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Construct - Skeleton Archer(Longbow) | Combatant | Tier - 1
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Construct Level: 1
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Integrity: 100%
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Type: Undead
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Attributes
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Strength: 10
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Dexterity: 8
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Resilience: 6
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Resistance: 3
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Magic: -
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Traits / Skills
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Skeletal Body
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Undead Veil
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Acid arrow
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[Acid arrow: Coats their projectiles in a vomit of acid. Corrodes armor and deals extra damage per tick. Skill activates on every fifth arrow fired.]
Acid arrow… effective against armor.
“Graaa~”
Echoes of sharp voices rang from the entrance.
Who? Frail’s attention shifted outside. Small, stout, green creatures peered their nosy eyes into his domain. Goblins. Frail inspected their weapons—they brought a mixture of weapon types: bows, spears, and clubs.
His skeletons spurred to life. Ignore the first room, we’ll plant our feet in the fourth. The fourth room had ample space to house all his constructs... and more. With the buff to his construct’s overall attributes, his Domain Lord, and warriors, Frail had confidence in his defense.
The bone army marched to the tune of the goblins’ short, rapid steps. Their green skin turned a shade paler once light turned scarce.
###
The goblins numbered south of twenty; their bodies huddled in a line as they crawled through the narrow corridors, sighing when they reached the next empty chamber. Frail’s ever-present eyes witnessed everything—their skins, their weapons, their lack of armor, and their scarlet, ravenous eyes.
A taller, older goblin with a wrinkled face and deflated nose skulked behind them. It carried a staff longer than itself with a skull attached to its end. A mage? Frail thought as they breached the second room.
[You can delegate control of your constructs to your domain lord, if necessary.]
Convenient. Commanding an army with different roles subsequently posed a unique challenge, however, his mind seemed capable of accomplishing that feat.
Let’s see what you can do. Frail delegated the control of the warriors to the domain lord, emphasizing its task to defend their archers until their opposition had clawed their way into the shields of the warriors.
The goblins regrouped in the third room. A few peered their heads into the passage leading to the fourth room, hoping to scout ahead and hear something, but Frail’s unmoving army produced nothing but silence.
Frail spotted the eldest goblin directing five of its kind, pointing toward the passage. Its words sounded close to gibberish.
Those five hoisted their weapons and bounded toward the fourth room. Scouts, Frail concluded as their silhouettes tip-toed toward his skeletons.
Let’s give them a proper welcome. Bows… Frail directed his archers. His remaining constructs hid behind the walls before the entrance, the archers positioned in the center of the room, their line of sight uncluttered. Best to nab a few lives before the army of stinky, unwashed goblins galloped toward him.
Seconds ticked.
The goblins’ shadows flickered beneath the glow of a lantern.
The goblins’ ugly heads broached the passage a few steps later. Bowstrings creaked, froze, and then let loose. Multiple arrows zipped through the air. Three landed on their frontmost goblin; one pierced its head, the other two, its chest. It died instantly. The last arrow missed, presumably coming from the wanderer-archer variant.
Then, the warriors crushed the next two from their pincer charge. Shields slammed the brittle bones of the tinier goblins. Blades carved their flesh open.
Three dead. Frail drained their essences right away.
Tiny translucent roots snaked from the ground, coiling around the corpses, delighting him with their pleasant essences.
[You gained 150 essences.]
[You gained 150 essences.]
[You gained 150 essences.]
150… fifty more than the dead goblins before. Are they stronger?
Sharp cries alarmed Frail’s presence—no more stealth.
Do not chase. Frail ordered. The skeletons formed a horizontal line athwart the entrance with Domain lord leading the pack.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Give the archers a clear line of sight.
The domain lord stepped aside, urging the warriors to follow suit.
Beyond the dark veil of darkness, the hurried steps of the goblins reverberated, their shrieks shattering the brooding silence of the mining shaft. Their shadows danced along the flames of the torches hung on the walls.
Frail spotted the old goblin planting its staff as it muttered under its breath. A spell?
Circles of forest-hued domes encased the goblins’ ranks once its chants ended.
Arrows. Four more arrows flew, striking different targets. The ghastly domes around them shattered upon impact, the goblins sprinting within unharmed.
Magical Shields…
It didn’t matter.
The line of skeleton warriors barricaded the goblins from reaching the archers on their backs. Only when the goblins reached melee distance did they witness the might of his domain lord… and its entourage of equally imposing friends.
Four domeless goblins noted the glint of a rusted blade cleaving the air. One swipe… and their heads came loose. Shields and spears came next. More domes shattered. More goblins perished.
Seven dead. A dozen and change more to go.
Clangors of steel and wood erupted throughout the fourth room.
A sharp cry bellowed behind the charging goblins. The old one chanted another spell.
Brace.
Above its head, a ball of fire roared as it twirled. It lit the room with an amber brilliance, then burst toward his Domain lord—the largest target the old goblin could locate.
Fire met a slab of iron. The dark iron sizzled, glowering with the color of a fading sunset.
[Domain lord is under attack!]
That message told Frail one fact: his staunchest ally took damage. Passivity wouldn’t conclude this battle.
To the corners, archers. The rest, charge toward the fireball flinging goblin.
His domain lord acquiesced by activating its skill—a skill Frail hadn’t forgotten. Once the embers of flame faded, a jade bloom took its place, coating its shield with its haunting embers.
