A Dance with the Dead #9
The chamber was vast and dimly lit, the flicker of torches casting long, dancing shadows across the cold, damp stone walls. The stench hit Erik the moment he entered—a sickening mix of decayed flesh and rotting blood. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, his eyes scanning the area.
Geri padded alongside him, ears twitching, while Helrath and Surtr followed silently, the red and blue lights in their hollow eyes casting an eerie glow in the darkness.
Across the room, a vampire stood, dressed in dark leathers, barking orders at two thralls. The Nord thralls, pale and lifeless in their movements, carried a pair of fresh corpses and tossed them carelessly into a pit. Erik's gaze followed the bodies, and he grimaced when he saw the sheer number of corpses already piled inside, some little more than skeletons, others in the various stages of decay.
Flies buzzed around the mound of flesh, and the air was thick with the nauseating odor of death.
The vampire's head snapped in Erik's direction, his red eyes narrowing as he sneered. "To think a mortal would come here with his own two feet... What good timing. We were running low on cattle."
Erik didn't respond immediately. He stared at the pit of corpses, his expression one of mild disgust rather than fear.
His hand rested lazily on the hilt of his sword as he sighed, his voice dry and unimpressed. "I get it. You're evil, blood-sucking fiends. There's a need to show off just how evil you can be for storytelling purposes..." He turned his gaze back to the vampire, raising an eyebrow.
"But aren't vampires supposed to be, you know, classy? This," he pointed at the festering pit, "this is just... sad. Even animals have better hygiene."
The vampire's sneer faltered, his eyes blazing with fury at Erik's words. "You lowly mortal!" he hissed, his fangs glinting as he spoke. "What nonsense are you spouting?!"
Erik just shrugged, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm just saying... you're making all vampires look bad. If this what the aftermath of what your feasts look like, I'd hate to see what you do for entertainment."
The vampire, seething with anger now, snapped his fingers at the two thralls. "Kill him. Kill this blabbering fool and break his boney toys!"
The thralls, mindlessly obedient, turned and charged at Erik, their eyes glazed and lifeless, axes raised high.
Seeing how the vampire wasn't interested in further conversation, Erik made up his mind not to waste any more time either. He gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it from the scabbard, but before he could unsheathe it, Helrath took a deliberate step forward. The imposing skeleton radiated an unmistakable aura of intent, his presence brimming with a cold, fighting spirit.
Erik's eyes flicked toward his skeletal companion, and after a moment's consideration, he relaxed his grip, removing his hand from the sword hilt. "They're all yours."
Helrath didn't hesitate, advancing toward the two thralls who charged at him with lifeless determination. He raised his shield in front of his chest with practiced ease, moving into a stance that momentarily gave Erik pause. The skeleton's posture was precise, almost perfect—something Erik hadn't expected from a newly raised undead.
It wasn't impossible for undead, especially special ones like Helrath, to retain or even develop martial skill, but it was rare. Erik had seen plenty of reanimated creatures wielding weapons clumsily, relying more on brute force than technique. Yet here was Helrath, a skeleton not long pulled from the grave, fighting with an almost eerie level of proficiency. He wasn't doing anything particularly complex, but the control, the fluidity—it was impressive.
Erik decided to remain silent and observe.
The first thrall came within striking range, his axe raised high, but Helrath moved faster than Erik expected. With a swift downward swing, the tip of Helrath's massive sword cut through the thrall's body cleanly, splitting him in two before the Nord had a chance to react. The bisected body crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap.
Before the second thrall could even process what had happened to his companion, Helrath moved again, his skeletal body a blur of motion. His sword pierced through the thrall's heart with precision, the strike so efficient that it almost looked effortless. He retrieved the blade with a quick flourish, sending a dry rustle through the air as the second thrall crumpled at his feet.
What struck Erik even more than the ease with which Helrath dispatched the enemies was the state of the bodies afterward. The flesh around the wounds, where Helrath's blade had made contact, wasn't just severed—it was dry and withered, as if the life had been sucked out of it in an instant. The edges of the wounds were parched, the blood frozen in mid-drip, giving the appearance of decay accelerated by ages.
Erik narrowed his eyes, intrigued. He'd expected his summoned skeletons to be powerful, but Helrath's technique, combined with the strange desiccation effect of his strikes, was far beyond what he had anticipated.
"Interesting," Erik muttered under his breath, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Whatever Helrath was, he was no ordinary skeleton.
Behind them, the vampire's irritated sneer had faded into a look of uncertainty, clearly disturbed by the swift dispatching of his thralls.
Erik, now focused on him, stepped forward, his smirk growing wider. "You were saying something about cattle and breaking my toys as I recall... do go own."
The vampire's eyes darted from Erik to the skeletal figures of Helrath and Surtr, his confidence wavering. The undead creatures before him were far more than the simple minions he had anticipated. Panic flared in his mind, and with a desperate curse, he spun on his heel, fleeing toward the exit with the enhanced speed only a vampire could muster. Even if he couldn't win this fight, he could at least escape. They wouldn't be able to catch him—not with his speed.
Or so he thought.
