Mazlovado reappeared in the uppermost crypt of the Necropolis. He frantically looked around the blackened room and with his enhanced eyes felt satisfied he was alone. He rushed over to the nearest sarcophagus and with a wave of his only hand blew the lid off.
Inside was a relatively well-preserved body of a former knight of the western kingdom. Mazlo turned his hand as if it were a blade, slid it through the air, and the arm was perfectly cut from the body. It floated above its previous owner and glided into place at the necromancer's shoulder.
"I bring the flesh back to life and add it to my own!"
There was a dull green flash in the blackness as Mazlo's shoulder muscles, tendons, and blood vessels merged with those of the necrotic arm. He shouted out in pain at the transformation and conjugation of himself and the dead.
A green glow ran down his arm and pained expressions of madness fluctuated across his face. He exhaled and vomited on the floor. Cradling the dead arm with his other. He went as pale as a ghost as his blood began to cycle through the arm.
The arm's glow changed to orange, then red, and Mazlo made a fist with his new hand. He flexed and grasped, extending the fingers and reaching into the air above his head. He began to laugh like an unhinged lunatic, his nervous cackle echoing through the tomb.
Across the room, Mevner watched from behind a stack of bones. He stepped out from under the thin fine silk material that had shielded his upper body from sight.
"Follow. Follow," he said and the necromancer became aware of his presence.
"That can't be good for you, Redwing."
Mazlovado crumpled his laughing face into pure rage. Then he reached up with both hands, took hold of his amulet, and teleported away.
YOU ARE READING
The Wizard
FantasyThe path of good or evil are options for becoming the most powerful wizard in the universe. When the grandmaster is killed by his apprentice, it's up to his youngest pupil to find a way to restore the balance of nature. In this hardcore high fantasy...