One line of death carved a path between the Domain lord and the eldest goblin. Those who stood between its path were catapulted aside, crashing the walls and the hard floors as they landed and tumbled. None struck directly moved afterward. The archers bounded to the corners of the room and fired, picking off those who survived the deadly charge. Acid arrows sizzled the flesh of those affected.
Whilst its magic posed a sizable threat to the domain lord, the old goblins stood no chance against it in melee. One shield slam knocked its staff away. One downward stroke fractured its clavicles. The next one smashed its windpipes. His other constructs deflected the goblins away from the display of pure dominance.
Their leader fell on its knees, its mangled body torn with gnashes and blue with bruises, blood streaks smeared its body dark scarlet. The domes of transparent shields disappeared. Without their leader and its magic, the goblins lost their ground, and the legion of bones carved through their formation.
A few minutes passed before the rattling of bones heralded his victory.
…And a ton of essences.
###
Twenty goblins perished. Their leader, slain. Lifeless carcasses dotted his pedestal room.
His skirmish ended with a victory… with the rest of the goblin skeletons and his non-archer wanderers dead. The wanderers’ bones dispersed into thin air, nowhere to be found.
Yes. Frail suffered losses. It reminded him of how… frail the wanderers were.
Skeletons performed their clean-up duty well. Their boosted strength aided their quest to drag the corpses toward his entity crystal. Trills of nature sang outside; no goblin laughter or cries were heard since his victory.
[You gained 150 essences.] x 17
[You gained 500 essences.]
20 goblins each netting 150… and the old one gave 500 on its own.
The successful defense earned him 3500 essences, a number large enough to form a coherent wishlist. His list began with the warrior construct and archer upgrades, trickling down to the domain lord fabricator, and ending with construct slots upgrades.
However, before all that… The corpses he’d gathered—both from his recent victories and from his initial awakening—idled in his pedestal room. The opportunity to acquire the corpse extractor before escaped him due to its price, but he had the means to purchase it now. Sure, the choice of re-animating them persisted, but after witnessing the gulf of strength between the wanderers and their better cousins, he saw scarce reason to do so.
1000 essences—a heavy investment, but definitely worthy. It has to be.
[Corpse extractor purchased. You spent 1000 essences.]
[You have 2700 essences remaining.]
Waves of power surged into the crystal. Frail felt a ghastly mouth reaching toward the dead, licking its lips. He could taste the dead. How sumptuous.
The urge dispersed. Coldness filled the gap in his emotions.
Smoky lines of pale green sprouted from the carcasses toward the crystal. Dizzying sensations of pleasure rendered his thoughts into a decadent stupor. The sheer pleasure. How addicting.
Then it stopped.
When Frail came to, the corpses had turned to ashes.
[Corpse extraction complete. You gained 1820 essences.]
[You now have 4520 essences.]
[Extraction summary]
[20x goblin recruit. Total essence: 1000]
[1x goblin shaman. Total essence: 200]
[11x grub lurcher. Total essence: 330]
[1x Cave werewolf. Total essence: 290]
Good. Frail hissed, still missing the euphoria he experienced. He shoved the need away.
“Ah…” A sly voice echoed from nowhere. “Looks like I’m late to the party.”
A stench of rot dispersed around him. A smell he initially thought revolting, but an additional sniff rejected that notion. No, it was… a delightful stench. Where did it come from? All constructs rose to defend against the voice… but all they protected frail from was the dark and the gust of stuffy wind.
“No need to be so wary.” A voice chuckled. “I’m right here.”
There he stood, a white-hooded figure not any larger than his skeletal warrior. Growths of meat pimpled his pallid face, blue and gray, his eyes swollen, his lips scarred and stitched. No sane man would call him a human. Every breath he exhaled permeated hints of ashen mist. And they smelled incredible.
The first creature Frail truly had no description for.
“What? Surprised?”
Frail ordered his skeletons to strike. None moved.
“Relax.” The figure leaned on his domain lord. He knocked its steel armor and whistled, “I’m here as a friend, friend.”
Who are you? Frail spoke his thoughts. No voice came out from anywhere; bones can’t speak. Crystals can’t talk.
“I hear you.” He answered Frail’s unspoken question. “And… you are right, where are my manners? My name is Harkon. I’m a chosen of Myrkul, the one and only God of the undead.” Harkon bowed and extended his hand, “Please, forgive me for my insolence, Entity.”
Frail fell silent.
“No need to fret; you have just awakened; your mind is adjusting to your new self.” Harkon sat on the cold ground, surrounded by skeletons, “It takes a while before your old self returns—partially—well, you get the gist.”
“But… that’s not why I am here today.” He continued. “Our benevolent God has a gift for you. He and I have witnessed your accomplishments to date; you have so far exceeded our expectations.” Harkon flashed a thumbs-up, his stitched lips creasing into an ugly smile, “Interested?”
The mention of reward piqued his interest, but he lacked any semblance of knowledge regarding Myrkul and the man himself… if he even was a man.
“Of course, as your friend, I’m willing to extend an olive branch. A token of our goodwill.” Harkon resumed as his smile faded. He leaned forward and reached into his jaw. The sounds of cracking bones and ruptured flesh. Gibberish escaped his lips as he vomited a swirling black orb. “-A gift… From your God.” He said later, coughing. “Wow, that is awful.”
[Myrkul’s gift - ???]