Page 5 of Amethyst and Iron
Hallmarks of the dead being raised.
A certain kind of raising actually.
There were different ways to pull a being from death state, but this was, unfortunately, the most common. And the most offensive, especially to the balance of nature.
In this particular case, these would be referred to by the uninitiated as zombified beings. Animated Fleshwork was the technical term. And black magic users were notorious for raising this way, re-animating a long-deceased corpse, allowing it to breathe again but without mind or soul, and within a broken and rotten body. It was a misconception to believe they could create more of themselves through biting a true living being. However, they could certainly cause a great deal of damage and chaos through the will and control of those who’d raised them. The magic running through them spurred them on, kept them intact, and even allowed them to wield their caster’s power in short, volatile bursts.
They were vessels for carnage and heresy.
Doors of the residences were flung open and the dead staggered out, headed down the lantern-lit paths. Those I’d initially spotted came into better view as well, moving out from the shadows around the homes.
The bodies of Animated Fleshwork were a patchwork of ruin—slack flesh hanging from bone, rot stretching over shattered frames, eyes clouded with the haze of death. Clothing hung from them in tatters, many soiled with dirt.
As they passed by, the lanterns flickered, then went out entirely, one after the other. It was black magic poisoning the pure magic fueling them.
But as they started in my direction and blanketed the area in darkness, I’d already seen what I needed to.
Bodies sprawled out inside those homes.
Fresh death. No rot. No bloat.
Salvageable.
Those whom they’d killed, the residents belonging to Glasswake Settlement.
But there were only half of them felled within the structures.
Where were the rest?
Had they fled when these two dozen Animated Fleshwork had overrun them?
Had the death raiser who now controlled these beings taken them somewhere else?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a question I had time to answer. Not until I’d dealt with the immediate issue—saving those who’d been murdered.
Time was absolutely of the essence.
I couldn’t afford to hesitate.
And as the dead drew toward me, grunting, groaning, and snarling inhumanly, they were unwittingly putting themselves in the perfect position for me to act as I needed to.
Far enough away from the freshly dead residents, yet not too far away for what needed to be done in conjunction with me sending them screaming back to where they’d come from—and once I was done, the death raiser responsible too.
I could reset the balance at the same time as pulling the freshly dead back, the moment I opened the door to the Valley of the Dead.
But every moment that passed made that less viable.
It had to be now.
I stormed toward the two dozen dead, snapping my palms up and calling my power. It flamed brightly, but I pushed harder. I would need a mass amount to employ Risen Reckoning, which would reset their death states in one brutal sweep of necromantic magic.
Blazing red shot up several feet into the air from either palm, streaming toward the dark clouds overhead.
A huge rush rolled through me, like a heating pins and needles sensation that set every part of me alight and held the spell steady.
Lightning sparked, becoming flash lightning in moments, tearing into the sky and shooting all around the area.
And then I slammed my palms together with all that power, creating a mammoth shockwave that was akin to a necromantic nuke, blasting into the Animated Fleshwork.
