Daughter of Death - A Necromantic LitRPG

Am I a fool?

Death. Torture. Suffering. These hands have committed unspeakable atrocities in the name of faith - in the name of peace. I can no longer claim to be lost in a dream, allowing my mind to run free and spin terrible realities from the depths of my fear. No - my ‘wellness’ is no longer an excuse. I crave these deadly moments. The heat of battle. The exquisite sensation of sinking steel into bare flesh.

My head swims. I find myself wading through a storm of delusion. The world is as I make it - as evil or as unspeakable as I so desire. There is no ‘me’ in that wonderful space. I allow my thoughts to be dictated by instinct and fury. The boy who was Helmach can live again, isolated from the many fools of the world.

My arm screams in pain. Studs of crimson blood poke out from the sunken perforations. I can embrace the evils of this world. Use them for my own desires. From the very beginning, this dream has remained suppressed. The beatings and canings and whippings - all to distract from the livid knot in my heart. I embraced that holy man to set an example for the sole anchor of my existence. But now she is dead, and only the tugging in my brain remains.

I see the beauty of the world hidden in its seams, which split open and spill forth with secrets known only to myself. This must be divine providence - a vision from some otherworldly being. I have never been sick. I have only resisted the urge to embrace the man I was always destined to become.

“Move the Rot Behemoth up!” Lieze called down the hill to her allies, “We need all the power we can muster! Keep the Fleshbags at a safe distance and exploit every opportunity for a surprise attack!”

Helmach had abandoned the Church yet again. Black-as-night tendrils poked from the gaps in his armour, trapping him in a cage of thorns. The redness of his exhausted features faded as the blood seemed to drain from his face. As the Blackbriar extended into the realm of mortals, its woody limbs wrapped around Helmach’s blade and stole into the soil beneath his feet.

His movements were explosive and determined. The Briarknight had barely a second to react to Helmach’s greatsword screaming towards it from out of the blue, catching a glancing blow to its shoulder which sent rotting flesh flying through the air. The blow was so poignantly rash that Helmach was forced to follow-through or risk breaking his wrists, returning to a fighting stance in a matter of seconds afterwards.

“Ah- ah…” Recoiling as a sharp pain stung his gums, he spat out globules of blood whilst feeling a familiar sensation returning to his mouth, “...This repulsive sensation… how far must I fall to discover the happiness I so dearly seek?”

“Wha- he’s speaking again!?” Lieze exclaimed.

“Look closely. The Blackbriar’s tendrils have replaced his tongue.” Marché pointed towards the man as if it would somehow help, “Awfully generous. But not very comfortable, I’d wager.”

“Will it bring his ‘pride’ back as well, I wonder?”

“Gods, I hope not. Imagine that. Wait- no, don’t imagine that.” Marché shivered, “We have more important matters to focus on! How are we going to overcome this!?”

“Think about it logically. If we-”

“Look out!”

Lieze wasn’t given any time to react as Marché suddenly tackled her to the ground. An instant later, the heft of something colossal and iron tore into the thralls surrounding them, splitting sinew with the ease of cutting through thin air. Tactfully, Marché rose to his feet and dragged Lieze by the wrist to a safer position, staining the back of her robes green as she slid across the grass.

“Ever fortunate, Lieze!” Helmach’s voice was alive and rich with violent fervour, “The Gods must have grand plans in store for you! But what blessings have I received from on high!? Madness!? Loss!? From the day of my birth, the Heavens have cursed me with misfortune, but no longer! If the world craves my demise, then I shall steer destiny with my own two hands!”

Exploiting the opportunity for a surprise attack, the Briarknight lashed out with a lightning-fast stab towards Helmach’s spine, only to have the blow repulsed by his greatsword as he turned the weapon over his head with more dexterity than any man had the right to display.

“He deflected that?” Lieze allowed her gaze to turn upwards as she rose from the ground.

Helmach Lawain

Level ??? Swordmaster (! ??? !)

HP: ??? / ??? MP - ??? / ???

BODY - 27 / MIND - 3 / SOUL - 11

“His level… it was [35] before, but now it’s [42]... so the Blackbriar’s influence is augmenting his strength?” She thought, “It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. But I’ll still need to exercise caution if I plan on emerging victorious without losing my life.”

“Step back. Let’s lose ourselves in the horde.” Marché held out an arm, “...What are we going to do?”

“While the Briarknight is keeping him busy, we should move into a formation that dissuades Helmach from singling us out.” Lieze explained, “The two of us will retreat and arrange our forces into two tight parallel lines. We’ll stand at the far end, in plain view.”

“What!? That’s suicidal! Helmach could simply rush forward and run us through!”

“Stop complaining and just do as I say for once.” She snapped, “Hopefully Drayya will pick up on the plan…”

“If this doesn’t work out-”

“There’s no need to worry if it doesn’t. We can always collapse our thralls inwards and regroup if things don’t go according to plan.” Lieze interrupted, “Now - let’s get moving.”

The raw clashing of steel against steel grated on the ears. Helmach was locked in a duel with the Briarknight, forced to choose his attacks carefully to accommodate for its surprising nimbleness. It was a game of distance. The Briarknight kept at the edge of Helmach’s attack range to bait him into a reckless strike, poised to deliver a vicious counterattack at a moment’s notice.

