The Forsaken Hero-Chapter 691: Undead Giant

"What are you talking about? This isn’t what we were summoned here to do!" R’lissea cried.

Connor raised an eyebrow. "And fighting beside the gods’ sworn enemies is? I don’t care for the game between the demons and gods, nor am I here at either behest. The church opened the door, and I accepted the invitation."

"You mean they have no part in this?" I asked, waving my hand at the zombies and black mist.

"They’re certainly aware of my god’s designs, and many have little stomach for his powers. But right now, none would dare protest. It suits their purposes well, after all."

"But why?" R’lissea’s voice cracked. "Why would hurt all these people? They had feelings, families, and lives."

Connor glanced at the risen corpse of a small girl barely in her teens. Her eyes were hollow and gray, staring blankly ahead. A hole gaped in the center of her abdomen, letting half-eaten organs hang across her stomach. Blood still dripped from the entrails, black and thick like oil.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand. Sure, they were alive, but it’s not like they could serve me that way," Connor said.

Bile rose in my throat, and I looked away, covering my mouth. R’lissea whimpered, looking sick.

"Aren’t they much more interesting like this?" Connor asked, tilting his head. He patted the zombie’s head, sending a shudder through its body. One of its legs, torn at the knee, buckled.

"We mortals are so funny," he mused. "We spend all life avoiding death, and yet, in the end, everyone fails. It’s the only inevitability. Or is it? With my help, they can fulfil that desire to continue on."

"You’re a monster," I whispered.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is that right? I remember meeting you, Xiviyah, in Brithlite. They thought you were a monster, too. They were right, too. I saw it in your eyes and your soul, even if you didn’t know it then. Do you think they’d agree with me?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess we’ll never know. Because you killed them. At least I can offer something after their suffering. Don’t you think that makes me a lot kinder than you?"

"Do the others know?" R’lissea asked.

"Perhaps, but I don’t see why I should care about their opinions. Alex and Soltair are invested in their own matters. Verity could be a bother, but I almost wish she’d come snooping. Her soul is bright and pure like your own. I wonder what kind of Risen you two would make." His gaze shifted to me. "Now yours would be most interesting. They say the darker a soul, the greater the chance of a risen resembling itself in life. All that darkness coming to the surface, past the innocent facade you wear. Yes, most interesting, indeed."

He licked his lips, his stare crawling over my body, lingering on my chest, where my soul sheltered.

"Don’t you dare hurt her," R’lissea said. "I won’t let you."

"Oh? You’re going to stop me? The sweet, innocent Life Hero?" Connor smirked. "We’re not so different, R’lissea. Our methods may differ, but in the end, we both want to avoid death. Your way perpetuates suffering, while mine resolves it forever."

Connor stretched out his hand, pointing a bony finger at me. "Bring her to me."

The giant moved, creaking as is stepped over his head. Connor turned and curled a finger at R’lissea.

"If you wish to stop me, now is your chance. Come. I won’t wait."

He vanished back into the mist, headed toward the crater. A chill raced down my spine.

"He’s going for the dragon!" I whispered.

R’lissea twisted her staff, eyes darting between the giant and the place Connor to the crater.

"Go, we’ll take care of things here," Fyren said.

I nodded at R’lissea. "We’ll catch up as soon as we can."

She let out a sharp breath and met my gaze. Her eyes shone faintly with green light.

"I’ll do my best. I won’t let him hurt any more people."

She patted the life elemental’s neck, and it kicked off the ground. Eddies of wind buffeted us, tugging at my hair, as the dragon gained altitude with every beat of its wings. R’lissea gave us an anxious look over her shoulder as it wheeled away, vanishing into the darkness.

"This thing looks dumb," Fyren said, giving the giant a skeptical look as it lumbered toward us.

Every step the undead took shook the ground, but I hardly noticed the tremors. Fragile though I was, my body had adjusted to the rolling seismic waves of the dragon’s auras and attacks, so something like this was nothing.

