Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 102: The Horde Arrives

I exhaled sharply, stepping toward the edge of the tower. The city sprawled below, its ruined streets throbbing with the slow, shuffling movement of the undead. From here, they looked almost harmless—just shambling figures in the mist, trudging their meaningless path. We all knew better, at least I knew better. I had to take out a fist full of these fuckers before they reached the church doors. If anywhere near the size of the horde had peeled off to attack us actually made it to the entrance, they would for sure break in.

I rubbed my hands together, an idea forming in the back of my mind. A very bad idea. A Lucian™ idea. I would have to make sure that the world I resided in, honored the trademark. To be fair, even the earth didn’t honor it, but this was my specialty, and I couldn’t have randos show up and do stupid things and claim it was their plan.

Vance turned his head sharply, already sensing whatever dumb thing I was about to do. "No, don’t even think about it. Like, seriously, step away from the edge."

Nythera tensed, catching the look in my eye and the words from Vance’s mouth. "Lucian, we need to go back down the stairs, and—"

I ignored them, before chiming in with my cheerful attitude, "Hear me out."

Vance groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We don’t need to hear you out, because you’re about to say some reckless bullshit that’s going to get you killed."

"I mean, technically," I mused, "anything could get me killed. So really, all actions are reckless when you think about it."

"Lucian." No one in particular said, or perhaps they all said it?

"Okay, fine, but listen—look at how clustered they are down there." I pointed at the shifting mass of undead below. "We’ve got an absurdly high kill potential in this party, but we’re stuck in a city that’s teeming with hordes. What we need is a way to trim the numbers before they become a real issue."

Vance squinted at me. "So what, you’re suggesting we start lobbing fireballs into the street and see what happens?"

Ronan seemed genuinely tempted by that idea, which only reinforced my belief that this was a terrible, terrible, beautiful plan.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the ledge, staring down at the restless, shifting horde below. "Ronan! Start lobbing fireballs!" I shouted before I descended into the madness. Then, I jumped.

The world slowed around me as I activated Shadow Dance, my body slipping into a perfect flow of motion. My senses sharpened, the sluggish, clumsy movements of the undead now laughably easy to track as I shifted through shadow and toward the writhing mass of undead.

I landed behind the furthest zombies, unsheathing my daggers and activating Phantom Edge with a thought, not sure how vital it would be, but after that terrible monster we just dealt with, I wasn’t going to take chances.

The first went down instantly—blade through the skull, body dropping before it even had time to react, brains sloughing out onto the floor. The second followed before the first hit the ground, my momentum carrying me like a shadow flitting between forms.

I moved too fast for them, a blur, untouched, slipping between gaps in their ranks as my daggers carved through decayed flesh and brittle bone. One, two, three, ten, twenty—each kill was as easy as the last, effortless actions through useless enemies, bodies falling in a cascade of collapsed limbs. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

The horde reacted sluggishly, heads snapping toward me, movement rippling outward as the nearest ones registered my presence. They started to pile around me and I took that opportunity to reposition myself to avoid any unnecessary damage. If I started to get my ass kicked, Vance would never give me the end of it. In the meantime, I watched as several massive balls of flaming death fell upon us like an avalanche.

I twisted, activating my second Shadow Dance just as the first wore off. The world snapped into clarity again, my movements accelerating back to peak speed.

The undead barely had time to lurch before I was already behind them, the ones I had left were now nothing more than smouldering piles of rotten burning flesh. I began tearing through them, my blades whispered through skulls, slicing through flesh like paper, never once did I stumble or fall. It was like trying to outmaneuver children, which was easy enough. I twisted, ducked, dodged, dipped, dived, and dodged between clawed hands and snapping jaws, never in one place long enough for them to catch me.

Thirty down, forty down, fifty down. They weren’t all mine, dozens were easily Ronans, but the tallies increased from the system again and again.

Sixty, seventy, one hundred.

