Malicious Compliance: The Necromancer Who Hated His Script [LitRPG / Progression Fantasy / Satire / Comedy / Villain / Revenge]

Kaito turned his back on the System window and started walking down the damp, gloomy corridor.

"Right," he muttered, his voice echoing with that ridiculous, cavernous bass that still startled him. "I have to eliminate rats, just like every tutorial. Let's find these rats, kill them, and then file a formal complaint with the management."

Kaito couldn't stop the feeling of embarrassment for his new life.

He marched with the determination of a man heading to the breaker box to shut off power to a non-paying client, his boots crunching on the gravel and his gaze ahead, squinting into the darkness, expecting to see red eyes or hear squeaking.

The newborn Necromancer kept walking for another ten meters. Then, twenty, probably hoping that an OP monster would've appeared out of nowhere.

Then, after taking some other steps, he stopped.

Something was wrong. The audio mix was off.

He could hear his own footsteps—heavy, leather-booted thuds—but there was no accompanying clack-clack-clack of skeletal feet.

Kaito turned around slowly and saw that Larry was still standing exactly where he had been summoned, thirty meters back.

The skeleton was staring at the wall, motionless, looking like a forgotten prop from a Halloween store that had gone out of business.

"Larry," Kaito called out.

Larry didn't move.

"Larry!" Kaito shouted.

Nothing.

He kept staring at the wall while doing absolutely nothing.

Kaito trudged all the way back, his irritation rising with every step.

He stood before the skeleton, waving a hand in front of its eye sockets.

"Why aren't you following me?" He asked, forgetting that he was speaking with nothing more than furniture.

Larry’s skull remained fixed.

[SYSTEM TIP]

• Minion Logic: Undead constructs of 'Low Tier' do not possess autonomy.

• Requirement: You must issue specific verbal or mental commands (e.g., "Follow," "Attack," "Dance").

Kaito pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have to micro-manage his walking? Is he a Roomba made of calcium? Does he need a firmware update to learn how to put one foot in front of the other?" He said, clearly bothered.

[SYSTEM CONFIRMATION]

He sighed, a sound that rumbled like distant thunder. "Larry. Follow me, and do not stop unless I tell you to. If I fall into a hole, do not jump in after me unless it helps."

Clack.

Larry took a stiff step forward. Then another, until he bumped into Kaito’s shoulder, rebounded, and waited.

"Great. A collision physics engine from 1999. Let's go." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

Then, Kaito turned around again and resumed his march, now accompanied by the rhythmic, annoying rattling of bones behind him.

"This is ridiculous," Kaito grumbled to the empty air. "My name is Kaito. I'm a certified electrician. I fix problems, I don't lead a parade of bones in a sewer."

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[IDENTITY ERROR DETECTED]

A red window popped up right in front of his face, forcing him to stop again.

Larry walked into his back. Thud.

"What is it now?!?!" Kaito shouted, clearly ppissed off.

[NOTICE: Please use your registered designation.]

"I am using my designation!" Kaito snapped, swatting the window away (it just teleported back to the center of his vision). "My name is Kaito!"

[ERROR: "Kaito" lacks gravitas.]

[ERROR: "Kaito" is incompatible with the Legendary Necromancer Archetype.]

[ERROR: Marketability score: 12%. Focus groups found it "too generic" and "lacking in darkness."]

[ERROR: Nobody in a fantasy world is called "Kaito".]

Something twitched in Kaito's eye.

"So let me get this straight," he said slowly, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You can force a class on me. You can force a job on me. You can force me to grind rats."

The System pulsed innocently.

"But you also get to rename me like I'm a discontinued product line?"

[CONFIRMED.]

[GENERATING NEW DESIGNATION...]

[PROCESSING 'DARK FANTASY' DATABASE...]

"Don't you fucking dare," Kaito warned. "Don't give me something weird. Call me Bob. Or Steve."

[NAME SELECTED.]

[WELCOME, MORDECAI VON RAVENLOFT.]

Kaito stared at the name. The silence in the crypt was deafening.

"Mordecai... von Ravenloft?" He said it aloud.

The syllables tasted like cheap wine and velvet.

"That sounds like a vampire from a bad fanfiction written in 2008!" Kaito yelled. "It sounds like someone who sleeps in a coffin and writes poetry about blood! I refuse! I am an electrician!"

[SYSTEM: Name registered. Identity locked. Enjoy your new brand, Mordecai.]

"I hate you," Mordecai muttered. "I hate you with every fiber of my being."

Then, he laughed, but it came out wrong.

That wasn't Kaito's laugh anymore.

It was deep, hollow, and irritatingly cool, sounding like a villain laughing from the shadows in a theatrical trailer.

