"Indeed," the necromancer replied, his tone almost playful. "But before we begin, you must change your appearance."
Zarkus stared at the necromancer, confusion and apprehension etched on his face. "Change my appearance? Why?"
Chuckling softly at Zarkus's confusion, the necromancer's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Ah, I see that look on your face," he sneered, "wondering why I would demand such a thing. Is it not obvious?"
"Appearances can deceive," he murmured, his hollow eyes locking onto Zarkus. "They can reveal truth, but also conceal it. To train you effectively, I must be able to see what lies beneath the surface—to recognize your strengths and weaknesses without the illusion of your normal visage."
His grin deepened as he continued, his voice cold and deliberate.
"Think of it as shedding your old skin, so you may emerge stronger and more formidable. Trust me, little one, this is a crucial step in your training."
Zarkus swallowed hard, his heart still racing in his chest. He had never considered the possibility of changing his appearance before. The thought alone was unnerving, a strange and unnatural concept. But the necromancer's words echoed in his mind, their meaning clear and persuasive. If he was to grow stronger, he would have to trust the necromancer's methods, bizarre though they might be.
"Alright," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it. How do I change my appearance?"
The necromancer's hollow sockets gleamed with a spectral light, his skeletal grin spreading wide as Zarkus obeyed. "Ah... yes... excellent." His voice was a low, rasping whisper, each word heavy with a sinister satisfaction. "Close your eyes, Zarkus. Feel the energy... deep within your bones. Let it rise. Imagine... the form you wish to take. The form that will be... yours."
Zarkus took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the necromancer instructed. He focused inward, drawing on the energy within him. He imagined his body transforming, shedding its unusual features and returning to something more familiar.
His skin darkened, the greyish hue fading away. His limbs shortened and lost their elongated shape, becoming more human-like. His eyes turned from their unnatural luminous state to a more ordinary dark color. His pointed teeth shrank and became more blunt, the jagged edges smoothing out.
As he continued concentrating, the long, flowing cloak of shadows seemed to dissolve into the air, leaving his body bare and unadorned. His hands with their claw-like fingers shrank and regained their human shape, losing their elongated nails. The shimmering wings on his back slowly vanished like wisps of smoke, their ethereal presence gone.
Once the transformation was complete, Zarkus opened his eyes, feeling the unfamiliarity of this new form. It was strange, yet oddly liberating. He looked at the necromancer, awaiting his next instruction.
With empty eyes gleaming, the necromancer tilted his skull, examining Zarkus's newly shifted form. Silence stretched as he studied every detail before his jaw shifted, as though pondering a mystery. "Tell me... Have you ever truly gazed upon a human before?" His voice was like wind through a forgotten crypt, each word drawing Zarkus deeper into uncertainty.
Zarkus was taken aback by the question. "Seen a human? Of course I have," he replied, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
A dry, rattling laugh echoed from the necromancer's skeletal frame, his bony fingers tapping together. "Ah, I see it now... You wear that form well, too well," he murmured, a cold, calculating edge to his voice. "Convincing, yes... almost unnervingly so."
Zarkus frowned, unsure where the necromancer was going with this. "What do you mean, 'too convincing'?"
The necromancer drifted closer, his brittle bones creaking with every step. He peered at Zarkus's face, his empty gaze piercing despite the lack of eyes. "Fascinating... Your flesh, your features—so... precise. Flawless mimicry of a human, as if you had seen one... intimately." His voice lingered, haunted by some unspoken truth.
Zarkus felt a shiver run down his spine. The necromancer's words struck a chord of truth within him, but he couldn't understand why. "I... I've never based my appearance on a human," he protested, his voice growing shaky.
A hollow chuckle escaped the necromancer's bony jaw. "You misunderstand me, Zarkus." The mockery in his tone was palpable, a serpentine whisper in the dark. "I don't accuse you of stealing this form knowingly. No... Perhaps it slithered into your mind, something... half-forgotten. A shadow of memory you didn't know you possessed."
The voice of the necromancer grew darker, laden with suspicion. "Yet, this... replication of the human form... It troubles me. Why do you hold it so close? What secret lies beneath that flesh you wear?"
Zarkus felt a cold sweat bead on his forehead. The necromancer's questions were making him feel uneasy, as if the necromancer knew something about him that he himself wasn't aware of. "I... I don't know," he mumbled, his voice betraying his unease.