Helrath moved with startling precision, intercepting the fleeing vampire before he could reach the threshold of the chamber. As the armored skeleton raised his sword, several glowing magic circles appeared around his body, radiating with a sinister energy. From the circles, spectral chains materialized, their ethereal links shooting toward the vampire with a speed that rivaled even his own.
Before the vampire could react, the chains wrapped around his limbs, pulling him back with a violent force. His escape was cut short, and he found himself yanked toward Helrath. Panic surged through him as he struggled against the chains, but it was futile. Helrath pointed his massive blade forward, and in one fluid motion, it pierced straight through the vampire's heart.
A strangled gasp escaped the vampire's lips, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. But Helrath wasn't finished. With a swift swing of his shield, he used its sharp edges to decapitate the vampire, the headless body collapsing into a pile of dust almost instantly.
Only a cloud of fine particles and tattered robes remained where the vampire once stood.
Helrath calmly lowered his sword, his skeletal form devoid of emotion as he returned to his place behind Erik, his movements eerily smooth. Erik watched the display with quiet interest, a thoughtful expression forming on his face as he observed the aftermath.
"So Surtr was influenced by Mehrunes Dagon's realm… the Deadlands… and developed the ability to generate flames," Erik muttered to himself, piecing together the puzzle. He then turned his gaze to Helrath, his eyes narrowing as he considered the armored skeleton's abilities. "And you… you got those chains and that blood-sucking sword from good ol' Molag Bal, huh?"
A small chuckle escaped Erik's lips as he scratched his chin in amusement. "Makes sense, I suppose. Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of enslavement and domination. Seems fitting."
He paused, glancing back at Helrath with a smirk. "I just hope you don't suddenly develop the urge to start raping people like your sponsor... that would just be too weird."
Helrath remained still, silent as always, his crimson eye sockets flickering slightly as if acknowledging Erik's remark. Surtr, meanwhile, stood at attention, his fiery aura crackling faintly in the background.
Erik sighed, the levity fading from his expression as he looked toward the deeper recesses of the cave. "Well, that's one less nuisance to deal with. Now it's just Movarth left." He glanced down at Geri, who had been sniffing around the chamber's floor and letting out a disapproving growl at the dust piles.
"Let's go," Erik said, his voice dropping into a more serious tone as he picked up Geri, the demonic corgi leaning into his grasp. "No sense in dragging this out any longer. Other than Movarth there shouldn't be any more than three vampires left...."
With that, Erik strode forward, his two undead companions falling into step behind him, the eerie glow of their magic lighting the path ahead. The cavern's dim corridors stretched onward, a silent reminder of the darkness that lay in wait.
...
The deeper Erik ventured into Movarth's lair, the more the stench of decay and old blood permeated the air. His boots squelched against the damp cave floor, a mix of rotting flesh and centuries-old dust coating every surface. He glanced down at Geri, the small corgi padding lightly beside him.
The dog's usual mischievous demeanor was subdued, its nose twitching at the foul scents. Behind them, Helrath and Surtr moved in silence, their skeletal forms casting eerie shadows on the cave walls as their glowing eyes scanned for threats.
The lesser vampires and thralls had fallen easily. The camp of bloodsuckers had clearly not expected an assault, much less from a small party led by a necromancer with his undead. Erik and his skeletal companions had torn through them like a blade through silk. Surtr's fiery wrath and Helrath's expert swordsmanship had made quick work of the lot. Now, only Movarth remained.
At last, they arrived at a larger, more elaborate chamber deep within the cave. The entrance opened into a wide, torch-lit room, the stench of blood overwhelming. At the far end of the chamber, Movarth, a bald Breton vampire, sat at the head of a long, wooden table.
His pale skin gleamed in the dim light, and his eyes shone with a cruel, ancient intelligence. Blood dripped from the table, pooling at his feet, and on top of the table, several people lay bound, blindfolded, and gagged, their terrified, muffled cries barely audible.
Movarth's cold gaze met Erik's as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly on the armrest. "Well, well," the vampire drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "It's been a while since I've faced a necromancer... I suppose I should have expected someone with your... peculiar talents to show up sooner or later. Your kind flock to the stench of death like flys buzzing around dung..."
Erik ignored the pleasantries, his eyes flicking over the table and the helpless captives. "You've really made a mess of things. What's with the bloodletting? As an ancient, shouldn't be a bit more sophisticated than an animal?"
Movarth's lips curled into a sneer. "Sophistication is a luxury we afford ourselves when it suits us. Right now, I prefer indulgence." His eyes narrowed as he examined Erik more closely. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you? A necromancer playing with bones, pretending to grasp real power."
Erik's smirk didn't waver as he took a step forward. "Pretending, am I? Let's see how that holds up against the reality of what's about to happen."
Movarth chuckled darkly, standing from his chair. "I've drained more lives than you could count, necromancer. Do you really think you can best me with those pitiful toys you call skeletons?"
Erik's eyes gleamed as he gestured toward Helrath and Surtr, who stepped forward. "Why don't you find out?"
With that, Movarth's face twisted into a snarl. The battle began without another word. Movarth's speed was supernatural, his form a blur as he moved across the chamber.
