“I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU!” Jericho roared, his voice shaking the leaves with its supernatural intensity. He stood on top of the fallen tree—his brother’s corpse—while looking down on everyone.

  Below him, everyone shared the same thought. He really is invincible…

  There was no way anyone could survive that unless they were immortal. Which, in turn, meant they stood no hope at all. Everyone was frozen, even the bandits, as they knew that their leader’s rage was savage and wild, often incurring side casualties.

  Everyone except Jerry.

  “Jericho! Silly you, what were you doing on that tree?” He shook his head. “I swear, you chop down one tree for firewood, and what do you find on top? An earth spirit. My luck is terrible these days, isn’t it?”

  “I will fill your undead body with worms, necromancer,” Jericho seethed. A hint of the previous, sharp intelligence reemerged in his eyes, but it only made him deadlier.

  “I will tie you on the treetops for the vultures to feast on; I will let the maggots breed in your body until your accursed soul begs me for release, and do you know what I’ll do then? I’ll bury you alive, trapping your soul in the forest’s roots so you can never escape, and I will let the creatures of the earth feast until not even your bones remain. Then, and only then, will I let them devour the very essence of your soul.”

  Jerry raised his arms. “I can tell you’re upset, and I get it. A tree fell on your head; anyone would be grumpy after that. Let’s just take things slow, all right? There is a very good explanation for this just waiting to be heard!”

  A vivid green aura burst out of Jericho’s body, showering his surroundings with light. He took a step forward, and the bark cracked by the sheer power he exuded.

  “Run!”

  Nobody knew who shouted it first, but the bandits spread out, fleeing in random directions—even the black bandanas, the Sworn, didn’t hesitate in the slightest. Reymond gritted his teeth at their retreating backs, but right now, he couldn't spare any attention for them. The Wizard Order's intentions weren't a secret, anyway.

  “Run, Master!” Boney shouted. “We’ll cover you!”

  The undead took position in front of their master, united in one purpose, crimson flames burning brighter than ever before. They couldn’t win anymore; maybe they never could. All they hoped was to let Jerry escape.

  The necromancer’s heart shook as he watched his undead, his friends and children, array themselves in front of him, ready to defend him with their lives.

  “Everyone…” His thoughts blurred. He recalled raising each and every one of them; Boboar and Foxy, who had kept him company throughout his journeys in the forest; Boney, the witty, humorous butler who managed the details Jerry never could; Headless, the balance-troubled zombie, who had worked hard for months to learn to control his body; Axehand, the world’s greatest lumberjack, the skeleton competitive enough to create a giant snowman by himself and also gentle enough to carve a detailed statue of Jerry; and Birb, that fluttering, passionate watcher.

  As well as the Billies, those gorilla-like bumpkins.

  They had all fought together, and now, to save his life…they would sacrifice theirs?

  No!

  Jerry’s eyes suddenly turned pitch black. “Heed my command,” he declared, his voice pulsing with soul-stirring intensity. “All of you, run away.”

  The undead resisted; Jerry could feel their souls wrestling against his, and it was exhausting. Only now did he realize how much easier it was when they cooperated; if his undead didn’t want to serve him, let alone fifteen, he couldn’t even maintain three of them!

  But he could give them a single command, at the cost of his soul’s exhaustion.

  “Master…” Boney begged, but their souls were bent to Jerry’s will. The undead broke, running off in many directions just like the bandits, escaping and leaving their master behind.

  Jerry smiled. “Goodbye, my friends. Live good unlives.”

  “You want to run?” Jericho suddenly started laughing. “You have incurred my ire, necromancer. My bandits can escape, but I swear that your ungodly creations will suffer alongside you.”

  The earth shook once more. The nearby trees wilted before roots speared out of the ground, lengthening and widening with speed visible to the naked eye. Soon, the roots had formed a ring around the clearing. All the undead were still inside; and, as they charged at the roots, slamming into them or hacking away with everything they had, a green aura shimmered around them and repaired the damage.

  Derek pulled his bow taut and let loose an arrow, but it only managed to pierce one of the roots, and there were many layers of them.

  “We’re trapped!” he shouted.

  “You cannot run!” Jericho laughed. “Mother is furious at you, necromancer; your existence is a blight, an insult to her, and you trying to murder me was the straw that broke the horse’s back. She wants you all to die, and I shall be her hand.”

  “Can we really do nothing?!” Derek shouted, sending arrow after arrow at the roots, but it was useless. Even Axehand, chopping at the roots with all his strength, could barely match their regeneration speed.

  “Everyone!”

  A hard, calloused voice spread over the clamor. All eyes turned to Captain Reymond, who glared at Jericho with his sword drawn.

