Tybalt was swept up in an intense, euphoric sensation that combined the ego affirmation of having every eye in the universe on him with the pressure of that same experience.

  The world faded away, and he found himself engulfed in what felt like pure night sky.

  At the same time, he sensed that there was an actual entity watching him, and it didn’t take a genius to know which being it was.

  “They know who you are now,” said a voice that felt like it could turn his brain to jelly with each syllable.

  The sound in his head carried more than the content of the words. Somehow, Tybalt could see exactly who Death God Mudo meant by “they.” An image appeared in his mind of a beautiful, dusky-skinned woman who looked familiar. She wore scale armor and stood aboard a ship alongside two companions, a man and another attractive, foreign-looking woman. The image faded from his mind’s eye quickly, but he did not forget what he had seen.

  Paladin, he thought, for reasons he could not immediately identify. The Party of Heroes? Divine Trust. The High Priestess of Astara.

  Those seemed to be the enemies he was facing, if his brain was properly processing the telepathic communication Lord Mudo seemed to be giving him between the lines.

  “Thank you for the warning,” Tybalt managed, though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking aloud in the real world or not. He felt like he should kneel, but he was hardly aware of his own body at all. “How can I best serve your will, dear patron?”

  “Continue on your path. Every step that you take fulfills my greatest desires, child of destiny.” The words hurt, again, like the sound threatened to scramble his brain, but the euphoria from them was just as overwhelming. The god’s approval felt like a warm blanket draped over every part of him, when he hadn’t even realized he was cold.

  Tybalt felt the presence observing him fade, the pressure relaxed, and knowledge flooded into his brain.

  Knowledge of religious lore and of the nature of his god. The sort of information and intuitive understanding that might have taken years of study, prayer, and meditation to attain. In the back of his mind, Tybalt was aware that he could now actually act as High Priest in this religion. He knew enough, and his instincts would take care of the rest.

  —

  At the opposite extreme of the continent, beyond borders, in a land known for being overrun with fierce monsters, something stirred.

  An ancient presence flexed fingers that had not moved in centuries.

  I sense a presence I have not felt in…

  The being collected its thoughts slowly. There was no need to rush. It had all the time in the world.

  Despite having been still for centuries, few creatures would willingly approach the presence as it slumbered on its bony throne. It gave off a sense of foreboding even in repose.

  I must have been mistaken. Surely. Not that it mattered. Even if I was not mistaken, my duty remains unchanged.

  After a few minutes of musing to itself—thought processes that wandered in circles, born of the combination of solitude and the way its mind worked following its transition from its prior state—the being reached down to the sword sticking from its chest and tentatively touched it with the tip of a finger. The magic of the blade repelled his touch again, but only tepidly this time.

  Its power has almost fully faded. Finally. Is that why I have awakened?

  The immortal mind returned to the feeling it had woken up to. The feeling that a certain specific divine presence had touched Abadd.

  No, it must simply be the weakening of the holy sword.

  With the power still at its disposal, the entity felt for what lay nearby its resting place. Any dead thing would do.

  It was time to begin reaching out and reacquainting itself with the world.

  —

  Tybalt blinked.

  Above him, a pair of glowing red eyes stared down with concern. Beside them were a pair of glowing blue eyes and a pair of deep brown eyes.

  He blinked again and shook his head.

  When did I get on the ground?

  The glowing red eyes he had noticed faded for an instant and turned the color of amber. The facial expression that he had thought was concerned had turned calm, almost blank.

  I must have imagined it.

  Beside his new bodyguard’s face were Vidalia and Mariella’s faces, foreheads still creased with worry. Vidalia’s glowing eyes quickly faded to their normal blue-gray color. Then she leaned down and quickly kissed Tybalt on the mouth.

  “Darling, you’re awake!” the foxgirl exclaimed.

  “What happened?” Mariella asked.

  “I got a little closer to my god,” Tybalt said. “New skill.”

  I also thought I felt something else. Something… of this world? But that part of what he had experienced was fuzzy, like a half-forgotten dream that faded the more he tried to grasp it.

  “That was all?” Vidalia asked. “He certainly has a way of scaring people…”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Mariella said, smiling and trying to hide that she had been worried.

  “How long was I out?” Tybalt asked.

