Days turned into weeks as Donn trained under the Forgotten King, mastering the art of necromancy far beyond what he had ever imagined. The tomb became his sanctuary, its dark corridors filled with the hum of ancient magic. Every lesson, every command, brought him closer to understanding the true depths of the Necrotome.
The skeletal warriors he once struggled to raise now moved with flawless precision under his control. His undead army had grown in both size and power, each soldier imbued with the dark energy that flowed through him. The Forgotten King had taught him how to harness death itself, bending it to his will with a mere thought.
But with each passing day, Donn felt something slipping away, a part of himself that he could not fully grasp. The whispers of the dead grew louder, more insistent, filling his mind with fragments of forgotten knowledge and endless voices from beyond the grave.
One evening, as Donn stood alone in the chamber where he had first awakened the Forgotten King, he felt a deep sense of unease. His body, though still human, had begun to feel… different. Colder. Numb. The connection to the dead had grown so strong that he could feel their presence even when they were not summoned.
The Forgotten King's words echoed in his mind.
"Power over death requires sacrifice."
Donn's gaze drifted to his hands, pale and cold under the flickering torchlight. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strange disconnect between mind and body. Had he already begun the transformation? Was he becoming something more than human, something like the Forgotten King?
The door to the chamber creaked open, and the Forgotten King entered, his black robes flowing behind him. His golden mask gleamed in the dim light, and his hollow eyes fixed on Donn with an unreadable expression.
"You have grown stronger," the king said, his voice low and measured. "But I sense doubt within you."
Donn hesitated before responding, his mind racing with questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to. "You said there would be a cost… that to wield this power, I would have to let go of my humanity."
The Forgotten King nodded slowly, stepping closer. "That is true. To master necromancy is to transcend life and death, to become something greater than the mortal shell you were born into. The question you must ask yourself is: are you willing to pay that price?"
Donn's heart pounded in his chest. He had never wanted power for the sake of power, but now that he had tasted it, the idea of giving it up seemed impossible. Yet, the thought of losing himself, of becoming something like the Forgotten King, weighed heavily on his mind.
"I don't know," Donn admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't know if I can do it."
The Forgotten King's gaze remained fixed on him, but there was no judgment in his eyes. "You are not the first to hesitate at this crossroads. Many before you have stood where you now stand, torn between the life they knew and the power they sought."
Donn swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "What happens if I choose not to continue? If I stop now?"
The Forgotten King was silent for a long moment before he answered. "You will remain as you are, powerful, yes, but limited. The Necrotome will only reveal a fraction of its true potential to those who fully commit to its path. You will never be weak again, but you will never reach the heights you are capable of."
Donn's mind spun with possibilities. He had already come so far, learned so much. The power he held now was more than enough to make him a force to be reckoned with. But the whispers in his mind, the pull of the Necrotome, urged him forward. There was more, so much more. Could he really turn away now?
"And if I continue?" Donn asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Forgotten King stepped even closer, his presence looming over Donn like a shadow. "Then you will become one with death. You will no longer be bound by the limitations of the living. Your body will change, yes, but your mind, your will, will remain your own. You will wield power that no mortal could ever dream of."
Donn closed his eyes, trying to block out the rising tide of emotions within him. He had to make a choice. Continue down the path of necromancy and embrace the transformation, or stop now and accept his limits.
The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive.
Finally, Donn opened his eyes and looked directly at the Forgotten King. "I want to keep going," he said, his voice filled with resolve. "I want to see how far this power can take me."
The Forgotten King nodded slowly, as though he had expected this answer all along. "Very well. Then you must prepare yourself for the next step. The time has come for you to embrace your true potential."
Donn's heart raced as the king raised his staff, the runes along its length glowing with a dark, ethereal light. The air around them crackled with energy, and the tomb seemed to tremble in response.
"You will undergo a ritual," the Forgotten King explained, his voice steady. "It will strip away the final remnants of your mortality, leaving only the power of death within you. Once it is done, you will be something more, something far beyond human."
Donn nodded, though a part of him still felt the weight of the decision. There was no turning back now. He had made his choice.
The Forgotten King extended his hand, beckoning Donn to follow. "Come. The ritual must be performed in the deepest part of the tomb, where the veil between life and death is thinnest."
Donn followed without hesitation, his mind filled with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. This was the moment he had been working toward since he first laid his hands on the Necrotome. The moment he would truly become a master of death.
They descended deeper into the tomb, the air growing colder with every step. The walls were lined with ancient carvings, depicting scenes of death and resurrection, battles fought in a time long forgotten. The whispers of the dead grew louder as they walked, their voices filling Donn's mind with fragments of knowledge, urging him forward.
Finally, they reached a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the center of the room was a raised platform, surrounded by flickering braziers that cast an eerie light across the stone. The air was thick with magic, the very essence of death swirling around them.
The Forgotten King turned to Donn, his golden mask gleaming in the firelight. "Are you ready?"
Donn hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yes. I'm ready."
The king gestured toward the platform. "Lie down. The ritual will begin as soon as you are in place."
Donn obeyed, climbing onto the platform and lying on his back. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared up at the dark ceiling, the weight of what was about to happen settling over him.
The Forgotten King began to chant in a language that Donn didn't understand, his voice low and melodic, like the murmur of the dead themselves. The air around them seemed to thrum with power, and Donn felt a strange warmth spreading through his body, followed by an icy cold.
The braziers flared, and Donn's vision blurred as the magic took hold. He felt his body go numb, his mind filling with the whispers of the dead. But through it all, one thought remained clear: he had made his choice.
And now, there was no turning back.