  “All of you, team up and focus on breaking past a section of the roots. Let me and my men delay this monster.”

  “Captain!” Jerry cried out.

  “Silence, boy! We can’t all make it. I’m an old man; I’ve lived my life to the fullest, and I’d be glad to give my life in the service of the king. Give me control over my men; they, too, have nothing to live for, and I cannot stop this monster by myself. Let us die with honor.”

  Jerry’s heart shook again, and his eyes widened as he took in Reymond’s broad back. He, a normal human, faced certain death head-on. What a man!

  “Hurry up!” the captain barked. “Do you want me to die for nothing?”

  “Yes, Captain!” Jerry cried out. His mind drifted to the Billies, giving them free reign over themselves, and they unhesitatingly chose to stand by Reymond. In their simple souls, they truly did respect their captain. They would gladly die with him.

  “Focus around Axehand, everyone!” Jerry ordered. “We must break through!”

  The undead threw themselves at the roots, attacking wildly in any way they could. Axes, spears, axe hands, swords, necromancy, everything assaulted a specific section of the roots, and they finally started progressing. Little by little, the roots retreated, their regeneration unable to keep up with the assault.

  Seeing this, Jericho snorted.

  “You can die first, then.”

  Springing from a crouch, he barreled toward the Billy squad, where Reymond and his five Billies stood arrayed in two rows of three, the captain at the very front and center.

  “Men!” he hollered. “Hold!”

  They buckled down to receive Jericho, and he, with his green aura roaring, slammed right into them.

  Reymond’s determination was commendable, as was the Billies’. However, in the face of sheer, unadulterated power, all the bravery in the world was useless.

  Jericho smashed into the Billy squad, and they all flew away like bowling pins. They were completely powerless to resist; though their weapons struck Jericho, all they could do was scratch him, and even those shallow wounds quickly regenerated.

  “Fools!” the earth spirit shouted. “I command the power of the earth! It is endless! You cannot stop me!”

  Reymond and the Billies crashed against the far side of the root wall and fell to the ground. They weren’t ruined yet, thanks to their defense formation, but they struggled to get up.

  At the same time, Jerry’s eyes shone dark as all the undead from the back-up cart rose—they’d brought it along before, so it was within the root encirclement. Raising so many undead at once took a serious toll on Jerry, but they wouldn’t last long.

  Jericho was suddenly surrounded by an incomplete bear skeleton, a four-armed one, a bear-clawed tusked humanoid, and a tusked fox. Even the eight-armed skeleton rushed Jericho, flailing its arms wildly.

  Seeing this circus approach, Jericho snorted in rage. “Fuck off!” he shouted. His fists plowed through the zombies at full power, and any wound he received was almost instantly regenerated.

  At the end of the day, there weren’t many of these undead—the cart was somewhat small—and they were completely untrained in combat. Within a few seconds, Jericho had obliterated them, breaking them all apart and sending pieces of bones flying. Even the bear skeleton was easily overpowered.

  Jericho turned his angry stare at Jerry, and with a snarl, rushed over.

  By then, Reymond and the Billies had stood back up; they could still fight, but they were dangerously close to the limit. Reymond’s good arm had been broken, but he simply grabbed his sword with the other.

  “Men!” he shouted. “For the king!”

  The Billies roared, and all of them once again attacked Jericho. However, he’d had enough of fighting minions. In the time they needed to get up, he’d already reached Jerry’s location, where everyone was attacking the roots.

  Jericho’s green eyes shone brighter. “You won’t get away, necromancer.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Jerry!”

  “Master!”

  Jerry’s earlier command to escape had been overridden when he’d commanded them to attack the roots. As one, the undead all threw themselves in Jericho’s way, and arrow after arrow left Derek’s quiver until he ran out.

  It was all useless.

  “Hahaha!” Jericho laughed as he plowed through everything. “How can you dream to stop me? My power is limitless!”

  Axehand appeared next to Jericho, so fast he was a blur, and chopped out. Jericho grabbed the axe. It embedded itself into his hand up to the wrist, but its power was spent, and the blade was stuck. Jericho laughed as he smashed a knee into Axehand’s face, sending him flying. His torn hand was already regenerating.

  If even Axehand failed, the other undead were hopeless. Nobody could stop Jericho.

  Three strides later, Jericho had made it to Jerry’s side, a grim smile on his face. He’d plowed through everyone in his way. “It’s over, necromancer. I don’t care how undead you are; I’ll just kill you over and over until you go down.”

  “I’m not an undead,” Jerry felt the need to point out, “just your casual next-door necromancer.”