  “Just a few minutes,” Kistana replied, straightening her posture and shifting to look around as if checking for threats.

  “We were only a little worried,” Mariella said, biting her lip with an expression Tybalt found endearing.

  “Well, don’t be,” he said after a moment. He sat up, then pulled Mariella and Vidalia down to sit beside him and kissed each of them in turn. “I’m all right. But thank you both for being concerned about me.”

  “I lo—um, I mean, I have no idea what I would do if something happened to you,” Mariella said, blushing. “Who would lead me into making life-altering decisions with no forethought? Who would help me upset my family? My life flashed before my eyes.”

  She almost said ‘I love you’ just then, Tybalt observed. He just looked her in the eyes for a long moment, a smile stealing over his lips. She looked away, embarrassed.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “There’s no one like Tybalt,” Vidalia said confidently. She shifted to sit in his lap, put her arms around his neck, and kissed his cheek over and over again.

  Mariella turned back to face Tybalt and Vidalia, quickly kissed Tybalt on the mouth, and then rose to her feet again.

  “Right, the sparring,” Mariella said.

  “Yeah, lots still to do,” Tybalt said reluctantly.

  He kissed Vidalia on the mouth, then gently pried her off of him and rose to his feet as well.

  He could feel that his connection to the God of Death had palpably strengthened. Before, it had been something he could occasionally notice, like a slender tether that he could tug on gently if he needed something. He had prayed in gratitude after surviving the fight for the beastfolk village, and he had felt that his words were received. But it was a delicate feeling, the sort of thing that seemed like it might vanish if one looked at it too hard, let alone tried to draw power from it.

  Now that thin, ethereal tether was more like a thick rope.

  For the first time, Tybalt felt like an actual High Priest of a god. There was power there, if and when he chose to tap it. A fountain of divine energy. A well that felt like it might never run dry. Something that could complement his mana and strengthen everyone who followed him.

  And it came with the intuitive knowledge of how to use it.

  “This is some skill,” Tybalt muttered, mostly to himself.

  “I know,” replied Stanislaw through their bond. “As Lord Mudo’s High Priest, I used to have Unholy Consecration myself, but following my death, it appears to have been stricken from my skill list.”

  There was a note of regret in the mummy’s voice, and Tybalt understood why. He gave Stanislaw a quick, sympathetic look before focusing internally.

  Mariella had already resumed sparring with Edgard.

  “Did you speak with Lord Mudo when you acquired it?” Tybalt asked.

  The mummy shook his head wordlessly, but Tybalt got the feeling through their bond that Stanislaw was impressed and slightly jealous.

  I guess I am a bit special, then, the necromancer thought. His attention returned to the new skill. I have to try this out right away. It was an itch that would not go away until he had thoroughly scratched it. Plus, this skill seemed like it would be a massive difference maker in any conflict he was involved with in the future.

  He tried to think up a target, but he didn’t want to make any person around him into a priest right now, nor did he have any objects special enough to need divine power infused into them. Perhaps when he created a new weapon or armor for himself.

  After a minute of thought, he decided to consecrate the place itself.

  He bent, reached out, and touched the ground.

  Unholy Consecration.

  He felt the mana flow out from his core, a trivial amount, really—but bolstered by a non-trivial wellspring of power from a source beyond the world, an energy that flowed into and out of him but that was not of him.

  There was an intangible change to the space around Tybalt. The effect covered perhaps just a hundred square feet in area, but it was powerful.

  I feel stronger, the necromancer thought as the strength from the consecrated ground flowed through him. This first use left him almost drunk with power, like the moment when he first created his undeath virus. This is great. With this, my plans can move much more quickly—

  There was a cry of pain from in front of him, and Tybalt looked up to see Mariella go flying backward, landing on her back in the sand. She quickly rose, to his relief. She clutched her shoulder and rolled it, showing that though it was clearly painful, it had its usual full range of motion.

  So it’s not broken, that’s good, Tybalt thought.

  “My apologies, master, I was sparring as you ordered but suddenly did not know my own strength,” sent Edgard.

  “Sorry,” Tybalt said aloud, looking back and forth between Mariella and the mummy. “I think that was my fault. I just tested my new skill without thinking about what the consequences would be first.”

