The lights went out.

  The [Mooneye Gem] that Sam had become so reliant on over the past few days, flickered and went dead. Darkness swallowed the chamber. The only remaining illumination came from the pulsing Soulstone and the gleam of ghastly green eyes, advancing in the dark.

  Sam manually cranked up [Arcane Eyes] and swung to intercept a charging [Draug Thrall]. He turned his whole body into the strike, driving power from his hips as he would with the spear.

  The thrall exploded in a flurry of dust and debris. Sam nearly lost his footing as the momentum of the swing carried him in a full circle. The effect of the [Dawnheart Pendant] was immediately apparent. Sam’s limbs felt invigorated as he dashed forward to meet the oncoming wave.

  He was fortunate that the draug were animated entirely by mana, as the lack of light made them stand out like neon signs against the inky darkness. The one downside was that the mana didn't extend to their weapons. He found that out the hard way as he took a jab to the hip from a rusted sword.

  Warriors and thralls made up the bulk of the Necromancer's force, but Sam spied the distinctive silhouette of a cleric lurking by the throne. The glow of its lantern lit the skeleton’s mouldering robes, and he eyed it warily as it drew magic from the Soulstone.

  The twang of bowstrings broke through the clattering din, and he dove to the side, shielding his face with his arm. An arrow grazed his shoulder, and he let out a frustrated snarl as he took cover behind a pillar.

  The draug were working together like a real army. The Warriors stood at the front, led by a hulking Captain. Behind them, the Cleric and Archers offered ranged support while Thralls nipped at the flanks. Arngrym stood in the center, spear spinning like a macabre conductor. His core pulsed as he ripped power from the Soulstone, repairing and reanimating the lesser minions.

  Despite Sam’s unfamiliarity with the weapon, the mace was turning out to be the perfect tool for the fight. While his senses didn't encapsulate it with the same certainty as they did the spear, the brutal flanged head was ideal for smashing through the draugs’ rusted armour and rotting bone.

  He charged the line, positioning himself to limit the number of enemies in front of him. They were slow in responding to rapid movements, and he found himself making wild lateral dashes in an attempt to get past their guards. He couldn't help but be reminded of games of football he’d played as a child. Only this time, there was a little more at stake than getting a first down.

  He was just beginning to fall into a rhythm when his eyes flashed as the Cleric released a ball of glowing miasma. Moving on pure instinct, he brought the weapon around and attempted to swat it out of the air. The glob faced some resistance but still sprayed most of its essence across his chest and shoulders.

  He let out a scream as the [Divine Skill] ate through skin and muscle. [Apostate] flared to life, limiting the damage. Every movement elicited a searing spike of pain as the stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils.

  It was worse knowing it was his own.

  He knew he couldn't keep taking hits like this. As long as Arngrym could continue to revive his fallen troops, and as long as the Soulstone continued to provide him with mana, his horde was functionally invincible. The only way to end it would be to take him down, but that was easier said than done.

  Sam’s one saving grace was that [Rodent's Resilience] was working overtime. The Title paired perfectly with [Iron Skin], lessening what should have been fatal blows down to minor cuts and bruises. It still wasn't enough to get him through the line unscathed.

  Arngrym seemed content to stay on the defensive, letting the Thralls chase Sam around the room as he desperately looked for an opening. He’d smashed through five of them and almost as many Warriors, and the ground was littered with hunks of broken bone. More rose to fill the ranks from rows of stone caskets that lined the walls. The whole place was a massive ossuary, filled floor to ceiling with the remains of long-dead var.

  Sam knew it was time to take a gamble. He still had resources at his disposal, and it was time to push the limit of his newfound skills. He took a steadying breath and dashed out from behind a pillar. He zig-zagged across the hall, ducking to dodge the arrows that whizzed by overhead.

  He set his shoulder and activated [Iron Skin]. His body vibrated as a cool rush enveloped him from head to toe. The [Draug Captain] raised its shield to tank the blow, but Sam charged through it with all the force of a freight train.

