Book of the Dead 3: Masquerade: A LitRPG Adventure by RinoZ

Author:RinoZ [RinoZ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2024-12-24T00:00:00+00:00

FORTY-THREE

DANGEROUS GAME

Tyron watched carefully as the Magister struggled to resist the influence of his mind. It was a desperate battle, will against will as they fought for supremacy.

Over the years, Tyron had become unfortunately skilled at this practice. Yor had called on him numerous times, and Tyron had been forced to manipulate several individuals establishing his identity as Lukas Almsfield. However, this was a form of combat the Magisters were well-versed in.

Grimacing, saliva running down his chin, his opponent glared at him with a frenzied glint in his eye, his hands frozen into claws that hovered in the air.

“Did you notice what it was that cut you?” Tyron said, keeping his voice low. “An undead. You know what that means? You’ve already lost, but it’s better if you’re alive, right?”

Almost against his will, the Magister flicked his eyes to where the skeleton stood, bloodied sword still in hand. In that moment, his concentration wavered, and Tyron ruthlessly tightened his grip.

Desperation crept into the fight as the wounded Mage began to frantically thrash and claw at his mind. He knew the only way out was if he won this battle in an overwhelming victory, crushing his opponent before the skeleton could be ordered to injure him.

Tyron allowed the Magister’s increasingly panicked will to lash against him as he continued to squeeze. The anger blazed in him now, a roaring bonfire that crackled so loud as to drown out the rest of his thoughts. All he could see was the Magister. All he could sense was his mind closing like a vice around his foes.

First, there was a slight chink, one brick in the wall cracking under the strain, but Tyron was upon it in an instant, driving his will through like a spike. The Magister tried to plug the gap, to rally what remained of his defence against the intrusion, but it was too late. Once the first chink had been opened, more soon followed as Tyron worked ruthlessly to widen them.

When there was no way left to hold him off, the Necromancer wrapped his will around his opponent completely, blanketing his mind and suffocating it. He was now in total control.

When he came back to himself, he found his entire body ached. His fists and jaw were clenched tight, a rictus snarl on his face, every muscle tensed and sore. Emotion had gotten the better of him. It was hard, seeing someone dressed in the robes of a Magister standing in front of him, but that didn’t excuse his lack of control.

“H-have you got him?” came a hesitant voice from outside the door.

“Yes, I have him.”

The door opened and the broad-shouldered frame of Ortan ducked through. He really was too large for his own good. The Cragwhistle resident looked at the frozen form of the Mage in wide-eyed shock, as if not believing the evidence of his own eyes.

“When you said you wanted to ‘handle’ the Magister, I didn’t really believe you could do it. He’s actually under your control?”

“He is, but he can still hear you,” Tyron told him dryly.

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