An Orc in New York, chapter 3.

This is as far as I have written on this story. We get a glimpse of the necromancer that Gub was battling against. The story, and this chapter in particular, are a bit more grim than my usual work and a bit crunchier in terms of stats, let me know what you think. Chapters for Cat Core 2 will be going up in a couple of days and we'll also have our first installment of War Core Wednesday with the first chapter of book 2 in that series.


Chapter 3.

Lonnie DuMont felt something wake him, a noise unusual enough to pull him from the alcohol induced stupor he was enjoying. Noises here in the abandoned warehouse were common enough, after all, it was the gathering place for dozens of homeless people. Lonnie didn’t mind the company, they were here for the same reason he was, to get high. So long as the crazy ones didn’t hassle him, Lonnie would let them be, even when they sometimes began shouting stuff. If any of them gave him trouble or tried to steal his things, they would get the pointy end of one of the knives he had stashed about his person.

On unsteady legs, Lonnie walked deeper into the warehouse, trying to track what he had heard. Between his advanced age and the ravages of a lifetime of substance abuse, the man moved at a slow shuffle. He tried to remember why he even cared enough to come looking for what had made the noise. Had there been a flash of light also? Maybe he should just head back to his blankets in the corner, after all, someone was probably already going through his things, and he didn’t want to lose the half-full bottle he had hidden. All concerns washed from his mind as something else took hold. Lonnie felt a comforting warmth greet him as he descended deep into the warehouse’s basement. Something waited for him below, something that promised all he desired.

***

Pharox was through, the portal had worked even if it was triggered too soon. He had counted on his forces holding for longer, and in hindsight, having Iklox issue a personal challenge had been a mistake. His creation was powerful, but the orc warbringer proved to be more than a match for him. The plan had been for the challenge to be met by one of the orc subchiefs or hero’s, but it was the will of the system that instead of a lesser being, the warbringer himself was there to answer the challenge.

Even with the defeat of Iklox, Pharox’s forces should have held for longer than they did. The numbers of his undead had been dwindling for some time, but unable to create more, Pharox had focused on enhancing what he had. No longer did living things venture into his territory and that meant that raw materials were limited. Raising orcs from the dead had proven beyond even his powerful mastery over necromancy, something in their makeup prevented them from reanimating. He had spent a decade trying to unlock their secrets, but it was for naught. Now, though, now he had a new world to conquer, a world that was just beginning to feel the touch of the System.

There should have been a prompt waiting for him when he arrived, the lack of reward confused Pharox. There was something else, he felt different, he felt weaker. As his senses fully restored, the ageless necromancer looked about in confusion. His shell was gone, the body of the elf archmage that he had worn for centuries was stripped away in the journey to this new world. He was here, by himself and without a host. Already pain was beginning to seep into his being, he needed a host, or he would eventually die.

Pharox was almost shocked at his natural appearance, the true body of a necromancer. His physical form would be considered an ugly thing by most races, a thing to be feared and eradicated. He resembled a four-inch-long worm with six spindly legs sticking from it. Where the head would normally be, Pharox had a spiky growth that allowed him to burrow inside a host. Unlike their appearance, his legs had a function other than locomotion, and instead, the necromancer slithered like a worm. An undignified mode of travel, and thankfully, one that was rarely necessary for his kind. While his physical form may be diminutive, Pharox’s power was not.

It took some effort to slither his way into a dark corner of this building he had found himself in. It looked like an abandoned structure, with trash and debris strewn about. A pathetic start to his conquest of this new world, but as his kind were wont to say, a new host can be a new beginning. That would be his first goal, if he wanted to survive longer than a day or so, he needed a living host. Pharox always found that humorous, his kind were masters of undeath, but needed a live host to survive. Of course, the host didn’t live for long, but once he installed himself, Pharox would be safe and could begin to thrive.

Pulling at the ambient mana was difficult, the flow was almost non-existent. Instead, Pharox was forced to use his dwindling reserves to sense the world around him. Normally, Pharox could scan for life and death for miles around, now his power had been reduced to a few dozen yards from his position. Losing his host shouldn’t have diminished his powers this much, but he could worry about that after he was safe. There were life forces nearby, pathetic humans that were on their last legs. Pharox commanded the nearest one to come to him, but the human refused to answer his call, remaining asleep in a drunken stupor. A tinge of fear entered his being, a feeling he hadn’t experienced for centuries. Something was wrong, and Pharox scanned his System report to see what had changed.

Pharox, Necromantic Infector, Level 0. The mana on this world is nearly non-existent, preventing the System from establishing full control at this time. All System elevated beings have been stripped of most of their power to fuel this world’s ascension. There will be no compensation for this sacrifice, as it is one you should gladly give for the opportunities this land may provide to you. From your humble new beginnings, rise once more to command legions of undead and you will be rewarded as the System is strengthened.

Progress to next level: 0%

Health: 97%.

Mana: 25.

Strength: 1.

Agility: 1.

Constitution: 1.

Mind: 10.

Presence: 10.

Racial Characteristics.

Parasite. You require a host and until you do so, your health will slowly drain. All physical abilities are locked until you are established in your host.

Masters of Death. The Necromantic Infectors are the most powerful practitioners of the magical art of Necromancy. This characteristic automatically unlocks spells and abilities related to this school of magic. Unique Necromancy spells tied to your race will be added to your repertoire as you gain levels.

Abilities:

Lure Host. Channel mana to lure nearby living creatures. This ability only works on creatures at or below your current level. Five mana is required to activate, and this ability drains one mana every ten seconds.

Infect. You burrow into your host, taking control of the body and exerting your will. This ability can only be used once per day.

Other abilities are locked, and your current abilities may change once you find a suitable host.

