Chapter 37: Chapter 37

These creatures, once human, now are something else entirely. They walk with a relentless, unyielding determination, undeterred by the injuries they had sustained in previous encounters. Their movements are eerie and unnerving, as if death has not yet fully taken hold of them. They move with a strange, otherworldly grace, as if they are dancing rather than marching towards me. Their limbs twisting and contorted in unnatural ways, yet they move with a fluidity that is almost mesmerizing.

The only indication of their undead state are their eyes - once full of life, now empty and soulless. They stare back at me with a blank, unseeing gaze, as if their souls has been sucked out of them. The eyes are the windows to the soul, but these creatures have none. Their eyes are nothing more than empty, black voids, devoid of any emotion or humanity.

They approache me with a terrifying, unshakable calm, as if the very concept of death no longer holds any power over them. Their faces are twisted in a grotesque, inhuman sneer, as if they are enjoying the terror they cause. They come closer and closer, their steps becoming louder and louder, until they are upon me. I can feel their putrid breath on my face and smell the rotting flesh of their bodies. 

With a look of disdain etched on my face, I gracefully wield my sword, the metal glinting in the dim light of the battlefield. My movements are fluid and almost hypnotic as I speak with a voice filled with contempt. "Do you truly believe that these undead creatures, who we have already defeated once, have any chance of overcoming us once again?" My words are punctuated by the sharp, crisp sound of my sword slicing through the air. 

With a swift and precise strike, I easily cut through the undead that stand before me, their bodies splitting in two as the remnants of their blood spill out from the wounds inflicted by my blade. The man, adorned in flowing robes of rich fabrics, gracefully lowers himself into the seat upon the throne that he had conjured into existence with his powerful magical abilities. He fixates his piercing gaze upon me, his expression one of mild irritation as he gingerly cradles his injured right shoulder.

"As I had previously stated," he begins, his words laced with a hint of frustration, "they are unable to do so. Their powers did not augment in any manner when I bestowed upon them these resplendent forms." Despite the deep wound on his shoulder, it is clear that it is in the process of healing, the edges of the injury already beginning to knit together.

With a determined expression on his face, the man extends his arm out towards the undead that had been felled by my blade. His arm is tense and rigid, as if he is ready for battle. His eyes are focused and intense, radiating a sense of power and control. He speaks with a confident and commanding tone, "However, I possess the ability to heal these undead with my own magic. "

"You all will fight against my reanimated corpses until either you perish or my mana runs out. I wonder, which one of you will be the first to fall?" As he speaks, I notice that the wound on his right shoulder has already been healed, a testament to the power of his magic.

As the robed man slowly pulls the hood of his cloak backwards, the full extent of his aged and wrinkled countenance is revealed to those who are fortunate enough to lay their eyes upon him. His face is a testament to the centuries he has spent delving into the dark arts, etched with the weight of knowledge and secrets beyond mortal comprehension.

Deep-set and hooded, his eyes seem to contain ancient wisdom and knowledge that only a select few are privy to. His thin lips are pulled into a perpetual sneer, as if forever disdainful of the living and their petty concerns. But despite the wrinkles and signs of age on his face, there is a strange vitality to his skin that seems to be a result of the dark magic that flows through his veins, which has kept him unnaturally youthful.

The man, regally seated on his grand throne, fixates his piercing gaze upon us. His countenance is resolute and unyielding as he speaks, "There is no need to hide my face any longer." The harsh reality of his words sinks in as we are besieged by his relentless horde of undead minions, attacking us from all sides. 

Carl stands tall and confident, wielding his spear with ease as he faces the horde of undead. The creatures, with their decaying flesh and empty eyes, seem to have risen from the grave to attack him. But Carl is not intimidated by their appearance. He is a skilled warrior, trained in the art of combat, and he knows that these undead are no match for him.

With swift and precise movements, he dispatches each undead with ease, striking them with his spear and leaving none standing. His muscles ripples with each strike, his determination and focus etched on his face. The undead had no chance against him, and soon the ground is littered with their lifeless bodies.

As he emerged victorious from the battle, his breathing steady and his spear still in hand, he turned his attention to the one controlling the undead. "Makes no difference," he says, his voice calm yet menacing. "You can heal them as much as you like. But you unfortunately don't have that leisure" Carl stands tall, his confidence and skill clear to see, ready for whatever was next to come.

