Wrath Of The Necromancer (EN Version)

Chapter 6

When Aiden woke, the sun was already high in the sky, its light filtered through the thick canopy of trees overhead. He sat up slowly, feeling the fatigue from the previous night's battles settle deep into his bones. Every muscle ached, and hunger gnawed at his stomach, sharpening his senses to the bag of supplies he had looted.

He tore into the dried meat, chewing with determination, though the taste was bland and the texture tough. He washed it down with a bit of stale bread and some water, not bothering to savor the flavor. Hunger had a way of dulling the senses, and right now, food was more about survival than pleasure. When he finished, he felt a little more focused, though the soreness of his body reminded him of the dangers he faced. He had survived only by the strange new powers that allowed him to command the dead.

Aiden turned to his six undead, still stationed nearby and waiting in perfect silence. He noticed how steady and alert they seemed, far stronger and more responsive than the skeletal remains he had raised back at the graveyard. There was no stiffness in their movements, no stuttered jerks; these undead were powerful and fluid, almost... capable.

"So," he muttered, studying them closely,

"the more intact the body, the stronger the undead." He observed their muscles, flesh still holding form, their expressions blank but attentive.

The contrast was stark: his previous summons, the nearly skeletal corpses, had moved slowly, their bones rattling, barely holding together. But these six felt like they held onto some semblance of their former strength.

Satisfied with this understanding, Aiden decided to test a new command. He looked at one of the undead, an order forming in his mind. "Scout the area ahead," he commanded mentally, sending a focused push of intent.

The undead reacted immediately, lurching forward with purpose, making its way through the trees. Aiden followed from a distance, but as the undead moved farther, he began to feel something shift—a faint sense of disconnection, as if the tether holding it to him were fraying.

Curious, he continued walking, watching closely.

"Keep going," he thought, directing the undead to continue forward.

But as it moved deeper into the forest, Aiden felt his grip on it weakening, like a rope stretched too thin. Soon, the undead slowed, its steps becoming less coordinated, its movements erratic.

Then, the undead's pace changed entirely. It stopped, its head jerking slightly before it resumed walking—but this time, its movement was different. Instead of focused scouting, it began to wander aimlessly, its path weaving through the trees with no clear direction.

Aiden's brows furrowed, intrigued by the shift. He took another few steps back, fully out of range, and watched as his control faded entirely.

The undead's eyes darkened, losing even the faint glimmer of intent. It had become something else entirely—a creature driven by base instincts, devoid of purpose. Its head swiveled, scanning the area until it caught sight of movement—a small rabbit darting out from a nearby bush.

Instantly, the undead's posture changed, its body stiffening before it lunged toward the rabbit with a ferocity that startled Aiden.

'So that's what happens when I lose control' he thought, his mind racing.

Without his influence, the undead reverted to a primal state, attacking anything with flesh. The thought sent a shiver down his spine; if it encountered a living person in this state, it would attack mindlessly, no longer bound to his will. He would have to be careful about letting them stray too far.

'About 500 meters' he noted, estimating the distance.

That was the range of his influence. Beyond that, his undead would become dangerous, attacking anything that crossed their path.

Aiden took a few steps closer, re-establishing the connection, feeling the faint sense of control return as the undead's aimless movements slowed.

He issued a new command.

"Return."

The undead obeyed, moving with renewed purpose as it returned to his side.

The test had been enlightening, though it left him with a sense of unease. His powers were potent, yes, but they were also unpredictable. If he wasn't careful, he could lose control of his undead entirely, turning them into hazards for anyone nearby.

Once the undead returned, he directed them to remain in formation and focused his attention on another pressing need. He was still cold, the forest's damp chill settling into his bones. He glanced around, spotting a few sticks and dry leaves scattered across the ground.

'If I could just start a fire,' he thought, the idea lingering in his mind.

But then reality hit him. He was from a world where fire came from a simple flick of a lighter. Here, there were no lighters, no matches.

'How do people even start fires without them?' he wondered, frustration bubbling up.

He recalled scenes from movies he'd watched in his past life—characters striking stones together to create sparks, starting fires with nothing but flint and determination.

Aiden scanned the ground, grabbing a few stones that looked promising.

'It worked in the movies; how hard could it be?' he thought,

setting up a pile of twigs and dried leaves. He struck the stones together, trying to mimic what he had seen on screen.

But the stones he'd picked were damp, the faint moisture clinging to their surfaces making the task feel impossible. No sparks, no hint of flame.

He struck again, and again, his frustration mounting as each attempt failed. The dampness, combined with his already drained energy, only made the task feel more daunting.

His strikes grew weaker, his patience wearing thin as he kept trying, each attempt as futile as the last.

Finally, he slumped back, defeated, letting the stones fall from his hands. He was too tired, too drained to keep at it.

"Ugh!! Why can't anything go right for once?" he yelled in frustration, his voice echoing through the forest.

He clenched his fists, staring up at the sky, cursing his luck. This world had given him powers, but everything else felt stacked against him.

He leaned back, letting out a deep, resigned sigh, trying to calm himself. But just as he began to relax, a faint rustling sounded behind him.

He straightened, his senses sharpening as he turned toward the noise. The sound was subtle, a light shuffle of leaves, but it was enough to put him on edge.

'What now?' he thought, his eyes scanning the treeline.

Then he heard it—a low, rumbling growl, resonant and deep.

The sound seemed to roll through the forest, filling the air with an ominous weight.

Aiden's heart skipped a beat as the growl grew louder, each note vibrating with a primal menace that sent a chill down his spine.

He froze, hand instinctively tightening around his dagger. The growl came again, closer this time, echoing from the shadows beyond the trees. Whatever was out there was massive, and the sound alone carried a threat that felt palpable.

Aiden's undead stood in front him, silent and ready, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was unlike any threat he'd faced so far. He took a steadying breath, his mind racing as he braced himself for what was lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.