Transcendance [Necromancer](Complete)

[Aphetoros]

Book 1: Star of the North

Table of Contents

Spoiler:

Chapter 1: Speak.
Chapter 2: Listen.
Chapter 3: Gnomes Suck.
Chapter 4: The Trial to Defile.
Chapter 5: Born One Mourning.
Chapter 6: Wandering Death
Chapter 7: I tried to *69 Darkness but then I was kidnapped.
Chapter 8: Eternal.

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 1: Speak.
The quill snaps under the pressure of his hand, causing dark splotches of ink to follow in its path. It is a swirling current of sable blood, swimming deep within the abysmal prison of the journal, forcing words to meld together, shadows caressing and dancing with each other to turn the page ebony. In a rage at losing his last few pages, he waves his arm across the desk, watching in horror as all of his research falls and hits a small pot on the fire, tumbling down into the flames. Astus sighs, all his work erased. A small whisper, Was worthless anyway.

He looks around the room, taking in all around him and searching for the small voice he heard. In front of him is a cedar wood desk, stained with a gentle mahogany finish. Upon it rest a few grimoires containing magic of which he has, as of yet, been unable to harness, and journals with which he was taking notes. It had all been ruined with a single slip of the hand. To his right, hanging from the ceiling by their necks, are the bodies of innocent men and women, killed and hung up for show like trophies of his ego. Test subjects. The cadavers are dusty and untouched, the toys of some child who hasn't played with them since they were bought. “It's over." His voice echoes through the small room as he stands from the desk. "How can I...everything that I've done is gone." His voice rasps, as if dry from lack of water. His stomach is thin, ribs protruding from his robes, giving him an almost skeletal figure. "I was so close...but now it's gone.” He looks to the corpse on the examination table, hurling a wave of flames at it in the endless rage that began to consume his mind. He turned to one of the ghoul-guards he had risen for him by another necromancer. "I'll never have..." He threw a punch at it, knocking its skull clean off. It shambled over like a diseased slug to retrieve the head. “I can't have...anything! Its always taken away from me!" The shout echoes throughout the catacombs, drawing an unearthly silence as it fades, like dust settling on a windowsill after an earthquake of some kind.

“Grhhmph."

Soon the anger subsides, a boat flowing down a river of emotions, crashing on the sandy beach of sorrow. Astus kneels to the ground, cold tears sliding down his cheeks and to the ground.

He had been working for months with a small group, 'cleverly' named the Brotherhood of the Grave, to harness Undeath in its most pristine form. But it failed time and time again. A man opened the doors to his office. “You alright, sir?" The anger returned. He had just lost everything and this fool wanted to ask him if he was okay? This...this...impudent beast had no right! He had no right! Astus glowered at the Kal'dorei. "...sir?"

"Alright...I'm more than alright, I'm--f**k no, you retarded whore of an elf, the fel makes you think this is okay?!" Astus roared at the man, raising two spiraling columns of flame in his hand, hurling them to incinerate the body. More hate. “How DARE you say something so foolish! Someone must pay for this!" He let more flames wash over the night elf, drowning out his shrieks as only bone was left near the exit to the room. Astus panted, once more crying tears, but not those of sorrow, tears of ire.

He dries his face, kicking the bones away and biting his lip. "I'm going to die...with nothing to show for it but my sins." It was strange. He never thought himself one to think of sins and wrongfulness. He pushes open the heavy doors to the room, stepping outside to find himself face-to-face with a woman wreathed in dark robes. She smells of death. "I heard your rage, and am impressed with how...swiftly you dealt with the man. I've seen you around here, and I what you're trying to do. I also know why you fail over and over."

Astus raises a brow, "Oh...please, would you, please tell me. I need to know this, I must..." This elf? Really?
"We shall see. My knowledge must be passed on, as after living so long we all must do, to ensure what we believe lives on in the hearts of the young." Her words seemed sincere, as much emotion as she had left was in them. But why him? Astus thinks to himself, but soon dismisses the thought, excitement filling him at the though of his goals soon being met. It doesn't matter, I was just at the right place at the right time. "I would be...honored to learn from you, then?" Astus dipped his head to her, trying to be as respectful as possible. “What is your name?"

“You may call me Master. Now go get some rest, you look like death." Cliche.

