Rebirth of the Undead King: Book 2

by Ink Bamboo

  “Very well,” said the cardinal, “Let’s go with that.”

  As far as he was concerned, this result was still within an acceptable range. Any losses he took here would be compensated by the church in the future. Discovering a ritual of this scale was a mission that couldn’t go unrewarded. Even more so if he managed to stop it.

  Thus, without thinking it twice, the cardinal started activating all the communication artifacts he had on his person. A golden clock, a silver bracelet, even the ring on his finger. One by one, he channeled his energy into them, expecting at least one of them to get through. The sooner his reinforcements arrived, the sooner he would be able to get rid of the anxiety taking root in his heart.

  Alas, things weren’t going his way.

  “Damn it!” he said. To an extent, he had somewhat expected this result. The glyphs inscribed in the city walls seemed to be doing many things. Disturbing the mana in the air was only one amongst many. Apparently, its interference was enough to mess with the pieces of magical technology he had on his person.

  “All right,” said the cardinal, calming himself as he raised his right hand into the sky. Since artifacts were out of the question, he would have to resort to more archaic methods of communication. “I hope those idiots are capable enough to understand this.”

  The instant he raised his hand, a small sphere of light shot above the city, quickly exploding into a blinding flash. It was such a simple ability, not even the disruption coming from the magic on the walls had managed to fizzle it away. Now, he had to wait.

  “Calling for help?” asked the apostle resting against the wall. Despite the cardinal’s earlier attack, he was still comfortably waiting within the barrier provided by the magic in the wall. The singed marks on his skin were already fading, causing him no apparent pain. “It’s only fair, I guess. I did call for my side some time ago, as well. They should be here any time now.”

  Almost as soon as he finished speaking, the horde of soul-puppeteered individuals parted like a scattered flock in the face of a predator. It was clear they were opening a path for something or someone making their way from within the city’s center.

  “He’s coming,” said Magnus, dragging Erin back to the encirclement by her neck. “I’m sorry, child. I failed you.”

  The cardinal immediately sensed something as well, something that made him turn to look in the direction of the city’s castle. Seeing the way the hordes had parted, he could tell a small convoy was making their way to his group. Something he was eventually able to see with full clarity.

  Led by a group of five men, a single individual was being carried on a palanquin, all the luxuries of a small kingdom served at his feet. His demeanor was no lesser than an emperor’s, his aura no weaker than an executioner’s. The robes on his body expressed his endless authority while the sword at his waist rendered a looming threat above everyone’s neck. It was obvious from his stoic expression he cared naught for the ones before him. To him, they were nothing but bugs at his mercy.

  “Looks like my fun is over,” said the apostle still resting against the wall. “Best of luck, then.”

  Without paying attention to the owner of those words, the group from the church tightened their formation, a horrible sense of foreboding pressuring their minds. Had they been attacked at this time, everything would have been over. Fortunately, the soul-puppeteered individuals seemed as enraptured as them, each and every pair of their eyes looking towards the newcomers walking in their direction.

  Silence had taken control of the church’s group. That is, until a single word broke them away from their sober state of mind…

  “Father?”

  Chapter 27

  Crossing Paths.

  The troops behind the prince reacted immediately, falling to their knees before anyone had a chance to stop them. “We greet his royal highness,” they echoed. Looks of devotion filled their eyes, evidently welcoming the man who had just arrived. Deep in their heart, he was their salvation, someone who would restore order to chaos.

  Oh, how wrong they were.

  “Fools,” muttered the cardinal. There was a white hue to his eyes, the ability he had used to identify the nature of the soul puppets making itself present once more. “He’s not the man you know of. As he is right now, he is no different from a demon made of dozens of composited souls.”

  Without any shock, the paladins and priests nodded their head in understanding. As men of faith, they were also able to sense something utterly wrong with the group approaching their direction. The cardinal’s words simply reinforced something they already knew: this was a dangerous man.

  But even then, there was always someone who wasn’t willing to listen.

  “Father!” yelled the prince, pushing away a few of the paladin and priests. He was far more impulsive than the soldiers, breaking out of the church’s formation as he ran towards the men carrying the king. “Is this your doing, father? Did you make a deal with the Church of Death?”

  Placing the palanquin down on the ground, the five men carrying the king drew out their weapons, aiming them at the prince’s throat. Their eyes stared at him vacantly, not a shred of impulsiveness to be seen as they awaited their orders. It was up to their leader to decide what to do with the young man.

  Their will was not their own.

  “Don’t.” With a hand raised to stop them, the king stood up from his seat, walking out of his cart as he looked at the prince with indifference. “You can be at ease, this foolish child is but this body’s progeny. There is no need to be wary of him.”

  “Answer me, father!” insisted the prince. “What is happening here?”

  “Foolish child, do you still fail to comprehend the situation you are in?” asked the king, blatantly ignoring the prince’s question. “I’m not your father — not in the way you think of him at least. While he might still reside within me, he is dead for all practical purposes.”

