Monarch Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Rayne barely had time to react.

He brought his shield up just in time as the blast hit. The impact was like being struck by a charging beast. Dark energy detonated against the shield’s surface, sending a jolt through his arms and into his spine before he was hurled backward.

He slammed into the wall hard.

His helmet clanged against the stone and left his ears ringing. Hot pain lanced through his shoulders before dulling into something manageable. He slid down half a step before getting a hold of himself as the air rushed back into his lungs.

Dark thoughts swirled in his mind, telling him that fighting the [Flesh Doctor] would just result in his death.

But he shook it off.

Rayne looked down at his shield. Half of it was scorched black, but it was still usable. Though he didn't know how many such magical hits it could take. Army shields weren't meant to defend against magical attacks.

He moved to rise, but two undead were already on him.

They moved fast, rusted swords rising in unison as they swung together, blades aimed for his head and chest.

Rayne rolled.

Steel shrieked as both swords slammed into the stone where he’d been a moment earlier. He came up low, one knee scraping the floor, and dropped his shield before immediately lunging forward. His hand snapped out, grabbing the ankle of the nearest undead.

He wrenched hard.

The creature lost its balance and crashed sideways, its momentum carrying it straight into the second undead. Bone and rotting flesh slammed together with a wet crunch as both went down in a tangled heap.

Rayne didn’t waste the opening.

He was on them in an instant.

His sword came down once, cleaving through one undead's neck. The second strike followed without pause, driving steel into the second skull and pinning it to the stone. Both bodies twitched, then went still.

He immediately moved to pick up his shield as more undead closed on him.

They poured toward him from the edges of the chamber, eyes glowing faintly, weapons already raised. Rayne pushed himself fully upright, rolling his shoulders and positioning himself to take them on.

“Rayne!” Nate’s voice shouted over the chaos. “I'm coming!”

Rayne glanced over for half a second.

Nate, Kesh, and John were surrounded, backs nearly touching as they fought off undead from all sides. Bran’s arrows whistled down from above, dropping bodies with practiced precision, but there were too many of them.

Rayne turned back to the five undead rushing him.

“Stay there!” he shouted. “I’ll handle it!”

He planted his feet, sword lifting as the first of the undead lunged in a wild swing.

He sidestepped it easily, the rusted blade cutting only air, and drove his sword straight through the attacker’s skull. Rotten flesh punctured and bone cracked. The body folded before it even hit the ground.

The others were already on him.

He brought his shield up as a second sword slammed into it. A third strike followed immediately after, then a fourth, metal screeching against metal as Rayne braced and absorbed each blow. The pressure built, but the undead were low-level mobs that he had far surpassed in raw strength.

He grunted and shoved forward, and the undead staggered at once.

That was all he needed.

Rayne surged into them, blade flashing. He cleaved through one undead’s face in a brutal diagonal cut, splitting skull and jaw apart. He spun with the motion and slammed his shield sideways, smashing another undead into the stone wall with enough force to cave its chest inward. Before it could slide down, he finished it with a short thrust through the eye.

The last two tried to steady themselves and charged him again, but they didn’t get the chance.

Rayne stepped inside their reach, his blade cutting through the abdomen of one before he twisted. The undead let out a shriek, but he was already jumping back as the last one slashed at him with its claws.

He let it get close before smashing its head with his shield. As the creature went down, he immediately brought down his sword into its chest. It carved through easily as disgusting blood sprayed out.

The undead twitched briefly before going still.

Rayne didn’t pause. Not even for a breath.

He sprinted towards the necromancer, boots splashing through flesh and ichor. Her dark shield flared brighter just as his sword struck, the impact ringing out like a hammer on an anvil.

She snarled and glared at him. “You’re too weak to get past my shield.”

Rayne said nothing and kept attacking.

His blade rang against the shield again and again, each strike aiming at the same place. He knew he couldn't break her mana shield with ordinary strikes, but that wasn't his plan. He simply needed to keep her occupied so that Varrick could deal with the chimera.

Even as he clashed against her shield, he could hear the guttural roars of the monster in the back.

Rayne also kept an eye on her fingers, ready to move out of the way in case of another blast, but it didn't seem like she could launch them in succession.

Another one of her rings still worked.

With every strike, thoughts filled his head, telling him to run, that he would die like a bug. Those weren't his thoughts. They were an intrusion from the necromancer, but he didn't let them sway him.

