Necromancer Dreams of Mechs Chapter 55: Chapter 61

Read chapter 55 of Necromancer Dreams of Mechs by Magic on NovelPedia.

Chapter 55: The Oakhaven Meat-Grinder The transition from the blood-soaked dirt to the pristine marble of the foyer was enough to give me a literal case of whiplash. I stood there, panting, my hand still gripping the heavy brass handle of the front door. Behind me, the 110 survivors were a sea of wide eyes and trembling limbs, their reflection shimmering in a floor so polished it looked like dark water. "Architecture optimization complete, Lord Allen," Harold’s voice drifted down from the marble counter, sounding entirely too satisfied with himself. "Optimization?" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. "Harold, there are wheels! Why are there wheels?!" "The 'Mother of Luck' felt your mobility was... lacking," Harold purred, licking a mechanical paw. "I believe the current term in your lexicon would be 'Battle-Bus'?" I didn't have time to process the fact that a literal Goddess had just pimped my ride. The mansion shuddered—a deep, resonant thud that vibrated through the marble and up into my teeth. "THEY'RE ON THE WALLS!" Highlander’s voice shrieked from outside, muffled by the thick stone but still carrying that signature 'I’m-having-too-much-fun' insanity. "BOSS! THE NEW PAINT JOB IS GETTING SCRATCHED! SEND OUT THE REST OF THE BOYS OR I'M TURNING THIS INTO A SOLO RUN!" I looked at the 110 people staring at me. Silas was holding a shivering child; Hana was gripping a kitchen knife like she expected to fight a Level 180 Mawspawn with it. They were safe for the second, but if those doors gave way, this "mansion" was just a very fancy tomb. "Everyone! Move to the central hall! Away from the windows!" I commanded, pointing toward the sprawling corridors. "Silas, take charge! If anything breaks through, you go deeper. Don't look back!" I didn't wait to see if they obeyed. I spun around and threw the brass doors open. The roar of the Grass Sea hit me like a physical wall. The sky was still that eerie, frozen grey-gold, and the air was thick with the scent of ozone and rotting meat. I stepped out onto the elevated stone porch, and my jaw dropped. The platform was now a massive, fortified deck. Below us, the four Vanguard units were still locked in their phalanx, their tower shields glowing with a dull necrotic pulse as they held back a literal tidal wave of Mawspawn. But the pack had changed. The mitosis was out of control; for every one Vane decapitated, two more were lunging from the shadows. "BONES! LAUNCH THE REAPERS!" I roared, my voice hitting that gravelly stadium-announcer peak. "CLEAR THE RUNWAY!" From the rear of the mobile fortress, the massive construct known as Bones didn't just move—he unfolded. Two hidden hatches on his back hissed open, and four streaks of black light blurred past me. The Four Reapers of the Elite Twelve hit the ground with the sound of falling anvils. They didn't carry shields. They carried massive, six-foot curved scythes made of reinforced spinal columns. "REAPER SQUAD! CIRCLE PIT!" I yelled. The four units didn't just attack; they began to spin. They became four interlocking hurricanes of bone and steel, carving a path through the "mitosis-mobs" as they moved toward the wheels. They weren't just killing; they were harvesting. Every Mawspawn they dived into was shredded into a fine black mist before it could even think about splitting. "OH, NOW THAT’S A SHOW!" Highlander cackled, leaping over a Vanguard’s head to drop-kick a tri-jaw. "VANE! LOOK! THE EDGELORDS ARE ACTUALLY DOING WORK!" Vane didn't respond. He was a silver blur, his shifting blades parrying three attacks at once as he moved to cover the Reapers' flanks. But then, the ground began to shake. Not the rhythmic grind of the mansion’s wheels, but a deep, tectonic tremor that made the dry grass of the Glade dance. From the darkness beyond the torchlight, something stepped out. It made the Level 180 Hyenas look like puppies. [Mawspawn Matriarch - Lv. 225] [Status: Brood Mother] It was a nightmare of biology—a mass of white,