Traits. Chosen of the System Gods. You have discovered a new world, both for you and for the System. A great reward awaits you once certain conditions are met.

He was weak, his levels stripped from him without warning. Centuries of building his power was gone in an instant. Pharox knew the System was fickle, but it had never demanded so high a price from him before. Anger and frustration over his current condition wouldn’t help him, so Pharox cast away those feelings. One of the benefits of existing for as long as Pharox had, was perfect control over his emotions. If an emotion didn’t provide for his immediate or long-term benefit—and few rarely did—Pharox could discard them without a second thought. He was no weak human, orc, or elf, commanded by his fleeting desires.

Lure Host was activated, Pharox watching his limited mana pool drain as his call went out. There were twenty-two humans within range of his ability, and Pharox focused on the closest one. The man was weak of mind, his resistance rotted away by drink and drug. Hearing his enticing call, the man stumbled his way down the stairwell toward where Pharox had hidden himself. The necromancer was down to his last few points of mana when the man stopped in front of him. Activation of the Infect ability caused Pharox’s legs to contract, launching him at the potential host.

The spiky growth that served as a head for Pharox pierced deep into the man’s stomach, his body worming its way into the warm insides of the human. Pain caused the man’s mind to shake off Pharox’s power. A whimper of horror released from the man’s mouth as he saw what was happening to him. Hands grasped Pharox and threatened to rip him away, but the Necromancer redoubled his efforts, using his legs to pierce the man’s hands. The sharp pain caused the man to release his hold long enough for Pharox to slither inside.

It had been so long since he had done this but taking control of a host was natural to his kind and Pharox began the process. First, he burrowed under the man’s ribcage, wedging himself between the heart and lungs. His small body was careful not to damage the necessary organs, at least not yet. Once safely protected, small filaments snaked from his body, grafting themselves to the nervous system and traveling along its path to the man’s brain. When they reached his head, the filaments began seek various parts of the mind, removing the man’s will to resist. It was part of the process, but one that wasn’t as urgent as it usually was. Pharox’s victim was weak of mind and will, doing nothing to fight off the necromancer other than lay on the dirty concrete floor of the warehouse and whine for help. Pressing against the lungs, Pharox made sure his victim couldn’t shout. It wouldn’t do to have someone interrupt his assimilation.

Once he permeated every nerve in the man’s body, Pharox released toxins into his system. They toxins would kill the man, but at the same time preserve his body and prepare it for necromantic reanimation. Over time, the body would improve, becoming more durable than that of a simple undead creature, but for the time being, Pharox would still be weak. When the man expired, his death completed the transformation, releasing enough necromantic energy to fuse Pharox completely to his host. The man known as Lonnie DuMont was no more.

The final part of the transformation was always intriguing to Pharox. When the host expired, all his knowledge was transferred over. His last host had possessed a wealth of magical knowledge, expanding his repertoire to more than just the school of necromancy and paving the way for him to breach the barrier between the two worlds. That knowledge was gone, taken away as soon as the host that granted it died. Now his mind was filled with the limited experiences of a human wastrel. The man had no magic, no combat skills, and no specialized knowledge other than the skills required to identify and consume intoxicants of various types. He might have been a mostly useless human being, but he did possess something that Pharox needed, he possessed a basic understanding of the world he now found himself in.

This was a world devoid of magic, or it was until Pharox had opened the breach. Now that the System was here, it would grow, slowly infusing the world with its power. It would be inevitable that the people of this place would unlock abilities, classes, and traits, but Pharox expected the number of Systemtouched would be much lower than in Lhorgos. He would need to be careful as he began his ascension, the world didn’t possess magic, but it did possess a technology level exceeding that of the old world. Another challenge would be in his ability to grow his power without attracting the attention of the authorities that governed this world its people called Earth.

Pharox did find it strange that this world appeared to be populated entirely by humans, yet knowledge of the other races seemed to be ingrained in their being. Mages, monsters, orcs, elves, and the like were portrayed as fiction, a device to sell entertainment to the masses. This might be used to his advantage, the people thinking his efforts were some entertainment activity and not a undead uprising. A gentle touch would be needed, one that he would have no trouble providing.

Standing on the shaky legs of his new body, Pharox waited for a while as his mana regenerated and his infusions repaired the damage and abuse the former occupant had inflicted on his shell. It would improve over time but was even now better than his true form had been. A belated prompt appeared, reassuring Pharox that the System was slowly gaining control here.

You have infected a host and begun your path to power. Experience has been awarded. Traits, abilities, and stats have changed, please review.

Quest Issued. You have found yourself in a den of the most wretched of humanity, turn them to your will, they will not be missed by those that control this world.

Pharox, Necromantic Infector, Level 0.

Progress to next level: 21%

Health: 100%.

Mana: 25.

Strength: 4.

Agility: 3.

Constitution: 4.

Mind: 10.

Presence: 10.

New Abilities:

Create Undead. You can now use the bodies of the recently deceased to create undead minions. This ability in innate to your race and doesn’t require mana. One undead creature can be created every hour. There is no limit to the amount of undead you can create, but you can only directly control those within a radius of one mile from your current location. At higher levels, your range and ability to give instructions to your undead legions will improve.

Infuse Power. Push mana into your undead creations, enhancing their abilities for a short time. This ability requires ten mana and can only be used once per day. The number of creations that can be enhanced is equal to your level plus five.

His most basic necromancer abilities had unlocked, now it was time to get to work. The humans in the warehouse above waited to be inducted into his new army. Without any minions he would be required to make the first kill himself, a dangerous proposition for his new host body, but give the decrepit nature of those in the warehouse above him, Pharox was confident he would succeed. He needed to level and grow in power, he had done it before, and he would do it again. This time, there would be no orcish horde to stop him.