Book of The Dead

Tyron made good time through the sewers, pushing himself hard. As he ran, he combed through the new knowledge the Unseen had placed in his mind, trying to tease out all the details of his new spells and abilities he could in order to make use of them sooner rather than later.

Of course, it would be more ideal if he had a few days in his study to work through magickal theory and develop careful, controlled tests to work out what would work and what wouldn’t, but now wasn’t the time for that. If he truly was a genius, this was the moment where he would have to prove it. Throwing together spellforms on the fly based on half-realised, implanted knowledge was the stuff of madmen or the truly stupid in his mother’s opinion, but now that he was here, what choice did he have?

Around him, he had his most powerful servants: Filleta and two other wights, along with a selection of his best revenants. Around them, a guard of over a hundred skeletons were gathered in a tight formation in front and behind. It made the sewer almost impossibly crowded, but since they were all running in the same direction, it didn’t matter that much.

Of course, as expected, their journey wasn’t without interruptions. The Necromancer didn’t even see the first confrontation; it was over before he even realised what had happened. A shout, a brief scuffle followed by screaming, his front-most skeletons drawing on his power as they fought, then it was over.

As they kept moving forward, he stepped over the corpse just in time to avoid tripping. All he gained was a glimpse of the body, but it was enough to furnish him with the details. A face, twisted in horror, bearded with a broad moustache, plain work clothes, a guttering lamp dropped nearby. Most likely a sewer worker forced into the network by the Marshals or Magisters. No doubt he had a tracking spell on him, which meant they now had a rough idea where Tyron was.

Not ideal, but nothing unexpected.

There was nothing to do but push forward. No doubt, the city above was in complete chaos by now. Moving through the streets would become more and more difficult as people fled the horrors he had created. Eventually, the Duke would create some form of perimeter and gain control of the situation, but by then, Tyron hoped to have reached the Red Tower and finished his work.

They continued to run.

Only ten minutes later, the second clash occurred. This time, it wasn't over quickly; there was shouting, the sound of steel ringing. Tyron could hear the combatants calling to each other.