Elias awoke to the sound of distant, mournful whispers. The cold stone walls of the crypt felt suffocating as his senses sharpened, pulling him into the waking world. For a moment, he felt disoriented, as if the weight of the Hollow King's warning still clung to him like a shadow. He had gone to sleep in his chambers above the crypt, but the voice—no, the voices—came from the depths below, from the ancient tomb where the Hollow King now lay bound.
Elias rose from his bed with fluid grace, pulling his dark robes tight around his form. He had not expected sleep to come so easily after the binding ritual, but fatigue had overtaken him the moment he closed his eyes. The Hollow King's words had haunted him, but they had not been enough to keep him awake. He was too accustomed to the toll that magic—particularly necromancy—exacted on the body.
But something in the air was different now. The whispers were louder, closer. They weren't the faint murmurs of the crypt's spirits or the dead he had commanded. These voices were... something else.
Stepping carefully across the cold floor of his chamber, Elias moved toward the door. The candlelight flickered in his wake as he descended into the depths of the crypt, the whispers growing stronger with each step he took.
The air down here was thick with the scent of earth and decay, but now there was an undercurrent of something far older. The tombstones, the skeletal remains, the remnants of forgotten kings and queens—they were silent. Only the Hollow King's presence seemed to stir the dead around him, and even that was subdued by the binding Elias had cast.
Yet the voices did not belong to the dead.
"You have done something... foolish."
The voice was clear now, a deep, resonant tone that echoed through the very stone beneath his feet. Elias froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. It wasn't the Hollow King. The king's soul was still locked away, restrained by the necromantic chains Elias had placed upon him. This voice was something else entirely. Something ancient, more ancient than the Hollow King's cursed reign.
Elias swallowed his unease, drawing from the power that hummed in his veins, the power he had claimed from the souls he had bound. He spoke with authority, his voice cutting through the crypt's oppressive silence. "Who speaks?"
"Do you truly believe you can control that which is beyond you?" The voice seemed to swirl around him, shifting and bending like the wind through the ruins. "You have awakened us, necromancer. The Hollow King is not the only one you have bound."
Elias's breath caught in his throat. "I do not fear you," he said, but the words tasted false in his mouth.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a laugh echoed—low and mocking, like the rustling of dry leaves.
"Fear? Oh, no. Fear is a small thing compared to what you have done." The voice seemed to change, twisting, as though more than one entity was speaking at once. "You have bound the Hollow King, yes. But you have also opened the gates to something far worse."
Elias's pulse quickened, and for the first time, a sense of dread gripped him. The crypt was suffocating, the walls closing in on him, yet the air itself seemed to vibrate with a dark energy. He reached for the staff at his side, his fingers brushing its carved surface. The staff had become an extension of his will, but now, in the presence of whatever force spoke, it felt almost... insignificant.
"Explain yourself," Elias demanded, trying to force his voice to remain steady, though doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. "What are you?"
"We are the forgotten ones," the voice replied, its tone filled with an ancient bitterness. "We are the remnants of the gods you dare to defy. The ones you would call spirits, or perhaps even demons. We have slumbered, hidden from your kind, but no longer. You have opened the path, and now we are awake."
The realization hit Elias like a blow to the chest. The voices were the remnants of the gods—the ones who had once ruled the land, the beings that had been cast aside or forgotten as the world turned its back on them. These were the forces that had shaped the Hollow King's fate. The gods had made their deal with the king, and now, their influence stirred once more.
"What do you want?" Elias's voice was barely a whisper, but he could feel the force of his words ripple through the crypt.
"What do we want?" The voice laughed again, a sound that filled the tomb with a deep, unsettling resonance. "We want what was once ours. We want to be worshipped. We want to rule again, and we will do anything to see that happen."
Elias's blood ran cold. He had crossed a line he had not fully understood. The Hollow King was only the beginning. By binding the king, Elias had unknowingly awoken the very beings who had been forgotten by the mortal world—the gods of death, of decay, of forgotten realms.
And they wanted power. Power that Elias had promised to take for himself.
"You seek to control the Hollow King," the voice continued, now laced with an edge of hunger. "But he is only a pawn. He is a stepping stone. A tool to open the gates. Do you not see, necromancer? You are but a puppet in our grand design."
Elias stepped back, his heart racing. The crypt around him seemed to warp, the shadows stretching and twisting like living things. The whispers grew louder, more frantic, as though the gods themselves were crowding around him, pressing in on him from all sides.
"You... you have no idea what you've unleashed," Elias murmured under his breath, his grip tightening on his staff. The weight of their words pressed upon him, suffocating him, filling him with a dread that threatened to overwhelm his resolve. He had sought power. He had sought control. But he had awakened something that even his necromantic magic might not be able to withstand.
"You will regret this, Elias," the voice purred, its tone both triumphant and filled with dark promise. "The Hollow King is merely the beginning. We will reclaim what is ours, and you will be our instrument."
A surge of power erupted from within Elias, a desperate, furious response to the threat. His magic flared around him like a burst of light in the darkness, the forces of life and death bending to his will as he summoned his strength.
"No." His voice rang out, the word filled with defiance. "I will not be your puppet. I will not serve you."
But even as he spoke, Elias felt the weight of the gods' influence pulling at the edges of his soul. He had been warned. The Hollow King had been right. Death was not a tool to be controlled. And now, Elias had not only bound the king but had unleashed the very gods who once ruled this world.
He had become a part of something much larger than himself. And there was no turning back.