Within the Ossuary, a demi-lich stood over the altar, channeling dark magick into the meticulously prepared bones before it. What had once been the Grand Magister of the Red Tower, Tommat Baln, a gold ranked mage who had devoted his life to overseeing the work of his brothers and the management of the Slayer problem, was now a skeletal husk, serving at the command of another.

    Indeed, it wasn’t even him casting this ritual.

    Power surged through his bones as his hands danced in the air and words of power rocked the chamber, but he was not in control. His master used him like a puppet, controlling his every movement, even seizing his voice from him, leaving Tommat with no choice but to act as a spectator to his own body, what was left of it, as it cast magick well beyond what he was capable of on his own.

    Power flooded into the bones before him, and through them into the numerous recesses carved into the walls around the chamber. The workings of the ritual were intricate and refined, but it was difficult for even a mage of Baln’s experience to try and unravel the sequences that made up its construction. Through him, Tyron blazed through the spell, gestures and words flowing thick and fast, shaping the magick at a dizzying pace.

    A level of precision and mastery that Baln had never truly believed was possible.

    When at last the ritual was completed, his hands lowered to his side and, after a moment, he felt Tyron’s will recede from him, leaving Tommat in control of himself once more. After over a year of this unliving existence, he thought he would feel tired, feel drained and exhausted, but he didn’t, he barely felt anything at all. He didn’t feel cold or warmth, didn’t feel the touch of the air on his skin or the breath in his lungs. His body was not capable of such things any longer.

    A creature of bone and arcane marrow, he felt little connection to the mundane world at all. Instead, he was a creature of death and magick. Even his eyes no longer perceived as they once did, everything he saw now wreathed in ethereal mist. He reached out with his two hands, no longer flinching when he saw the bone digits, and grasped the staff that had been planted before the altar.

    A work of incredible artistry, created by Master Willhem himself, the staff was something he couldn’t have hoped to afford in his life, as the precious materials that had been poured into it would have made even a noble lord balk. Carefully, he took it to the corner of the chamber and placed it on its stand before he returned to the altar.

    The skeleton that had been lying there was now standing beside it. Along the walls, the other skeletons had emerged from their recesses and now stood, silent and waiting, their eyes burning with the same purple light that filled his own skull.

    They were connected, these skeletons and the demi-lich, he could feel their simple, artificial minds, sense the conduit that connected them to him, and through him, to their true master. With a wordless command, he bid them to file in behind him, and turned to the exit.

    The bone archway that contained the door to the ossuary had been summoned below the temple, and he led the newly risen skeletons out into the narrow corridors that formed the bulk of the underground complex.

    Despite the number of people living and working here, many of the hallways were still covered in dust and webs, yet it was hard to care about such things as a demi lich. Tommat didn’t feel the webs that clung to his limbs and robe, and no dust caught in his throat or eyes, since he didn’t have them.

    When they came to the right door, he had the skeletons line up against the wall and knocked on the newly installed door. Before long, a young woman opened it, then blanched when she saw him outside.

    “Ah, one moment, master lich. We weren’t quite ready.”

    Hovering just a few inches off the floor, Tommat knew it was intimidating to stand before a demi lich such as himself, and rarely were any among the living willing to meet his gaze. After a few moments, the young lady returned.

    “Alright, we can start now. Can you send them in one at a time for us?” she asked.

    Rather than answer, he lifted a hand and the first skeleton stepped forward and inside the room. She gave him a hesitant nod and walked inside, leaving the door open behind her.

    Along with the Necromancers who had Awakened in the past few years, there were dozens of others who had obtained Classes related to the dead. Bone Smiths, Corpse Handlers and more were now an embedded part of the process in preparing the undead for war, and it was in this room that the smiths plied their trade.

    It was difficult to see as an undead, the landscape was wreathed in mist that ebbed and flowed according to winds she could not feel, but with so many of them gathered together, it was difficult to sneak up on them. Before long, she spotted the pack with her own eyes, a group of six hound-like creatures, each the size of a donkey. She issued her orders, and the minions under her command responded, turning as one to face the threat.

    Archers pulled back on their bows as the front ranks formed a defensive wall. Skeletal mages raised their hands and began to cast, preparing bolts of darkness to fling at the monsters. When the kin spotted the horde, they charged, bellowing and roaring with mindless fury, seeking only to destroy whatever they could touch.

    Arrows and spells were loosed, many missing, but many others hitting home, causing the monsters to stumble. Brigette monitored her minions carefully, watchful for any slip as she constantly shifted their positions to ensure the formation was perfect. She wasn’t used to it yet, and moving the minions took too much of her concentration, making it hard for her to fight at the same time.

    Janus was flawless with it, able to move the undead like they were his own limbs despite fighting with consummate skill and control. She had a long way to go before she reached his level.

    More packs coming. This seems to be a hotspot. Get to the front and hold the line.

    So ordered, she moved forward, drawing her enchanted bone blade as she looked to find the other kin approaching. When she reached the forwardmost ranks, she could see them: two dozen beasts in total, some larger, some smaller than the creatures they were already fighting.

    Drawing on the strength of the arcane energy that burned within her unliving flesh, Brigette dashed forward, bringing her blade down in a decisive overhead strike. Burning with black smoke, her sword dug deep into the kin’s flesh, corrupting and eating away at the muscle and sinew. The monster screamed and retaliated, slashing at her with a vicious strike, which she parried, the claws sparking against her bone-sword and failing to penetrate her armour.

    The skeletons around her pressed, looking to surround the kin and use their superior numbers to bring them down, but she swiftly gained control, holding them in place. If they broke formation now, the archers would be exposed to the beasts who still hadn’t charged.

    Against this many kin, she would have preferred to have more skeletons available, but they would have to make do until the next column set out from the city.

    All at once, she felt a great mind sweep over the horde, pouring through the conduits like a wave. Committed to the frontline, Brigette almost froze on the spot but pushed through, continuing to move her sword as the Necromancer sized up the situation.

    With a deft hand, he seized control of the skeletons from her, guiding them expertly and leaving her to worry about her own fight. Instantly, the undead became more coordinated, moving forward to strike in small groups, then retreating to reform the line. When the newly arrived kin charged, the skeletons ducked to allow clear firing lines for the archers and mages before rising at the last moment, properly braced to receive the kin.

    As soon as the battle lines were joined, power blazed through the conduits, an outpouring of magick that invigorated Brigette and the other undead, filling her with strength and power. Faster and stronger than before, she drew on her swordsmanship skills, blade flashing as she danced amongst the kin, revelling in the slaughter she unleashed.

    And then, a few moments later, it was gone. The power receded, along with the mind of the master, leaving her feeling like a beached fish, gasping on the sand.

    It didn’t matter; in that short, sharp confrontation, the fight had been won. Skeletons were already surrounding and picking off the last of the kin while Janus stood still, redirecting the ghosts who acted as their scouts.

    “Let’s get going,” he said to her, aloud. “We still have a few kilometres to travel before we reach the proposed site.”

    “Alright,” she nodded.

    She could still feel the mind of Tyron Steelarm from dozens of kilometres away, looking in another direction now, but she knew at any moment he could glance this way and seize control once more.