Five magic casters wearing black cloaks stand in a circle with stern faces. The leader of the cloaked mages steps forward. He holds a large black grimoire in one hand and an ominous black human heart in his other hand.

"My lord, we celebrate your return." The leader places the black human heart in the center of the circle of black mages. They each raise their palms forward, and mana begins to condense in front of their outstretched hands as the leader of the casters gets in position. He joins them in casting the spell.

The black mana forms into a set of five large symbols. The caster's mana is draining rapidly as the complex glyphs connect to each other with glowing black lines. White mist mixes with black fog as their magic spells combine in the center of their circle formation.

"Yes! Haha- YES!" The leader of the black mages laughs in wicked satisfaction as the mana condenses into five points, then connects simultaneously to form a pentagram of mana in the air between them.

Four of the mages fall to their knees, panting as their mana completely depletes. The leader of the black casters is the only one still standing. His eyes are bloodshot as blood drips from his mouth. The other casters' eyes drip black tears as they clench their hands over their hearts.

The black pentagram shifts, swirling into the center of the ritual to focus on the black heart. The ominous organ floats up into the black mana. The black heart begins to beat. The leader is ecstatic as he sees the mana giving the black heart life.

"FINALLY- Hk- Ghk-" The leader coughs up a large amount of dark blood, and upon looking at his subordinates lifeless corpses he realizes that their mana pool is too small to complete this ritual safely.

His eyes shut as he heaves up his own blood again and again. The beating black heart begins to mold mana around it into the shape of a human skeleton. The caster extends his hand to reach out to the emerging figure. His object of worship is less than a meter away from him. His consciousness departs before he can see the end of the ritual.

Black mana solidifies into black bones. The eye sockets of the black skull fill with two small spheres of red mana. The skeletal figure stretches its limbs, eyeing the corpses surrounding it. It opens its jaw to let out a magically propelled breath of air.

The creature tilts its head back before belting out haunting maniacal laughter. "HAHAHA!" The skeleton would smile if it could.

"Fools. Dabbling with magic leagues above thy own." The skeleton shakes its black skull of a head before looking at his own limbs with dissatisfaction.

"Their mana was so meager that I am left without flesh?" The skeleton hisses in irritation before crouching down beside the lead caster's corpse to check his possessions.

The black skeleton lifts up the corpse's black cloak before setting it to the side. The black leather armor and clothing interest the fleshless lich. It takes the clothing and dresses itself, putting the cloak on lastly to cover itself completely.

"Perfect. This should do until I get my hands on some proper skin." The wicked skeleton grabs the grimoire and flips through its pages. "Tsk. Amateurs." It tosses the black spellbook to the floor before holding up one glove covered finger. Glyphs of bright orange mana form above its finger.

The casting glyph condenses before exploding into flames. The entire room is engulfed in fire as the black skeleton walks out of the room unharmed. The clothing and armor it wears are unaffected by the raging flames.

The black skeleton walks out of the chamber and toward the tomb's exit.

It arrives at a large barred wooden door, and promptly shoves the bar aside.

The sunlight shines down harshly onto the lich's boney face. It feels joy at seeing the sun again after being trapped inside its phylactery for so long. The aforementioned black heart is beating steadily within the lich's black ribcage.

"Greetings, mortal realm. How I have missed thee so." The skeleton chuckles to itself as it follows a dirt path in search of civilization.

With each step the black skeleton absorbs the life force from all that surrounds it. Plants wilt and shrivel away. Birds drop dead from the sky. The lich's power grows with each life it consumes.

~

The sung shines brightly on a tranquil forest village. Men wearing simple clothes work meager fields surrounding wood and straw houses. One man in particular wipes sweat from his brow with a rag. He sets his iron hoe down next to the fence at the edge of the village.

Another man with a bushy dark beard walks over and does the same, sighing as he takes a look across the fields. "Hot today, ain't it?" His gruff voice is something the first man is familiar with.

"Yeah. I swear the summers are getting hotter every year." The first man chuckles, before frowning. He peers at something in the distance while using his hand to block the sunlight.

The bearded man follows his gaze. A cloaked figure is walking toward the town. His garb is an odd choice for such a hot summer day. The two farmers share a look before grabbing their hoes. The pair of them make their way to intercept the stranger.

