by Neven Iliev
“Are you okay?! What happened to you?!”
“Nothing much. I was just giving those golem guys a try to see how strong they were, and I got a bit carried away and challenged three of them at once a couple of times.”
“So? How were they?” Xera asked curiously.
“They’re hard, and faster than they look. I’d guess about as strong as a Level 60 or so adventurer. They’re good with those shields, and the spears are pretty bad as well, but those short swords are the worst. They’re much sharper than they look.”
She wiggled her stumps, as if to prove her point.
“Swords? What swords?” asked Xera.
“They pull them out from somewhere if you break their shafts. They get super pissed and start attacking like mad. Must have some golem-specific Enrage Skills.”
The abilities she was referring to would trigger, usually automatically, whenever their user got hit in a weak point, had their HP reduced below a certain threshold, or other such unfavourable circumstances. Though the exact activation conditions varied from one Skill to the next, they all shared the trait that they were not preemptive measures, but reactionary ones. Their effects were also far more potent than other Skills, making them the perfect tool for turning the tables at the last moment.
The Berserker Job had quite a few of those abilities at its disposal, which was why and how Kora knew so much about them.
“Hmpf,” Xera scoffed. “Shouldn’t be a problem once Master gets back.”
“Yeah. Wish it’d hurry up already, though.”
“… How can you two be so calm?!” Fizzy shrieked. “Bitchface lost two arms and a leg, and you two are just-”
“You wanna die, you little shit?!”
“Waaah!”
Kora’s casual air disappeared in an instant as she let her bloodlust flow, and the poor gnome could do little more than scream at the unexpected threat and jump behind Xera for cover.
“Come on,” the fiend growled at her. “Call me that again! See what happens!”
She stood on one leg, taking a few threatening hops towards Fizzy and the slightly sniggering succubus. The fact that she was missing a full third of her body mass somehow made her even more intimidating in the smaller woman’s eyes.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorryyyy!” she pleaded.
“Like fuck you don’t know! I told you to only call me by my name, didn’t I?!”
“But I did! It’s Bitchface McWeaksauce, isn’t it?! … Huh?”
Kora had grandly introduced herself yesterday, so Fizzy was dead certain she’d gotten her name right. So how come it didn’t feel right? The fiend in question felt her anger subside a bit at the strangeness of the situation. Her eyes moved between the succubus and the gnome, as if she were trying to piece something together.
“You… Your name was Corny Fizzle-something, right?”
“N-no. It’s Cornhole Jizzbu… cket?”
“…”
The fiend and the gnome stared at each other in confusion, until the awkward silence was suddenly broken by Xera, who could no longer contain her laughter.
“Ahhhh-hahahaha! Hah hah haaaahahaha!”
It was a rapid, joyful, mocking laugh that made it abundantly clear that she was laughing at them, not with them.
“You whore!” Kora roared. “I’ll get you for this!”
Realising exactly which part of her memory had been tampered with seemed to dispel the effects of the Dreamweaver Skill from Fizzy’s mind. The implanted memories faded away and the real ones rose to the surface. The realisation that Xera had indeed tampered with her mind made the gnome so angry that she seemed to come right back around to a strange calm.
“Uhm, excuse me, Koralenteprix?” she asked, an almost innocent smile on her lips.
Hearing someone properly call her by name drastically improved the fiend’s mood, and she gave Fizzy a toothy smile while puffing out her chest.
“Yep, that’s me!”
“Can you hold down Snack for me, please?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
The fiend leapt through the air and crashed right into the still-giggling succubus, knocking them both to the ground and pinning her under her weight. Fizzy stepped over to the slightly-stunned Xera’s head and gripped her tool-turned-weapon with both hands.
*THWACK*
She smashed the succubus’s face in repeatedly as Kora kept her pinned to the ground.
*THWACK*
Fizzy did not hold back in the slightest as she really put her back into each downward swing.