The necromancer's gaze never left Zarkus, those empty sockets filled with a malice that chilled the air. "Hmm... Something hides within you, does it not?" His voice was a slow, deliberate hiss. "Perhaps you are not as simple as you appear, Zarkus. Or perhaps..."
He closed the distance between them, his skeletal hand reaching toward Zarkus's chest as if to grasp his very soul. "Perhaps there's far more to you than even you know." His voice sank to a menacing growl, sharp and penetrating. "And I will... unravel you, little one. You cannot hide from me."
Zarkus felt the weight of the necromancer's words coil around him, pulling at the edges of his uncertainty. Fear gnawed at him, though he remained silent, unable to shake the feeling that something within him had been uncovered, something he wasn't ready to face.
The necromancer's bony jaw creaked open with a rattling chuckle as he sensed Zarkus's discomfort. His voice, cold and mocking, slithered through the air. "Ah... fear not, little one." His tone was dripping with condescension, each word twisting the blade of Zarkus's unease. "We have all the time in this forsaken world to unravel your mysteries. For now, let us continue. Your training awaits."
Zarkus took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. It was obvious that the necromancer wasn't going to let this matter rest, and the only way forward was to play along with his plans. "Alright," he said, his voice betraying his uncertainty. "What now?"
A skeletal grin stretched across the necromancer's face, his satisfaction clear. "Good," he rasped, his voice matter-of-fact but laced with cruel intent. "Now that your... form has been sufficiently scrutinized, it's time to begin the real work."
He motioned toward the center of the room, his fingers bony and pointed like talons. "Step forward. Let me see what you are truly capable of."
Reluctantly, Zarkus obeyed. He stepped into the center of the room, feeling a mix of dread and anticipation. The necromancer circled him slowly, his gaze appraising and sharp.
The necromancer circled Zarkus like a predator, his hollow sockets flickering with curiosity. "Hmm," he murmured, his voice an echo of something long dead. "There is... something unique in your aura. I can feel your power... restrained. Like you're holding something back."
The necromancer stepped into Zarkus's space, his skeletal face mere inches away, sockets locking onto Zarkus's eyes. "Let me test you," he whispered, his voice soft, yet sharp with command. "Throw a punch. Show me your strength."
Zarkus's heart pounded as he prepared himself. With all his might, he drove his fist toward the necromancer, aiming for his chest. But the necromancer moved with unnatural speed, sidestepping effortlessly. His skeletal grin widened. "A decent effort," he said, amused. "But you're holding back. Again, Zarkus. Don't deny me your full strength."
Zarkus gritted his teeth and threw another punch, this time putting more power behind it. But again, the necromancer dodged with ease, seemingly unfazed by the attack.
The necromancer shook his skull, clicking his teeth in disapproval. "No, no," he tutted, his tone almost playful but dripping with menace. "Still, you hold back. I can feel the potential, but you are afraid to unleash it."
Frustration surged in Zarkus, but each strike met only empty air. The necromancer evaded him with an eerie ease, as though playing a game Zarkus could never win.
"Enough," the necromancer growled, raising his hand to halt the fruitless efforts. His gaze darkened, a sinister edge creeping into his voice. "It is clear you lack... proper motivation." He stepped closer, a cold menace radiating from him. "I will give you one final chance. Give me everything... or I will extract it from you myself."
Zarkus felt a chill run down his spine. He didn't like the sound of that. He also knew he had no choice but to comply. Drawing on every ounce of his strength and determination, he clenched his fists and prepared for one more attack.
This time, he gathered all his power and lunged at the necromancer with everything he had. His muscles tensed, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, every fiber of his being focused on landing a single blow.
To his surprise, the necromancer didn't dodge this time. Instead, he stood motionless as Zarkus's fist rushed towards his face. Zarkus's heart pounded in his chest, his mind a whirlwind of adrenaline and anticipation.
His knuckles connected with the necromancer's cheek, and a loud crack echoed through the room. A rush of relief and excitement filled Zarkus, followed quickly by a sense of disbelief. He had finally landed a hit.
Zarkus's knuckles struck the necromancer's cheekbone, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his hand. He expected the necromancer to stumble back from the force, but something was wrong. The necromancer's skin, or rather, his bone, felt... solid. Solid as rock.
The necromancer's expression remained unchanged as Zarkus's blow finally landed. A cruel smile played on his skeletal lips. "Ah, there it is... when properly motivated, you can strike with force." His voice remained as smooth and menacing as ever. "I knew you had it in you. But now, Zarkus... it's my turn."