She gives Astus a sly smile at her pun. He nods, thanking her multiple times before raising a hand in surprise. "Ah...wait. I never told you my name. You can call me N--" She pinched his mouth shut with her long bony fingernails. "In the face of death, names do not matter, for buried in the mask of death, we are unrecognizable, we are one in the same.” He stares at her for a moment, bewildered at his allowing of her to touch his face. He shrugs her off. "I...okay. I won't question you."
"You had better not. Remember, I will watch you..." The words have a dark intonation, as if they foreshadow punishment for questions in the future. Astus nods, heading back inside. As soon as he does (before he even reaches a bed), the weaknesses of mortality strike him. He falls to the ground, unconscious from exhaustion, hunger, and thirst; shackles of life pulling him down.

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 2: Listen.

Astus awakens hours later, well rested for the first time since...further than he can remember. A plate of cold food lays on the ground next to him, a small paper note set gently over it with careful handwriting over the top, bearing the word, 'Child' in a monochromatic, yet somehow still colorful ink. "Its something." He reaches out his hands, sinking his teeth into the stale turkey sandwich and ravenously swallowing it, then downing the glass of lukewarm water as if he hasn't eaten a meal in months. He hasn't. He finishes the meal, smiling in content. He stands up to find himself face to face with the bloodred eyes of his new master. "Ack!" Astus steps back, stirring a cloud of dust, in surprise to find her there.
“How long have you been standing there?" Creep. No she isn't. Don't lie to yourself.

"Quite...some time. Do not worry, the curse of sleep will soon become irrelevant to you." She smiles at him and Astus nearly wonders something aloud, but catches himself. She's quite…nice for a necromancer... He rolls his shoulders. He won't complain. "So what now?" The voice bounces off the walls, echoing till the room becomes a silent grave.

"You will address me in a respectful manner.” There is a sudden wash of agony as the strength in his body is drained away, causing his knees to buckle and muscles to go limp."Agh! I'm sorry!" The shout was produced almost as if the necromancer had infiltrated his mind with the cloak of misery and forced the words from his lips. The crippling curse fades away, leaving Astus's strength to slowly return. "Wh...what was that?" Astus is truly afraid of this woman who holds such terrible power.
Does this mean I will have that power too? Not from her.

"Master, what will be learning today?"
"Better. Now be silent for a moment and look at that woman and tell me what you see." She points an osseous, skeletal finger at the female corpse hanging from the ceiling. Astus studies the corpse intently; she has several burns as if they caused her death, but a stitched line on her throat shows some sort of damage there. He scratches his head and sighs. "A corpse."
"Look harder, focus. What do you see?" Astus squints, staring at the dead woman for the longest time. "A dead woman."

"Use those living brains, fool. You're not -looking- at it. You're...looking at it." Astus stares intently, sending out his senses to the creature. A dark haze of unknown energy surrounds it, and it puzzles Astus. "What is that?" She smiles, walking over to pat Astus on the shoulder. "This, my student, is the Spirit, that which links us to life and death. When one dies naturally, their Spirit leaves them, flowing on into the punishment of the afterlife. But sometimes the Spirit lingers on, too attached to life." Give me a break. Hmm

"Undeath is not something one simply forces, it is something one must allow into themselves to master, a give and take...it enters your soul and body and mind and you enter it till you till you become part of it. Listen to the words of those dead, and you shall become more than the weak mages and warlocks you know..." She takes a step back, holding out her dark-skinned arms and opening her blood-red eyes wide as if to display the costs of learning this art. Her skin is dead and without pulse. Unholy energies crackle from her limbs, a font of amaranthine power. Scars burned or cut into her body are the sigils and hymns of some sort of sinful religion.
"If you continue on this path, these are the Gifts you will have to accept. Will you?" Astus hesitates a moment; his ideal vision of Undeath didn't include such decay. Perhaps he would figure something out. He nods his head. "I'll do it." Her lips twist into a grim smile.
"There's no going back now, kid." Astus frowns at being called a kid, but he realizes that he is probably very young compared to this eternal being. "I will must test you before I see if you're worthy to learn the full art." Astus blinks at her, suddenly feeling the chill of the catacombs seeping into his body, for the first time the dimly lit crypts make him uneasy. "What exactly, is that?"

"To prove whether or not you are worthy of this knowledge, you must show that you can handle death."

"And how would I do that?"

