“Those bastards, how dare they remove me from the council. A Kaufmann has been part of the ruling elite since Aachen was founded! I’ll show them. By the gods above, I will have my revenge.”

Diary of Judas Kaufmann

Chapter 67

Wil would never forget the look of pure terror on those poor people’s faces when they witnessed the corrupted black blood seep into their skin. He could only watch, helpless, as they clawed at their flesh.

They tried desperately to wipe the blood off their skin, before more could enter their bodies.

Several of the other auxiliaries rushed forward, trying to assist their friends and companions. Seeing them approaching, Garman stepped forward, blocking their path.

“Out of the way, they need our help!” A short and stocky man yelled as he tried to push pass Garman. He stumbled backwards when Garman shoved him aggressively.

“What did I tell you!? They’re already dead. Archers! Fire on the infected before they turn!” Garman said, gesturing for the legion archers to take aim at the infected auxiliaries.

“You mad bastard! They’re still alive, we can save them. Get one of those priestesses over here to heal them!” The stocky man shouted as he climbed back to his feet and marched towards Garman.

Before Garman could respond again, their argument was interrupted by agonizing screams from the infected. They were writhing on the ground, screeching and frothing from their mouths.

Wil could see their veins darkening against their pale skin, until they were covered in black lines, like the black webs he had seen covering the buildings below.

“Move! We need to help them. Grab one of those clerics!” The stocky man yelled out again, gesturing to his companions as he charged forwards, still intent on saving them.

Garman didn’t say a word, just pulled back his arm and struck the man with his fist. The shorter man crashed heavily onto the ground.

“Archers! Put them out of their misery, before they turn and kill us all.” Garman ordered, still blocking anyone from helping.

A trio of archers left the edge of the walls, moving towards the writing auxiliaries on the ground. Drawing back their bows, they prepared to fire when they were suddenly interrupted by a blur of movement from the infected.

Not waiting any longer, they shot their arrows at the swiftly moving figure.

From where Wil was standing, he watched as one of the infected leap from the ground and charge the archers. The man moved faster than Wil thought possible as he weaved and dodged around the arrows, howling madly, spitting a bloody froth from his lips.

In the minutes since the blood had struck the man, he had changed. His skin was pale white, with black glowing lines crisscrossing his face. His hands were transformed and replaced by long claws.

His Rank 2 Mana felt foul and dark, corrupted by the blood.

What terrified Wil the most were the infected man’s eyes. Filled with madness and hate, He wept blood from eyes that no longer had any visible whites, just pure blackness.

“You god’s damned fools!” Garman yelled, as he hefted his great shield and dashed towards the infected man. He slammed into it with all his Rank 5 strength, launching the infected across the wall and over the side, where it tumbled down and slammed against the ground below.

Turning to the group he threw down his shield and grabbed a large, two-handed axe from his belt. He ran towards the remaining infected, intent on finished them before the change completed.

Wil and the other auxiliaries stood in stunned silence, they couldn’t believe how quickly the infection had spread, transforming a person to a monster in minutes.

Lifting his axe, Garman slammed it down on the infected still writing on the ground, silencing their screams. He wiped his axe off with a handkerchief after severing their heads, carefully tossing the bloody rag over the walls.

He was mindful to not let even his gloved hands come into contact with the black blood.

“Next person who hesitates to follow my gods damned orders will find me burying this axe in your skull. God’s bones! I told you it’s a mercy to finish them before they change.” He said as he walked back towards the edge of the wall.

“Archers! I want every one of these bloody whoresons out of the sky!” He said, pointing at the birds still trying to claw their way in.

Flights of arrows flew towards the undead birds, and the legion mages detonated powerful magics in their midst. The dome the wards provided shielded the humans from the rain of black blood falling from the skies as the human obliterated the flying undead.

Hours passed, and the assault by the ghouls below and the undead birds above was halted. The dome held, and wherever holes were punctured by repeated attacks of the numerous undead, the archers and mages focused attacks drove the horde back, the wards closing again.

The Night deepened and the defenders worked tirelessly to repel the attacks. Wil had expected Garman to allow them to begin to rotate their defenses, but the large warrior seemed to be anticipating something, a new threat’s imminent arrival.

When asked, Garman had responded that they had only dealt with the initial wave of mindless undead, the true threat was approaching.

The wailing of the ghouls continued unabated, and after a few hours it had grated on every last nerve that Wil possessed. It was like an ocean wave of noise, reaching a high crescendo of shrieking, before lowering back down to a dull roar.

With an abrupt end, the ghouls suddenly quieted and retreated from their attacks. Leaping from the burning wall, they fled back into the city. The birds halted their assault on the wards, flying back into the darkness of Aachen.

In the eerie silence, the divine mana powering the wards retreated to conserve energy, and everyone was worried about what to expect. Several thought the attack over and a small cheer erupted, quickly silenced by the surrounding veterans.

They knew that the real attack would be starting soon.

In the darkness below, Wil saw a ghostly blue glow come from the ruined buildings. Wisps of light filled the streets, hundreds at first but rapidly growing to thousands. Aachen was filled with their eerie, bluish green luminesce.

In the silence, a faint, humming sound grew swiftly. A vibration built to accompany the noise, and Wil could feel a thrumming through the stones below his feet.

Something was building in the city, the webs of black glowed more intensely. A deeper blackness than any Night could be.

In the streets, the rumbling grew, and the ghouls returned, climbing the buildings and roof tops. They added their cries to the growing cacophony. The assault on the walls had barley impacted their numbers.

Wil could spot burnt and charred corpses slowly reforming, the miasma of the Aachen fueling their regeneration.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thrumming became louder, and Wil could feel his heart beating in tandem to the noise. Whatever tension had been eased from the defenders after repelling the initial assault, had returned.

“Steady!” Garman yelled. He had his great shield held in front of him, while his two-handed axe rested on the ground, held limply in his hand.

Out into the light marched an army of undead, a horde so massive that Wil could never begin to count them.

Rotten bodies and bare skeletons. Rotted and skinless horses, all manner of undead marched out of the darkness. Zombies slowly shambled down the street, with missing limbs, rotting flesh barely holding together. Each with eyes that glowed red in the Night.

They didn’t hold weapons, they wore no armor, they didn’t need or understand the use of such things. Their weapons were their claws, their teeth and the foul blood that still flowed in their decaying corpses.

Behind the army rode undead knights, still wearing their rusted armor and moldy raiment, with dried blood and offal still smeared across. The former defenders of Aachen had died when the city fell, and now they have arisen to defend it again, this time from the living.

Behind the Knights floated mages, their robes bearing the bloodstains and evidence of their brutal deaths. They still commanded their magic and knowledge of spell casting. They still possessed their Mana cores, corrupted by the foul darkness.

The undead mages glided overhead, and Wil could feel the profaneness of them, the dark corruption and filth as their magic buoyed their bodies to float above the masses.

And behind them all rose a being that defied all imagination or common sense. A piece of divinity that had been perverted and desecrated.

“God’s Blood and Bones…” Wil whispered, when he saw the figure trailing the undead army. “Goddess save us all… It’s a Lich.”