Chapter 141: Necro Mall Reopening
The forest floor shuddered with the pounding feet and guttural roars of monsters. Branches snapped and tore as hulking figures crashed through the undergrowth, their heavy breathing cutting through the cold night air. The monstrous sounds were punctuated by their low, rumbling laughter—a sound filled with pure, wicked joy. Vaunn ran, his gray cloak snapping at his heels, his two subordinates keeping pace on either side.
Even with all of their training, Vaunn could feel the shadows closing in. The demonic orcs didn’t seem to tire. They didn’t pace themselves. They were simply hunters, released from the depths of hell itself, relentless and without mercy.
This is bad, Vaunn thought, his jaw tight as the ground blurred beneath him. This is really bad.
He knew their destination. Master Altan was marching straight toward the orc fortress. If he went in, it wouldn’t be a rescue mission for his child. It would be a slaughter. The orcs had laid a trap, using the Master’s own child as bait. This wasn’t just a small battle; the stakes were impossibly high. The problem with the cult was already tearing the Alliance apart, and now the orcs had something infinitely worse—control of a gryphon, and not just any gryphon, but Master Altan’s hatchling. With a gryphon, every temple in the sky could be lured in, manipulated, and eventually enslaved.
A guttural bark erupted from behind him, and Vaunn risked a glance. Red eyes glowed in the darkness. Dozens of them. At least fifteen demonic orcs were on their trail, their thick muscles corded with veins that glowed faint crimson. Their twisted laughter carried through the trees, a mocking symphony of terror. One of them, a brutish thing with a broken horn, barked, "Run, little dogs! Run faster! Your legs too thin!" Another jeered, "I eat you first. Tear fur from bone!"
Vaunn clicked his tongue in frustration. "Shit. Just one of them is a nightmare to fight. Fifteen? That’s a death sentence."
"Leader!" Solvi shouted, her voice cracking with fear. "They’re catching up!"
"I know!" Vaunn snapped back, forcing a note of calm into his tone. He saw the glance Solvi and Rena exchanged. It was a look of fear, but also one of desperate hope.
He swallowed hard. His oath felt heavier than his sword. The message had to get through. If they failed, the wall would fall, the gryphons would be enslaved, and the entire region would be swallowed whole. He slowed his pace, the decision made.
"You two will pass the information," Vaunn said, his voice calm but resolute.
"What—what do you mean, leader?" Solvi’s ears flattened.
"I’ll buy you time," Vaunn said, his voice quiet but filled with a new resolve.
"No! We can still make it together!" Rena’s voice cracked.
"Not with these numbers," Vaunn said, his gaze flicking back toward the encroaching red glow. He gave them a faint, tired smile, a smile filled with a certainty they had never seen before. "Go. Tell Silvie and Jashun... I love them."
Their steps faltered, tears blurring their vision, but they didn’t argue. They couldn’t. If they hesitated for even a moment, his sacrifice would mean nothing. With a burst of speed, they disappeared into the trees, leaving him behind.
Vaunn slid to a halt in a small, moonlit clearing. He slowly turned, drawing his blade. The demonic orcs closed in, their red eyes cutting through the darkness. By his count, there were thirty-two of them. They circled him like a pack of wolves, grinning, drool hissing as it hit the leaf-littered ground.
One stepped forward, his scarred chest heaving with excitement. "One against thirty-two. Brave little pup."
Another one barked, "Fight one by one! If you live, you go free. Orcs honor word."
The others howled and stomped their feet, jeering, arguing over who would fight first.
Vaunn laughed under his breath, a hollow sound. "One on one, huh? Orc honor... I guess I’ll die with entertainment, at least."
"Who first?" a hulking brute snarled, pushing another back. "Me smash him!"
"No! My kill! I rip his spine!"
Vaunn raised his sword in a salute, a genuine, albeit grim, smirk on his lips despite the taste of iron in his mouth. "Come then. Let’s dance."
The first orc rushed him, swinging a crude axe the size of a tree trunk. Vaunn sidestepped with the grace of a dancer, his blade flashing. He sliced through the tendons of the orc’s knee. The brute howled as it toppled, and Vaunn drove his steel blade through its throat, silencing it.
The other orcs roared with approval.
A second one charged immediately, wild with rage. Vaunn dropped low, slashing across its gut, using the orc’s own momentum to flip it over his shoulder. He spun, severing its head before it even hit the ground. The circle erupted in laughter and shouts.
Another came, and then another. Vaunn fought like a storm—cutting, ducking, rolling, every strike clean and purposeful. He couldn’t match their brute strength, but he had training. He had skill. He had will. Blood splattered the clearing, and his arm trembled from the impact of each clash. One by one, they fell.
Three. Four. Five.
By the time he cut down the eighth, Vaunn’s body screamed in protest. His lungs burned, his legs felt as heavy as stone. His arm shook, slick with sweat and blood, his grip on his sword faltering. The jeers of the orcs turned to a grim silence as they watched him fight. The circle of monsters parted.
An orc captain stepped forward. He was taller, broader, and his eyes burned brighter than the rest. His movements weren’t wild or sloppy like the others; he moved with a dangerous, calculated purpose. He carried a jagged, blackened blade.
The others began to chant in low, rumbling tones. "Gorvak. Gorvak. Gorvak."
Vaunn raised his sword, panting, his vision swimming. "Figures... the last dance is the hardest."
Gorvak sneered. "You are strong. Stronger than most. But strength runs out. Orc strength never ends."