*THWACK*
Both Kora and Xera were a Warlock’s familiars. That meant two very important things: they were unable to go against direct orders, and re-summoning them would get rid of any and all injury, even death.
*THWACK*
Boxxy had explained this to both Fizzy and Valeria the day before. However, in her shock at seeing Kora’s mutilated form, Fizzy had briefly forgotten.
*THWACK*
But now that she remembered, she rationalised that it was fine to kill the bitch, right?
*THWACK*
It was what the masochistic whore seemed to want, so it was fine if she smashed her head open like a fucking tomato, right?!
*THWACK*
She stopped after the seventh hit, holding her bloodied wrench over her head. Was it really okay? She decided to ask Kora, just in case.
“It’s fine if I smash her to death, right?”
“Probably not,” the fiend said. She sounded disappointed. “The boss has to waste MP bringing her back, and that makes it a bit cranky.”
“Oh…”
“I think she’s good for one more hit though.”
“Oh!”
*THWACK*
Fizzy exhaled as she felt her tense body relax. She put away her weapon and smiled weakly at Kora.
“Thanks. I really needed that. Hitting things in the face is strangely relaxing, huh?”
Even though violence was the primary cause of the gnome’s stress, it had nevertheless been just the outlet she’d been looking for.
“I know, right? I gotta say, you hit well for a pipsqueak!”
“Could you not call me that?”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em, pipsqueak. I mean, you’re so tiny you barely come up to my kneecaps!”
“Bet I’m taller than you when you’re at 0 HP.”
“Oh? Is that a challenge?”
The fiend glared at the gnome, her eyes glinting with more of the primal bloodthirst that only a fiend could conjure. Her stare alone was enough to make chills run down Fizzy’s spine.
“E-easy now. Y-you can’t kill me, remember? Your boss forbade you!”
“Who said anything about killing?” Kora spoke in a low, slow rumble. “I can still bitchslap you for being an uppity cunt who doesn’t know her place. That would only mostly kill you.”
Whatever confidence Fizzy had gained from hitting Xera disappeared in an instant and she bowed down on all fours, her forehead touching the ground. It was a magnificent grovel, a perfect ten out of ten if someone were to put a score on it.
“I’m sorry! I got carried away and became cocky! Please forgive me, Miss Koralenteprix! Ma’am!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, pipsqueak.”
Part Four
“Welcome back, Master.”
Xera greeted Boxxy respectfully upon its return. Her face had completely recovered from being smashed in by a pissed off gnome thanks to her shapeshifting abilities. Even if the Mimic didn’t particularly care about it, she couldn’t possibly allow her beloved master to see such a shameful sight. Unless, of course, it would earn her the rapturous torture she desired.
“Hey boss!” Kora said casually. “Anything exciting happen while you were gone?”
“Nope. Got my shiny dagger back with no problems.”
“Huh? Then where’s the lich?” she asked while looking around.
“Dropped
Nasty off on the way,” Boxxy answered. “She’s getting her undead together and said she’ll need a while to prepare.”
“Oh. So… can you do something about this, now?” she wiggled her stumps.
The Mimic responded to her request by forcefully dismissing, then re-summoning her. Once the fiend had all her limbs back, Boxxy finally turned its attention towards the gnome, forming a head in order to address her.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Wh-what? I mean, yes! I slept very well!”
She wasn’t just saying so, either. The Paladin looked noticeably healthier than she had yesterday.
“Good.”
Boxxy had done a great deal of thinking during the night, mostly about the gnome, and it had realised that it was simply pushing her too hard. At first it had been because it had felt rushed by the Quest’s ambiguous time limit, but that was no longer the case. While the Spymaster was no doubt still hunting it, the Empire was a huge place, so the Mimic could afford to slow down and treat Fizzy with a bit more care.
“From now on,” it continued, “tell me if you feel tired or hungry, and I will let you rest.”
“Wh- R- Really?!”
“Yes.”