But it wasn’t only the resurrected corpse of Stürm that Helmach had to contend with. Gravewalkers emerged from the encirclement to break his concentration whenever he dallied for too long, forcing him to juggle his attention between a seemingly unending tide of undead. To add insult to injury, the shambling form of the Rot Behemoth - too resilient to focus down - stalked his shadow. Simply put, there was too much going on for even a man of his considerable might to account for every contingency. As the Briarknight exploited his every lapse of judgement with cowardly strikes, he could feel the imminence of his own death boiling up from the battle’s core.

But truthfully, he adored that sensation. As the undead surged and his blade drank deeply of his enemies’ blood, a grand excitement - the likes of which he had never known before, leaped from the cold recesses of his heart.

I love it.

This chaos. This violence. A battlefield of ceaseless conflict, where bodies step forward gleefully to be cut down. These are the minions of evil. The followers of she who stole my world away. Beyond faith, and beyond the Gildwyrm, my body screams to be one with this whirlwind of violence. For but a fleeting moment, my spirit soars, and the pain of this poorly existence is numbed.

His entire body was soaked in adrenaline. Exhaustion was a second thought, pushed directly to the back of his mind. With every swing, his muscles protested, but the rush of witnessing fresh death pushed him towards the all-consuming madness of bloodthirst. He needed it more than anything else in the world. There was no other man more deserving of catharsis by fury than himself.

If only he could have given his life over to the fight, and abandoned his mind to oblivion. But the foulness of his corrupted body served as a reminder to the faith he had devoted himself to. Beyond mere ecstacy, there was a job to do. His attention was diverted towards the procession of thralls arranging themselves into two neat lines. Further up the hill, Lieze and Marché stood in plain sight, as if inviting him to charge forward and deal the decisive blow.

She’s mocking me.

As ever, I’m the subject of some practical joke. A living tragedy worth less than the dirt beneath my soles. Does she think herself a master of strategy? The sole deliverer of this world’s suffering? Look here, Lieze - I’m not afraid to take a chance at your life.

“...Hm?” Lieze leaned forward, “What is he-”

“If you’re so eager to die, then allow me to oblige that desire!”

Screaming with fury, Helmach reared back with the handle of his greatsword in both hands. Planting one foot in the mud, he tossed the blade - every wrought-iron foot of it - towards Lieze’s position. The sheer absurdity of his attack left Lieze too surprised to dodge, only managing a single step back as the colossal sword tore clean through her right arm before impaling itself in the hillside.

Lieze’s HP - 32 / 195

“Wha-” Lieze stammered, feeling for something that was no longer there, “Ah-”

Like stubbing one’s toe against a wall, she cringed while anticipating the flood of pain accompanying her injury. A moment later, blood began pouring freely from her severed arm, as if only just enlightened to the newfound wound.

Lieze gritted her teeth with enough ferocity to shatter them as she fell to the ground, clutching her palm to the stump while the world around her seemed to distort from the pain. She might have screamed - it was difficult to tell with the deafening ringing in her ears. The first real sound she heard seconds later was the hurried voice of Marché.

“Oh no… oh shit…” The parade of thralls arranged down the hill converged on their position. The stench of rot only exacerbated Lieze’s delirium, “I tried to warn you! Did you really think Helmach wouldn’t try to pull something like that!?”

“He’s- ah…” Lieze doubled over while exhaling, “He’s sealed his own fate… kill him now, while we have the opportunity…”

“Don’t tell me this is what you were planning all along!?”

“Hah… no.” A smile appeared, only to vanish again, “But it worked out, didn’t it…?”

Helmach was disarmed. As was Lieze, but as far as she was concerned, that was a problem best dealt with later. Maddeningly, Helmach didn’t seem bothered at all that his only chance of survival was now trapped behind a horde of bloodthirsty thralls. In fact, he seemed positively delighted by the turn of events.

“You think yourself invincible, don’t you!?” He screamed, “Hidden behind a wall of your resurrected enemies, free to perform whatever reckless strategies you please! That confidence will spell your end! Daughter of a Lich or no, you can be killed just as easily as anyone else!”

“Madness…” From the other side of the battlefield, Drayya sighed, “Alma.”

“Y-Yes!?” The young girl, who had been on the edge of breaking down in tears the entire battle, stood to attention at Drayya’s command.

“Remain here. Lieze will die if I don’t help her.”

“What…? But, isn’t that a little-”

One short incantation later, and Drayya’s body transformed into a shimmering haze, barely visible against the conflicting shadows of the hillside. Alma wasn’t given the opportunity to protest, but she knew perfectly well that no words would convince Drayya to stay by her side.

As she rounded the encirclement, Helmach cheered with childish glee as tides of Gravewalkers shambled towards him, bursting their bloated faces open with reckless swings of his gauntlets. There was no need for any more strategy - he had already accomplished his goal of mortally wounding Lieze. Tonberg, the Church; even his own sister - he had abandoned all grievances and allegiances for the comforting embrace of madness.

I feel alive!

Yes - this is it! The moment I’ve always desired! Lieze will die, and the darkness in my heart will be forever extinguished! Allow me the honour of perishing in this putrid storm! Let my final moments be hung with gore and sinew! I have no other desire - no other wont in life, than to die beautifully, knee-deep in the flesh of my enemies!

Something in Helmach’s mind had snapped for the very last time. No longer was he the proud and noble leader of the Acolytes. The torment of his existence beyond those sun-kissed days in the village had finally proven too heavy a burden to bear. In order to preserve his sanity, there was no other option. The only alternative would be to take his own life - an act he knew, deep down, he was too cowardly of a man to attempt.