Helrath and Surtr were prepared, however. Surtr's sword weapon, an axe he picked up from the corpse of a dead thrall, lit up in flames as he brought it crashing down toward Movarth, but the vampire darted to the side, avoiding the blow with ease.
In retaliation, Movarth lashed out with a powerful swipe, aiming to shatter Surtr's ribcage, but the fiery skeleton moved with surprising agility, blocking the strike with his blade.
Helrath charged forward next, spectral chains bursting from his form and wrapping around Movarth's legs. The vampire hissed in fury, tearing at the chains with his inhuman strength.
But Helrath was relentless, raising his sword and slashing at Movarth's torso. The blade connected, cutting deep, but instead of blood, the wound began to close almost immediately, tendrils of dark magic knitting the flesh back together.
Movarth grinned wickedly. "You'll have to do better than that," he hissed, his eyes glowing with malevolent energy. With a wave of his hand, blood from the bodies on the table rose into the air, swirling around him in a crimson cloud.
He directed the blood toward Helrath, the magical substance cutting through the air like whips. The chains restraining him shattered, and Movarth vanished from sight, turning invisible in a blur of motion.
Surtr, unfazed, swung his axe in a wide arc, flames scorching the air around him. Though Movarth's invisibility made him hard to track, Surtr's fiery aura illuminated the chamber, casting long shadows that hinted at the vampire's position.
Helrath, too, moved with precision, his skeletal frame undeterred by the vampire's tricks. Spectral chains lashed out again, catching Movarth's ankle just as he attempted to strike from the shadows.
Movarth growled in frustration, materializing in front of Surtr and unleashing a torrent of blood magic. Surtr's fiery veins flared brighter, and the magic dissipated harmlessly against the heat. The skeleton retaliated by hurling a fireball at point-blank range, but Movarth's speed saved him once again, the vampire dodging just in time.
Erik watched the battle with calculating eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword but unmoving. He knew better than to interfere at this point. Surtr and Helrath had the advantage, not only because of their strength but because they were undead.
Movarth could siphon the life force of his enemies to heal himself, a dangerous ability that could easily drag out the fight, but it was useless against skeletons—beings with no life to drain. Erik considered using wards to prevent Movarth from healing, but the risk of making a mistake was too great. If he faltered, even for a moment, it could give Movarth the edge he needed to recover.
As Erik weighed his options, he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by a low, menacing growl. He looked down, surprised to see Geri, the corgi, baring its teeth at Movarth. The usually adorable dog was transformed, its wide blue eyes now entirely red, and a deep snarl rumbled from its throat. Erik blinked in surprise. "What in the—"
Before he could react, Geri leaped from his arms. Midair, the corgi's body ignited in flame, turning into a streak of fire as it shot toward Movarth like a living missile. Movarth, caught off guard, barely had time to register the attack before Geri sank his fiery teeth into the vampire's side, tearing a chunk of flesh away with savage force.
Movarth howled in agony, staggering back as Geri landed on the ground, flames licking at the vampire's body. The attack had left Movarth vulnerable, his regenerative abilities faltering as he clutched at his side, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Surtr and Helrath seized the opportunity. Surtr swung hi axe in a wide arc, flames trailing behind it as it connected with Movarth's chest, cleaving through his torso with a sickening crunch.
Movarth reeled, his form barely holding together as Helrath moved in for the finishing blow. The armored skeleton's spectral chains shot forward, wrapping around Movarth's neck and arms, holding him in place as Helrath's sword plunged into his heart.
Movarth gasped, his body convulsing as the last of his life force drained away. His eyes flickered with hatred, but before he could muster another word, Helrath decapitated him with a swift, clean stroke of his shield's edge.
The vampire's body crumbled into dust, his ashes scattering across the bloodstained floor.
Erik let out a long breath, his posture relaxing as the fight ended. He glanced down at Geri, who stood proudly at his feet, the flames around its body slowly dissipating until the corgi was back to its usual, fluffy form. "Well... I didn't expect that," Erik muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Good boy, Geri."
The corgi wagged its tail, its eyes now back to their usual blue, as if nothing had happened. Erik bent down to scratch the dog behind the ears, shaking his head in disbelief. "You've got a few surprises in you, huh?"
He stood up, looking at the pile of dust that had once been Movarth. The battle had been shorter than he expected, thanks to Geri's unexpected intervention. Erik glanced over at Helrath and Surtr, the two skeletons standing silently, waiting for his next command.
With their target accomplished, Erik turned back toward the entrance of the chamber, his mind already focused on the next task at hand. "Well, that's that," he muttered to himself. He gestured to Helrath and Surtr. "Let's see if there's anything worth looting, then get out of here..."
...
I'm motivated by praise and interaction, so be sure to leave a like, power stone, or whatever kind of shendig this site uses, and more importantly do share you thoughts on the chapter in the comment section!
Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my pat rēon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps me a lot!
-> (pat rēon..com / wicked132)
You can also always come and say hi on my discord server
-> (disc ord..gg / sEtqmRs5y7)- or hit me up at - Wicked132#5511 - and I'll add you myself)