"You must spend the darkest night of the moon's cycle buried in a grave. If you live then I'll teach you." At least she knows the ritual. Astus twitches, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head, his Master‘s eyes following it as it drops to the floor in a nervous splash. How can I survive a night without air? I'll deal with it. She grins beneath her mask as if she knows what he is thinking.

"Now then, take this ring. The exquisite gem in this ring is worth hundreds of thousands of gold. Should you truly be interested in this art, you will return to me on the night of the New Moon and return the ring. This is also, when I will test your bond with death.” Astus nods slowly, walking across the dirt-covered floor to put out the scarlet flames beneath a bubbling cauldron before turning back to the woman and taking the ring. He rolls it in his hands, feeling the chill of the iron band in his hand as he runs over the Azerothian diamond with an enthralled gaze. "Good. This saves time. Return here before the night of the New Moon and tell me your decision."
Astus follows the necromancer with his eyes as she pushes open the door, fading into the darkness of the halls.


----One day before New Moon; Library of Catacombs----

"There must be some way..." He flips the pages of the book. It was the story of a man who managed to survive nearly two days without air buried in a collapsed mine. He had been burned at the stake for witchcraft. The book claimed that he used magic to breath endlessly, but there was no mention of how he did it. Astus's gaze once more flicked to the ring of Azerothian diamond. Its beauty glinted from some unseen light, and it seemed as if a powerful charm lured Astus to it. He grunted, looking back to his book. Money couldn't replace power. My power will get you money.
Nothing could ever replace what he sought. But then, it was so beautiful. The deep white of endless serenity, the effervescent pools of love and happiness in every facet of the diamond forced him to plunge inside, to swirl in the strange magical high that the gemstone evoked from the deepest corners of his soul. He forced himself to look away. He wouldn't lose this chance.
"How the fel am I supposed to do this!?" Astus stands, putting the book down and heading to the library. Kimee would know, He thought, Kimee knows everything.

 

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 3: Gnomes Suck.

Astus rushed through the halls purposefully, the darkness only kept at bay with the dull light of the flicking shadowflame dancing on his fingertips. He lets it go out, dousing his vision in darkness before his race's low-light vision kicked in. Where is that gnome? Don't look for her. Look for me. Astus gasped as his head jerked Northwards. He rubbed his neck, as if he'd pulled a muscle. "Hngh..."

He soon saw clearly in the soft fel-green glow in a wide radius, examining the stones and walking bones within the strange crypts, and the hair on the back of his neck rose as if eyes leered at him from the sanctity of the veil of shadows around them. He sighs, swiftly rounding a corner and finding the ground suddenly slapping him across the cheek, along with a shout behind him that seemed to get louder the closer he came to the ground. "Agh! Watch where you're going you ignorant swine!" His face broke into a grin as he heard the familiar gnome's voice.

"Snack!" He turns, beginning to push himself to his knees when Kimee pulls her cane from her back, thwapping it harshly across the elf's head, muttering something about kids these days. Wincing, Astus rubs the now-forming bump, standing up to tower over the small, yet powerful, gnome.

"I need your help, Snack. I..." He pauses for a moment, thinking to himself on how to put it tactfully, "Being...unworthy of your tutelage, I sought out another who could teach me the awesome powers of necromancy, and to test my worthiness, she's having me buried on this night of the full moon. I fear running out of air, and I was wondering if there is a spell that you knew of that could hel--" With a grunt, Kimee had bashed Astus's kneecap, bringing him to all fours and thwacking his head several times with ire filled blows. Dizzily he stands, using the walls for support as he regains his composure and balance.
"Why you insolent...! How dare you defile the art of undeath in such a way, if your teacher wishes you to do it, then you must! Not me, if I told you it would only prove you UNworthy! Now begone, fool, I have places to be, graves to defile." With another thwap to Astus's crotch for good measure, she waddles off into the dark of the catacombs, leaving a teary-eyed Astus (from the pain) gripping his crotch-region as he bites his lip.

Later that night, only an hour before Astus was to arrive at the steps to the catacomb's entrance, his heart was beating fast, his mind conjuring up images of himself dying inside a coffin, being dug up the next morning and put to a torched, or raised as a skeletal slave for his master. He shuddered at the thought; it would ruin his chances of ever becoming immortal in Undeath's Embrace. Perhaps he could go back to Snack and learn from her? No, she might do the same thing, and where would that get him? A harsher teacher.