His movements are patient as he approaches the center of the village. The two farmers easily catch up to him. The bearded man grabs the man by the shoulder and turns him around to get a look at his face. The stranger's hood is up, and the shadows are so deep he can only see two glinting red circles where the man's eyes would be.

"Ah-" The man is a bit unsettled by the red glow for a moment before regaining his composure. "What business do you have in our village, stranger?" His voice is firm and commands respect.

The pair of farmers shiver as they hear an oddly calm voice reply. "I seek an audience with thy village chief. Please take me to him." The stranger sounds old, probably a similar age to their chief. His appearance is suspicious, but he doesn't act like a ruffian.

The first man returns to the fields while the larger bearded man leads the cloaked stranger to the village chief's house. With a light knock, he announces his presence to the chief. "chief, a stranger is here and seeks an audience with you." The bearded man's voice is full of reverence for his village chief as he speaks.

"You may both enter." The strong aged voice of the village chief responds promptly to the request, and with that the pair of men enter the room.

The cloaked man is smaller than the other two in the room. The chief is a rather large man, his broad shoulders and his long white beard giving off a masculine prowess that dwarfs the slight figure of the cloaked stranger.

The bearded farmer departs with a respectful bow to his elder, and the chief gives him a light nod in acknowledgement. The door closes quietly as both men now stand alone in the well furnished house.

"Well, what is it you seek?" The village chief is curt and straight to the point. He finds the stranger in front of him to be rather unimpressive. His outfit and small stature make him seem unthreatening and weak.

The cloaked stranger silently lifts a gloved hand in the air and conjures a glyph of silver mana in front of his palm. The chief realizes the power of this spell rapidly forming in front of him, and holds up a large calloused hand to stop the stranger from continuing.

"Wait! I will hear you out. Please, sir. There is no need for violence." His voice is still full of confidence, but his words are much humbler than they were moments ago.

The cloaked figure stops casting, and the glyph disperses instantly. He moves his cloaked hand back to his side. "I am subjugating this village." His voice was cold and stern.

The chief's eyebrows raised in disbelief. He couldn't afford to anger this caster, but he couldn't pass control of his home to some mysterious wizard who had just waltzed into the village today.

"May I ask why? I would rather not hand over my position as chief to someone I just met." His voice is calm. He refrains from mocking the man in front of him with his tone.

With a soft chuckle, the cloaked man lifts his gloved hand up his black hood. The hood falls away to reveal a black skull. The eye sockets house a floating pair of crimson orbs which stare the chief dead in the eyes.

The undead appearance of the stranger causes the chief to quickly reach for a broadsword hanging on the wall behind him. This action is cut short as three magically conjured blades hover around the chief's body. Each blade is close to an artery, one nearly touching the burly man's neck.

"I suggest thou leave thoughts of resistance behind, chief." The lich's voice is dripping with contempt as he says the word chief.

The chief slowly turns as the blades move outwards, and looks at the undead monster standing a meter or so in front of him. Silver glyphs were formed in the split second that the chief's back had turned away from the lich.

"What do you want, skeleton?" His voice is now full of anger, and lacks any pretense of respect.

The lich cackles, a haunting laugh that echoes around the room and the chief's skull.

"Oh, chief. I told thou I wish to take control of this little settlement." The skeletons eyes glow with an unearthly power as he speaks.

The chief's expression hardens as his mind is filled with the horrors an undead caster might commit to a village of unsuspecting humans. His people could be used as blood banks, slaves, or killed and resurrected as zombie soldiers. He could not stand for this.

The lich's gaze does not miss the man's rage.

"Thy precious villagers, thou wish to keep their lives intact?" The skeletal head tilts slightly as the lich expresses mild interest in negotiating with the village chief.

"Yes, please. I will promise you tribute, allegiance, control! My only condition is the wellbeing of my people." The chief is desperate for the survival of his village and himself at this point. The undead caster is leagues above him in terms of combat power.

With a soft chuckle, the lich nods to the old man before him. "Thou will serve me wholly, and thy village is the first seed of my new domain." The lich is pleased with this outcome.