  His momentum carried him past the front line directly into the Necromancer. He spun and brought the mace down with all the strength he could muster. To his dismay, Arngrym deftly parried the hit—the clang of metal ringing off the cold stone.

  Sam rained down blows in quick succession, but each was either astutely blocked or rebounded against the draug’s ancient armour. The timer for [Iron Skin] ticked down in the corner of Sam’s vision, and he let out a scream of anger as he was forced to retreat through the crowd of warriors and make for cover farther down the hall.

  To his surprise, none of the draug gave chase. Arngrym’s laugh reverberated off the high ceiling, his grinding voice rising with the pounding of the Soulstone.

  “Is this truly the best you can do, Warrior? If I had not witnessed it myself, I never would have believed you bested the Matriarch. The gods were wise to abandon you; your weakness has no place on Olympos.”

  Sam didn't take the bait, but the words stung. Without his spear, he had no chance of breaking through the Necromancer's defences. He’d been expecting a squishy caster, but instead he’d been met with a brick wall. Arngrym hasn't even tried to attack him directly. He’d been content staying behind his guard and waiting for his minions to tear Sam to pieces.

  He poked his head out from behind a pillar and watched as the Necromancer rebuilt the fallen Captain. The process was certainly slower than with the other Warriors, but the monster was still back on its feet in under a minute.

  Sam frowned and considered that. Was there a world where he could outpace Arngrym’s abilities? He’d been focused on skirmishing, getting in and trying to find an opening in the wall. Was it possible to try to break the wall itself?

  Not seeing another good option, he dashed along the side of the room, bowling through a cluster of Thralls that ineffectually nipped at his heels. He stomped a few as he ran past, but focused on taking down a corner of the Draug line.

  Each swing of the mace made him wish that he’d purchased the Mastery skill for it. It also made him wish it wasn't a total piece of garbage. The handle had bent after his first tussle with Arngrym, and he was struggling to keep the strikes accurate.

  It did help drive home the fact that certain weapons were better in different situations and against different opponents. Other than the shorter reach, it was the ideal choice to take down a row of lumbering, inflexible opponents.

  I wish I had a shield, he lamented as he blocked a glancing blow with his forearm. He’d managed to tear through a good chunk of the line and was pleased to see that Arngrym was incapable of keeping pace with him.

  The Necromancer appeared to have come to the same conclusion. It raised its spear high overhead, and Sam watched with trepidation as it channelled a vast amount of energy from the Soulstone. The weapon glowed a deep, putrid green, the sight of which set off every possible warning bell.

  Sam tried to pull back, but found himself surrounded by a pack of yipping Thralls. They penned him in like an animal, and he stumbled trying to break through the fence of bone.

  Arngrym lowered the spear to his hip and let out a bone-chilling cry. A blast of chilling miasma flew from the weapon. Unlike the Cleric's attack, this one was more akin to a fire hose. The sheer volume of death energy dropped the temperature in the room below freezing, and Sam saw his breath in the moment before the magic struck.

  Time slowed as his brain fought to come up with a solution. He was exposed, injured, and beginning to flag. Even if he were able to dodge the first part of the attack, the rest would strip the meat right off his bones. He brought the battered mace in front of him again, the dark metal catching the blinding green light.

  An idea struck him.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The majority of his skills were strictly passive in nature. He’d been able to tier them up through consciously guiding their application, but it had always been within the limits of his own body. He thought back to how [Longinus Strike] extended his [Mana Network] into the weapon itself.

  Could the same be done for [Apostate]?

  He sought out the skill in his mind; the intangible nub that resided at the edge of his consciousness. He pushed mana into it, feeling it course through his body. Mind straining, he forced the channels through the palms of his hands, into the weapon. The magic fought him, unwilling to change its predetermined course.

  The blast struck him full in the chest, and he screamed as the necrotic energy burrowed into him. The cold seeped deep into his soul as his body viciously rebelled against the invasive presence.

  He fought through the pain and focused on the mana escaping from his palms. He could direct it, but it was almost as if it were fighting itself. His eyes widened as the realization struck.

