Chapter 53. Rise

  “Move your fucking arm!” Jeremiah screamed down at Gurg. Jeremiah’s magic dagger plunged down over and over again, sending great lashes of blood across the empty open floor in the room like a crimson whip.

  Gurg cried out as Jeremiah’s blade bit deep, but kept his arm raised to protect his face. Two hooked zombies were pulling him in opposite directions, raising him up off the ground, helpless.

  The screams escalated around them and Jeremiah’s blade fell again and again. Sharper than any surgeon’s scalpel, the dagger sliced through muscle and sinew, and as Gurg’s screams joined the others, it shattered Gurg’s mask to hack at the face below.

  Jeremiah kept stabbing even after Gurg’s voice had fallen silent and his body sagged against the zombies holding him. Cold fury pumped through his veins, disgust at every atrocity the butcher represented.

  When Jeremiah finally stopped, he was drenched in sweat as well as blood. The screams of the caged people had never ceased throughout the act of violence, but when he ripped off his mask and robes, they faded. Jeremiah’s ears rang in the quiet. He became aware of a hundred faces turned towards him as he panted, wearing only his simple trousers and magic armor.

  “Hey. Hey, let us out!” someone shouted. Others began to clamor as well, pleading for Jeremiah’s mercy.

  “Stay where you are!” said Jeremiah. The voices fell silent as the faces watched him fearfully, unsure if he was to be their savior or the harbinger of yet more horror.

  Little did they know. Jeremiah turned back to the butcher’s block, to where the book of Flesh awaited him patiently. It had been there when he walked in, it had always been there. He opened the tome to the ivory sheet, the page containing the instructions for the spell of abominations he had forbidden himself from learning, and read.

  The knowledge poured into his mind, taking up space in his memory. The spell was his now, known and mastered, a small miracle bestowed upon him by the powers of the book. Magical energy pulsed in his fingertips, radiating through him and begging to be used.

  Jeremiah breathed deeply. The putrid air was ripe with possibility. His mind was calm, quiet for the first time in many months. No more deceit, no more confusion, no more fear. Walking away from the cult now to report what he’d learned would just let more innocents die, would allow more chances for others to interfere with what he knew must happen. What he had the power to accomplish.

  He would deny his power no longer.

  The yawning sense of death drew him towards a heavy door at the far end of the room of cages. The door creaked on rusted hinges, and Jeremiah had to throw his bodyweight against it to force it open.

  The light from the door illuminated a mountain of bodies, bones, organs, and dismembered parts. Man and animal alike reposed in various states of decay, stacked and neatly oriented like cordwood. The pile was several times taller than he was, nearly reaching the ceiling, and longer than it was tall. Barrels lined the walls, and a monstrous grinder at one side of the room denoted its purpose of reducing all waste to a slurry.

  Jeremiah wasted no time. His fingers tingled with power, and he thrust his hands into the pile.

  The words came to him as though he’d known them all his life. His sense of touch expanded outwards, encompassing the entire pile. Cold, wet flesh became clay under his will. In a singular force of will, he compressed it all, and the pile became a single mass, one colossal and horrible corpse melted together like a thousand wax candles.

  Rise.

  Jeremiah’s knees buckled as he pumped magical necromantic energy into the immense corpse thing. Greater than the sum of its parts, more complex and more chaotic, it filled his mind like a massive solid object, no fragile bubble to be finessed and toyed with,

  The great bulk heaved as hundreds of hands and arms and feet stirred to life, contorted and rearranged within the mass, drawing upon the knowledge in Jeremiah’s mind to form a great network of muscles. With an awful convulsion, it reared back and reached the ceiling, a tower of death, a hundred handed giant.

  “Let’s go,” said Jeremiah.

  The back wall of the warehouse exploded as the abomination crashed through, lurching its way forward like a millipede on a multitude of scrabbling arms, legs, hooves, and claws. Dozens more limbs thrashed and grasped at nothing, hundreds of yawning mouths and protruding heads lolled and moaned in a dull roar.

  The screaming began again. Jeremiah ignored it, and sent the giant through the next wall, where Gurg had indicated weapons were stored. Despite its mass, the giant moved with dizzying speed.

  The warehouse armory contained hundreds of spears, axes, hammers, swords, and crossbows. The giant crashed into the displays and seemed to absorb the weapons into itself, passing them from hand to hand until it was like a grotesque army unto itself.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Jeremiah took one spear of his own. A lifetime ago, he had failed to kill a man with a spear just like this. He would fail no more.

  The hundred handed giant tore it's way free of the warehouse, splintering and shattering the facade with ease. “I’ll be back for you!” Jeremiah said to the caged people. He couldn’t be sure if they heard him over their own wails, or whether his words sounded like a promise or a threat, but he had work to do.

