Chapter 137

Lyra fell back as the blade of metal whistled past her body, the Lord letting out a scream of agony as he jerked away from her, his tail thrashing.

At first she wasn’t sure what had happened, but then the Lord held up his tail, staring at the stump, the last twelve inches or so missing.

She was very familiar with those eyes. Many times she had gone down to the dungeon to save those in need and come across the dismembered, their eyes unable to look away from their stumps, the slow creeping horror dawning on them that a healing potion couldn’t save them this time, their limb was gone forever.

Then came the second stage of limb loss, white hot anger.

The Lord threw himself down, hands slapping to the floorboards as he dove to the floor, eyes searching, searching under the bed.

A flash of green, then nothing, there was no one under the bed. Only a tube of glossy black scales. His tail tip. The Lamia reached for the blood slick thing, eager to get it back in the hope it could be reattached.

Lyra watched in confusion from the blue Lamia’s coils, beginning to struggle free from the heavy things now they were loosened.

Not in time to stop Opal rising up behind the Lord as he lay, rising from the shadows, her talon held in hand. She crept closer as Lyra watched, weapon raised and aiming for the Lord’s spine as he scrabbled around under the bed.

She looked like she had it, but then the Lord stopped reaching, his body turning as he pulled back, and Opal was...

Lyra stared in confusion at the Goblin girl, she was ... motionless, completely still like a statue. What was she doing!? But then ... she understood.

Wranvyre pulled himself fully from under the bed and stood, one hand held his blood slicked rapier, the other the tip of his tail. He did not look particularly happy.

“You lied,” said Lyra staring at the frozen Opal. “You don’t teleport, you- you put people to sleep! Freeze them!”

Wranvryre raised his arms in a shrug, rapier and tail in each hand. “I am an actor, of course I fucking lied, it would have been rude not to when you threw such obvious bait to build a deception on right into my lap.”

He sounded exasperated as his arms dropped.

“It seems I now understand how you made it past my children of elven blood. You had a Goblin slave, an insider, to somehow let you in.” He peered closer at the frozen Opal. “A pregnant one with ... a black horn? Curious, did she evolve while on my estate? Hmm a purge may be in order. Starting with this one.” He twirled the rapier and pointed it at the black scarf around Opal’s neck.

Which was why he noticed when it moved. The scarf shuffled and then bones rose from within it, a shield of bones that wrapped tight around her neck. He furrowed his brow as he looked down to see the Goblin was now sheathed in bones, bones streaming up from the floor, a river that snaked back across the room, back to an armchair.

The rapier wavered as he watched more and more bones covering her and then came a rat, a rat that crawled from her back and stood on top of the Goblin’s head as she was fully encased in bone.

It put its paws on its hips and stared up at him even as more rats heaved a horned human like skull up behind it with green flaming eyes.

“This is ... N-Necromancy?” said the Lord, sounding for the first time uncertain.

The mound of bones quickly swelled, the frozen Goblin now fully engulfed, forming a hill, then a shape, a massive rat shape formed from thousands and thousands of bones, one eye socket was empty and one eye socket held the horned skull.

Wranvyre uneasily backed up as the giant rat took a step forward.

“You joined hands with a Necromancer? To get at me? One so deep in the dark art it no longer even has a living body?” The Lamia considered this, then snorted a breath through his nose and shook his head. “Not something I could have predicted, but ... Lyra Bellerhorn, you’ve turned me into a true hero, one who will be beloved. Your actions will go down with the public about as well as a pint of vomit, people hate Necromancers, everyone hates Necromancers! To ally yourself with such a thing is beyond the pale.”

Vash eyed the Lamia, the green fire of his eyes glowing steady.

“I am standing right here you know,” said the skull, almost sounding huffy. “And yes, if you must know I am a Necromancer, a crafter of the deceased, a master of undeath, a Lord of the eternal tomb etc etc, although this pile of bones may have been a minor clue in that regard, as much as it isn’t my best work.”

Wranvyre didn’t reply and instead took a moment to prepare, clearing his throat as if on stage. Then he puffed out his chest and flourished his sword, his voice commanding, filling the room.

“Disgusting thing, know now that we of the living abhor your lot, your unholy ways, you anathema to life, you blight upon the land. Know that heroes shall always arise to make ruin your evil, to save the innocent from your undead armies, your deathly conquerings, your fallow wretched kingdoms. Your very existence is an insult to the gods and everything that is good in this world, and your kind shall without mercy be exterminated at every turn.”

If a skull could have blinked in surprise it would have, the green flames of Vash’s eyes still made their best approximation, squeezing down before flaring back.

“Uhh, me? You’re talking about me? I mean, I just wanted to be left alone, it’s not my fault I was dragged out of my quite comfortable home against my will. It’s not me who has been conquering anyone, well, at least not for a long time, not my thing anymore, you know how it is. Retirement.”

“That wasn’t for your benefit, idiot.” Wranvyre made a cruel grin, as far from anything heroic as could be.

Then he Moved.

The Lamia was fast!

The rapier in that moment wasn’t so much a rapier as a crude implement, the enchanted blade unbending despite the whipping force it was put under. The blade struck the rat shaped mound of bones, and then passed through it, hundreds of bones cut apart and raining to the ground as more took their place, the shape losing cohesion as it went and the skull disappearing inside.

Wranvyre swung again, grunting with the effort, and then again, each time a shower of rat bones exploded from the giant rippling mound as the blade passed through it. He seemed unable to harm it but the mound was so busy holding itself together that it was unable to attack back.

Which was everything Vash intended as his human skeleton, now headless, approached the Lord from behind, a rune covered and glowing cutlass retrieved from the wardrobe held in one bony hand. The headless skeleton lifted it, and then struck down at the back of the Lord’s neck.