The moon hung low over Virellia, casting silver light across the rooftops and the narrow alleys below. Khan stood atop a crumbling parapet near the southern district, his lean, tan frame visible even in the dim glow. His skeletal thralls crouched in the shadows, silent and obedient, while the Industrial Revenant shifted slightly, metal joints creaking softly. Tonight, he wasn't here for scavenging or exploration. Tonight, he was testing limits—both his own and those of the composite thralls he had painstakingly created in the Hollow Mines.
The system pulsed faintly in his mind: "Potential Threat Detected: High. Recommend Caution." Khan's lips curved into a faint smile. He had suspected that the presence he felt earlier—Eryndric—wasn't far behind. That rival necromancer was already aware of Khan's expansion into the Hollow Mines, and the threads of life he left behind in the cave were far from invisible to someone skilled in the manipulation of death. Tonight, Khan intended to see just how far Eryndric had progressed, and whether he could outmaneuver a necromancer of comparable power.
Khan began with experimentation. Two of his strongest composite thralls emerged from the shadows, their fused bones and embedded crystals pulsing with controlled mana. He extended Mana Thread carefully, guiding the skeletal structures to merge partially—not into a single entity, but into a pair of linked constructs that could operate in tandem, sharing reflexes and energy. It was delicate work. Too much force, and one would destabilize; too little, and the synergy would fail. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles taut, and his tan skin glistened under the faint moonlight as he focused on every minor adjustment. Slowly, the two constructs aligned, reacting almost as one. Their coordinated movement was jerky at first, then smoother, until Khan allowed them to move freely in a test scenario across the rooftop.
The moment was interrupted by the faint crackle of mana: Eryndric had arrived. The rival necromancer stepped from the shadows, robes flowing with subtle arcane energy, pale skin glowing faintly under the moonlight. His skeletal constructs hovered near him, sharp-limbed and alert, every movement calculated. "Impressive," Eryndric said smoothly, voice carrying over the empty district. "I expected less from the rookie they've whispered about in the undercity. But your little toys are growing... dangerous."
Khan didn't move, didn't flinch. His confidence wasn't arrogance; it was experience distilled into awareness. "Dangerous enough to survive," he replied, voice low, measured. "Not enough to impress me yet." His skeletal thralls shifted in formation behind him, and the linked composites he had just merged flexed in unison, sensing his intent.
Eryndric's smirk widened. "Bold words for someone with only a few days of independent expansion. Let's see if your skill matches your mouth." The constructs surged forward, fast and precise, while Khan's thralls reacted immediately. Bones clashed against bones, mana sparking with every strike. Khan guided his composite creations with subtle Mana Threads, forcing them to weave between attacks, support weaker thralls, and adapt dynamically. For the first time, he saw the fruits of his experimental merging in real combat: the linked constructs coordinated almost instinctively, covering blind spots, intercepting strikes, and even predicting Eryndric's tactical adjustments.
Despite the effectiveness, the clash was exhausting. Each connection of mana, each thread extended to manipulate multiple constructs, taxed Khan heavily. Pain flared across his ribs, a reminder that his body, though lean and strong, was still mortal. He flexed fingers, adjusted posture, and used micro-shifts in mana control to redistribute energy, keeping both himself and his thralls stable. Eryndric's constructs adapted as well, forcing Khan to constantly think, observe, and respond. This was not a battle of strength but of skill, timing, and precision.
In the chaos, one of Eryndric's skeletal minions breached the formation, striking a weaker thrall with enough force to destabilize it. Khan's eyes narrowed. He extended threads rapidly, weaving the thrall back into cohesion while simultaneously redirecting one of his linked composites to intercept the next attack. The maneuver succeeded, but the strain left his vision flickering at the edges, the effort bordering on dangerous. Sweat ran down his face, tan skin shining under the pale moonlight, muscles trembling with fatigue, but the sense of control, even in the chaos, was intoxicating. He was alive, alert, and in command of forces that could rival any low-level adventurer or necromancer in Virellia.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours. The battle remained a tense standoff, neither side willing to commit fully, each measuring the other. Khan realized that this encounter was more than a test of strength—it was a lesson in strategy, efficiency, and risk management. A direct confrontation with Eryndric would be costly; better to retreat temporarily, learn, and plan for the next engagement. Slowly, carefully, he began signaling his thralls to withdraw toward the shadows of the rooftops, keeping just enough pressure on Eryndric to observe his responses.
Eryndric's eyes gleamed with approval. "You're learning quickly," he said, stepping back, constructs hovering defensively. "Keep this up, and you'll be a real nuisance soon." Without another word, he melted into the shadows, leaving only the faint hum of his constructs as evidence of his departure.
Khan allowed himself to exhale, muscles coiling as he adjusted his posture, feeling every ache and tremor. The system chimed faintly: "Composite Thrall Control Efficiency Increased – +12%. Grave Affinity Trait Improved – Advanced." Small progress, incremental but real, the kind he valued above flashy power. His linked constructs remained at the ready, shimmering faintly under the moonlight as if sensing his relief.
As he surveyed the district, the weight of the encounter settled on him. Eryndric was skilled, precise, and patient—a rival who would push him further than any wandering Remnant or minor scavenger ever could. Khan's tan skin glistened with sweat, his lean frame tense but coiled, eyes reflecting both the moonlight and the calculated fire of determination. The rivalry was more than competition—it was the first real recognition he had received from someone in his own field, and it carried both danger and opportunity.
Returning to his room in the lower district, he guided the thralls silently, every step cautious, every shadow considered. His body ached from exertion, but the mental stimulation left him restless. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle pulse of mana in each of his thralls, aware that the experiments in linking composites and coordinating complex units had opened a door. The door to higher-level manipulation, strategic deployment, and potentially creating a force that could rival even powerful guild-sanctioned adventurers.
Khan leaned back against the wall, Industrial Revenant resting nearby, skeletal thralls arranging themselves in silent, watchful positions. He allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. The Hollow Mines had been a proving ground; tonight, the rooftop clash had been a test of real skill. He had survived, learned, and improved—not through brute strength, but through careful calculation, patience, and the subtle application of necromantic power.
Eryndric would return, of that Khan was certain. And when he did, the encounters would be more dangerous, the stakes higher. But Khan smiled faintly, muscles relaxing as he stretched, tan skin gleaming in the residual light from the city lamps. He was ready. He would not just survive in Eryndor—he would shape it, slowly, deliberately, one carefully bound fragment at a time.
For the first time, he realized that this was not simply about power, or survival, or even vengeance for the weakness he had endured on Earth. It was about command, control, and creating order in a world built on chaos, danger, and death. And as he sat in the dim light of his small room, listening to the faint hum of his thralls, Khan made a silent vow: he would not just match Eryndric. He would surpass him. One day, every necromancer in Virellia—and perhaps all of Eryndor—would know his name.