He lunged, faster than Vaunn expected. The clash of steel rang out, and a shockwave jolted through Vaunn’s arms. His knees buckled, and he felt his defense crack. The fight dragged on, desperate and brutal. Vaunn’s strikes grew sluggish, while Gorvak’s blade pressed harder, sharper, each move calculated to find the weak spots in his defense. The captain wasn’t just a brute—he was a predator.
Finally, the jagged blade slipped past Vaunn’s guard. Pain bloomed hot and searing in his side. He gasped, stumbling back, his sword slipping from his numb fingers.
The orcs roared in triumph, their captain standing over him.
Vaunn, with blood bubbling on his lips, forced a smile. "Rena... Solvi... don’t waste this."
And then darkness claimed him.
-----------------------------------------------
The road leading to the Necro Market was a river of commerce, busier than the main square of Stonehorn. Wagons creaked under the weight of grain sacks. Goatfolk merchants carefully balanced crates of cheese on their backs. Frogkin merchants sloshed along with barrels of dried fish. Even grizzled hunters had bundled pelts stacked high, muttering among themselves about how they’d fetch double the price here.
A young ramari, her fur a deep auburn, tugged on her father’s sleeve as they shuffled forward in the slow-moving line. "Papa, do you think they’ll have the cold sweet water again?"
Her father grunted, shifting a heavy crate of turnips on his shoulder. "It’s juice, not water. And stop bouncing, you’ll spill the turnips."
Behind them, an elderly ramari leaned on his gnarled staff, shaking his head at the crowd. "All this fuss for food and trinkets. In my day, you took what the land gave you. You didn’t trade with... with them."
A young kobold hauling firewood barked out a laugh. "In your day, old man, you didn’t have ice cream!" The words set off chuckles in the line, though some just rolled their eyes, too tired to be amused.
Others weren’t laughing. A frogkin merchant sat on the side of his wagon, flipping a handful of copper coins through his slimy fingers. "If they don’t open today, my stock’s worthless. The vultures in Stonehorn will pay me half for it, if that."
"I agree. Those greedy bastards just wants to rob you in daylight." another farmer said, pushing his heavy wheelbarrow of cabbages. "At least in the Necro Market, you can sell without renting a stall. Do you know what they charged me last time in Stonehorn? One silver a day just to stand in the heat! One silver is enough for a week’s worth of food. Don’t even start with the fact that your stocks will sell with all the other folks from other villages selling their own stock too."
Grumbles of agreement spread through the waiting line. A few muttered blessings for the Market. A few muttered suspicions. Then, a collective gasp swept through the crowd.
The front of the Necro Market came into view.
It was no longer a cramped little stairway and a gloomy garden. It stretched wide and grand like a noble’s estate. Grass so green it looked painted, trees planted in perfect rows, and polished stone benches gleamed in the sunlight, ready for tired feet. In the center, a fountain rose, its spray catching the light and scattering it like a handful of gemstones. Clean, stone-block paths cut through manicured flowerbeds, leading toward a wide flight of stairs.
And in front of it all, carved into great, white stones for everyone to see, a name gleamed:
Welcome to Necro-Mall.
The crowd went still. A hush fell, broken only by the nervous bleating of goats tied to a wagon.
"...Mall?" a Lupen finally asked, tilting his head.
"I don’t know," his neighbor whispered back. "But, it looks... fancy."
A young lupen boy gaped openly, his jaw hanging loose. "I thought they were just adding rooms. This—this looks like a whole city plaza!"
The elderly ramari tapped his staff against the ground, muttering. "Overbuilt, that’s what it is. Too much shine means too much coin."
A younger frogkin nudged him. "And yet here you are, old man." That earned another round of laughs, nervous but genuine this time.
Families spread across the lawn, their children rushing to sit on the clean benches. Farmers stood staring at the fountain as if it were a holy shrine. A goatfolk mother knelt by the carved stone letters and traced the word "Mall" with her fingers, mouthing it over and over as if learning a spell.
Then the doors opened.
At the top of the stairs stood a lupen in a sharp black suit. His fur was a pure, unsettling white from head to tail, his eyes a pale gray and completely unblinking. He bowed stiffly, his posture awkward, but his voice carried clear across the wide plaza.
"Welcome, dear customers. I am Gary. Please, enjoy your visit."
The crowd exchanged wary looks. A farmer whispered, "Wasn’t he—?"
"Shut up," another hissed, elbowing him hard. "Don’t say it out loud."
A foxkin mother clutched her child’s hand tighter. "What’s wrong with his eyes?"
The boy whispered back, his voice shaky, "They look like marbles..."
More staff appeared behind Gary. Frogkin clerks with perfectly white scales, kobold ushers with pale, lifeless eyes, and foxkin attendants bowing politely. They were all dressed neatly, all smiling too much, and all seemed just... wrong.
The chatter turned uneasy.
A ramari farmer scratched his beard. "They all look... the same."
"They work," someone countered. "And they pay fair coin. Who cares what they look like?"
"I care if my food’s touched by cursed hands," muttered a kobold matron, clutching her basket close to her chest.
"Cursed?" another kobold barked. "They’re polite! When was the last time a Stonehorn merchant bowed to you?"
That shut her up, though she didn’t stop frowning.
Gary’s smile never wavered, a stark, unnatural white against his pale fur. "This way, please. Orderly lines. Every guest will be served." His tail twitched unnaturally straight, as if the bowing lessons had never quite taught it what to do.
The crowd hesitated only a moment longer. The delicious smell of grilled meat and sweet ice cream drifted from within. That broke the silence. First one, then another, then all of them surged forward, their coins jingling and their stomachs rumbling.
Whatever they were, whoever they were—
The Necro Market, or this time, the Necro-Mall was open again.