  “What?” Jericho paused, and then he suddenly started laughing. “Haha… Hahaha! A necromancer who thinks he’s still alive… Oh, the irony!”

  Jerry was puzzled. “Excuse me?”

  “You are dead, necromance. Dead! You have been for a long time. That’s what necromancers are—bodies that keep working after death. How did you not realize it? I guess you really are mentally challenged. Pathetic.”

  Jerry’s eyes shot wide. I’m dead?

  That’s all he had time to think before Jericho’s shovel-like hand reached for his throat, wrapping around it and lifting him up. The necromancer smiled grimly, all complicated thoughts leaving his mind.

  Now!

  Palms glowing the deepest black he could muster, he grabbed Jericho’s forearm with both hands. Strands of his will passed through the connection, entering Jericho’s body with the force of a flood and assaulting the earth spirit’s soul.

  His body was indestructible, but his soul might not be! This all-out attack could incapacitate even the strongest of warriors!

  Jerry’s soul clashed against Jericho’s, and it felt like punching a steel wall. The recoil almost knocked Jerry unconscious. For a moment, he was a dot on an enormous green and blue ball, teeming with such boundless vitality that Jerry almost lost himself. It was colossal, titanic, unimaginably gigantic.

  He felt it, then; Jericho was one person, but at this moment, the will of nature itself supported him. The energy of the entire green sphere was flowing toward Jericho, simply waiting its turn to fill him up, and it was so large as to be practically infinite. Even Jericho’s soul was fortified by this energy.

  He truly was invincible. They never stood a chance.

  “Nice try.” The earth spirit revealed a wide, cold smile. He hoisted Jerry up, still holding him by the throat, and the necromancer was helpless. “However, nothing can possibly harm me under my mother’s shelter. Any last words?”

  Jerry coughed. “Yes,” he got out. “Please spare them.”

  Jericho’s smile was cold, and his voice was heavy. “I will not.” He reveled in Jerry’s despair; he reveled in the pain, hatred, helplessness he saw in those terrified eyes. His mother’s wrath was boundless, and he was its conduit. He would let it all out.

  “Goodnight, necromancer.”

  He tightened his grip, cutting off Jerry’s breath and leaving him suffocating. He had, after all, promised him a fitting death; he needed the necromancer unconscious for now. Everyone else would die.

  “AHHH!” With a roar, Billy Five tackled Jericho, managing to push his considerable bulk off the ground and a single step forward.

  “You annoying fly.” Jericho frowned, throwing a backhand slap at the Billy. The zombie’s head was pulverized; he flew into the far-off wall of roots and did not stand again.

  However, Billy Five had pushed Jericho off the ground. And, in that single moment when the earth spirit was airborne, a spark went off in Jerry’s suffocating brain. Jericho’s endless supply of energy…had been momentarily cut off!

  It’s the earth! he realized. That’s why he’s always barefoot! He needs his feet on the earth!

  Everything made sense now. The golden power running up his body, the endless energy flowing into him from the vast earth. Yes, it really was endless, but it had to reach him to matter! There had to be a weakness!

  Axehand! With the last dregs of his will, Jerry sent a mental message to Axehand, giving him an order.

  The bone giant had already been rushing at Jericho. Hearing Jerry’s command, he changed course, planting his feet in the ground and coming to a stop right behind Jericho.

  “Hmm?” the earth spirit said. “What are you up to this time?”

  Axehand grunted. Jericho had already beat him up twice, and Axehand was a very, very proud undead. It was time for revenge.

  Snaking his bone arms under Jericho’s, Axehand locked his axe blades together in front of the earth spirit’s waist. Then, before Jericho could realize what was happening, with a massive grunt…Axehand lifted him up!

  Jericho’s eyes went wide, his grip over Jerry momentarily slacking. “No!” he roared, squirming and frantically trying to strike Axehand. However, that momentary respite of air in Jerry’s lungs was enough. Once again grabbing Jericho’s forearm, he sent the full brunt of his soul hurtling forward, smashing against the earth spirit’s soul.

  The recoil felt as if his head was splitting apart, but this time, it wasn’t useless. He could feel it—Jericho’s endless supply of power was cut off. He was still choke-full of energy, but slowly, it was depleting.

  Hope reignited in Jerry’s heart, allowing him to endure the pain. He once again smashed his soul against Jericho’s, suffering the recoil, but Jericho screamed, too. In a moment of pain, he let Jerry go, and the necromancer slumped to the ground in front of the two wrestling giants.

  “Attack, everyone!” Jerry shouted. “Don’t let him touch the earth!”

  By this point, Jerry couldn’t see; his entire world was white. However, his scream would have to be enough. He could not allow Jericho to recover. Enduring the pain, he once again rammed against Jericho’s soul. Over and over. He couldn’t really feel anything anymore except for the pain.