Richard, the knight, emerges from behind the unsuspecting man, his sword glinting in the moonlight, casting a brilliant golden hue throughout the surrounding area. The knight's expression is fierce and determined as he raises the sword high above his head, ready to deliver a fatal blow to the necromancer, who he deems a vile and dangerous lunatic.

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"Perish, you vile lunatic," Richard exclaims as he brings the sword crashing down towards the necromancer's head. But to his surprise, his attack is abruptly halted by two swords that seem to materialize out of thin air. The necromancer is being protected by two undead warriors, each wielding a sword, and standing by his side. These undead warriors were previously hidden from view, but now they stand ready to defend their master from Richard's attack.

The man, with a hearty laugh escaping his lips, looks behind him and towards the knight with a sense of amusement and disbelief on his face as he speaks. His eyes, filled with a hint of mischief, seem to sparkle with a hint of challenge as he says, "Do you honestly believe that I am such a naive and gullible individual, that I would not take the necessary precautions to ensure my safety in these dire circumstances?" He asks, his voice filled with sarcasm and a hint of disdain. 

He continues, "Surely you must understand that I am not one to be underestimated, and have taken every possible measure to protect myself from any potential danger that may come my way." He finishes his statement with a confident grin, his lips curled in a smirk.

I stand alongside my companion Carl as we both fixate our gaze on the man standing before us, who exudes a cocky and arrogant demeanor. A feeling of disdain instantly wells up within me as I take in his haughty attitude. I can't help but speak out, "It seems that your arrogance has made you senile. We've been waiting for you to tell us where the children are, but it's clear that you are no longer of any use to us."

My hand instinctively tightens its grip around the hilt of my sword, channeling an immense amount of mana into it. With a swift and fluid motion, I swing my sword and the undead that had been surrounding us are instantly annihilated with a single strike. The man's arrogant expression is replaced with one of shock and disbelief as he looks upon the scene in front of him.

The once arrogant and overbearing man, who had been seated upon his throne with an air of dominance, suddenly springs to his feet in a state of complete and utter shock and disbelief. His eyes widen with amazement as he bellows out in a fit of fury, "What in the world have you just done?!", His voice booms through the area, echoing off the cold stone walls. The knight, who has just expertly dispatched the two undead creatures, stands there also in a state of surprise and confusion, his expression mirroring that of the necromancer. 

I approache my opponent, the sound of my footsteps reverberating through the area. The hard concrete floor beneath me crack and break with each step, a testament to the immense amount of mana flowing through my body. With a sense of purpose, I come to a stop in front of him and speak with a hint of sarcasm, "Oh, I see. So you haven't noticed." 

I rais my sword high above my head, the metal glinting in the dim light, as I prepare to end this battle once and for all with a swift and powerful strike. My grip on the hilt of the sword is firm and steady, my muscles tense and ready for the final blow. With fierce determination etched on my face, I am ready to deliver the decisive blow.

But before i do i decide to indulge this fool, "Recently, I have been able to detect intense disturbances in the flow of mana in the vicinity. The vibrations are emanating from deep beneath us, leading me to believe that something significant may be occurring there. It is possible that the location could be where the children are being held captive." i say.

The man utter disbelief looks at me for a second and than at the ground, the area were i have been sensing the clashing of mana. "This can't be, has someone discovered it" he says.

The man standing before me had an expression of utter disbelief etched on his face as he turned his gaze towards me. His eyes met mine for a moment, before he shifted his focus to the ground beneath us. The place that i have been perceiving a disturbance in the flow of mana in that area, and it seemed as though he had noticed it as well. "This is impossible," he exclaimed in a voice filled with shock and dismay. "Could it be that someone has stumbled upon that location?" His eyes were still locked on the ground, deep in thought, as he muttered these words.

I grasp the hilt of my sword with both hands, lifting it high above my head. The blade shimmers with a brilliant blue light as it is imbued with mana, the very essence of magical power. The air around the sword begins to warp and bend in strange, otherworldly ways, as if the sword's presence is distorting the very fabric of reality. With a fierce cry, I bring the sword down in a powerful arc, aimed directly at my opponent's neck.

As the blade descends, I can see the fear and desperation in my opponent's eyes, knowing that his fate is sealed. But just before the blade makes contact, I speak the words "Begun fool" with a cold and calculated tone. And with that, the sword connects with its target, slicing through flesh and bone with ease, separating my opponent's head from his body in one swift motion. The sight of the blood and gore is almost overwhelming, but I stand victorious, victorious over my foe.

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