The only thing he could add to that malicious laugh was "I. Am. Atomic." followed by a purple explosion.

"Oh, fantastic," he muttered, touching his throat. "First, you steal my life; now, you steal my vocal cords."

He stormed forward, desperate to punch something, kicking a pebble into the darkness.

Splash.

His boot landed in a shallow, stagnant puddle of water.

"Perfect. Wet socks. Just what I needed to complete the experience. I'm gonna catch a cold—" He stopped mid sentece.

Mordecai looked down to check if the water had seeped into his boots.

But he didn't look at his feet; he looked at the reflection staring back at him from the dark water and in that moment, he froze.

The face in the water wasn't Kaito's face.

Kaito had a roundish face, tired eyes, and hair that looked like a bird's nest.

The reflection in the puddle was... criminal.

Sharp, aristocratic jawline. Pale, porcelain skin that looked like it had never known the touch of UV rays. Electric blue eyes that glowed faintly with magical power, cutting through the gloom.

And the hair... God. Black hair, artfully messy, falling perfectly over one eye like he had been styled by a tragic poet with a modeling contract.

"Oh no," Mordecai whispered, leaning closer to the dirty water.

He turned his head left, and the reflection remained perfect. Then, he turned right. Still perfect.

That was the face of a man destined to be put on body pillows.

"No. No, no, no. This is unacceptable." He panicked before grabbing a loose shard of sharp bone from the floor (probably a leftover from Larry’s assembly).

He then yanked a lock of that silky, perfect black hair forward.

"I am not walking around looking like an 'emotionally unavailable love interest'," he growled, the bone shard trembling in his hand. "I refuse to be bait for fanfiction writers. I want a bad haircut. Something that says 'Generic NPC who dies in chapter three'. Something that screams 'I pay taxes and have back pain'." He said, before he sawed at the hair.

SNIP.

The long, "edgy" lock of hair fell into the puddle, and Mordecai's lips curled into a genuine, triumphant smile. "Take that, you handsome bastard."

FSSSSHHH.

A sound like steam escaping a pipe hissed through the crypt.

Violet dust shimmered around his head.

In less than a second, the hair grew back. Exactly as it was before. Same length. Same shape. Same irritating perfection.

[SYSTEM WARNING] [VIOLATION OF "PROTAGONIST AESTHETIC" PROTOCOL]

• Developer Note: Don't touch the hair. We paid a lot for this character design. Readers like the 'Brooding Hunk' look.

'Developer... note? What does this mean?'

Mordecai stared at the reflection, and the reflection stared back, looking cool and unbothered.

"...You're... forcing me to be hot."

[CONFIRMATION: YES.]

[High Charisma stat is essential for Harem mechanics (Future Update).]

"I DON'T WANT HAREM MECHANICS!" Mordecai roared, throwing the bone shard into the darkness. "This requires maintenance! Do you know how much effort it takes to look this effortlessly disheveled? I just want to look like garbage so people leave me alone!"

[EFFORT IS IMPLIED. PLEASE RESUME QUEST.]

He exhaled slowly; the air around him seemed to darken in response to his mood.

"Great," he muttered, standing up and shaking the water off his boot. "So I’m stuck with a necromancer name, a shampoo commercial face, and a skeleton that can't walk without a permit."

He turned to Larry. "Don't look at me. You're ugly. I envy you."

Larry stared blankly.

Mordecai resumed walking down the corridor, his mood darker than the shadows he commanded. The corridor stretched on, endless and boring.

"Where are these rats?" he hissed, looking around. "I've been walking for five minutes. Is this procedural generation? Did the level designer quit halfway through?" he said, before kicking a mushroom that exploded into spores.

"I bet something stupid is going to happen," Mordecai predicted, talking to himself to fill the silence. "This is the part where a high-level monster appears out of nowhere to 'test' me, leaving me with 1 HP so I can have a dramatic awakening."

He looked at the ceiling, waiting for a giant spider or a dragon.

"Or maybe a Useless Goddess falls from the sky? Is that it? Is she going to land on me, apologize with a squeaky voice, and give me a cheat skill called 'Divine Tea Brewing'?"

He waited, but nothing fell from the ceiling, and no monster roared.

Just the drip, drip, drip of water and the clack, clack, clack of Larry following him like a puppy.

"Nothing," Mordecai sighed, feeling strangely disappointed that he couldn't even complain about a crisis. "Just walking. Walking and being handsome in a sewer. This is my life now."

He rounded a corner, his glowing eyes scanning the dark.

"Come out, rats! Come and kill me! End this misery before I have to pose for a cover art!"

Then, he heard it.

Squeak.

Five pairs of red eyes lit up in the darkness ahead.

"Finally," Mordecai groaned. "The moment every reader wanted! The moment where I gain some experience!"