  It was fighting itself. He was pushing mana from both directions, expelling it from his body rather than into the weapon. He gritted his teeth and focused on pushing with his right hand and pulling with his left.

  The effect was instantaneous. The line of mana illuminated the shape of the mace, coiling around itself like a spring. It was as if the channel created a circuit, allowing energy to pass through it.

  Sam realized it was the first time he’d seen his own mana. He’d been so preoccupied during his fight with the Matriarch that he hadn't even bothered to look as it passed through his spear. When it flowed beneath his skin, it just seemed like part of him. It was different to see it imprinted on the world.

  It shone a radiant, bright white as it parted the bilious miasma. Being able to focus the skill into a single point split Arngrym’s skill like a rock in a river. Sam held on against the current, ignoring the snapping jaws that ripped at his legs.

  He just had to endure. Endure the torrent of death that rushed towards him. Endure the thousand years of hatred and bitterness. Endure the reckless greed that had doomed an entire planet.

  The spell stopped. Sam nearly collapsed from the sudden lack of pressure. The skin on his arms was grey and rotten, and he could see the bone of his pinky stub poking through.

  He leapt backwards and activated [Battle Healing], once again guiding the skill as it flowed through the worst of his injuries.

  It worked! His mind was racing with the possibilities and potential applications. There was still so much more to learn about manipulating his [Mana Network], still so much he didn't understand. He added it to the list of questions for Arther…assuming he survived the confrontation.

  The head of his mace had deformed under the impact of the skill, and he wasn't confident that it would survive much more abuse. He had a few dull swords in his inventory, but he wasn't remotely confident in his ability to use them.

  He needed to land one decisive strike against the Necromancer. A true death blow. One that would really count. He knew he didn't have much time left, and he was almost out of options, down to his last life.

  His last life…

  His face broke into a savage grin as he skidded to a halt. He aborted his hasty retreat, instead shifting his momentum to charge straight at the ancient Necromancer. The whistle of fletching quickly followed the twang of bowstrings, but he laughed as he activated [Tempest Shield].

  His pauldron vibrated as a slick coating of air surrounded him, turning away the arrows with ease. The Cleric launched its own attack, but Sam was pleased to see that the item’s skill deflected it as well. His laughter rose as it splattered against the stone.

  He felt lighter as he dodged between the remaining Warriors, deftly avoiding their clumsy strikes. Even the Champion felt slow as he pushed power into his aching limbs.

  Arngrym stood tall on the steps of his throne. The ancient Lord glared down with imperious might, cold malice emanating from its rotten skull. The Necromancer cocked its head as it observed his reckless advance. Sam saw its glowing eyes narrowing at the sound of his laughter.

  The Soulstone pulsed above the fray, a constant thrum underpinning the battle. Its steady cadence had set the pace for the conflict, a slow, driving rhythm of inexorable death.

  For the first time since the fight began, it faltered.

  If Sam’s senses hadn't been cranked to the max, he probably would have missed it. The shift in the cadence was subtle as the tempo increased. But the implication was clear.

  It was afraid.

  Arngrym shifted and once again brought his spear to bear. The miasma parted on the [Tempest Shield] as Sam broke through the line. The attack left the Necromancer wide open, and Sam took advantage of the opportunity.

  He pulled back his injured shoulder and threw the mace with lethal intent. Arngrym reacted on instinct, lifting an arm to protect his head. It was a moment of distraction. A split second in a field of chaos.

  But it was enough.

  Sam summoned his [Tempered Var Short Spear], his mind instantly assaulted by a torrent of boiling rage. The screams lasted only an instant before transforming into a roar of exaltation. The weapon understood what he sought to do, and it lent its fury to his purpose.

  He leapt from the first step of the dais straight at the Necromancer. The glowing green core shone in Sam’s vision like a bonfire. He lunged with the spear even as the torrent of miasma shifted—becoming an impenetrable wall.

