Necromancer's Requiem
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Necromancer's Requiem

By: Doll of Ashes Ongoing

Language: English
16

Chapters: 9 views: 209

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The youthful prodigy of the Alliance, the Necromancer Kyo the Deathweaver, is dead. But he was not slain by the illness that haunted him. Killed mercilessly by a traitor to the alliance he had sworn himself to, during a war between that same Alliance and the corrupt dogs of the Maburh Empire. He died for nothing, but he did so valiantly. Another youth taken by war. So why is it that he is awoken, 50 years later? Why is it that he finds a world where the Alliance lost and the traitor that slew him is hailed as a Hero? Why is it that he finds a world that does not remember his name? That won't do. That won't do at all.

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9 chapters
All I have to do is open my eyes. Should I do that, the nightmare will end.  Just open my eyes. Just this once. Please. Please, my body. Don't fail me now. Please. Please, don't fail me. My lungs, my heart, the organs I had grown so used to fixing, had already collapsed.  If so, isn't it time for me to move now? One last time? I just need to look at them. The explosion had damaged me beyond what I could tell and likely obliterated my local research. The person responsible for this — I had to see them.  Just this once — but I can't move my body at all. How fickle, humanity. Even I, after so long, could not escape the indistinguishable frailty that comes with the very title, the very concept, of being 'human'. With my chest burst open and my eyes shut, I could do little but contemplate this pathetic end of mine. I had already lost far
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I
Consciousness came to me all at once.  Not like waking up, where you slowly drift away from Morpheus' grasp — it hit me like a damn jackhammer to the nose. All at once, I felt every phantom pain from every battle I had ever faced, every bit of agony, saw every last damn memory of my long 15 years. And suddenly, I could feel again. I could feel myself again. And let me tell you … it felt absolutely disgusting. I was surrounded by some sort of soft, wet, fleshy substance on all sides; it even stuck to me at parts of my skin, though I could not for the life of me figure out where or how, as it was too dark to see. Still, I could hear my own thoughts. I was alive again. I «was» again, so to speak. How in tarnation…? Taking in as much air as I could, I began to struggle to pull myself free. First came the arms — by pulling at them with all of my might, I found th
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II
In life, I had employed the services of many creatures through Conjuration. Fey, Demons, Devils, Spirits of the Dead… though my work was mainly centered in the manipulation of life and death, I had found very early on that it was smart to consult creatures with access to information and experiences I would never truly have. It doesn't help that Conjuration Magic doesn't really need Magic Cores after the first contract is established. Beings such as Lurline were different from you or I; their names were parts of their conceptual existences, and they were aware of anyone who said them at all times, usually merely choosing to ignore a call. Instead, the actual Conjuring was made to impress a creature by forcing it to manifest, using your Magic Circles as a means to define its existence magically. I had thought myself safe, for now, because I believed I would still have access to my Summons, with whom I had maintained a good working relat
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III
The City of Erenen was a beautiful one.  Tall spires of stone, marble, metal and crystal that went as far as the eye could see greeted the eyes with beautiful abandon, and the very streets were imbued with the essence of magical knowledge. Out of every city I had been to, none were as culturally united and unique as Erenen, where your magical talent, both biological and mental, dictated everything about your life. The crowd around me was the most colourful out of every city, and they were also the most varied, wearing clothes and sets of armor and even hair of every colour in the rainbow. The only unifying feature in the fashion of Erenen was magic; every outfit, no matter how cheap, had some sort of enchantment, and that meant runes inscribed across the fabric.  Of course, the difference between a commoner's enchanted pants to last a bit longer and a noble's enchanted cloak of protection was night and day.
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IV
I walked out of the library feeling remarkably refreshed. Though the world had changed and I had lost many of my resources, it felt good to have an objective in my heart. To have befriended that eel in the very city I had been slain in… He knew. He had to know. What she had done to us, what she had done to me… Raphael Varisis knew, and had chosen to stay silent. I hope the years of fortune he undoubtedly enjoyed were worth the kind of death I was going to be giving him as soon as he told me what I wanted to know.  Still, as I cast my eyes upon the city's landscape once again, I was forced to pathfind my way back to where I knew the Varisis Manor was. 50 year ago, it had been positioned next to Sulfusius Park — but gods only knew how much the city had changed since then. I had to take it slow. I wonder… would I even know to walk back to the laboratory I had been slain in now? What had been
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V
The dust settled slowly, and as it did, I fell back to the floor with a soft clicking noise as my shoes hit the ground below. My forearms were damaged and the skin there was torn, letting blood trickle slowly to the ground. Still, I had a confident smile in my lips as I watched the second silhouette descend from the explosion's fading result — A tall, well-built man with trimmed white hair and a beard, carrying my opponent's unconscious form in his arms. His  His posture was perfect and his eyes were keen — dressed in what could only be described as high-ranking military garb that was black in colour, the old man struck an intimidating image and then some. Wordlessly, he beckoned the soldiers that had been following Elizabeth around to his position and handed them the unconscious girl. She wasn't too injured, of course, but, as a fancy little noblewoman, she was bound to be frail and
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VI
I was putting him in quite the situation, I knew. And here's why.  Viscount Raphael Varisis was a loyal man, I could tell that much. But that loyalty didn't seem to extend to Duchess Anastasia... strange. And here I thought they were friends. Still, he would preserve what honour he had. Men like him loved, lived and died by their honour.  "Convince you?" He mimicked my words, bitter and confused. "Are you mocking me?"  But I shook my head, a curl to my lips like acid. Lurline's presence was fluttery, almost proud as she put her hands on my shoulders from behind with a wicked grin on her lips, looking at me almost approvingly for the first time in a bit.  She'd always been like this — it was in her nature. The Fae were fierce and loyal, but their unusual cruelty was what earned them their fame.  Read more
VII
Between forcing him into the oaths, receiving the backpack full of money, pretending to undo the spell I applied to his granddaughter and asking one of the questions I was owed from Raphael, I ended up spending a lot longer in there than I expected.,  It was 5 hours later that I walked out of the manor with a content smile on my lips, despite having had the start of my revenge delayed. For the story begins like this — once upon a time there was a frail, weak boy with nothing to his name but a keen intellect and a silver tongue. With only that and at 7 years of age, I had started the journey that led me to the position I had occupied at the cusp of my 15th: the greatest necromancer to ever live. Though it was frustrating to be set back to my beginnings, there was a
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VIII
I stared at the terrified man with a small little grin on my lips. Confidence is key in intimidation; this very same method had worked on Raphael, though perhaps in part due to his shrewdness. Of course, here, I didn't have my reputation to fall on… but that was alright. I kicked aside the body I had stepped on and relished in the way mister ginger flinched as his hired blade screamed in agony. Unperturbed, I walked up to the only corpse around — the man whose throat I had pierced with my dagger — and casually stepped in his chest, pulling the dagger free with a wet splurge. I twirled it around my hand for a bit, then swiped at the air to flick the blood away from the blade… And at the terrified redhead's face. He let out a small gasp, scurrying bac
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