I felt it before I saw it—the shift in the horde, their anticipation of my movements as they became more aware. They were changing tactics, moving more like a pack than a mob. That was not normal zombie behavior, and it was my signal to get the fuck out of there. I would level several times likely, so I considered this a win. We could take out twice as many once we leveled up and worked our way to defend the entrance.

A chorus of shrieks rang out, like they were communicating with one another, as several new figures detached from the mass—hulking, grotesque things with jagged limbs and distended jaws. Not quite like the Hollow Stalker we’d fought, but close enough. Those that fell behind were swallowed by the others, manipulated and absorbed into a greater mass. It wouldn’t be long until a dozen of enemies equal to the HallowStalker would be banging down our doors. I grit my teeth, it was time to go, like now.

I activated my third and final Shadow Dance—the darkness coiling around me, and sending me back to my starting point, just barely visible from my current position.

The zombies came at me, unable to make any contact as I shifted into the shadows. The world blurred and then I was back on the tower, landing on the wooden planks and skidding slightly before catching my balance. Vance appeared unamused, Ronan was still pelting fireballs down on them, though it was clear that he was running low on mana at this point.

I grinned, catching my breath. "See? Easy."

Nythera looked like she was about to have a heart attack. Vance looked seconds away from strangling me. Ronan just looked vaguely impressed. It was then that I heard the bombardment of notifications.

[You have defeated 124 Lesser Undead. Group Experience Gained.]

[Personal Experience Gained: 6,200 times 35x bonus for 217,000 XP.]

[Total XP: 371,000/409,600.]

[Congratulations, you have leveled up. Level 13.]

[Congratulations, you have leveled up. Level 14.]

[Congratulations, you have leveled up. Level 15.]

[You have 15 stat points to allocate.]

I let out a breathless laugh. "Well. That was productive."

Vance lunged at me. I barely dodged.

"DON’T YOU EVER—"

Nythera grabbed his arm before he could land a hit. "Vance, stop! He’s alive."

"That’s the problem! He was almost not!"

Ronan folded his arms. "Effective use of abilities. Reckless, but efficient."

Vance rounded on him. "YOU’RE NOT HELPING."

I dusted myself off. "Look, we needed to thin the numbers. Now we have a clearer path, and now we’re dealing with significantly fewer undead.

"It did help..." Nythera whispered as she checked her stats. Vance and Ronan too looked in wonder at their new levels.

"God dammit... We’re all at least level 14 aren’t we?" Vance cursed.

"I am level 14." Ronan confirmed.

"It’s true... That did help quite a bit." Nythera included.

"God dammit..." was all Vance said as his fingers danced along his interface as he allocated his stats. "We need to get to the door and defend this shithole," he continued, already heading down the stairs.

I threw 5 points into Willpower to restore some of the mana I lost, and 10 points into Dexterity to do more of that murdery bullshit I did to dozens upon dozens of enemies.

We didn’t waste time celebrating—or berating me, in Vance’s case. The second my little stunt was over, we had to move. The horde below was still shifting, the gaps I’d carved into their ranks already filling with new bodies. Whatever coordination these undead had, it didn’t allow them to stay disorganized for long.

We descended the bell tower in a rush, boots hammering against the creaking wooden steps. Every few seconds, the structure groaned beneath us, a grim reminder that this whole place was held together by whatever prayers had once been spoken here.

Nythera was barely keeping her nerves together. "I hate this. I hate this. I hate this."

"Noted," I muttered, hitting the last step and moving toward the main hall, hating it just as much as she did, but excited at the prospect of more levels. At this rate I would be back to 25 in a couple days max, and my team would be right behind me, stronger than ever.

The barricaded doors trembled under the weight of the horde. Something heavy slammed against them, sending splinters flying. The wood wouldn’t hold much longer.

Vance drew his sword, jaw tight. "We don’t have time to find another way out."

Ronan rolled his shoulders, eyes locked on the door like he was already calculating how much carnage he was about to unleash.

Nythera swallowed hard, glowing magic flickering at her fingertips. "So... we fight?"

I exhaled, gripping my daggers. "Yeah. We fight."

Another slam and the barricade cracked, then, the doors burst open.

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