Super Necromancer System-Novel

432  The Convoy Feather rubbed a palm against his face. When his hand dropped, he looked thoroughly tired. That was a step up from being surprised, though - at least the man started to understand how useful he was as a suicide bomber with that regeneration of his.

"A bomb? Security on this convoy is going to be more tight-lipped than a nun," said Feather.

"You'll have one of these with you." Aldrich pointed up and an Evileye unstealthed itself, its three fused eyes becoming rapidly visible in increments like someone was adjusting its opacity in a photo editor. "It's normally quite slow moving, but it can stay tethered to any unit. Plus, it's entirely undetectable using any form of technology that I know of.

Once I do this-," He patted the back of one of the Evileye's eyeballs, transferring the [Corpse Nova] mark on it. It was now a blazing red triangular sigil, infused with more power now that Aldrich had attained significantly more power from merging with his other life. "This becomes a living bomb ready to combust at my whim."

By hitting level 70, Aldrich hit a point where some of his spells attained their 'true forms' and increased in power. [Corpse Nova], for example, could now be added on to up to five targets or stacked on one. It was far more explosive in raw power and it also had an additional effect of melting the flesh of those affected by its blast radius.

In terms of sheer destructiveness, it always had been and now more than ever was one of his most prominent spells.

The Evileye floated over to Feather and latched one of its tendrils on the base of Feather's neck.

"Guess I'm used to slimy crap all over me at this point." Feather shrugged in defeat.

"The Evileye also grants you Truesight, which will be particularly useful considering A.I.I.'s magic based stealth," continued Aldrich. "It is also a teleportation point for my [Mist Phase] so I can easily reach you when needed or, in this case, prep an ambush."

Feather raised a brow. "You're coming?"

"Yeah." Aldrich cracked his knuckles. "You could say I've received quite a bit of a power boost.  I fully intend on testing it out."

"You sure? Shit could get real dangerous real quick," said Feather. "Shield Capos like me are more business minds but there are two Sword Capos on there. They're tough as tempered nails. One of em' has killed three A-rankers already."

"Even better. Valera and I will both get to flex our strengths and take out a sizable portion of the enemy's attack force. I in particular need a test run for my new powers before I get serious on Sunday."

"Excellent." Valera grinned. "I will enjoy ripping and tearing flesh by your side once more." Googlᴇ search ɴovᴇl(ꜰ)ir(e).nᴇt

"That's all nice and cool but you guys do understand that once I do this, I'm outta the mob, yeah?" said Feather. "Screw breaking omerta, this goes beyond that, this is straight up bombing my goombahs.

I'll lose all my standing. They'll be after me, every single one of em'."

"What use is there for your standing? Who is going after you? After we're done, there won't be an Italian Prong anymore," said Aldrich coolly. "There won't be a Trident, even. Everything will be under me. In which case, your standing will be better off than before."

"Fair point." Feather perked up as the phone in the breast pocket of his tacky white and purple suit jacket started to vibrate. He slipped the phone out and tapped the screen.

He let out a breath through his teeth as he scrolled through the screen. "Damn. Looks like the convoy's making its way ahead of schedule. They're telling me to haul ass to the drop point now."

Aldrich stood up, straightening his suit jacket. "Then let's get to it, shall we?"

===

In the Northeastern United States Wasteland Quadrant, known for colloquially as the 'Greenpatch' for its lush forest environments -

"Convoy inbound in thirty minutes, sir." A man decked out from head to toe in combat armor gleaming with charged red energy between its mechanical seams and joints stood at stiff postured attention.

The suit was ARMA Red-Grade. Top shelf stuff. Integrated energized etherite hydraulics and synth-muscle mesh to make even the weakest pissant a multi-tonner capable of tossing boulders like baseballs. Not to mention the omni-spectrum visual scanning, smartlink aim assistance and combat maneuvering that could turn a jackbooted mafia thug into a sharpshooter and martial artist mashed into one.

But even wrapped up in that grade of gear, the Italian Prong soldier could only shiver at the sight before him.

There was a dead grandtusk lying in a clearing in the forest. A clearing that had been forcibly made as evidenced by the dozens of shattered tree trunks and stumps lying about. The grandtusk was a boar-like creature as big as a full-grown bull elephant with powers that included shockwave-inducing charges and tusks encased in sawblade-like energy that ground anything it contacted down into dust.

It was a B-ranked threat that could easily kill even an A-rank hero if they were caught off guard. Even with the Red-Grade suit, the soldier knew that if he tried to tousle with a grandtusk, there wouldn't even be anything left of him to bury.

"Good," said a man sitting atop the giant grandtusk corpse. He had on a garish red suit jacket with black undershirt and dress pants. His face was lean and mean with salt and pepper hair slicked elegantly to the side in a professional side part. He looked like he should have been enjoying a martini at a members-only bar, not sitting atop a dangerous variant corpse.

"I've also received report that Feather is en route to the base," said the soldier, looking first at the corpse, then at Nico, one of three Sword Capos that stood at the very top of the combatants in the Italian Prong.

The soldier shuddered internally in fear. Nico was not known as a nice man. None of the Sword Capos were. Niceness did not get them to the top - it was brutality.

"Feather? That little coward?" Nico frowned like he had seen a smear of shit on the street. "He and the other Shield Capos get to hide away while we do the real mens' work.

We're fighting the real war, don't you think, soldier?"

"Uhm, yes sir," said the soldier, hesitant.

"The soldiers are the spine of this Prong. Yet, we always get the shit end of the deal, don't we? Fighting and bleeding while the others get to hide away. Isn't there something wrong with that? Don't you think the Don is wrong?

But you know what, once this is over, how about we talk to the Don? Make him understand how useful we are? And if he doesn't, well, with a new world order, we'll need new leaders, won't we?"

The soldier did not know what to say. Nico was speaking of treason against the Don - the head of the Prong. The very thought was unspeakable.

"Soldier. Why so quiet?" said Nico, leering at the soldier. Against that stare, the soldier involuntarily stepped back, his instincts telling him danger was imminent. "Do you…disagree with me?"

"N-no, sir. I-I agree," said the soldier.

"Good." Nico reached into his breast pocket and took out a single golden coin. It was not money - coin-based currencies had long since been phased out by the credit system - but more of an art piece, its face engraved lengthwise with a sword with its circumference decorated with daggers stacked atop each other.

The soldier saw the coin flash gold and held up a panicked hand, but before he could say anything, Nico flicked the coin. It sped forward with speed far surpassing a bullet, so fast that there was no sound at all before a coin-sized hole sizzled in the soldier's head.

As the soldier dropped back, dead, Nico sighed. "I fucking hate traitors." He looked up to the skies. "And that includes you, Feather."