton Necromancer Lv. 9; Experience gained.]
[Congratulations. You have advanced your primary cuvat: Points added.]
[Congratulations. You have advanced your secondary cuvat: Points added.]
Del let out a long breath, rubbing at the back of his head.
‘Damn, I don’t want to do that again in a hurry.’
Misty, now curled up licking the singed patches on her fur, shot him a look.
‘One that, I very much agreed with you.’
Elara knelt beside him, studying the ruined battlefield.
Del looked up. “Where’s Naomi?”
Elara’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of concern.
“Sat on the stairs where I left her.” A pause. “I hope.”
Without another word, she turned and hurried back toward the entrance to check on the girl.
Del exhaled slowly and turned his focus to the remnants of the fight.
It was time to loot the mess of bones that had tried to kill him.
Most of it was junk.
No rings. No gold. No useful weapons—the staff was shattered beyond repair. Just dust and brittle remains.
Then—Something odd.
As Del sifted through the necromancer’s tattered remains, his fingers brushed against something that hummed with unnatural energy.
A skull.
The necromancer’s skull.
The moment he touched it, a faint ripple of magic pulsed outward.
Different from the dark, unholy energy from before.
This was something else.
Something left behind.
Del frowned, wrapping it in torn cloth from the necromancer’s robes before tucking it into his bag.
He had no idea what it was.
But he was damn sure it was important.
Climbing back up to the main chamber, Del took in the subtle changes.
The space had been cleaned up—debris pushed aside, broken pieces of the statue reverently placed in the pool basin.
Even the air felt different.
No longer thick with corruption, no longer tainted by the presence of undeath.
Instead, the ambient mana had shifted.
Lighter. Purer.
The shrine wasn’t fully restored—but it was healing.
Elara stood near the statue, fingers brushing the worn stone, her eyes bright with quiet joy.
“When I find a temple,” she murmured, “I will let them know of this shrine so it can be repaired and rededicated.”
Del nodded. He didn’t need to see mana to feel the difference.
Then, after a moment—
“You know, Misty and I probably owe you our lives,” Del said, rubbing his sore ribs. “Where did you learn that arrow thing?”
Elara turned, her smile radiant.
“The place may be broken,” she said, “but it is still of Myrrith.”
Her fingers brushed the statue again.
“She knew my need.”
A breath.
“And gave me the ability.”
She met his gaze, eyes alight with quiet awe.
“Nature’s Wrath.”
It would only work against things of pure evil she told him.
It had worked today.
Del grinned, stepping forward and pulling her into a fierce hug.
Naomi squeezed in too.
“Just let her know I said thanks.” He said.
