Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 28: This World Is Mad

Bodies clashed and bodies fell. Wavering lines pressed into each other and muddled into a sprawling mess. Everywhere at once, men died bleeding, the Skeletons screaming, the Undead reeling back. Bones were coming out of the ground, hands reaching out to catch the alliance unaware, to give the hulking beasts of the Necromancer’s horde a chance to crack the ranks wide open.

Valens saw towering shields crumbling down out of the corner of his eyes. Trampled under the hooves of Oarfangs. Drilled by Wards’ streaking limbs, through the metal and into the flesh, caught all unaware, caught like fish on a spear’s tip. They were jerked back and sent hurling across the lines, bits of broken bodies falling in a sickening shower over the scattered lines.

But then green lights washed down over the ground and stretched into lanes of fog that slithered around the Undead ranks, seeped deep into the ground, the Skeletons hissing against the touch of it. The Lich’s magic gave the Undead lines some semblance of their order back, and then they were marching, crushing the bony hands with their armored feet, moving in lines of steely death toward the Necromancer’s beasts.

Lightmaster was there on the din, that smile of his stretched painfully tight across his lips. He waved an almost vehement hand around the air, and then there was light, blooming in the dark of the cave like a morning sun gracing this forgotten stretch of the world with its face.

It burned, looking at the man now. Burned just being in the proximity of the light. Valens was no believing man, but he still thanked whatever the Gods were out there when Lord Zahul’s fog blocked the light from spilling down to the Undead lines. It instead seeped into the golden-armored men and brought a change to their ranks, letting them establish their lost order in moments while the Lightmaster kept the sun alive.

And yet, Valens could see the wide openings through his sound vision in the alliance’s army. Hulking beasts reaped the souls of men by dozens. Magic and arrows couldn’t scratch their thick bones. Valens had tried himself before and knew how sturdy those outer shells were. The only easy way to deal with them was to cut the lifeline of the venom.

The only easy way.

He scoffed. This world was mad.

There was scarcely any muscle that didn’t hurt when he tried to move his body, mind still scrambling to understand what had happened to Nomad. He could tell he was troubled just by lending an ear to his frequencies and could almost hear his thoughts as well, but they were more like incoherent whispers that he couldn’t quite understand.

He shook his head. There was no time to think. The lines were moving, and they were being slowly forced to get dragged into the din. Nomad on the front. Celme on his side, face twisted up as she tried to wave the fog away. Valens a step behind, surrounded by a group of Undead that followed after Hook.

The chief didn’t seem to be aware of the change. Not yet, at least. He didn’t seem to care whether Valens and Celme were in their ranks too. Valens guessed that was only normal. One more corpse, human or undead, wouldn’t make a difference. His eyes were back on the horde now, back to the Skeletons, that spiked mace raised high.

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“I remember,” Nomad was mumbling, the tip of his sword scratching the ground as he dragged it mindlessly after him. Valens wanted to reach out and see the situation around his Heartstone with a Lifeward, but the Undead around him pushed him back, back until he lost sight of the pair.

He was left alone in the din, a tiny ant lost in the green waves. They didn’t look him in the eye. They didn’t seem aware that he was there at all. The Resonance of their Heartstones dwindled to a rhythm that lacked anything other than blind obedience.

Onward they marched, and clashed, and ripped into the Skeleton tide. They moved team by team, each one focused on a single mission. Hook’s team was making for a particularly twisted beast, towering over the other Oarfangs and beating the ground with four hooves. Looked like an elephant, one that was changed into a freak by the Necromancer’s magic.

Hook was on him a moment after, slinging himself up to the beast’s back with one hand round the creature’s jutting bony fangs. He planted himself up there and drove the spiked mace down with all his worth, the thorns of the weapon cracking against the hard shell, green fog rolling through his shoulders. His men kept at the beast, kept it busy to give the chief some time.

[Skeleton Olifant - Lvl ???]

It let out a terrible screech and mashed one of the Undead into a bony pulp under its front hooves. Trampled over it and swung its fangs around, forcing the others to scramble back, leaving Nomad and Celme completely open against it.

Valens cursed as armored shoulders jabbed him in the back, caught him round the head, snapped at his arms, and sent a wave of blinding pain across the wave of Apathy. His nose was full of the reek of rusted metal and fresh blood. Weapons nicked his skin as a number of Undead swarmed from beside him. They pushed him back, and he couldn’t move, and could only stare through his sound vision as the Olifant targeted the pair.

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The Berserker jumped up, fingers clenched tight into a fist, and jabbed at the beast's face while Hook kept smashing the mace across its back. That seemed to annoy the creature as it stumbled away, but its bones were too thick. It was like trying to batter down a wall of pure steel by swinging wooden sticks at it, and now the wall was growing furious, and it was coming down heavy over them.

Enough.

Valens poured every bit of his unused stats into the Intelligence and Wisdom pair. Felt the mana rush toward the pool in his chest. Felt its heat like molten lava coursing under his skin. He could barely lift his hand from how the lines squashed him round, but once he did, flames came alive.