It had decided to think of her not as a mushy meat-thing, but a tool or a weapon, one that would break and rust without proper upkeep. Granted, the Mimic had never bothered doing maintenance on any of its gear or weapons before, but it nevertheless understood the concept. The only difference was that Fizzy required food and rest instead of sharpening and polishing. Her performance hadn’t been especially great, but the survival instincts that Boxxy had drilled into her would surely make her a valuable asset further down the line. As long as she maintained that ‘eat or be eaten’ mentality and proved herself loyal, it might even decide to keep her around once it had finished absorbing her Artificer knowledge.
“Then I shall t-t-take you up on your offer!”
As for Fizzy, she wasn’t sure what had prompted this, but she certainly wasn’t about to look a gift chest in the hinges. Assuming that Boxxy was being truthful, this would eliminate one of her biggest gripes with the way she was treated. She was inclined to believe the creature, as the beatings had decreased drastically in both frequency and intensity after the fight with the lich. Except for the rape. Though the Mimic had not injured her physically, the wound its thoughtless actions had left on her psyche cut deeper than any blade and hurt worse than any bone fracture. It was not the sort of thing that could be healed by something as basic as food and sleep, but Fizzy had to take whatever silver lining-
“Also, sorry about yesterday morning.”
The gnome’s eyes widened to the point where they looked as though they were about to pop out of her skull.
“I got carried away and did something unnecessary,” Boxxy continued. “So, sorry about that.”
The Mimic was hardly being sincere, of course. The time it had spent with its demon familiars had twisted its perceptions, giving it the impression that unsolicited sexual advances were not socially unacceptable behavior. However, it had spoken at length with Snack during the night regarding step three of Operation TASTYCOCK, and been informed that it was, in fact, gravely mistaken. The succubus had also taught it that one of the key things it had to learn in order to blend in with civilised society was how to apologise.
Or, more specifically, how to lie when apologising.
Fizzy, however, picked up on its insincerity almost immediately. She knew the monster would never truly repent for anything it had done. But even if it hadn’t meant it, the fact that the Mimic understood that it had done something unacceptable and cared enough to at least attempt an apology made her feel a tiny bit better. It wasn’t nearly enough to erase what had happened, but it was a start.
“Thank you… for saying that…” she said meekly.
Apparently satisfied, the Mimic flashed a goofy smile on its Snack-shaped ‘face’ before reverting to its base form and waiting for Nasty to return. It had learned quite a bit about Necromancy from her during their trip. It had to know the lich’s strengths and weaknesses if it wanted to utilise her correctly, and so it had questioned her extensively regarding her abilities.
For starters, it would appear that Necromancy, much like Cadaver Absorption, used Corpse-targeted magic. Both the heart and the brain needed to be present for the body to be considered viable, and extensive damage to the body would reduce the strength of the summoned undead. This meant that the Mimic would have to share its corpses with the Necromancer, though that probably wouldn’t be much of an issue. Boxxy’s daily body count alone was enough to make a mortician dizzy.
Another interesting detail was that undead raised with Necromancy differed significantly to those that appeared due to the Blight. The latter most commonly were mindless zombies, barely more than the reanimated remains of whatever creature they had been. They were entirely feral, lacking the mental capacity to use most of the Skills they’d had while alive despite having access to them. Such undead had only their rotting bodies to rely on, which the Blight apparently compensated for by greatly boosting their physical attributes. Even then, the zombies’ strength and speed depended entirely on the quality of the corpse from which it had been raised. Valeria could control the undead drones easily enough with her Lord of the Dead Skill, but she disliked using them as they were little more than cannon fodder.
The undead created through Necromancy were called Hollowed or Hollows, as they were essentially constructs forged from mana with no free will whatsoever. Calling them ‘flesh golems’ would not have been entirely wrong, as the corpses used for their creation were nothing more than raw materials. The body’s skin, bone and muscle had been warped, twisted and reconfigured into a completely different form. The quality of the corpse was still important, but a huge chunk of a Hollow’s strength was determined by the Skills and Attributes of its creator.