He clenched his jaw and shoved the sensation aside, grounding his feet and thinking about pushing his blade through her chest.

At once, the whispers faded like smoke under wind.

“Your tricks won’t work on me,” he muttered.

Her smile twitched, just slightly. “We will see about that. You are a persistent pest. And you are going to die now!”

She snarled at the end, and the next second something moved behind him.

A wet, rushing sound tore through the air, and his instincts screamed. Rayne twisted just in time for a thick, black tendril to wrap around his waist like a living rope.

It yanked him into the air as his shield dropped.

The world lurched violently as Rayne was ripped off his feet and hauled upward. Pain exploded through his midsection as the tendril constricted, crushing down his waist and arms with brutal, inhuman strength.

His breath was forced from his lungs in a sharp grunt, ribs creaking ominously as pressure mounted.

His left hand clawed at the slick surface, fingers slipping against the chimera’s cold, leathery flesh. But he only felt a faint pulse beneath his grip.

The monster lifted him higher.

For a second, he closed his eyes as the pressure increased. Something in his side popped, white-hot agony flaring through his torso. He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream, and forced his arms to move despite the tremor running through them.

The tendril tightened in response, and Rayne's eyes shot open, flicking towards Varrick.

The man was locked in motion, dodging between the other three tendrils that lashed at him from every angle. His [Force Shield] was gone—shattered or dismissed—and only his footwork kept him alive. His greatsword flashed with mana in brutal arcs, carving deep into one tendril before he was forced to retreat from another.

Their eyes met for a second.

Varrick's jaw tightened, but he didn't break away to come to his rescue. Even Rayne knew that would just get him killed.

If there was anyone who could save him, it was Rayne himself.

The chimera shook him suddenly, slamming him sideways through the air, and the grip tightened further. He felt the pressure spike, bones screaming as something threatened to give.

He looked down, knowing his options were limited, and did the one thing he could.

Rayne lowered his head and bit down.

His teeth sank into the tendril, and his taste buds were immediately assaulted with something foul—rot, blood, and something acrid—but he didn’t hesitate. He clamped down harder, jaw aching as he tore flesh instead of struggling against the crushing force.

The chimera shrieked.

The tendril spasmed, grip loosening just a fraction.

That was all he needed.

Rayne ripped his right arm free and drove his sword down with everything he had. The blade punched into the tendril, sinking deep as black ichor sprayed across his armor. He twisted, carving through sinew—

—and then the tendril snapped violently, flinging him away through the air.

He flew across the chamber before his body slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from him again. Pain detonated across his back and shoulders as he skidded across cold stone, armor scraping loudly before he came to a brutal stop.

He heard someone shouting his name dimly as he tried to draw breath.

Then he heard it.

A guttural snarl as one of the undead rushed towards him. Rayne saw its spear coming down at him and raised his sword just in time to block—

An arrow punched straight through the undead’s skull.

The creature jerked once, momentum carrying it forward before it collapsed on top of Rayne. The rotten smell assaulted his nose, but he let out a shaky breath of relief all the same.

“Bran,” he muttered. “Always keeping an eye out.”

He shoved the corpse off him and rolled to his feet, spitting to clear the foul taste still lingering in his mouth. Rot and something bitter clung to his tongue, refusing to go away no matter how hard he swallowed.

Rayne forced himself to ignore it and scanned the battlefield.

Varrick was still fighting the chimera.

The massive undead monstrosity reared back, its knees leaking blackened blood where Varrick’s blade had carved deep. One of its tendrils hung slack in the air, torn open and spraying ichor that splattered across the stone floor.

Apparently, he had managed to bite out a chunk of flesh from the tendril.

Yet the chimera didn't slow.

It pressed forward relentlessly, driving Varrick back step by step, forcing him toward the corner of the chamber.

Tendrils lashed out in savage arcs, scraping walls and gouging stone as Varrick ducked, rolled, and struck back with brutal precision. His breathing was heavier now. His movements were tighter, but the man was holding it back well enough.

At least the best Rayne could ask for.

His gaze flicked away.

His party was still engaged, fighting for their lives.

Nate, Kesh, and John moved as a tight knot, shields raised and blades flashing as they cut down the remaining undead.

Out of all of them, Kesh was the most injured, bleeding from his left arm, but still standing.

Bran’s arrows continued to fall from above, thinning the numbers, but even now, a dozen undead still remained.

Then his eyes found the [Flesh Doctor].