  Following the train of destruction out to the city, Jeremiah soon found one of the alarm bells. He yanked the rope hard, ringing the bell five times. Then he turned towards his abomination. In the larger space, it reared back to its full height, easily as tall as a two-story building, and bristled with weapons.

  The abomination waited for him, quivering with anticipation, and Jeremiah climbed, the protruding limbs carrying him aloft. Atop his monstrous steed, he rode towards the nexus of the city. Answering alarm bells were beginning to echo in the cavernous expanse.

  The first militia members rounded a corner, weapons drawn to respond to the source of the alarm. Dozens of masked men and women skidded to a stop as their eyes fell upon the horror.

  The hundred-handed giant reared back, brandishing its weapons. A hundred mouths gnashed their teeth and moaned, a sickly chorus emanating from deep within the creature as the militia members looked on in stunned horror.

  Jeremiah looked down at their cowering from atop of his giant and was disgusted. “I am everything you’ve ever wanted!”

  The abomination surged forward. The hundred handed giant tore across the ground faster than a man could sprint. The militia members screamed and scattered.

  Most were crushed beneath the abomination’s bulk, while those that fled were slaughtered by press of weapons that it wielded. Jeremiah sent acid balls towards the few that managed to retreat, taking grim satisfaction in their cries of pain. “I am your victory! Rejoice, my will be done!” Their fear confused him. Isn’t this what they wanted? Isn’t this exactly what they wanted for him?

  Rise.

  From the bodies of the militia, he raised a swarm of skeletons and zombies, stacking bubbles into the space remaining in his mind. The abomination was soon thronged by undead, like flies around livestock.

  Kill.

  The hoard began to move.

  Wait.

  There were slaves here. Innocents.

  They would use them as shields, of course they would, and Jeremiah knew he couldn’t distinguish between them through his thin connection with the undead.

  He looked down, frustration mounting. Was this it? Was he already shackled? He saw the faint lines traced in his armor, the perfect examples of control. Unknowable words, organized by a master’s hand.

  No, he wasn’t done yet.

  Jeremiah closed his eyes, focusing on his connection with the undead, and the expertise of enchanting that lived in his mind.

  Search; If masks, kill. Otherwise ignore.

  It was like writing in his mind, a script of intention born of the words he inscribed on metal and wood. They weren't words he knew in terms of enchanting, but he understood how to express them.

  The undead began to move. They felt his intent, they were his intent.

  Jeremiah released his undead into the nearby buildings. They broke down doors, and tore to pieces any masked people inside. There were no innocents among the cult members, as far as he was concerned. If they were here, if they turned a blind eye to the evils surrounding them, they deserved to die. It was a sentence Jeremiah was more than willing to hand down.

  Buildings shook as the giant barreled onward. They were reaching more populated areas now. The first unsuspecting people were dashed to pieces before they even had a chance to comprehend what they were seeing. Jeremiah raised those bodies intact enough to become undead, and sent them to join the horde.

  The alarm bells began ringing again. Jeremiah welcomed it. Let people flee, let them hide, let them come and fight. It made little difference.

  The screams were rising now as Jeremiah sent the giant careening through the city streets, targeting the densest knots to trample and slashing at the rest.

  Then the skeletons and zombies came. They sought out the hiders, the errant runners, and the cowerers. Pulling them into the light and devouring them. Jeremiah watched in satisfaction as a zombie shoved aside a trio of slaves who had been interposed to protect their master. The zombie fell upon him as he screamed for aid, until his voice cut short when the zombies tore off his lower jaw. He died afraid, he died alone, and as the slaves ran, Jeremiah smiled.

  Rise.

  The bells clanged all over the city now. Jeremiah directed the giant towards the main entrance, where so many had already gathered in their attempt to escape. The hundred handed giant careened not into the tunnel, but against the wall around it. Smashing the chains to smithereens and sending great rocks tumbling down onto the people escaping. The giant whipped its bulk into the walls over and over again, Jeremiah hanging on for dear life, until the tunnel gave way and collapsed completely.

  There would be no escape.

  The market square now bustled with a very different energy as people fled before the giant’s approach. Jeremiah urged it forward, crushing market stalls and cult members. He saw his undead struggling to breach a barricaded building. The giant reared up and threw itself down onto the roof, collapsing the building completely.

  There would be no refuge.

  Checking in with his undead, Jeremiah realized they were now encountering more unmasked people than not. Perhaps the number of cult members was truly dwindling, or perhaps some were catching onto the fact that only masked people were being targeted. If so, there was a simple enough solution.

  If no masks, bring here.

  The undead were not gentle. Dozens of people were carried, escorted and dragged to the square. Any that tried to flee were run down and dragged back again. Satisfied, Jeremiah dismounted the hundred-handed giant, bringing the spear with him. The giant would continue to rampage on its own. Jeremiah had other concerns.

  my Amazon page, please do, and leave a review.

  Jank

  Dungeon Core

  Sequence Break