However, it would appear that there was a limit to the number of minions a Necromancer could actually control at any given time. Unlike a Warlock’s familiars, there was no immortal soul keeping the conjured flesh intact and active. A substitute was necessary, hence why each Hollow reserved a portion of their creator’s MP as upkeep, temporarily reducing their overall available amount. The exact quantity depended on the strength and species of the raised dead, and the occupied capacity would be restored once the minion was defeated or dismissed.
The type of undead created through Necromancy depended on both Skill Level and the caster’s choice. Skeletons were the most versatile, as they could be brought forth as soldiers, archers, or even casters. They could also be mass-produced thanks to their low cost, but were extremely fragile. Spectres could be called upon to serve as scouts or to terrorise the living, their intangible forms making them difficult to eliminate without magic. Ghouls were an advanced zombie-type minion most commonly used as shock troops. Their speed, durability, and disease-spreading abilities made them well-suited to quickly overwhelming an enemy, although their uncontrollable screeching made them unusable for any tactic requiring subtlety.
The highest class of undead fighters a Necromancer could produce were the tough and tenacious Death Knights and the headless powerhouses known as Dullahans. Both were well versed in martial combat, fighting with skill and precision in addition to their unholy might. Their weapons and armour were transient items manifested from the Necromancy Skill, meaning that their MP upkeep was significantly higher than that of lesser undead.
Boxxy had concluded that Necromancy was a Skill that demanded a certain amount of tactical thinking and foresight. Choosing the right configuration of one’s undead entourage and commanding them properly were vital to the caster’s success. The latter was particularly challenging, as Hollows were completely incapable of making decisions for themselves. A sudden change in situation would leave them unable to adapt in the same way that a Warlock’s familiars or a Monster Tamer’s pets could, so success or failure would depend almost entirely on their master’s a
bility to direct troops in combat.
Which was what Valeria appeared to be struggling with. She may have been a lich with powerful Skills and Spells, but she was still inexperienced when it came to matters of strategy and tactics. Back in the tower, she had showed herself right at the start of the battle, confronting the invader directly for no reason other than to satisfy her own ego. Boxxy considered this a foolish approach, to say the least. Had their positions been reversed, the Mimic would have sent wave after wave of undead to tire out its opponent before they had ever met face-to-chest, if it even showed itself at all.
Granted, it was no expert on mixed troop tactics either, but it had still learned quite a bit from all the fights it had taken part in. Whether it was engaging a party of adventurers, fighting alongside its familiars or swooping in to gobble up both sides of an ongoing battle, it had steadily managed to accumulate a wealth of combat experience and had thus been able to give Valeria a few pointers. Which, judging from the undead she brought when she rejoined the others, she had taken entirely to heart. Hardly surprising, considering her bizarre infatuation with the Mimic, or – more specifically – with its sexual prowess.
So, rather than fill up her Necromancy capacity with nothing but Death Knights like she had done before her reunion with Boxxy, she had diversified her undead. She still had ten of the Knights, but they were only intended to serve as the vanguard. She’d also created six plate-armoured Dullahans wielding huge, double-handed war-hammers, and eight Skeletal Mages for long-range magical support.
This platoon of twenty-two undead was her limit for the moment, but that would gradually increase so long as she kept raising her INT Attribute. Her troops’ fighting strength was equivalent to human adventurers of about Level 25 or 30 for the skeletons, and up to about Level 40 for the more elite warriors.
Boxxy was entirely satisfied with the size of its army, since, frankly speaking, they were only intended to help penetrate the dungeon’s outer defenses. It would be an issue if the place had had nothing but golems in it, as it would be impossible for Valeria to replenish their numbers. Another quirk of the undead was that they couldn’t recover their HP in areas without Blight. Even though this bunch wouldn’t tire out no matter how long they fought, wear and tear were a very real concern as every sustained injury would be effectively permanent. Even Valeria wasn’t exactly exempt from this, although her nature as a lich made it more of a nuisance than a concern.