  “It happens,” said Mariella, getting to her feet immediately. “What does this skill do? Strengthen the undead?”

  “It’s called Unholy Consecration—”

  “I apologize for the interruption, master, but I should tell you, although your language is a bit strange about this, the word ‘unholy’ might better be translated as ‘chthonic’ or relating to the underworld,” sent Stanislaw. “Our god is absolutely holy, even if his power is opposed to the celestial.”

  Tybalt nodded. “Apparently, my skill is more properly named ‘Chthonic Consecration.” He quickly explained what Stanislaw had just said. “It allows me to basically bless places and things with the power of my god and also create new clergy. It does seem to strengthen the undead, among other effects.”

  “That sounds very helpful,” Mariella said.

  Off to the side, Vidalia clapped.

  “Yay!” she exclaimed. “Good choice. You have to use this skill a lot, all right? Bless as many places and things as you can with your power.”

  “All right,” Tybalt said, smiling.

  I was probably already going to do that, but her enthusiasm feels like an added reason to follow through. It’s cute how she gets so excited.

  He quickly checked Edgard’s status and saw that the mummy had gained a level from the few minutes of sparring he’d had with Mariella, before and after Tybalt fainted.

  “I think it’s probably good for you to try sparring with a different mummy next,” Tybalt said. “We’ll rotate through them and get them one or two levels each.”

  Mariella had opened her mouth to respond when Kistana spoke up.

  “You should use me for this, my lord,” she said quietly. “I’m fairly certain that I’m stronger than Mariella when it comes to physical combat.”

  If you’re as strong as you think you are—which, knowing the differences between physical combat class types and mage class types, you probably are—the catfolk should really have sent you to help defend the fox tribe’s village.

  Tybalt glanced over at Mariella before saying anything.

  The fire mage looked slightly annoyed by what Kistana had said but wasn’t opening her mouth to defend herself. She probably knew it was likely true, just from their initial encounter with Kistana where the fire mage had used a bow that Mariella would likely barely be able to draw.

  The necromancer turned his head to face Kistana and observed her aura again. She still kept it constantly active all around her body, her eyes continuously glowing red. But as he watched her, he saw the fluctuations he had noticed before. Moments where her eyes would stop glowing and her body was left almost completely unprotected by aura.

  Unstable.

  “Kistana, I think you’re sick,” Tybalt said bluntly. “Your aura is fluctuating in a way that makes it look unsteady. You shouldn’t fight at all unless you can do it at a stable level of power the whole time. Mariella might not be as physically strong as you, but her strength output is very consistent. That lets the mummies adjust how much strength they need to fight each of you. Neither of you is nearly as physically strong as this one.” He pointed at William the former huntsmaster. “So the key to a successful spar right now is him knowing how much he has to hold back.”

  Unless you’re so much stronger than I think you are that you make me and Mariella both completely irrelevant in a physical fight. Because that was how strong William was. Strong enough that he could probably shatter solid stone with his fists and bend metal bars with brute strength alone. That was what the numbers told Tybalt.

  The catgirl scowled but gave him a reluctant nod.

  “I understand, Lord Tybalt,” she said. “Of course your word is the final one.”

  Her tone made it obvious she was not happy about his decision, but she felt she had no right to argue the point.

  Mariella, for her part, looked like she didn’t know whether to feel affirmed or displeased with the conclusion Tybalt had come to. She definitely wanted to be the strongest, in her heart, and Tybalt thought he understood why. She still thought of herself as a soldier, and she wanted to be the most useful. Perhaps she connected it to being loved.

  Her dad seemed difficult to please, although that might be just because he didn’t really like me.

  The sparring continued, with Mariella fighting against each mummy in turn.

  After watching for a couple of minutes just to confirm that she wasn’t being pushed too hard, Tybalt turned his attention away from her and toward the group of captive animals he still had to experiment on.

  He reached out to the nearest one, the macaque that Stanislaw had used Corruption on earlier. Corruption was a skill that permanently altered and distorted a subject’s condition according to the user’s will. Tybalt knew that it could be used to perform multiple alterations on a single target.

  He decided to try and make the beast into an undead.

  Now that the necromancer had the feel for the Death God’s power, he drew it out as if he was about to use it for Unholy Consecration, and he reached out to grasp the creature by the back of its neck.