Judgement - Legacy Book 4 (Legacy Series)

by Ryan Attard

  Standing beside it, waving his hands in the air as he chanted, stood the Necromancer — or at least that was what the Wanted posters called him.

  I recognized his dark robe — a sleeveless tunic that came down to his knees which he kept open, revealing his bare chest — his mangled long hair, greasy and dirty; his face covered in black symbols, drawn on with what I hoped was permanent marker because they significantly improved his gaunt and skeletal visage.

  The Necromancer had been a wanted criminal for about a year or so — a jackass with a penchant for stealing corpses from morgues and cemeteries to use for his experiments. Necromancers were some of the most dangerous Specialists out there, literally dealing in death. They created an imbalance between the cycle of life and death, and although most of them just controlled the dead bodies — ghouls — like puppets on a string, the energy required usually meant that something had to be sacrificed.

  As it turned out, this guy was not as awesome as the rest of his ilk. For one thing, he started out as a petty criminal, going in and out of jail, and my sister suspected that he had learned magic via textbooks rather than under the tutelage of a real Specialist, and simply chose to focus on the creepiest one he could think of.

  I guess some people have to overcompensate.

  I watched as the Necromancer pulled out several vials from his robes. The foul stench coming from them made me regret my decision to stay downwind of him: I resisted the urge to gag and vomit. The smell of blood and decay was not something that you ever got used to.

  The Necromancer poured the contents of the vials all around him. At first, I thought the process was random, but once the stench-induced tears dried up, I saw that he kept glancing at something small and glowing — his cellphone.

  Who keeps a Necromantic shopping list on their phone?

  Have some class and buy a damn scroll.

  “Rise!”

  At his command, the ground shook and the tombs where the disgusting liquid had landed on cracked open, shattering from the inside as decayed corpses rose to the surface.

  One by one, six ghouls made it to the top, each clumsily breaking through the restrictions of six feet of dirt and a heavy wooden casket. They were in various states of decay, but all looked fresh enough. The oldest one couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old.

  I frowned. The rule with Necromancy was, the older, the better. Sure, it took more energy to animate an old bag of bones rather than a fresh stiff, but sometimes the recently deceased could still have some of their original essence inside them. Your soul doesn’t just up and leave the moment a doctor declares you dead — our essence, which is what eventually becomes ectoplasm, was technically magic, and a part of our physical bodies.

  And that made a Necromancer’s ability to control a ghoul that much harder.

  So why was this genius summoning fresh bodies?

  I could only think of one reason: information.

  “I summoned you all here because I need you to answer some questions,” the Necromancer announced.

  Point, Erik.

  The Necromancer’s attention turned to his cellphone again and he held it up.

  “What can you tell me about this?” he asked, waving his phone from one ghoul to another.

  The first ghoul grunted at the phone and recoiled from the light.

  “Just look at the fucking picture and tell me what you know about it,” the Necromancer snapped.

  I felt magic charge the air as he pumped more juice into the spell he was using to keep the ghouls alive.

  “That’s a book,” groaned one of them.

  I tried not to squeal in surprise.

  Ghouls that talk?

  I thought I had seen everything in my years of dealing with the bizarre, but sometimes the universe still threw a curveball my way.

  The Necromancer turned towards the one who had spoken, a pot-bellied man with white hair and a grizzled look.

  “Yes, I know it’s a book,” the Necromancer said impatiently. “It’s a very important book. Where did you last see it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How could you not know?” The Necromancer kicked some dirt. “You all worked at Ryleh Corp. And according to my source, you were the last people working in that damn storage unit before the book disappeared. One of you must have seen something.”

  The ghoul who had spoken shrugged. “It’s a book,” he repeated.

  “That’s it, you’re done here.” The Necromancer poked the old man in the forehead with his index finger and traced a symbol. The old man fell limp on the ground.

  “How about the rest of you?” the Necromancer said. “Anyone feel like helping me out here?”

  None of the other ghouls spoke up.

  “How about you… what the hell is your name?”

  “Reginald.”

  I reared up when I heard his voice, before remembering I was supposed to be stealthy and ducked back down.

  But sure enough there he was, Reginald the pervy ghost, once again roaming the earth.

  “Why am I here?” Reginald asked.

  “You were one of the last people to see this book,” the Necromancer answered as he stabbed the screen of his phone with his opposite finger.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Reginald answered.

  “What?”

  “I was a janitor. In a high school. I only worked for Ryleh part-time.” Reginald cocked his fat bald head. “I had a buddy who took care of the roster and he would hook me up with a few extra gigs.”

  The Necromancer looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

  “You summoned me.”

  “To tell me about the fucking book!” the Necromancer screamed.

  “The book?” Reginald paused. “I was working late one night when some guys brought in a shipment.” He glanced at the old guy’s corpse and looked back up. “They said it was full of antiques and I really like antiques, so when everyone left I went in to sneak a peak and maybe grab something they won’t miss. I opened a few crates, but whatever they had inside was too big, and everything looked rusty. Then there was this one crate that gave me a bad vibe, but I opened it anyway, and inside was that book.”