The chief is relieved, sighing slightly. His relief is not without hesitation. The lich could have killed him and his villagers without so much as a flick of the wrist, and yet he decided to instead approach the village in an aggressive diplomatic fashion.

"Ah... May I ask why you decided to talk with me rather than rain hell upon us without warning?" The village chief decides to bravely ask his question aloud.

"I can always slaughter those with talent, but resurrecting them has its limitations." The lich explains calmly. He is unbothered by the chief's disrespectful tone.

Finally understanding the logic behind the black skeleton's decision, the chief quiets down and nods solemnly. He slowly stands up while looking at his new tyrannical leader expectantly.

"Firstly, I shall create a base of operations for myself." His glowing eyes shine brightly with this statement.

The village chief goes to ask what he means, but before he can get the question out the lich has already created a triad of spell glyphs. The spells merge and suddenly with a loud rumbling a staircase appears in the corner of the chief's floor.

"W-What did you just do?" The lich gave a chuckle in response as he descends the newly formed stone stairs.

Beneath the chief's house is a spacious set of chambers made entirely of dark sturdy stone bricks. The thing spans under the majority of the village. Several stairwells connect to buildings in the town, but the exits are not fully opened as of yet.

"This will do for now." The lich nods his black skull in satisfaction before turning to look at the chief.

The village chief is still inspecting the surprisingly well crafted stone walls of the chamber. He straightens up once he notices the lich looking at him. "Y-Yes? How may I be of service?" The village chief stands at attention. His opinion of the skeletal caster has improved after seeing how capable his magic is.

"It is time I announce my subjugation to the villagers. They will have heard the rumbling of my base being created." The lich's jaw opens in what can be generously interpreted as a smile.

Both the chief and the undead walks up into the chief's house once more. Villagers have gathered outside the chief's house, and some even hold tools as if intending to fight whoever may have caused the ruckus.

The door opens, and the chief steps out with a solemn look on his face. He takes a deep breath before speaking to the villagers.

"I need everyone to gather here, immediately. This is of utmost importance." The chief's booming voice reaches throughout the small forest settlement, and the meager population gathers around the chief's house.

They all look at their chief with uncertainty, however instead of speaking he steps aside the door to his home. The wooden door opens slowly, and out steps a cloaked figure with a hood obscuring his face. He moves with purposefully slow steps to the center of the cleared space in the center of the crowd.

"As of today, this village is under new leadership." The magically produced voice echoes throughout the village and surrounding forest. The villagers wince at the volume.

Many murmur and glare at the stranger. Some look to their chief with confused expressions. The villager's reactions are cut short by a sudden flash of light. Magical glyphs form around the cloaked man, and condense into spells.

Fire shoots skyward in a huge column while ice freezes the packed dirt ground in a circular pattern around the caster. Air whips at the villager's clothes at unsettling intensities. While this show of magic power goes on the caster cackles loudly.

"Remember this day! Today is the day Kuhzam The Wicked returns!" The magic dissipates in a shower of glowing motes of mana.

The crowd of villagers is shocked by the magic power as well as the magically amplified proclamation made by the powerful wizard. They knew this man was far too powerful to resist, however none of them saw him as anything more than a tyrant.

The cloaked caster floated skywards, levitating on the wind like a bird. "Do not fret, peasants. Thou chief has bargained for thee lives!" The villagers relax only a little at this statement.

Wind whips across the settlement as the mage flies in a broad circle around the edges of the village. His hand is raised to form a variety of charcoal colored mana glyphs. These spells bring the ground up into imposing stone walls. The stone walls surround the village in a hexagonal perimeter, complete with two gates to the north and south.

The men and women tremble slightly at the sight of stone brick being conjured from the earth. The tremors cause dust to float into the air. The wall is layered, a parapet stretching across the top with stairs being spaced around the interior for easy access.

The metal gates formed from the ore in the earth stand tall and imposing, black wrought iron barring entry and exit. Thankfully the villagers can access the winches with which the gate is raised.

"Chief, what in Creos' name is happening?!" The bearded farmer from earlier approaches his chief with a hopeless expression on his face.

The chief shakes his head solemnly. "The village is under that man's command. His power is far too great for any of us to defy." His words are firm and lack any doubt.

The villagers feel the weight of the tyrant's rule press down on their spirits.