She stood at the very back of the chamber behind her mana shield. Her gaze flicked constantly between Varrick and Rayne’s party, fingers twitching as the spell matrix continued to churn between her hands.

Her expression was a little grim, but there was no fear in her eyes. And he could understand why.

If the undead failed, she would just redirect the chimera towards his party for just a few seconds. Long enough to kill them all.

Unlike him, his party wouldn’t survive being grabbed and crushed by the tendrils.

The only reason they were still alive was because Varrick was the one she wanted dead first.

He kept scanning the chamber, trying to think of ways to finish the battle. But he could only see two options.

Either he could help Varrick bring the chimera down, or he could rush towards the necromancer again to draw her attention away—again—and gamble that this time it wouldn’t fail.

Both paths felt like they could end with bodies on the ground. He didn't want that.

Hence, Rayne kept thinking and thinking until his eyes lifted to the ceiling.

The chamber wasn’t smooth stone. Protrusions jutted down at irregular intervals—old supports, growths of fractured rock. And they were everywhere on the ceiling.

As he watched them, a reckless idea sparked in his mind.

He exhaled, thinking it through, knowing it might not work. But letting the fight drag on would be worse. In the end, it wasn't as if he had any other options.

So, he made his decision and sprinted towards his party.

An undead lunged into his path, screeching as it swung wildly. Rayne didn’t even slow down. He slammed his blade into its chest and kicked hard.

The undead flew backward, straight toward John.

The man didn’t hesitate. His blade flashed, clean and precise, severing the creature’s head midair.

Rayne skidded to a halt just outside the range of the other undead.

“You all need to move and distract the necromancer,” he said quickly. “Just distract her and make sure her line of sight is on you. She can force out mana blasts from her ring and has mind attacks, so be careful. Wait for my order and don't die!”

Nate widened his eyes. “Rayne, what are you—”

“Just do as I say. I will handle these undead.”

The urgency in his voice left no room for argument.

John reacted first, slamming his shield forward and forcing the undead back just long enough for Kesh and Nate to break away. The three of them sprinted straight toward the [Flesh Doctor].

A few undead tried to pursue, screeching as they followed, but arrows rained down from above.

Bran didn’t miss.

Shaft after shaft punched through skulls and spines, dropping the pursuers mid-stride.

That was all Rayne needed.

He surged forward, diving straight into the middle of the remaining undead swarm. His blade became a blur. Every time it moved, something fell—an arm, a head, a ribcage shattered clean through. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t give them space to regroup. He cut, turned, smashed with the hilt, and cut again.

Undead collapsed around him like rotten puppets with severed strings.

Bran’s arrows stitched the gaps Rayne left behind, dropping anything that tried to slip past. Together, they cleared them all with ruthless efficiency.

It didn’t take long to kill all but one.

The last undead lunged, jaw unhinged in a final shriek, and Rayne stepped into it, driving his blade down at its chest. Its claws touched his arm, but he pushed his blade deeper, and another arrow to its head sealed the deal as the monster fell.

Silence followed, broken only by the distant roar of the chimera and the clash of steel.

Rayne didn’t waste the moment.

He turned and looked toward his party.

They had surrounded the necromancer’s mana shield, keeping just enough distance to avoid sudden blasts. Nate struck once, then leapt back. John followed, hammering the barrier from another angle while Kesh darted in and out.

He was glad that the mental attacks hadn't taken them out yet, but he could see their shoulders stiffening more and more every second.

Rayne inhaled, knowing he had no time to waste, and held out his blade towards the ceiling.

Over the past few weeks, his control over the skill had improved. Not perfect, but enough. Enough to go through with this plan. He drew mana up from deep within, letting it pour into his blade.

Death mana immediately coated his blade.

His sword began to hum, black veins crawling along the steel as the air around it seemed to thin. The mana slowly covered all of the blade as pain struck his arm.

Giving up a hidden edge like this was unfortunate. But secrets meant nothing if he died here.

So Rayne aimed straight at the ceiling above the necromancer. Jagged protrusions lined the ceiling, but he didn't release it right away.

He pushed more mana out, knowing he only had one strike, and then when he felt he had enough, he launched the strike.

An arc of death mana tore through the air, screaming upward.

“Jump back now!” Rayne shouted.

He didn't see if his party had listened to the command. His eyes were set on the deadly energy as it hit the protrusions with a cracking sound.

The next second, the chamber shook, and the ceiling fell.