  Turning to look at the members of the Church of Light, the king smiled for the first time before he continued, “Now, I should introduce myself. My name is Argent, ruler of death, king of the undead, and from now on, emperor of this land. For the crime of stepping into my kingdom, I sentence you to death.”

  The prince stood in silence for a second, a twisted look of confusion taking place in his face as he processed the words he had just heard. “I knew it!” he eventually said. “Ever since those filthy merchants arrived into the kingdom, you stopped acting like yourself. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

  The king looked at the prince with a shred of amusement, no apparent desire to stop him for the time being.

  “It’s over,” continued the prince, his tone growing increasingly tinged with madness. “It was all over from the beginning. Even if I won against those filthy rebels, I would have never been able to bring glory back to this kingdom. My nation, my inheritance, my everything was doomed from the start. I curse you, father! For how you’ve failed me, I curse you all the way to your grave!”

  “Ah, I’ll deal with those rebels later,” promised the king, “You can be at ease about that, it’s the least I can do to solve the grudges of my host. Now then, please get out of my way — I have no time for broken toys.”

  *Slash*

  As soon as the king finished talking, the head of the prince fell into the ground, his body following soon after. In some ways, his death could be considered an act of mercy. As he was still in the middle of a mental breakdown, the former heir to the throne had failed to notice the blade swinging in the direction of his neck. It was a courtesy Argent had decided to bestow upon him as a service to the one who served as his host.

  “Now,” said Argent, completely unfazed by his killing. “I don’t assume the rest of you will be willing to behave properly. Will you?”

  “Like hell we will!” answered the cardinal. Even if his instincts were telling him to give up, his pride as a follower of the church was telling him to fight to his last breath. The enemy in front of him was som
eone so notorious the cardinal knew everything publicly available about him. He was to be dealt with at all costs.

  Pope to the Church of Death and leader of undead legions — Argent Koroxun. A man responsible for single-handedly expanding the scope of action of the Church of Death. Someone so reviled by every other church, that a ‘kill on sight’ order had been placed upon his head.

  “This land belongs to my goddess, there is no way I’ll let it fall into your filthy hands,” the cardinal roared. “I dare you to try to take it from us.”

  “Such a shame,” said Argent, shaking his head. “Say, Magnus, do you feel the same way as he does?”

  The old mage exhaled a murky breath full of longing before giving his answer, “I don’t take it you’ll let us leave if I say I do, will you?”

  “No, I won’t,” scolded Argent. “I gave you an opportunity to avoid this, but you still decided not to heed it. It’s only fair you pay the price for ignoring my advice.”

  The cardinal looked into Magnus’s eyes, his gaze seemingly requesting an explanation for Argent’s words. If not for the danger they were in, he would have taken those words as a sign of treason, even if they came from an enemy. Now wasn’t the time for them to squabble, however. They needed to work together to ensure even the smallest chance of survival. Something that became increasingly harder given their opponent’s command.

  “Kill them.”

  ✽✽✽

  As the sky turned dark, a blanket of stars covered the firmament. Winds swept away across the plains and the noise of the wildlife grew absent. The night had fallen, and it was time to rest.

  Feeling the drop in temperature was going to become disruptive to their march, the council leading the rebels agreed to order a full stop. They were already past the halfway mark in their way to Nyx’s capital, and they needed to be fully rested for what was to come. Being in their top condition when they took over the city would make everything far more enjoyable.

  Things didn’t always go as planned, however. Anxious for the victory that was to come, many of the soldiers decided to look for each other’s company to enjoy some drinks. Thus, clusters of people formed all across the camp, the beverages hidden amongst their supplies growing unsurprisingly depleted.

  Amongst all these groups, a young man decided to take the opportunity to rest. Unfamiliar with most of the troops, he kept to himself most of the time. Today was no exception.

  “Feeling anxious?” asked Amro. “Tomorrow will be the day you have waited for so long.”

  “Not at all,” answered Zaros. “This revenge is no longer about hatred, it’s a matter of principles instead.”

  “I see.”

  “What about you?” asked Zaros. “Getting that thing of yours will become considerably harder once we arrive to the kingdom. Don’t you think it would be better for us to steal it tonight?”

  “There’s no need,” replied Amro. “Fate has marked tomorrow as a very interesting day. It won’t be long until you understand why.”

  “Very well,” said Zaros. He knew better than to get into an argument with Amro regarding his crypticness. “So, more training tonight?”

  “Not at all, boy. We can leave that for another day. Tonight you rest.”

  “You’re not planning on taking control of my body in my sleep, are you?” asked Zaros. Having his body controlled by Amro for more than a week had left a deep sense of worry inside of him. One he couldn’t discard that easily.

  “Just go to sleep,” retorted the fallen death god. “I can’t believe you’re scorning me of all people. Every time I’ve done it has been entirely for your benefit. Have I not proved it by now?”

  “Fair enough,” admitted Zaros. He wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea, but he found himself unable to retort. “I guess you’re right. For now, I’ll follow your advice. Good night, Amro.”

  “Rest well, child.”

