Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

How does one fell a titan?

Lieze imagined that very same question had rattled the minds of most of her adversaries at one point or another. Never once had she witnessed her Flesh Golem struggling against anything short of another giant - now she was the one desperately seeking a method of destroying what amounted to 30 animated mountains.

“Fire…” She muttered, “Their bodies are made of wood. They must be weak to fire…”

Roland’s words echoed in her mind, “You could have used the vegetable oil!”

Already, a plan was beginning to form. It was difficult trying to communicate anything when the army was in the process of retreating, but Lieze was able to track down Roland in the chaos even as they retraced their steps through the forests and glades in an effort to avoid being flattened under the gargantuan hooves of the titans.

“Roland!” She yelled, “Give me that oil you’ve got in your pack!”

He didn’t respond, digging both hands into the hem and retrieving the bottle without a fuss, suddenly not at all concerned with his dwindling supply of ingredients. He tossed it over, and Lieze lunged forward to catch the bottle with flailing arms. Next, she needed to find a Briarknight - the most powerful and reliable specimen under her command.

Helmach - or, what remained of him, at least - was always there to pull her out of a pinch when it counted. Not only that, but there was scarcely another thrall in her army gifted with strength and speed in equally ludicrous measure. Plus, his greatsword was massive. Whether it would be massive enough for her needs, Lieze had yet to discover.

A quiet, subconscious survey over the breadth of her army picked the Briarknight out amongst its brethren, her probing rewarded with its quick and obedient appearance only seconds later, knocking over a few Gravewalkers on its way to kneel before Lieze.

“My mistress.” A gurgling, unsteady voice emerged from its shredded chords, “What do you desire?”

“Right… I forgot you were one of the intelligent ones.” She blinked, “Also, just ‘Lieze’ is fine, but that doesn’t matter for now! Hold out that greatsword! And you - bring that torch over here!”

Her arm extended to single out a torch-bearing Deathguard, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he approached the two. Lieze uncorked the bottle of oil and doused as much of the Briarknight’s weapon in the runny substance as she possibly could before wrenching the torch from the Deathguard’s grasp and shoving him in the direction of the army, which was already too far away for comfort.

She held the torch beneath the greatsword and waited impatiently for the oil to smoke, then catch fire, transforming the blade into a temporary but effective beacon of flames. If she was lucky, it would last a minute - but a minute was (hopefully) all she needed to prove that the titans weren’t indestructible.

“Take down one of those monstrosities.” She ordered, “Do not fail me.”

“As you wish.” The Briarknight offered a solemn nod before dashing off in the direction of the titans. It was a resolute declaration, even if it wasn’t entirely founded in confidence. Lieze would have relished the opportunity to observe the Briarknight’s attempt, but she had no intention of being left behind by her own army - especially not when it was in dire need of guidance.

The thrall who was once Helmach couldn’t have cared less if its master was watching. The infallible loyalty coursing signals through its rotting, waterlogged, swollen brain superseded any other desire. Before the Rootborne Titans, it was little more than an ant taking a stand against the might of humanity.

Approaching the giants was simple enough - their footfalls were slow and purposeful, easily avoided despite their lethality. As if to test their durability, the Briarknight hefted its greatsword against a Titan’s foot, ripping vines and fibre from the surface of its barkskin but accomplishing very little in the way of felling the creature. It would take more than brute strength to fulfil Lieze’s demand, the Briarknight rationalised.

Dragging the greatsword along in one hand, it leaped up onto the flat of the Titan’s foot and hoisted itself up by the twisting gnarls in its flesh, scanning for anything resembling a weak point while ascending slowly but surely towards the head. The giant must not have considered the Briarknight a threat, quite content to tolerate its presence with attention focused solely on the retreating army ahead.

Something could be felt under the thrall’s scabbed fingers - a wild drumbeat vibrating beneath the surface close to where its ‘heart’ would be if the Titan was at all human. It wasn’t possible for a creature of such gargantuan proportions to live without the aid of magic. Something was animating the Titan from within.

A blown-out crown of bark decorating the Fae’s scalp provided a convenient entry point into the innard of the beast. The only problem was reaching it - a feat complicated by the Titan’s constant swaying and jittering as it lumbered across the meadows. Razor nettles cut deep into the Briarknight’s hands, leaking poison from their spikes that went unnoticed by the undead thrall. Once it had a palm wrapped around the ‘lip’ of the Titan’s flared head, a titanic arm rose to flatten it with a single movement, thwarted at the last second as the Briarknight vaulted itself over the top, greatsword and all, before plunging into the giant’s hollow guts.

Grand puzzles of roots and branches conjoined within to form protective, latticed floors. The Briarknight made short work of them, crushing layer after layer of webbed obstructions until an incredible warmth began to radiate from below. A tiny, suspended sphere was buzzing with activity in the darkness, inscribed with the runes of a language forgotten by all - even the Gods - suspended in the air by stiff, alabaster twigs.

