The images kept replaying in my mind, I saw them from both perspectives, I felt them from both perspectives. I could feel the bullet entering my eye, I could feel as it blasted through the back of my skull. I could feel the immensity of the pain that did not kill me but took away the majority of my strength.
I could also feel the pain of the God of Archery. I could feel the immensity of the poisonous breathing as it burned away his body. I could feel his determination to destroy the abomination in front of him. as he poured more and more of his life force into his arrows.
I could feel that this was the secret of his power. He was able to buff his attacks with a portion of his own life force. To anyone else this would be fatal, but as a god it was nothing. His life force recovered instantly.
In this situation, his strength and ability were his weakness. The Necromancer king had planned his attack extremely well. His dragon familiar had been buffed with an extremely rare kind of poison. It was a poison that he had to sacrifice much for. A sacrifice that he gladly paid.
The poison burned away the god's life force, but at the same time not letting it recover. It was called the god killing poison and been created by an alchemist thousands of years ago. When the pantheons of gods had found out they had momentarily put aside their differences and sent a champion each to destroy the poison and its creator.
The alchemist was prepared for them. He had made enough poison to destroy the champions that were sent to him. All the champions were slain, but the alchemist was not left unscathed. He was mortally wounded. With the last of his energy the alchemist created one last batch of poison and wrote the recipe down on a parchment that was enchanted from all prying eyes. Even those of the gods.
The parchment, poison, and alchemist became lost in time, a blip on a radar that was never recorded. It had all but been regarded. Until one day, the God of Rot and corruption Kaheal whispered the legend into the Necromancer Kings ear.
The Necromancer king was unable to find the parchment. He spent hundreds of years looking for the two of them, but his results were less than satisfactory. He was however to find that single vial of poison. From that poison he was able to modify his familiar's breath, so it took on the properties of the poison. His familiar suffered deadly for this, his life force rapidly diminished.
They only had a small window to act, but the god of archery had long since decided to rid the world of the menace that was the Necromancer King. The god walked into the trap like a fool, assuring his own demise. But who would have guessed that the god would get so lucky to land that one critical blow? A blow that sever the Necromancer King from his power.
In the end the God was Archery was slain, but it was not instantaneous. His body would slowly deteriorate until even his soul would disappear. The pantheon of light refused to let this happen. The God's body was beyond saving, but they could still save his soul. The only way for that to happen would be to send the soul far from its body, lest it be corrupted by the poison.
The God of Archery's body was sent to a completely different world. A world where there was no such thing as magic. The god's soul enters the cycle of reincarnation and was not heard from again.
The Necromancer king lost most of his power. His connection with his familiar became extremely faint, the poison in its body slowly ate away at it. He was forced to completely sever the connection, lest the poison infect him as well.
The Necromancer king felt nothing over the loss. He was incapable of feeling anything. His great power had waned, but it meant little to him. He would just have to regain his power. After All he was immortal, he had nothing if not time.
He spent thousands of years learning, researching, and acting. The wound he had received from the god of archery would not heal, and continually kept his power pouring from his body. It was impossible for him to regain his former strength. At least in this body.
But this did not stop the Necromancer king. He eventually came up with a plan. His body was crippled, but he would simply need to get another one. A living one. He would need to from an heir.
.
.
.
I slowly opened my eyes, the scenes that had played in my head still fresh. I slowly began to commit them to memory. This act was incredibly easy as the scenes seemed more like my own memories then something that I had only witnessed.
The power of the Necromancer king left me in awe. What was even scarier than his power was his disconnection from emotions. This gave him a single-minded determination. Once he set his mind to something it would be done. Whatever happened along the way was just an obstacle to be overcome.
The Necromancer king did not feel anything. His deeds had no sense of accomplishment. When he had completed a task, he would move onto the next. He was like a machine. That was the scariest part of all.