A Bored Lich

Doevm stepped past the last of Zolgon's reserve troops, brandished his spear, and took a breath. The mess hall awaited ahead. "Time to-"

"Cerlius," a voice called out. Doevm looked down to find a chubby hand tugging at his robe, and a tearstained face of the sorry student whom it belonged to. His body stopped at the waist. "Y-you gotta help me. I know we always stayed away from you in class, because you tried to mingle with those Demis and what you did to Travis. I never cursed at you or hurt you like others did. I'm not a racist like them. I swear to the goddess. Please, help me with your magic. I don't care what it costs! I don't care if it's heretical magic nor that the academy bans it! Just get me away from those demons. I can't take this pain anymore."

Doevm raised an eyebrow: "Who are you?"

The student forced out a chuckle. His grip tightened. "You know, me? It's me, your classmate." Doevm shook his head and slowly, the student's eyes narrowed. "I-I could tell the instructors about you. When this is over they'll execute you. I know who you are."

Doevm beckoned for a zombie.

"Oh, I see you've changed your mind. Wait, what are you doing? Get away from me! No!"

Doevm sighed as another zombie joined the reserves alongside the Ghouls. "That's better. Fucking human," he muttered as he walked onwards. 'Once this is over, huh?' The academy's survivors fought on the southern side of the demon army, just as he planned. 'What about after?' The question took root. He pushed it aside to fester. 'I should get moving.' He took another deep breath. 'Moving towards what: my father's map or Lance and the rest?' A ray of bloody moonlight shot into the tip of his spear, illuminating it like a light crystal. He looked through the broken windowsill, out into the valley, and out into the distant horizon.

...

"What are you looking at, Cerlius?" father asked as he walked into the window's reflection.

Cerlius sighed and pulled his face away from the window. "Is it really that great, being a mage?"

"Sure it is," father replied. "You can change the laws of the world, do the impossible, and...that's not the answer you wanted, is it?"

Cerlius shook his head. "The War Monks said I should be a mage. Brother said I should be a mage. You said I should be a mage. I picked up your books and read them like my brother did and practiced like everyone expected me to do. Do I have to be a mage?"

Father shrugged. "Nah."

"Nah? But what about-"

"Do you want to be a mage?"

"...nah."

Father pat Cerlius on the back. "Welp, I guess that's settled then, isn't it? Do what you want to do. Just remember sometimes there are things you have to do, things you won't like in this world. Pick your fights and win them. Now come, it's time for dinner."

Cerlius turned towards the mess hall.

...

Doevm stepped forward and scanned the surroundings. His gaze wandered over to the statue of his father, looming at the center of the mess hall: 'I don't like this world nor the gods who made it...where are the mages?' Eight shamans recited arcane incantations as they smeared their blood around the statue's smooth base, their starved mana eating through the ancient enchantment like the dragon fire that reduced Doevm's library to ash. Showers of sparks illuminated a crowned figure making his way towards the former Lich.

Behind the wicked king were the sweat-and-blood-drenched figures of Frey and Elero, the duo taking the brunt of the army so the mages wouldn't have to.

"Bring me his head," Zolgon bellowed, pointing his greatsword straight at Doevm's chest. A hundred warriors let out deafening battlecries and swarmed towards him. A wave of red meat.

'Consume.' Doevm commanded with a mental command. A starscape of red, sunken eyes glowed with gluttonous greed and the Undead stomped across the cold stone all at once. A horde of the dead.

The Guriant let out a low growl as it led the pack, seeming ape-like in its movements. Blades chipped away at its meatless exterior while each swing of its massive, stone arms plastered demons across the ground.

"Stay airborne," a squad leader warned. "Take away its size and it's just a wall of stone."

Higher and higher the demons flew, straight into an awaiting banshee. Her black, ethereal form hidden within the night sky, she let loose an ear piercing screech that sent the unsuspecting demons tumbling further and further down into the ground. Blood dripped from their ruptured eardrums. "Pursue that creature!" such orders they could no longer hear would have saved them from their imminent demise.

A fat, bulbous Undead waddled towards them. As they raised their weapons the Bulber opened its mouth and spewed out the acidic contents brewing in its belly. Armor blackened and peeled back like lifting a pot's lid to reveal a stew of acid and skin, and muscle, and bone. No sooner had a squadron melted, did another squadron take its place and launch spears into the round target.

The Bulber's acid sloshed back and forth, pouring out of the wounds. It did not stop, nor did the demons. "It's slow-moving and its acid is slow," a demon with blue life essence shouted orders. "Stay down and keep your distance! We trained for this! Squad twelve; swarm the Guriant with numbers while squad thirteen distracts the Banshee!" Some demons traced the path of flickering starlight to the Banshee and engaged her in battle while others swarmed like ants around the gigantic Guriant.

'Interesting,' Doevm thought, remembering that demons often dabbled in necromancy. 'They must have practiced strategies against this. How did they know I would be here?' He cursed and reluctantly turned towards the Ghouls in the reserves. 'You will-'

The Ghouls took flight like a swarm of locusts before he had finished the thought. They ran into the demons' blades.

The few that lived, sunk their claws into the demons' flesh, and tore into them with disease-ridden fangs.

The demons who emerged from the blitz only bore scratches but soon succumbed to a sudden, cold sweat paired with a lethal exhaustion. Countless limbs of shadow dragged the bodies behind Doevm while their transformations into Ghouls progressed.

'Move the Guriant to our right flank,' Doevm sent the mental command and the Pregovian Weeper swept across the battlefield. A squadron getting too close for comfort watched in horror as a Guriant shifted in front of them. The giant's fists descended.

Without a mind, Undead could not get confused nor question its jarring shift. They attacked. They killed. 'Now move the weakened Bulber behind the Ghouls. Give him a few corpses to recover.' He glanced up and cursed upon seeing a squadron fly after a fleeting Banshee. 'I should have given her more air support.'

An invisible thread leading from his source severed. His attention snapped towards the Bulber, lying on the ground with acid spewing out of a deep gash across its chest, the width matching that of a broadsword.

Like an overbearing tyrant, Zolgon was there.

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