The skeletons stepped forward, their brittle bones clacking with each movement. Their hollow eye sockets glowed faintly, casting eerie green flickers in the dim lantern light. There were four of them—tall, gaunt figures, their fingers curled into bony claws.
Arlan's mind raced.
He had spent the past few weeks hiding what he was, pretending his necromantic power was just an odd Summoner's quirk. But now, faced with these walking dead, he had to make a choice. If he stayed back and played it safe, his companions might die. If he used his full magic, he risked exposing himself.
The amulet in his pocket pulsed warmly, as if expectant.
The skeletons lunged.
The Battle Begins
Tomas was the first to react, stepping forward with his sword raised. He swung at the nearest skeleton, his blade slamming into its ribcage. Bones cracked, but the creature barely staggered.
"They're tougher than they look!" Tomas warned, pivoting to block a swipe from its claws.
Leila loosed an arrow, striking another skeleton's skull. The impact made it jerk back, but it kept moving.
Beren roared, bringing his axe down in a heavy arc. The blow shattered one skeleton's collarbone, sending bone shards flying, but it still reached for him with its good arm.
Mira muttered a quick incantation, sending a small firebolt streaking toward the nearest undead. The flames licked over its ribcage, but the dry bones barely smoldered.
Arlan clenched his fists. His companions were trying, but they were novices. Their attacks were damaging the skeletons, but not stopping them.
Not fast enough.
Not before someone got hurt.
He made his decision.
Unleashing His Power
Arlan stepped back into the shadows, out of sight for just a moment. He reached inside himself, grasping the well of magic he had been holding back.
The moment he called on it, the world around him dimmed.
His veins pulsed with cold power. The amulet flared in his pocket, but he ignored it, pushing forward with his own strength.
In a low whisper, he uttered a command:
"Break."
The skeleton Tomas was fighting suddenly seized up. Its body trembled violently—then, with a horrible crack, it collapsed in on itself, its bones splintering into a heap of dust and fragments.
Tomas stumbled back, eyes wide. "What the hell—?"
Before anyone could question it, Arlan reached out again.
"Fall."
A second skeleton stiffened. Its movements became jerky, unnatural—then it suddenly dropped, its legs giving out as if the energy keeping it moving had been yanked away. It crashed to the floor, lifeless.
Mira gasped. "What—? That's not—"
Arlan's heart pounded. The others hadn't seen him cast anything. He had kept his voice low, making it seem as though the skeletons had simply failed on their own.
Tomas took advantage of the distraction, driving his sword through the skull of another skeleton. Leila and Beren struck the last one down together, arrows and axe shattering its fragile remains.
Then, silence.
The four skeletons lay scattered across the floor, unmoving.
Arlan's pulse was erratic, but he forced himself to breathe evenly. He wiped his hands on his cloak, as if he had done nothing but watch.
"What was that?" Mira asked, eyes locked onto him.
Arlan played dumb. "What was what?"
Mira narrowed her eyes. "Two of them just dropped like they lost power. But we didn't do anything to them."
Leila frowned. "That was weird. Almost like they—" She stopped, then shook her head. "I dunno, maybe they were unstable?"
Tomas exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Whatever. We won. That's what matters."
Arlan kept his face neutral, though his stomach was twisting.
Mira didn't look convinced.
The amulet in his pocket was silent now, as if amused.
He had gotten away with it—for now.
With the battle over, they turned their attention to the cellar itself. The skeletons had clearly been guarding something.
Mira and Leila searched the remains while Tomas checked the walls. Arlan, still shaken from what he'd done, took a deep breath and examined the ground near where the skeletons had emerged.
The dirt was loose here.
Kneeling, he brushed some of it aside.
His fingers struck something hard.
A coffin lid.
His breath caught.
"Uh, guys?" he called out.
The others turned. Beren joined him first, using his axe to clear more dirt. Within minutes, they had uncovered an ancient wooden coffin, its lid worn and splintered with age.
Mira looked uneasy. "This wasn't just a wine cellar, was it?"
Tomas exhaled sharply. "No. It was a crypt."
A horrible realization settled over them.
This place hadn't been haunted by accident.
Someone—or something—had disturbed this grave.
And Arlan had a sinking feeling that whatever had been buried here… wasn't done yet.
As the group debated whether to open the coffin, Arlan heard it.
A voice.
Not out loud, but inside his head.
"You are close now, little necromancer."
His blood ran cold.
His fingers curled around the amulet in his pocket.
No one else seemed to hear it.
Just him.
And that meant whatever was down there…
It knew him.
And it was waiting.