  However, this was where Jerry’s single-mindedness shone.

  His soul wouldn’t actually break. The pain was only a reflex, an illusion, but if he could endure it, that would be the extent of it. And oh, could Jerry endure.

  Very few people in the world could handle such intense soul strain, but fortunately, Jerry was one of them. He’d spent fifteen years enduring. He could handle a few seconds!

  This hellish pain would have brought most people to their knees, but he stepped forth, again and again, smashing against Jericho’s soul with all his strength. He could feel it; Jericho’s energy was depleting. So was Jerry’s. Would he last long enough? He didn’t know. He only knew to attack.

  In fact, this process was strengthening his soul at a speed he never thought possible.

  In the outside world, everyone had heard Jerry’s shout and rushed over. They peppered Jericho with attacks—arrows, axes, swords, spears, you name it—and the giant could only roar, ineffectively striking at Axehand. His energy was no longer endless, and so his strength was no longer infinite; moreover, from his backwards airborne position, he really couldn’t put much force into his strikes.

  Axehand’s skull had dented, and several bones were broken, but he stood tall out of sheer spite. Just like his master, he refused to fall.

  Jericho screamed, roared, and yelled, but his energy was running out. No matter how many times he smacked Axehand, the skeleton remained standing, and Jericho himself only grew weaker with time.

  “No!” he cried out. “I can’t die! Save me, Mother!”

  The earth rumbled and cracked, the ground shaking under their feet, but Axehand stood tall. By now, he could no longer stand by himself, but the four remaining Billies were all leaning on him and supporting him. They wouldn’t let him fall. If he did, Jericho’s power would be instantly replenished, and they would all perish.

  The full brunt of nature’s wrath was directed at them from all directions, filling the very air around them, but without a conduit, it was useless.

  Eventually, Jericho’s waning strength crossed a threshold, and he was now too weak. Despair gripped his heart, along with a cold realization.

  I am going to die.

  The thought flooded him, as final as the earth he worshipped. He held no doubts about it; he truly would die.

  Screaming in despair, he accepted it, then stopped trying to escape; he couldn’t do it anyway. However, his hatred had not yet been exhausted.

  “YOU!” he madly screamed out, looking at Jerry’s empty-eyed form. Their soul war was still ongoing. “IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT! DIE!”

  Jerry could not move himself, but Boney had already moved him farther away. Now, in a final act of hatred, Jericho combusted his entire power, sending a brilliant arc of green toward Jerry.

  “No!” Boney shouted, but he was too far. He could only watch as the green ball of death hurtled toward his master…

  Until a broad chest got in the way.

  “HALT!” Reymond shouted, pushing his only remaining hand forward. He made contact. The ball of green instantly snapped his armored arm, its trajectory slightly altered, and smashed into his chest. Reymond couldn’t move. The power struck him with such force that he was catapulted backward, flying inches over Jerry’s kneeling form and smashing against the roots with enough force to destroy half the layers.

  Reymond’s body lay there, completely unmoving. All life had left his eyes.

  “No!” Jericho cursed, buried under a torrent of attacks. “NO! I curse you, necromancer! I curse you!”

  Headless’s spear crashed against Jericho’s head, breaking it open like a watermelon, and this time, it did not regenerate. His eyes went hollow. Everyone kept raining attacks on the body, not daring to stop, but Jericho’s corpse shuddered. Little by little, then faster, it broke apart into clear soil, crumbling through Axehand’s arms and on the ground below.

  Everyone kept pounding the soil with attacks, but it was over.

  The roots dissipated. The earth’s impotent rage receded, and the forest went quiet. The soil remained soil, completely lifeless. Jericho had returned to his mother’s embrace, forever. He was dead.

  Jericho the Green was no more.

  Jerry slumped over, fainting from exhaustion. The Billies slowly lowered Axehand to the ground; he was still alive—or unalive—but so broken he could hardly move.

  Then, the Billies turned toward their captain’s body and fell to their knees, expressing their grief and gratitude. Jerry hadn’t ordered them to do it, this time. It came from their souls.

  The rest of the undead hurried toward Jerry, eager to somehow take care of him, while Derek followed them, already retrieving bandages and herbs from a sack on his waist.

  The only one left over the soil that used to be Jericho was Boney, who knew Jerry didn’t need him. He gazed at the harmless soil, a random, everyday patch in the forest, and the reality of Jericho’s death hit him. Relief washed all over him.

  Raising his head to the skies, Tom Boney took a deep breath and released a massive yell, letting his voice be carried by the winds.

  “We won!”