Any prospective attacker might have been dissuaded by the burning heat swelling out from its core, but such worries were of no consequence to the undead. Though its flesh bubbled and melted, the Briarknight continued to carve its way through the Titan’s innards. Flames cursed the dry bark within, soon enough causing a steady column of smoke to waft from the creature’s head.

“I can smell something…” Far below, where the undead army clambered to reorganise itself following the retreat, Baccharum raised his head to the skies, “Fire?”

“I can’t see anything through this darkness…” Lieze struggled to glimpse the silhouettes dancing against a warm glow in the distance, “Baccharum - keep an eye on the Dark Casters while I go take a look.”

“Take a look?” He replied, unbelieving, “What do you-”

[Abandon Flesh] Activated

Remaining Heavenly Favours - 3

Lieze was jettisoned out from her own body, repulsed by some divine barrier erected between flesh and spirit. From Baccharum’s perspective, it appeared as if she’d just fallen limp in the grass, unbeknownst to the phantom standing plain and healthy next to her corporeal form.

“Lieze?” He blinked, “Lieze!”

“Hm… hopefully he doesn’t go around telling the others I’ve suddenly died. That wouldn’t be good for morale.” Her voice was ghostly and imperceptible, “I’d better wrap this up quickly…”

While the Elf scooped up her body in both arms and sprinted off in the direction of the others, her spirit hovered towards the Titans to scout out the Briarknight’s progress. As a disconnected soul, she could levitate to her heart’s content, phasing harmlessly through a Titan’s body to scout out any potential weaknesses.

Within, a storm of flames were burning away at the giant’s guts, perpetrated by a single Briarknight who seemed intent on hacking its way towards something suspended within the Titan’s abdomen. Lieze observed quietly as the thrall plummeted through a weakened, burning layer of roots into the cavity below, its body deteriorating rapidly as a result of the incredible heat radiating from the ‘heart’.

Titan Heart

Level 15 Organ

HP - 531 / 531 MP - 0 / 0

BODY - 15 MIND - 0 SOUL - 0

“So this is the engine powering the Titans’ movements…” Lieze hovered close to the gnarled ball of wood and examined the runes on its surface, “It’s not very durable… I wonder what happens when it’s destroyed?”

A well-placed swing from the Briarknight’s greatsword granted her the answer. From the wound spilled sunset-coloured sap, desiccating the heart’s vigour until it turned chalk-white with lifelessness. The four tendrils connecting it to the Titan’s body, once pumping with the forest’s lifeblood, now transferred nothing but rot. Lieze witnessed the Titan’s innards chipping, snapping - wasting away like a dying tree.

“Attacking it from the outside is a waste of time…” She said, “How else could we destroy these hearts?”

She had seen enough, phasing through the Titan’s barkskin on her way back to the army. Blind to their ally’s imminent death, the remaining giants continued to march unerringly towards Lieze’s comrades. The ephemeral strand connecting spirit and body led her back to the worldly form she had so easily abandoned, which was currently having its pulse checked by a frenzied Marché.

“She can’t be dead!” He declared, “She was in perfectly good health just a moment ago!”

“That’s what I thought as well.” Baccharum replied, “It must have something to do with the Wichts. Perhaps she offended them in a manner deserving of death - I’ve known them to act so fickle.”

When Lieze returned to her body, Marché was given the fright of his life as her eyes shot open. The sensation of transferring from spiritual to physical made her head pound, but there was no time to explain the phenomenon nor wait for the headache to wear off.

“The Titans have a weakness.” She declared, “Send the Stalkers in - order them to enter through the cavities on their scalps. Marché, gather as many of the Grotesques together as you possibly can.”

“Excuse me!? You just rose from the dead, and you’re not even fazed!?” He yelled, “What happened!? You didn’t have a pulse!”

“I’ll explain later. I was in no danger.” She stood, reaching into her Bag of Holding to retrieve the Portable Home, “Just do as I ask for now. We don’t have much time before those Titans reach the army.”

Marché sighed and opened his mouth to point out the absurdity of her confidence, but couldn’t quite find the words he needed, “...Alright. Let me just tell the others. I’ll be right back.”

He sprinted off, hollering at the other Deathguards to gather the Grotesques. Lieze turned to Baccharum, who raised both hands in premature defence.

“-Before you even ask, I’m not about to risk my life diving into the body of a titanic Wicht.” He said, “I’ll happily deal with anything else you might consider a problem, but that is far beyond my capabilities.”

“Don’t worry. You’re too useful of an ally to toss into the jaws of death.” She assured, raising the artefact to begin the process of entering her Portable Home, “Just make sure to communicate the Titans’ weakness to the others. Have the Dark Casters aim their spells towards the creatures’ abdomens. Sustained fire should expose the hearts with a bit of luck.”

He nodded, and then she was alone. A minute later, she was teleported to somewhere far more homely than a damp, dark forest in the middle of a hostile land. The last barrels of blast powder were tucked away in the corner of her study, begging to be released upon the world.