Chapter 688: The Cold Edge of True Fear

The Mother’s laughter cut off.

Its dozens of eyes snapped toward the undead vanguard, and in the next instant its ten-meter body vanished from where it stood.

The stone cracked under its feet as it lunged, faster than anything that size should have moved.

The undead Garron was the closest.

He raised his butcher knife, but the Mother was already in front of him. Four hands seized his arms, shoulders and head. It lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the stone.

Bang!

The ledge split under his back.

Before the dust settled, the Mother hurled him across the cavern like a rag. The undead Garron crashed through a column of rock and rolled to a stop, his soul fire guttering and his armor crushed inward.

The undead Elite Jackal Beastman leaped from the side with its spiked club raised. The Mother did not even turn. A thick arm swung around and caught it in mid-air by the throat.

Crack!

Its jaw bent. The Mother spun on its heel and threw it into the lake wall, where the undead Elite Jackal Beastman hit the rock with a bone-rattling impact and slid down in a heap, its club sliding out of reach.

Thoren’s teeth clenched.

’How?’

’It’s too fast.’

’Damned too fast!’

The undead Kharv struck from behind, driving his blade into the Mother’s back with a roar of soul fire.

The Mother let out a shriek that was half laugh and half wail.

Three of its arms bent backward at impossible angles and grabbed him by the chest and legs. It tore him free and smashed him down on the ground, once, twice, three times.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The ledge broke into pieces beneath him.

The Mother flung him upward, and it spun through the air before landing far behind the lines. His helmet rolled away, and his armor was split along the ribs.

The undead Royalty Stonewall charged with its shield raised, determined to hold the line. The Mother met him head-on.

Its fists came down in a rapid barrage, each one hitting the shield with a sound like thunder.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The shield bent, then cracked, then split in half. The last blow drove through the gap and struck the undead Royalty Stonewall in the chest.

Its heavy body flew backward, plowed through the dust and slammed against a pillar, which collapsed on top of it in a cloud of rubble.

The undead Storm Tyrant roared and swung its heavy hammer with both hands. The Mother caught the head of the hammer in two palms and stopped it dead.

The undead Storm Tyrant strained, its soul fire flaring, but the Mother twisted. The handle tore from its grip. Then four fists hit its chest at once.

Bang!

The undead Storm Tyrant was knocked off its feet and thrown over the ledge’s edge. It struck the surface of the black lake, skipped once, and sank halfway into the shallows before it could drag itself up.

The undead General was last. It darted in low, its broken blade trailing sparks, and slashed at the Mother’s knee.

The Mother lifted its leg, and the blade sliced a shallow line across the stitches. Then a foot stamped down on the General’s body, pinning it to the ground.

Hands seized it and swung it around in a wide circle.

Whoosh!

It was released, and the General flew across the cavern, bounced off the far wall and fell limp onto the stone.

All six of the vanguard lay scattered across the ledge, dented, cracked and smoking, their soul fires flickering weakly.

Watching the devastating situation of his undead, Thoren’s expression was far from good.

It was grim.

Although none of them was dead as he could feel each one through the mental link, that did not lessen the shock in his heart.

The Mother stood in the middle of the wreckage, its arms dripping black fluid. Its eyes turned slowly toward him.

Jejeje.

Thoren’s fingers had gone cold.

He stood on the stone ledge and watched the Mother’s eyes slide across the wreckage of his legion.

Six of his strongest undead lay broken among the rubble, their soul fires barely flickering. Two undead kings had fallen in single exchanges.

Even the Tithe-Bearers, which had torn through his vanguard with their rib-spears, had been nothing compared to the thing standing before him.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

’How do I fight this?’

Every blow his undead had landed had been healed in moments.

The Mother was faster than anything he had faced, stronger than any undead he had commanded, and it could not be worn down.

He had fought horrors in the Abyss but none of them had made his hands tremble like this.

A bitter taste rose in his throat.

His undead, the legion he had built through blood and sorrow, was close to useless against it.

Jejeje.

The Mother took a step toward him, and the stone cracked beneath its foot.

Thoren’s breath caught.

His mind raced through a dozen plans, each one worse than the last, but his lips were already moving.

He could not afford to stand still. If he failed now, everything he had would be crushed.

"Horn Lizard King, Scorpion Men King," he commanded through the mental link, his voice hard.

"Attack!"

The two undead kings pulled themselves from the broken stone. The Horn Lizard King lifted its cudgel with a trembling arm, cracks running across its armor.

The Scorpion Men King pushed up from the ground and clenched its dented gauntlets.

Their soul fires flared, weak but defiant, and they charged at the Mother from opposite sides.

"Thunderhide Rhinos!"

The three surviving rhinos raised their heads from the bones of the Tithe-Bearers.

One had a shattered horn, one a mangled leg, one a torn neck, but they lowered their heads and thundered across the ledge without hesitation.

The ground shook under their weight.

"Pressurefang Wolves, keep attacking!"

The wolves sprang to their feet, shaking dust from their fur. The Alpha let out a low, rasping growl and bounded forward, and the rest of the pack followed it, jaws open, fangs bared.

The Mother’s eyes turned toward the incoming charge, and its many mouths stretched into smiles.

Thoren’s chest tightened. He watched his undead run toward the monster one after another, wounded, battered, and still obedient.

They did not know fear.

They did not know when to stop.

They would keep charging until they were crushed, because he had told them to.

’Hold on,’ he thought, clenching his fists. ’I will find a way.’

Sweat ran down the side of his face.

The air in the cavern had grown heavy, thick with the smell of black water and blood.

The Mother’s laughter echoed off the walls, soft and broken, and somewhere inside it a weak voice sobbed.

His heart beat faster.

For the first time since entering the Sluice Gate, Thoren felt the cold edge of true fear.