  ✽✽✽

  As the sun rose over the horizon, the destruction of the city became more and more apparent. Hundreds if not thousands of corpses were strewn across the ground, evidencing the fight that had transpired during the night. Facing that many enemies, even the troops of the church were close to being brought to their knees. Their healing abilities having fallen short of what was needed during a fight of this magnitude.

  Unlike them, the soul puppets didn’t grow tired. Robbed of their will, their focus was entirely on executing constant human wave tactics, slowly grinding away at the strength of their foes. Even the cardinal had to admit he had no way to counter such a strategy. Brute force methods were not elegant, but damn were they effective.

  Still, there were always those who were not willing to give up. And one man amongst them proved to be the incarnation of this concept: Magnus.

  Forced by the circumstances, the old mage kept drawing strength from anywhere he could. He did not give up his vigilance for a single second, all of his efforts placed on protecting his granddaughter to the best of his abilities. He had promised himself not a hair on her head would be damaged before he was dead. An oath he was committed to keeping.

  His efforts were so intense, in fact, that even Argent proved to be interested in what was happening.

  “Ah, family,” he said, “such a foolish thing to pursue. Not as grand as the path to immortality and never as important as the search for the truth. What a waste of potential.”

  Shaking his head, Argent eventually continued, “Then again, I can see why he would do it. The brand on the soul of that child is different from that of the priests. Not even the cardinal’s is as elaborate. The girl is a Chosen, no doubt. Perhaps there is more to why he keeps her by his side.”

  “Number Six,” he said, calling for one of his aides. He was one of the five standing to his side, a young man in his twenties whose face was filled with far more diligence than that of his peers. “Tell Number Two to add an exception for that girl’s soul in the formation. I would not mind experimenting on a Chosen to confirm a few of my theories.”

  “My lord,” replied the man with a bit of hesitation, “wouldn’t the gods grow furious if we did such a thing?”

  “Every single church wants us dead already, don’t they? So what if we give them another reason? It won’t affect our plans in the grand scale of things.”

  “Understood my lord, forgive me for my questioning your commands.”

  “Nonsense,” answered Argent. “Curiosity is the best path for self-improvement. Now go.”

  From start to finish, Argent had remained seated in his throne, his subordinates moving from time to time to obey each and every one of his commands. Only the one he called Number Two had been exempted from this, for his duty was to apply fixes and modifications to the magical glyphs inscribed in the city walls. It was a task that had required a willing subordinate to bind his soul to the magical formation, and therefore, something only he could complete.

  As for himself, Argent was busy spreading his consciousness over the thousands of puppets he had marked in the city. It was the first time he had undertaken a project of this magnitude. The choice to do so stemming from a mix of need and opportunity.

  Need because he couldn’t afford to leave the headquarters of his faith for the time being. There were far too many things that required his presence in there. Opportunity, because only somewhere so far away from the mainland could he afford to perform a ritual of this magnitude. Anywhere else would have required far more preparation and resources to circumvent local authorities.

  In the end, his subordinates had ended up infiltrating the city, posing as a merchant group. Offering all kinds of gadgets to the king, they had managed to pass on an ornamental sword to the former ruler, one of many accursed objects they had prepared beforehand. Through it, Argent was able to corrupt the man’s mind, eventually infusing a part of himself into his soul. It was a simple, yet devious plan.

  With the whole kingdom at his feet, Argent was sure he would be able to find the one responsible for stealing the lega
cy of his god. The blasphemer. The man who had dared to kill one of his favorite disciples.

  How ironic, thought Argent after a moment. Here I am thinking about her so soon after I criticized Magnus and his love for that child. Looks like I need to work on further cleansing my soul from worldly attachments.

  Time went by and Argent grew more skilled with his control over his puppets, slowly increasing the repertoire of strategies he could execute at any given time. Practice made perfect, and he was someone aiming for both. It had reached the point where even the paladins were struggling to face against the puppeteered civilians, the gap between their strengths being closed by a pure disparity in skill.

  Having a numerical disadvantage made it no easier. Even the reinforcements that had arrived during the night were slowly being driven to their knees, their attempt to rescue the cardinal and their brothers crushed under the endless consumption of innocent lives. The struggle only prolonged their suffering.

  “This should be enough,” said Argent.

  Deciding he still needed to save some of his puppets for the search of his target, Argent rose from his throne, making his way towards the church’s troops. A sardonic smile tugged the corner of his lips as the sea of people parted to make way for him. He was eager to test how a fully synchronized puppet would fare against fully equipped members of the church, even if they belonged to one of their less fortunate subsidiaries.

  “I’ve got to admit, you’ve lasted far longer than I thought you would,” said Argent, showing some amusement as he shrugged his arms. “My calculations placed the time of your death a few hours before sunrise. I failed to take into account how attached people of your kind are to their lives. Humans are full of surprises, I guess. Thank you for expanding my horizons.”

  As he noticed the group of mindless puppets encircling him and his subordinates taking a step back, the cardinal finally raised his eyes. His formerly elegant hair was now sticking to his forehead, accompanied by beads of sweat sliding down the sides of his face. As the leader of this group, he had always been at the forefront, commanding his troops in the search of an opportunity.