Without warning, the necromancer's hand shot out, grabbing Zarkus's wrist. Before he could react, the necromancer twisted his grasp, pinning Zarkus's arm behind his back with a strength that belied his slender frame.
Zarkus gasped in pain as his arm was twisted to an almost agonizing point. He tried to struggle against the necromancer's grip, but it was like trying to break free from a vise.
The necromancer tutted, shaking his skull with a twisted amusement. "No, no, no," he crooned, his voice filled with malicious glee. "You think you can escape? I have seen your limits, Zarkus. And now... I will break them."
His skeletal grip tightened on Zarkus's arm, the twisting pain intensifying with every second. Zarkus gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, but the agony was relentless.
"You feel it, don't you?" the necromancer whispered, his words like venom. "The helplessness... the futility. You tried to prove yourself, but it was all for nothing. You're at my mercy, little one."
With a sudden jerk, the necromancer shoved Zarkus forward, sending him stumbling as he released his grip. Zarkus caught himself before he fell, his arm hanging limply at his side, the pain still coursing through his body.
The necromancer's skeletal grin widened as he stepped closer to Zarkus, his voice laced with mockery and thinly veiled admiration. "Ah... quite the impressive display of resilience, little one," he crooned, his tone like a knife slipping through darkness. "But that was merely a taste... of what I am capable of. Now... let's see just how far I can push you before you... shatter."
His bony hand reached out once more, fingers curling with malicious intent as his empty gaze darkened. "You'll find... I am relentless," the necromancer rasped, his voice thick with sadistic pleasure.
"I will drag every last drop of potential from you. I will not stop... until you are empty."
Zarkus's heart thudded in his chest, his mind whirling. The necromancer's words echoed in his ears, a reminder of his helplessness in this situation. He was at the mercy of a being beyond his comprehension, and there was little he could do to escape his torment.
The necromancer's grip tightened on Zarkus's shoulder, his skeletal fingers pressing into the flesh like talons. His hollow eyes gleamed with sinister delight.
"Are you ready, Zarkus? For Round Two, little one?" His voice was cold, the words dripping with malice as if he relished the torment to come.
Zarkus didn't respond, merely bracing himself for whatever new torment the necromancer had planned.
Over the past days, he had learned that hesitation was often punished. Pain was no stranger to him now.
As the training intensified, the necromancer introduced more brutal challenges, each day a new test of Zarkus's physical and magical capabilities. His body and mind were pushed beyond their limits, and the necromancer seemed almost gleeful with every failure, every stumble. But Zarkus was learning. Each fall taught him something, even when his body screamed in protest.
One day, after a particularly brutal session, the necromancer stood over Zarkus, his empty eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. His voice dropped to a low whisper, as if sharing a dark secret.
"I think it's time... to teach you something different," he murmured, his tone carrying an ominous weight.
"Most demons... the soldiers, especially... they scorn this technique, dismiss it as weak. Beneath them. But for someone like you... in your unique position, it may be far more valuable than they realize."
Zarkus frowned, catching his breath as he rose from the floor, his muscles burning from the exertion. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice hoarse.
The necromancer paced around Zarkus, his voice heavy with dark amusement. "The Earth's Embrace," he said, tasting the words like a dark promise. "A low-level technique, yes. Mocked by most because it does not offer the raw destruction they lust for. But they are fools." His voice lowered, filled with sinister conviction. "The Earth's Embrace does not deal in power alone—it offers endurance, stability, resilience. It draws strength from the ground beneath you, an energy far greater than brute force." He paused, eyes locking onto Zarkus. "For one such as you, dancing on the edge of life and death... it is a lifeline."
Zarkus frowned. "If it's so useful, why is it looked down upon?"
A dry, hollow laugh rattled from the necromancer's chest. "Fools... they always choose flash over substance. Destruction over survival. They crave power that burns bright but fades quickly. But you, Zarkus... you will learn. In your case, endurance will be indispensable. You will endure."
And so, the training shifted. Zarkus began learning the Earth's Embrace, slowly at first, as the necromancer guided him through its subtle complexities. It wasn't about force or domination—it was about finding a connection with the earth, tapping into something primal. The soldiers might mock it, but Zarkus soon realized the potential. It didn't make him stronger in an obvious way, but it gave him an edge, a well of strength to draw on when his own energy waned.
Despite its reputation, the necromancer was relentless in perfecting Zarkus's mastery of the technique, understanding its true worth. Over time, Zarkus grew to appreciate it too. What had seemed simple became a crucial part of his arsenal, especially as he learned to blend it with his demonic transformation.