Inferno roared over the din. Pure flames radiating a heat that nearly rivaled the Lightmaster’s light. That pulled some attention to him. Good. All the better. He twisted the spell into a swirling circle and brought it down slowly, carefully to give the crowd around him some time to react.

The Undead pressed into each other as they stumbled to get out of the way. Valens was glad that they’d at least had some fear in them, as he half expected the fools to fight against the flames. But it seemed nobody, not even a controlled corpse of a man, wanted a piece of that roaring storm.

With delicate focus, he pulled the Inferno down until the edges of the storm touched the ground. He was in the middle of it, the heat splashing against his face, but it gave him the much-needed space to reach for the pair. He strolled out, kept the circle fixed with him as the center point, made a show of it for all the Undead to force a path to open up before him.

Mana was just right around his hands, feeling heavier in the Resonance. He even got a taste of how it changed into fire mana when he used the spell. Seemed like his chest cavity was more than just a storage for the mana he gained in the form of stats. It also played a part in the spells as well.

No time for that, though. Not the time to think about magic and its intricacies. He waved a hand over his head and widened the edges of the storm, stretched it toward the Olifant, and willed a part of it to lash against the creature.

The blazing wave tore into the Olifant’s skull. Splashed round and splattered to its back, nearly catching Hook on the armor. But the chief slid nimbly toward the edge of the beast, emerald eyes widening at the burning bones before snapping at Valens.

Valens looked him in the eye and gave him a strict nod. That would suffice for now. He then forked the Inferno’s circle toward Nomad and Celme, opened a hole in its edge, and let them in. He closed the circle right after that, giving the two some time to breathe.

“How is he holding up?” he asked when Celme’s eyes found him. The woman let out a rasping breath, sweat trickling down her face, the blazing flames reflecting in the pupils of her eyes.

“He keeps mumbling the same thing,” she said, dragging Nomad by the armpit over to Valens. He was indeed in a state of disbelief, sword clasped clumsily in his right hand, the left hand over his skull and tapping into the bone. Tapping that same finger into the same place, another storm burning inside his Heartstone.

Valens placed a hand onto him and felt his heart with a Lifeward. Down to the gemstone that worked as a replacement for that artificial lung. The lifemana kept filtering the greenish fog of Lord Zahul, sending the faintly muddled mana back to the right atrium, from where it spread around his whole body.

There was nothing wrong with the veins. In fact, Valens clicked his tongue at how smooth his alterations were to Nomad's anatomy. This could be a revelation by itself in another world, but here, it was just a half measure to keep a rather strange company in shape.

“Look at me,” Valens said, feeling the sudden spikes in the Resonance. Lifeward showed him that these were coming from that shadowy part of his core. Something there was jamming into his frequencies in a way he couldn’t comprehend. “Claim your heart,” he said, pushing his forehead into Nomad’s skull. Felt the skin touch there like an embrace. Felt how heavy the fog was pressing him down. “It's yours. Take it!”

An Oarfang bounded into the Inferno’s circle, caring not whether it’d set its whole bone frame ablaze. Behind, the towering shadow of the Olifant was being flooded by swarms of Undead, Hook’s spiked mace coming in sight and falling down with a crunch loud enough that Valens could hear.

Valens banged a fist into Nomad’s chestpiece, forcing him to look wearily into his eyes. He almost saw a glint there. Almost. So he was there, still. Just had to take him out to the surface.

“Move,” he said, clenching his teeth. “I said move! Do something! Don’t just stand there like one of those fools. I did my part. Fixed your broken heart, and now it's all up to you. Act the man you are. Take the control back. There will always be some voices. Don’t listen. Don’t hear. Be your own master!”

Nomad stirred, blinking down at his feet, at the sword clasped in his hand. His fingers tightened around the handle as his emerald eyes glimmered with the Lich’s fog. Breath caught in Valens’s throat for a second before a smile stirred the rotten flesh dangling from the undead's mouth. A bastard of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He was back.

“That was painful,” he rasped, turning back to face the Oarfang. “Bloody bones, it still hurts! You sure you fixed it for good?”

Valens arched an eyebrow at him. “I did. Was one of my best works, but the fog will sting. It's there around your body — You know what, it’s complicated. Important thing is that it looks like it's working. You have to act the part, though. Do what the other Undead do.”

“And that is?”

Valens jerked a thumb at the Oarfang. “Clean the Necromancer’s horde.”

“That…” Nomad shook his head as if to gather himself.

“What now?” Celme curled her lips at him. “You’re scared?”

“Don’t confuse me with your kind, woman,” Nomad scoffed at him. “I don’t fear nothing. I just get the job done.”

“Good,” Valens said, patting him on the armor, after which Nomad shuffled strangely a step back. “Now go. Get that beast’s arms so that I can deal with it. These things give a lot of levels, you know?”

“You’ve just sounded like an addict.” Nomad sighed. “But I’ve been there and done that. I get it. The Berserker doesn't get to stay, though. She has to earn her keep.”

“Will do,” Celme said. “I’m sick and tired of this cave already. We need to put an end to this.”

Valens felt a smile tugging at his lips. All the chaos around him… He had to admit he was beginning to enjoy this.