Atlas felt the Winds of Magic stir at his command.
"AI Chip. Enable Active Assist."
*Beep!*
Atlas's vision changed with new information and predictions. The AI chip was his greatest advantage however he knew that becoming overly reliant on it could lead to his downfall. In battles he preferred to fight unassisted, however this particular shaman was problematic.
It Waaagh! Magic was reducing his undead host faster than he and Strickler could raise them. Furthermore, it channelled magic not only its own magical energy, but the unique green energy created by gathering Geenskins. The sheer quantity of magic would be enough to cripple many of the strongest mages in the Empire; it was only fortunate the goblin had little control and finesse with all that power. It could send great waves like boulders to pound enemies while Atlas, with the AI chip operated more as an assassin – striking only when needed.
As the shaman unleashed yet another spell making him flee to the side, Atlas felt the AI chip analyse the magic, determines strength, pattern, frequency and more. It seemed that Atlas injuring the great spider had enraged the creature beyond reason for its wild attacks now no longer damaged Atlas's undead, but rather its own spider riders in friendly fire.
The air crackled with arcane energy as Atlas unleashed a barrage of spells and summoned the full might of his undead horde to bear down upon his enemy. All he needed was an opening. Just one chink in the magic defences he could penetrate.
Bang!
One of Atlas's undead ogres had managed to sneak behind the spider, with the focus on Atlas, and with a mighty swing of its huge blade severed two of the legs of the huge beast. The spider collapsed, crushing the ogre however sending its occupants flying off. A worthy sacrifice in Atlas eyes.
As he charged towards the shaman, who was trying to regain its wits after the fall, his claws slashing through the air with deadly precision, he could feel the weight of the battle pressing down upon him. The ground shook with each step, the clash of steel and bone echoing through the mountains as the two forces collided in a desperate struggle for supremacy.
With a snarl of frustration, the goblin shaman struggled to regain his footing, his eyes narrowing in fury as he faced off against Atlas. The vampire's movements were swift and deadly, his claws slashing through the air with precision as he closed in on his prey.
Slash!
Finally, a wound! A spray of green blood squirted into the air as Atlas claws carved a deep cut into the shaman's chest. In panic, the Goblin Shaman unleashed an instinctual blast of pure destructive energy hoping to vaporise the annoying vampire.
"Zog off! This 'ere my spoils, you 'ear!" Its accented Reikspiel grating to Atlas sensitive ears. However as Atlas yet again dodged, the shaman's eyes went wide. It had fallen for Atlas's trap.
The magic of the shaman, enhanced by the many Greenskins and the green Gods, Gork and Mork, hit a different target. The down and injured spider, an honoured mount of countless generations of Goblin Bosses was killed by its own rider's spell.
As the goblin shook in rage, Atlas had his moment of weakness. Seizing the opportunity, Atlas closed in on the fallen creature, his hand driving deep into its chest with savage ferocity. The goblin's cries of pain were drowned out by the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone as Atlas ripped the life from its body.
With a final, triumphant roar, Atlas stood victorious over his fallen foe, his chest heaving with exertion as he surveyed the battlefield. The goblin shaman lay broken and dying slowing at his feet, starting a ripple through the ranks of the spider riders.
It started with one, terrified of its fate, seeing many of its kin rising up to savage the living once more. Then another. Then another. And then they all broke and fled, swiftly clambering up the rocky slopes and to the safety of the mountains.
The battle was won.
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Atlas watched his followers carry out the post-battle tasks with practised ease. The undead dragged the caldron of blood into the centre of the battlefield causing the delectable blood to be drawn into its depths. Humans moved amongst the dead, claiming trinkets and harvesting what could be valuable. Strickler, now taking over the laborious task of raising the lesser undead for Atlas, worked his spells to bring life back to both spiders and their goblin riders – it was good to have his first cavalry unit.
The Cathay merchants maintained close ranks, not willing to meet with Atlas just yet. He didn't mind, he had other pressing matters.
As the chariot bearing the dwarf sarcophagus approached, Atlas wasted no time in seizing the fallen goblin shaman and placing him atop the lid. With a steely gaze, he focused his magical energies, drawing forth the last vestiges of life from the wounded creature.
The goblin shaman writhed and struggled weakly against Atlas's grasp, but it was futile. With each passing moment, his vitality drained away, leaving nothing but a hollow shell in his wake. Yet instead of claiming the life force for himself, Atlas directed it toward the sarcophagus, channelling it into the runes carved upon its surface.
As the last traces of energy faded from the goblin's form, a surge of power rippled through the sarcophagus, causing its runes to glow with an otherworldly light. It was a dark and forbidden ritual, one that bound the essence of the goblin to the ancient Dwarf within, infusing the dormant lich with newfound strength and vitality.
With the ritual complete, Atlas stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion as he surveyed his handiwork. There was something different about this sacrifice compared to those used before. Atlas could feel it changing the dwarf, infusing it with something he wasn't able to give his creation alone.
Then, he released what it was. All mages, be they goblins, humans, elves or demons; need the spark of magic to manipulate the winds of magic. It was a rare gift and not one that could be bestowed on others without godly intervention.
Atlas lacked the skill and power to create such a spark of magic, a necessary component to create a lich, however there was no reason he couldn't steal one from another magic user.
Letting his fangs show as his lips pulled back into a smile. He'd figured it out. The solution to create his higher undead lich. Now the process to wake the creature would begin. With a look over his shoulder at the remaining Cathay merchants, he thought it wise to settle with them before continuing.
Now he would demand his payment for his intervention, even if it was unasked for. After all, what use is there in helping someone out of a pickle without being paid for it?