  He activated [Longinus Strike], the tip of the spear burrowing through Arngrym's defences. It had become a void of mana, the embodiment of emptiness. And into that emptiness something arose.

  ANGER.

  It poured out of the weapon into the void and smashed into the Necromancer's chest. The metal tip disintegrated from the impact, but the damage was done.

  All the rage, all the wrath and desire for revenge. It blasted through Arngrym’s core in a bloody red lance. The condensed will of an entire species ripped into the draug. Sam only caught a glimpse of shock on the skeletal face before the skull erupted in a torrent of boiling blood.

  The shockwave flung Sam down the stairs, driving the breath from his lungs. He sat up, gasping, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. [Arcane Eyes] was going haywire as the two conflicting forces battled within the body of the ancient Lord.

  Sam realized it couldn't have been a coincidence that the spear was left with a single point of durability. It had been the final hope of the Ghūl that he carry their vengeance with him. He may have been the arbiter of their destruction, but he was also the instrument of their revenge.

  The Soulstone pounded from its place above the throne, the light flashing in sync with the maelstrom of energies that swirled around the Necromancer. Sam watched in awe as pieces of armour and bone were stripped away.

  Arngrym’s death was not a slow one.

  A thousand years of anger would not easily be satisfied, and seconds turned to minutes as the Necromancer's body was eroded into nothing. Sam could only stare in morbid fascination as the Lord was pounded into dust.

  The Soulstone let out a final, thunderous beat before dimming and falling silent. Emptiness filled the hall. The remaining draug had long since collapsed, their energy reclaimed in Arngrym’s desperate bid to overcome the attack.

  A cloud of red mana lingered above the throne. The fog shifted, condensing into a familiar outline. The hunched, dog-like creature raised a single arm in greeting, and Sam could hear the echo of a howl as it was swept away on an unseen breeze.

  In an instant—he was alone.

  Silence settled into the hall like a physical weight. He sat, body numb as he surveyed the remnants of the battle.

  He’d done it. Somehow, impossibly, he’d defeated the Necromancer. Alone. A feat that normally would have taken a party, and a strong one at that.

  He let out a chuckle that was as much crying as it was laughter, the stress of the past few days releasing like a tidal wave. He got unsteadily to his feet, ignoring the crunch of bone underfoot. Nothing remained of the Draug Lord except his ancient metal spear. Sam had been hoping that some portion of the baroque armour would have survived, but he wasn't complaining.

  He picked up the weapon and examined it.

  [Spear of the Primordial Dawn - Iron - Relic]

  The spear of Champions, carried by the favoured lineages of Var’Gish. Wielded by kings and commoners alike.

  Deals significant piercing and slashing damage. Increases passive channelling of [Divine Skills].

  Relic: This relic weapon may be imbued with [Divine Cores], increasing its Rank.

  [Durability 987/1000]

  Whoa. Sam’s eyes lit up as he read the description. He’d never heard of a Relic weapon, but clearly, they had their own set of properties. A weapon that could increase in Rank as he did was incredibly powerful. He’d need to ask Arther exactly how the process worked.

  He stored the spear and looked up at the Soulstone that hung suspended over the throne. The metal bracket had bent and warped during his final attack, and it rested only a few feet off the throne.

  Sighing, he ascended the dais and carefully climbed up onto the throne. A small part of him wanted to leave the gem, but he knew it would be foolish to give up such a powerful item. Steeling himself, he reached out and touched it.

  As expected, a wave of cold surged into him, but it wasn't unmanageable. He quickly stored it and jumped down off the crumbling stone. The second his feet touched the ground, a deep groan echoed through the hall. The walls around him shuddered, and it brought back memories of the few earthquakes he’d experienced.

  The tremors continued as a door slid open in the wall next to the throne. Above him, rocks began to fall from the ceiling, and cracks appeared in the massive pillars.

  A new quest flashed in front of his eyes.

  [Quest: Escape the Twilight Crypts]

  Reward: Don’t Die

  “Don’t die?!” Sam yelled as he ran towards the doorway. Turns out the Arbiter had a sense of humour after all.