  “And?” the Necromancer pressed on. “What happened? Where did you hide it?”

  “I didn’t take it,” Reginald said defensively. “I touched it and the next thing I know, I’m a ghost floating around my workplace.”

  “So you just touched this and died?” The Necromancer smiled with glee. “That’s great. That means this is the real deal.”

  “Glad I could help,” Reginald muttered half-heartedly. “Do I get anything in return?”

  “You get to move on,” the Necromancer said.

  “At least turn me into a ghost and let me go back to my school,” Reginald pleaded.

  The Necromancer frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I was in a girl’s locker room before that fucking wizard found me, and I miss them.” Reginald rubbed his hands. “They all had nice, perky titties.”

  I took all of my willpower not to gag. Even the Necromancer looked disturbed.

  “Wait,” he said. “What wizard?”

  Oh, shit.

  I was the last one to dispose of Reginald when he had been a ghost. Ghosts were tricky in that they were just ectoplasm — residual energy. So when a wizard was around them, they retained a bit of that energy, like a fingerprint on a greasy surface.

  Reginald took a few steps ahead from the group and pointed at the tombstone me and Arnold were crouched behind.

  “The one hiding over there.”

  I sighed and motioned for Arnold to stay put.

  The Necromancer backed away behind his ghouls.

  “Come out. Now!”

  I stood up in full view of the Necromancer and his five undead goons, before glaring at Reginald.

  “Reginald,” I said, extracting my gun. “There is a four letter word in the English language that perfectly desc
ribes people like you. It starts with a C.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off by shooting him in the face. Reginald exploded into a million chunks.

  “Now then,” I continued, turning to the Necromancer. “I’m assuming you’re this week’s bad guy, and honestly, I’ve been through enough shit this evening. So do us both a favor and save me from having to kick your ass by giving up.”

  The Necromancer didn’t get any of that.

  “You!” he screamed, pointing at me.

  I sighed again. “Why does everyone say that when they see me?”

  “Don’t interfere with my plans, wizard.”

  I pointed at the shattered tombstones from where the ghouls emerged. “Then clean up after yourself. And wash your damn face. Oh, and stop reanimating dead people, you creep.”

  The Necromancer reached inside his jacket and pulled out two of the smallest guns I’d ever seen. Light from the mausoleum illuminated their surfaces, reflecting off of their weird shape.

  One of them was in the shape of a fish; the other, a crocodile.

  He pointed the two plastic water guns at my direction.

  Before I could even begin to ask what the hell did he think he could accomplish with a pair of children’s toys, the Necromancer spread his arms and sprayed.

  The same foul-smelling concoction rained down, and some of it splattered on my leather coat. I saw it drip like blood, sloshing red and vicious over every tombstone in the vicinity.

  “Clean this up,” he said, activating his spell.

  “Clean it yourself,” I said, aiming my gun at him and pulling the trigger.

  One of the ghouls moved in, blocking my shot, while at the same time dozens of tombs exploded in a shower of dirt, splintered wood and marble. Reanimated corpses rose from their graves en masse, surrounding me, while the Necromancer laughed maniacally.

  “Get him!”

  Chapter 11

  Many people wonder as to what’s the difference between a ghoul and a regular zombie. Well, a ghoul is a reanimated corpse that retains some semblance of humanity due to being directly controlled by whoever brought it back to life.

  A zombie, on the other hand, runs solely on instinct, and that is to attack, kill, and eat whatever is in front of it that isn’t already dead.

  I avoided a lunge from one such zombie, tucked my gun under its chin and blew its head off.

  “Zombies. I thought we were done with the whole zombie thing.”

  Clearly, no one had told the zombies that.

  I switched my gun over to my left hand and pulled out Djinn, just in time to swipe at another zombie and sever its hand. The zombie paused for a fraction of a second before it snapped its jaws at me. I kicked it in the chest with enough force to cave in bones and it fell motionless.

  I fired two more shots, blasting one zombie per shot, before pouring magic into Djinn and unleashing a wide beam of energy that threw most of my assailants on their asses.

  “Is that the best you got?” I yelled at the Necromancer.

  He was hiding behind the ghouls he had summoned. Hands extended, he chanted undertone, using words that I couldn’t discern due to the zombie groaning all around me. But despite not getting the gist of the spell, there was no denying its potency.

  Magic rained down around him and I wondered just how he had become so powerful. I mean, the worst this guy had ever done was steal bodies and take them out for a stroll — since when did he have this kind of juice?

  I rushed at him, trying to stop whatever he was going to do before he actually did it, but the zombies got in the way. I had never tested the limits of my healing powers against a zombie’s bite and I wasn’t willing to risk it now.

  I blasted away with Djinn, before stabbing the fattest zombie I could find and embedding my short sword inside its stomach. I fired at its head, blowing it clean off, and used the zombie’s giant body as a battering ram against his friends.

  I poured magic into Djinn, elongating the blade to ten times its size, causing it to shine in painfully bright azure light. I swung the sword around me, and the magic blade cleaved through entire ranks of undead, slicing effortlessly through them like a hot knife through butter.

