o most inhabitants of Necrovia the purple hazy skies wouldn't be dreary. But to Morte they were. He assumed that's to be expected when you're one of the few if not only living things within the Obsidian keep. Well probably all of the entirety of Necrovia. He was currently practicing his mana configuration for summoned legions. More precisely making them a more cohesive unit. A lot has changed in the last five years. Gone were the days of running throughout the castle in joy.
"Morte focus stop being distracted and focus on your configuration practice." A husky voice from across the courtyard spoke from beneath a dark steel helm. Next to him stabbed into the ground was a massive greatsword. Mercy's End. Seriously what was the deal with the Lich's naming sense or had herc named the fallen sword. He went back to focusing on the task at hand and imagined the summoned unit in his head and began to send commands though the link that connected them to their master. One by one the soldiers began to stand across from one of the others and began fighting.
In the central courtyard below, Kyris shielded his face from the wind as dust and condensed mana residue danced around him. He was originally the lich king's aid but somewhere down the line he had become Mortes aid and if he were true with himself a friend. Morte doubted any other human would be able to read his expressions. Although it was more of a sense through magic than reading one's facial expressions. He could sense it through the necrotic mana that surrounded him. A mixture of pride and trepidation blooming in his shadowy chest. Morte had been ecstatic when he first discovered that he could do that until the day he decided to try it on the lich king. That was the last time he had been truly happy was the time before he decided to use his connection with necrotic mana to read the king's feeling or rather lack of. He viewed Morte as nothing more than an idea he was trying out and worse yet. He was pushing Morte in the direction to make whatever prophecy the heretics had killed his mother over true.Distracted by his thought his concentration slipped and a couple of his summons took damage from each other.
"That's enough for today Morte. Fix the courtyard back and prepare it for our next session." Herc spoke stiffly. Maybe all warriors were stiff like Herc. Morte thought to himself. Maybe it was because he was a death knight. With but a thought, I shifted the configuration. The knights rotated. Weapons lifted, then locked into stance.Then he let the spell flow free releasing my hold and cast another spell severing my link and returned them to true death.
Kyris stepped forward at last. "My lord," he said, bowing with a sweep of his withered arm, "Your formation work has improved."
He Turned wiping his sweat from his head and brushed his long hair to the side. His intense focus on his spellwork had caused some mental strain. The other undead would see this as another reason they were better. "Their movement is still too slow. I'll have to refine my spellwork further to get to my expectations."
"Most impressive, regardless. You control twelve now. Few necromancers reach that number in their lifetime, let alone by your age."
Kyris sighed for My own amusement I'm sure. "You're pushing yourself too hard Morte, You're still so young and only a child this isn't what you should be concerned about."
"Kyris I am fine enough of this before someone else hears I'm sure the king already knows of what you've spoken." Morte cut him off, ending their conversation there. He began walking towards his quarters and was soon joined by Huff. "I'm gonna join you for a bit to go over some future insights that I know you'll find helpful so pay attention".
Morte clenched his teeth in annoyance because Huff was a theorist and her info dumps usually lasted hours and he was ready to get cleaned up. Although if it's Huff it'll no doubt be something different from the standard and that's what i need to get ahead.
They made there way down the halls until they arrived to his private chamber. Inside the walls were lined with books, mana crystals, and half-completed rituals—Morte sat cross-legged on the floor while Huff began another exhausting round of assessments Something she had decided was good to do after sharing with him her new insights. Morte still hadnt completely went through all of the information but he would soon..
"You've passed the third threshold," Huff confirmed, eyes flitting over the floating results. "Your soul-core is stabilizing. You've begun to perceive mana densities at range. You'll need to begin containment training soon."
"Containment?" Morte asked, curious.
Huff looked him in the eye. "You're growing powerful enough that your very presence affects the world around you even when you don't mean for it to. You'll need to learn restraint—else you'll start raising things by accident.Why that's of no consequence here you still should always be in absolute control of your own abilities."
Morte glanced at his hands. So much power but yet im nothing more than the annoyance of a rat to him. As I am now. No rats wrong I guess id be more like a pup. Something he can train and teach to do what he wishes. Morte feared what would become of him without control if he ever even got the chance to venture into the land of the living. Though he doubted he'd ever get the chance for a very long time. But beneath that fear was something deeper. Wonder.
"What comes after the third tier?" Morte asked.
"The fourth," Huff said dryly. "But it's more than just numbers. By the fourth, you begin the set up for your very own domain not that you'll be able to use until you get to the 6th tier. And I suspect…" Huff leaned in. "Yours won't be limited to necromancy alone."
There was a long silence between them. Even Huff's theatrical nature quieted in the face of that possibility.
A domain. A legacy. Another achievement where he would feel even more alone. It was these moments of accomplishments where he felt the most alone. The courtyard was too quiet. Even as his breath slowed, even as the sweat cooled on his skin, there was no cheer, no applause. The skeletal sentinels lining the upper balconies didn't stir. They never did. Their empty sockets stared through him, unmoved by fire or triumph. Just more dead things doing what they were told.
The silence clawed at him.
Morte turned and caught his reflection in a shattered bronze pauldron on the ground. Pale skin. light violet eyes. Sometimes he dreamed of faces with warmth. People who laughed. Sometimes he dreamed of Alice's voice—warm, humming some lullaby he could no longer recall.
He didn't know if it was real or just something Huff had placed in his head during a lecture on soul-echoes.
Even his own memories felt... necrotic.
He walked slowly toward the balcony stairs. Huff had wandered off already, muttering excitedly about her latest magic theory trying to find an enchantment that would work with teleportation spells. It would solve teleportation's long cast time. Kyris would be preparing the evening's rituals, and the Lich King was everywhere.The Lich King saw everything. But he rarely spoke of it. But make no mistake he always knew.
Morte decided to take a stroll to help clear his head of these thoughts.As Morte passed between two towering bone-knights, he looked up at them, studying their empty visors. No spark behind their gaze. No thought. No feeling.
Only those of the inner city were different. The "Greater undead," Kyris once called them. Those who had retained some identity, some will. But even they carried a stillness in their eyes that disturbed him.
And Morte was alive.
Wasn't he?