"It’s eighth-level. I wonder where he found something like this," I murmured.

"Who cares? Without a mind to direct it, the strongest body is a pile of meat to be seared."

The giant reached us, raising its hands above its head and slamming them atop Fyren. The demon raised his sword, wreathed in flames, and met it with a casual slice. His mana surged into the blade, emitting a shockwave as it met the rotting fist.

Fyren grunted, bracing himself as the ground shattered beneath his boots. The giant drew back one arm and punched again, forcing him into a crater. His sword bit deep into its wrist, drawing thick black ichor. Its skin sizzled and blackened from the fire, but the dark mists smothered the sparks.

The monster raised its other fist, and Fyren slashed his sword, cutting into the giant’s ankle. He released a seventh-level technique, obliterating the joint. It staggered backward and fell, its foot twisting with a sickening crunch. Dust filled the air as it collapsed into a two-story building, bringing the roof down in itself.

"It’s stronger than me, but certainly slower," Fyren said, jumping out of the crater. He swung his sword in an arc, releasing a wave of fire that incinerated a dozen zombies that had gotten too close to me. "I don’t like this mist, either. It saps at my power like curse magic."

I frowned, examining Connor’s mana weaving through the darkness. It had been over a year since I’d witnessed him fighting in the ice gate, but I remembered it well. This dark mist served as a medium to spread his power and support through his horde. The more he killed, the stronger it got, raising the threshold of how powerful his undead were. Right now, it was weaker than what it had been in the gate, resembling a fifth-circle spell instead of a sixth. If it crossed that threshold, his undead would gain a much greater semblance of intelligence and perhaps the capability to use techniques and abilities they had wielded in life.

The giant roared as it surged free of the building, sending rubble flying in all directions. I flinched as a chunk of obsidian crashed into my wards, shattering into three pieces. The debris tumbled to the ground, half-boxing me in.

Fyren took a deep breath, his aura flaring when he exhaled. The other weaker undead started to smolder as the temperature rose, bursting into flames as he strode toward the giant.

The giant kicked at him, but Fyren side-stepped, looking unphased as its giant foot passed inches from his head. he cut at its foot, only to frown. I peered closer and gasped, my tail going rigid.

The massive cut he’d left on it before had shrunk to a thin black line across its ankle. Connor’s mana flowed through the mist into it, knitting rotting flesh together. It wasn’t so much healed as sutured, yet the effect was the same.

"Damn hero," Fyren muttered.

The demon became a blur, weaving through the creature’s legs. His sword flashed, trailing an afterimage of fire that lingered, making it look as if his sword was in a dozen places at once. Bloody lines erupted across the giant’s legs, carved from ankle to knee.

Fyren appeared twenty feet past the giant, sword outstretched. The undead groaned and fell over, but its lifeless eyes fixed on me. I stumbled back a step as it clawed toward me, dragging its useless body across the ground. Tendrils of undead mana wove through the fog, slowly stitching its wounds back together.

Fyren ran over and slashed at its shoulder, cutting several strands of muscle. The monster clawed at him with its other hand, catching his shoulder with a filthy fingernail. It sliced a jagged line in his armor, drawing an arc of crimson blood after it. Fyren’s blood hissed like the lava dragon’s, etching the obsidian cobblestone street.

"Wards?" Fyren asked, gritting his teeth as he backed away.

I flinched, biting my lip. I had a few weaker spells in place to protect me from the heat and mundane threats like debris and shockwaves but nothing to stop a high-level attack. Given my soul’s state and the transcendent strength of the dragons, it seemed like an unwise usage of mana.

The undead, on the other hand, were monsters I could fight. I continued to run from the undead, soul casting a few sixth-circle spells. After the first, my head started to ache, and a wave of nausea nearly swept me off my feet, but I pushed through the strain, casting Blade Ward, Mirror Sphere, and Bulwark, a sixth-level version of Aegis.

"Better," Fyren said. "Now let’s send this bastard back to the grave."