Months passed, and Zarkus stood before the necromancer, stronger than he had ever been. The Earth's Embrace had become second nature to him, and the necromancer's grin widened as he watched his pupil transform.
"That's enough for now, my apprentice," the necromancer's voice sliced through the stillness of the chamber one day, as Zarkus practiced the Earth's Embrace. His tone carried a rare, dark pride. "You have come far. There is little more I can teach you in the ways of physical combat. You are ready."
Zarkus, breathless and drenched in sweat, looked at his master with a hint of curiosity. "Is that so?" he asked, wiping his brow. "Then what's next?"
A sly grin stretched across the necromancer's skeletal face, as if he had anticipated this moment all along. "Ah, yes... That is what I wished to speak with you about," he said, stepping closer, his tone growing more insidious. "You have grown strong... stronger than I ever expected. But there is more... far more than brute strength, Zarkus. And you, my apprentice, possess a unique potential... to harness it."
Zarkus raises an eyebrow, intrigued. The necromancer's words send a shiver down his spine, and he feels a sense of anticipation building in his chest. "What kind of potential are you talking about?" he asks, his voice steady despite the curiosity.
The necromancer leaned in, his skeletal face inches from Zarkus, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Magic," he breathed.
"You possess it... a raw, untapped power within you that could shift the tides of any battle. And I will teach you how to wield it... properly."
Zarkus's eyes widen. He hasn't seriously considered wielding magic before, always focusing on his physical skills. But now, the idea seems tantalizing, powerful, and a little bit terrifying. "Magic," he repeats, the word almost a whisper. "You think I can handle it?"
A dark chuckle escaped the necromancer, arrogance lacing his tone. "Oh, my apprentice, it is not a matter of whether you can handle it," he said with a knowing grin. "I know you can. But know this—magic demands discipline, control, and an intimate understanding of the elemental forces that shape our world. You will learn all of that, and more, if you wish to truly master the art of sorcery."
Zarkus takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenge ahead. He's never been one to back down from a difficult task. "Alright," he says firmly. "I'm ready." He meets the necromancer with a determined gaze, his resolve clear in his eyes.
The necromancer's grin widened, satisfaction gleaming in his hollow eyes. "Good," he said approvingly, his voice as cold as the grave. "Then let us begin your magical education." He extended his hand, beckoning Zarkus closer, as though drawing him into a dark pact.
Time passes, the years slipping past like drops in the ocean, each moment blending into the next.
Zarkus's magical abilities blossom under the necromancer's tutelage. With time and patience, he hones his skills, learning to control and manipulate magic in ways he never thought possible.
He spends countless hours pouring over ancient tomes, mastering complex spells and delving deep into the understanding of elemental magic. The necromancer is a demanding teacher, pushing him to his limits and beyond, but Zarkus learns to draw strength from this challenge, his determination never once wavering.
The necromancer observes Zarkus's progress with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. He hadn't expected his young apprentice to grow so quickly and so fiercely, but he's pleased with the results. Zarkus has not only mastered physical combat but also magic, making him a dangerous and versatile force. He feels a sense of excitement, anticipating the possibilities that lie ahead for his young apprentice.
For what felt like an eternity, Zarkus endured the necromancer's relentless training regime. His body was broken down and rebuilt countless times, the agony unending. Time became a blur as years passed, each one marked by pain, struggle, and transformation. Slowly but surely, however, Zarkus grew stronger.
His mana pool expanded exponentially, his senses sharpened beyond anything remotely human, and his physical strength became monstrous. He could now lift massive boulders with ease, and his reflexes were sharp enough to catch a falling leaf mid-air. But the training went beyond just brute strength. The necromancer had him master a wide array of devastating spells and enchantments, each more destructive than the last.
Fireballs that could reduce entire cities to rubble, lightning bolts capable of leveling mountains, necrotic curses that rotted away anything they touched—Zarkus now had power in his hands that was dizzying, awe-inspiring, and terrifying.
Through the endless pain, Zarkus never wavered. Day after day, he pushed himself further, and the necromancer, reveling in his suffering, pushed even harder. Decades flew by, marked by sweat, blood, and anguish, yet Zarkus's resilience only grew.
After an eternity of relentless torment, the necromancer finally stopped, nodding with grim satisfaction. A dark laugh bubbled from his hollow chest. "Ha ha ha! You have done well, little one. You have endured... every trial, every torment. And now... you are far more powerful than even I could have imagined."