Necrophobia by Mark Devaney Read Free Book Online Page B

yanking the arrow from his rotten brain with a sneer, brown fluid oozed out of the wound.
    “You’re finished Razakel!” He cackled, shoving an electric-blue stone into his mouth and swallowing with childlike glee. Even from a distance the stone was unmistakable — Spellstone, crystallised magic common throughout the world and mined here on this very island. A powerful and dangerous magic restorative that could boost a users magic to obscene levels with the small price of almost certain death and extreme damage to the mind and body. The undead Necromancer consumed a lethal dose with glee, his undead physiology heedless of the risk. Morveil twitched and shuddered as he rose into the air, arms out-stretched, green tendrils of flame extended from his body and writhed and wormed their way into the fallen Caelite bodies. The green energy burrowed into their brains like over-sized spectral maggots and the bodies spasmed, gasped and groaned.
    The cultists watched their leader in a mixture of fascination and horror as the levitating abomination radiated magic and an aura of malevolence Claire had never felt the like of. Razakel seized the lull in incoming magic to unleash devastating bolts of incandescent energy sizzling through the snow and chilling air towards the cackling, insane necromancer. Each bolt burned straight through his rotten flesh and exploded into the rock behind him. The mind-altering Spellstone consumed his mind as unspeakable power lashed through his corpse of a body.
    “Stop laughing and kill them you idiot!” The armoured man shouted, still immobile in front of the dragon. Flecks of spectral energy gathered around him now, as the air around him crackled. His ritual nearing completion.
    “Oh Haures, always the killjoy.” He mocked, pointedly ignoring the barrage of magic tearing into him. Any cultists near him were not so fortunate and were shredded and fell smouldering to pieces.
    The undead nearest Claire rushed towards her with renewed vigour. Too many to kill with her bow, not enough arrows and closing in from all other directions she had no other option but to press through their lines. She drew her sword and rushed towards them, dodging a bolt of heated lightning by mere centimetres, more by luck than skill. Their blasts were always preceded by a tingling as the air around her became charged and her hairs stood up. There was no way she could dodge a bolt otherwise. The nearest swung towards her with its spear she ducked past it slicing with her sword ready to intercept the second. Their strength was inhuman, Claire never fancied herself as much of a swordswoman and she’d lose in an exchange of strength so she played to her agility. Strong as they were they were slow and uncoordinated, she sliced and hacked into them whilst dodging their glacial spear thrusts and swings. Unable to block the sheer force of their blows she turned them aside with a parry and used their own momentum against them. She rushed towards Razakel cutting a path through undead flesh and witless enthralled cultists to aid him, he was tiring and fast. The high altitude still sapping his energy; his face reddening and his breaths shallow and short. Morveil seemed content to glide towards him and unleash waves of green energy in their direction; revelling in his power and toying with his prey. A beginner’s mistake, she grinned. He was powerful but foolish and predictable. So wrapped up in taunting Haures and Razakel he failed to notice the dwindling number of undead or the cultists dying around him.
    “Claire! Go! Get Inquisitor Haures. I’ll handle Morveil!” Razakel shouted as she neared him blocking more sickening green tendrils of energy from Morveil with another translucent blue bubble.
    “I can’t! You can’t hold him much longer.”
    “Trust me.” He looked up at her pleading. “Go.” She nodded and lead the last few undead away taking cover between the stone plinths and fallen masonry. Morveil advanced on him,