The night stretched endlessly over the wastelands, the moon hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, as though it, too, wished to avoid witnessing the horrors that Elias had unleashed. The once-bustling villages, now reduced to ash and ruin, stood as silent witnesses to the power of the Divine Necromancer. The winds carried the faint echoes of wailing spirits, their cries too weak to reach the living, but those who were still alive felt their terror in the cold that clung to their bones.
Elias stood atop a cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the forsaken lands he now ruled. His skeletal army moved with disciplined silence below, marching in perfect formation, a sea of death and decay. They were no longer the mindless husks they once were—he had bound their spirits to his will with an unbreakable tether. They were his soldiers, his servants, and through them, he would reclaim what was lost and cast down the false gods.
But as much as he reveled in the power that surged within him, there was a gnawing sensation in his mind, a question that lingered like a shadow.
What was the true purpose of his ascension? Why had he been chosen to wield such overwhelming power? Was it a gift—or a curse?
He had spent days searching through the ancient texts, the forgotten scrolls, and the lost tomes hidden in the catacombs beneath the temple. But all the knowledge he had uncovered was vague, cryptic, and incomplete. The prophecy of the Divine Necromancer was too fragmented, too scattered, to give him the clarity he sought. Only whispers of the gods' downfall remained, and with it, the promise that one would rise to take their place.
The dark energy that flowed through him was intoxicating, yes, but it was also isolating. He could feel the distance between himself and the world growing, the rift between the living and the dead widening with each passing day. The closer he came to fully embracing his new role, the further he felt from his former self.
A rustling behind him broke his reverie. He turned, hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. From the shadows, a figure emerged, cloaked in a heavy mantle of darkness. The air around the figure shimmered as if reality itself bent to its presence.
"You summoned me," the figure said, its voice cold and melodic, reverberating with an otherworldly quality. "But I did not expect you to be so... eager."
Elias's heart beat faster at the sight of the figure. It was no mortal being—it was one of the ancient ones, a being older than the gods themselves, one of the fallen angels who had watched the world from the edges of oblivion.
"Then why are you here?" Elias asked, trying to mask the flicker of uncertainty in his voice.
The figure stepped forward, its eyes glowing with a piercing light. "I am a messenger. But I also have... guidance for you, Necromancer. You do not yet understand the consequences of what you have done."
Elias straightened, the power of the Divine Necromancer pulsing through his veins like a living thing. "I understand perfectly. I have taken what was once the gods' and claimed it as my own."
The figure's lips curled into a smile that held no warmth. "Ah, but power is not so easily claimed. You may have awakened the dead, but you have not yet summoned the strength to face the true force that lies beyond. There are forces at work here that even you cannot control."
Elias narrowed his eyes, sensing the hint of a threat in the figure's words. "Who are you to question me? You are but a shadow of what you once were."
The figure chuckled, a sound like the rattling of bones. "A shadow, perhaps. But even shadows have their place in the grand tapestry of fate. I was once a servant of the gods—until their downfall, until their betrayal. And now, I serve only the one who will bring them to their knees."
Elias's grip on his sword tightened. "If you speak of these gods, then you must understand the path I walk. I am their successor."
The figure's eyes glowed brighter, and for a moment, Elias felt a ripple of dread pass through him. "You are no god, necromancer. Not yet. And perhaps... not ever."
With a wave of its hand, the figure conjured a vision in the air before them—a vision of the world as it once was. Cities of light, flourishing lands, the gods themselves in their eternal thrones. The vision flickered, distorting, as the figure spoke again.
"Look upon the world of the gods, and know this: they were not merely rulers of life and death. They were guardians of balance, custodians of an ancient pact that binds this world to something far greater. What you have done—what you continue to do—threatens that balance. And if you are not careful, if you do not fully understand the forces at play, you will destroy everything. Even the dead will perish in your wake."
Elias stepped forward, the dark energy surrounding him crackling in the air. "And what would you have me do? Retreat back into the shadows, bow to the gods that abandoned this world? No. I will not be their puppet any longer."
The figure's expression darkened. "You think yourself free of their chains, but you are still bound. You may have the power to raise the dead, but it is a pale imitation of the true mastery of life and death. There are others—those who stand beyond your reach—who will come for you. They will not let you steal their birthright."
Elias's voice was low, a growl of defiance. "Then let them come."
The figure stared at him for a long moment, its expression unreadable. "Very well. But know this, necromancer—there are worse things than gods. And when they arrive, you will understand the true price of your ambition."
With that, the figure turned and vanished into the night, leaving Elias alone with his thoughts and the crackling energy in the air.
Elias stood there, his mind racing. The figure's words weighed heavily on him, but he refused to let them take root in his heart. He had come too far, embraced too much power to turn back now.
But deep down, a seed of doubt began to take root.
The gods were gone—but perhaps there were forces even darker than death itself, forces that would stand against him, forces that were ancient beyond reckoning. And soon, he would have to face them.
For Elias knew one thing with certainty: the true battle had only just begun