  Djinn retracted back to its normal size, blade smoking and hissing, and I once again turned my attention to the Necromancer — who had just finished his spell.

  Runes glowed on the four ghouls, sickly green light snaking over their decaying flesh. Bodies that had once belonged to weak men were engorged to nearly eight feet, thick muscle roping around bones the size of scaffolding struts. The light from the runes extended behind their bodies and hardened into black, rusted armor. Thick round wooden shields materialized on their left arms, while wicked-looking battle axes appeared in their right hands.

  But what really sold it was the horned helmet on their heads — thick plated metal with a pair of white enamel horns, stained with what I hoped was just blood.

  The four undead monsters exhaled simultaneously, emitting jets of steam as the green light that coursed inside them pulsated foul life into them.

  “Behold,” the Necromancer sneered. “Draugs.”

  “It’s actually Draugar,” I replied reflexively.

  “What?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “One Draugr, many Draugar. That’s what you have.” I rolled my shoulders. “What kind of a Necromancer doesn’t even know the proper name of the creatures he’s summoning? Oh, that’s right, a fake one.”

  The Necromancer snarled, and the four Draugar followed suit, emitting a rumble that hit me in the stomach like the kick of a bass speaker.

  Smart move, Erik. Keep antagonizing the guy with the undead vikings. That usually ends well.

  The Necromancer exhaled loudly. “Whatever their names-”

  “Draugar,” I interjected.

  He growled and even in the low light from the mausoleum, I could see his neck veins throbbing. He looked at me with pure hatred.

  “Kill him.”

  The four undead beasts rushed at me. And I do mean rushed.

  Usually the undead weren’t exactly known for their agility, although after facing those Jiang-shi, I was seriously reconsidering my knowledge of undead bodily constitutions.

  The Draugar charged like vikings, screaming bloody murder, and raising their ginormous axes over their heads.

  I fired at one of them and caught him in the face. A giant hole appeared in his cheek and he fell to the ground, before picking up his axe and scrambling right back up.

  Meanwhile, a pair of them swung at me. I ducked an axe aimed at my neck and used Djinn to block the other.

  But I was a tiny, skinny dude and these were freaking Vikings.

  I caught the brunt of the blow with my short sword, but the heavy head of the axe was only deflected and I felt something bite deep into my ribs. The weight behind the blow sent me reeling backwards and I lost my footing.

  The other Draugr brought his axe down again and I managed to block, this time by charging Djinn with magic. A third Draugr appeared out of nowhere and charged, shield held forward. He ran me over like a quarterback going for the goal and I was thrown into the air before rolling painfully on the ground.

  I felt the familiar rush of heat and cold as my healing magic took effect, mending my dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs where the Draugr had shield-bashed me.

  At the same time, something stung my other side and a foul stench filled the air. I lifted my shirt up and saw a cut from where the axe had nicked me. The wound was shallow but covered in necrosis and dead flesh that was spreading. Clumps of dead, putrid-smelling flesh was flaking off as my healing magic fought back whatever Necromancy was in those Draugar’s weapons.

  I aimed my gun at them and fired. They huddled together, their shields raised — and so did not see me when I holstered my gun and ran towards them.

  “My turn, bitches.”

  I planted my foot on the rim of the closest shield and vaulted over the Draugar, all the whi
le charging Djinn with magic. I landed behind them and spun, swinging Djinn at the same time. The azure blade, engorged with magical energy, cleaved through one Draugr, before being blocked by the other two, who used the shafts of their axes to stop me from bisecting them.

  The fourth Draugr came near and swung his axe, and I stepped out of the way.

  “Let’s see how you like it,” I said, bringing my sword down on his hand and severing his limb. The hand, still holding the axe, fell limp on the ground but the Draugr remained unfazed.

  He kicked me away, while his buddies stepped in front of him, flanking him from either side.

  Meanwhile, the Draugr I had bisected earlier glowed green and mashed himself together again, before standing up, good as new. Even the disarmed Draugr — literally — simply grew another hand, complete with an axe, while the severed limb dissolved into sickly green mist.

  “Okay,” I panted. “This might be a little tricky.”

  The Necromancer laughed. “Only fire can stop the Draugr,” he said. “Your weapons are useless.”

  “How about mine?”

  A blinding flash of light exploded next to the Necromancer, sending him flying over several tombstones. One of the Draugar turned and ran towards the new threat, only to be batted away.

  From the light emerged a man dressed in white robes. He had leather belts and straps covering his body, with bits of armor covering his arms, shoulders and legs. An assortment of daggers, knives, vials and pouches decorated his hips and chest, while in his hands he held a thick bleach-white staff, with a cruciform spear tip glinting wickedly as it caught the light coming from the mausoleum.

  As the man turned to look towards me, I noticed his long snow-white hair, tied behind his neck with several thin straps of leather, and a white trimmed beard. His eyes were electric blue and seemed to glow in the dark.

  “Draugar,” he said in a thick Slavic accent. “How quaint.”