Sitting in his rooms he continued to read his book about the man who'd managed to survive a long night without much air, and was convicted and killed for witch-craft. His testimonies stated that, 'he remained calm, keeping his eyes closed and trying not to panic.' It had to be bull. There was no way it was possible.

Unless... I will aid you. Wh-what? Astus looked up again. Where is that Light-damned voice coming from?

Astus grinned, his mind racing for a moment before he sat down in the blue rune-circle sitting on his floor, closed his eyes, and meditated. Focusing on his breathing, trying to breath using as little air as possible. After assuming he'd gotten the method down tightly, he stepped over to his desk and picked up the Azerothian Diamond, holding it up to a bright shadowflame, watching the brilliant violet reflect within every facet of the stone.[/font]

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 4: The Trial to Defile.

Astus looked at the empty house and opened his mouth to say something, but his Master put a finger to his lips. "Be quiet Student...this is the time for you to prove yourself, you are forbidden to speak. It is not uncommon...for a Student to see horrifying visions during the ordeal. And should you manage to survive, such images will remind you what will happen should you ever leave the Church of Death. I'll tell you about that if you survive. Note this, if you die, your body will be burned. Such weakness doesn't deserve the gift of undeath." He smoothed down his robes, staring at the two hawkstriders his Master had knocked unconscious moments before. They had stepped past a rune, and as they did, many more runes became apparent, and Astus noted two skeletons guard the door to the house. The runes must have hidden them. They had also dragged the unconscious birds inside with them.

From afar, Astus watched as Master went inside of the building. He could see her bending down to get something.

Master rummaged through the boxes and bins beneath her desk, searching for the one chest filled with the sigils she would need for the rite.

She returned, carrying the box and jerking her head to the small field with a lone grave marker in the center. "You'll do the trial buried above my dead fiance. He made me promise not to save him...we could've lived forever together, if he wasn't such a fool." She sighed, as if she seemed to show some sort of emotion before composing herself. They walked to the center of the field, where she began to cover the sigils with dirt, placing them in an oval around the marker. She instructed Astus to lay down, and he complied, lying in the center of the oval in front of the marker. The two skeletons had wandered over in the meantime, and one of them bent down, snatching Astus off the ground. Astus was confused at first, and his heart beat anxiously, but then the other skeleton began to dig. Soon he was lowered into an open coffin...a coffin that reeked of death. There was someone else in the coffin with him. When she had said, buried above her dead fiance, he didn't realize she meant like this. He felt the slime of rot on the corpse beneath him, and the writhing maggots crawling along his flesh, shuddering as they nibbled his body. Soon the coffin was shut above him, the stench growing stronger and stronger as it was confined in the small space. Soon there was a 'thmp' as dirt hit the coffin lid.
'thmp'
'thmp'
'thmp'
Soon everything was dark as above the ground, the Master sat to wait, and the only sound Astus could hear was his shallow, nervous, breaths.


Time seemed to pass slowly. No, that would have been a lie. Time didn't seem to pass at all. A dark haze seemed to surround his consciousness as he calmed, falling into sort of trance. He was awake, yet he was unaware of what was going on around him. That is, until the familiar twinge of magic brushed him lightly. He snapped to attention, unsure what had just happened. Something shifted underneath him, and many maggots went squirming up his sleeves, leaving a trail of putrid yellow rot from the corpse. Astus shivered uncomfortably in the filth. Something moved once more and Astus's heart began to beat faster. With his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Astus could barely make out pearly white lines in the darkness, and his breathing once more became thin and fast. A cold breath hit the back of his neck, and every inch of his body prickled with unease. Suddenly two skeletal hands with bits of rotting flesh clinging to them wrapped around Astus's neck, and squeezed, trying to choke the life out of him. "I...guh...uhngh!" Astus attempted to stutter a spell to defend himself, but he seemed to be running out of air. His head swam and spots of color lit up his vision. Astus knew what he had to do, but he didn't know if he would be able to. Closing his eyes he reached out around him with his senses. He felt a strong force channeling magic from the surface, and with a great force of will Astus severed the connection between the corpse and the magic. Suddenly the arms went limp as Astus drew the energy within himself, quickly recovering from the attack due to the mana. This wasn't pure arcane, but it wasn't fel or shadow. It was...was that the magic of Undeath? It was quite the exhilarating feeling...

He felt the magic...seem to sustain him somehow. Maybe it wasn't the magic itself, maybe it was the energies granting his body the arcane bliss that allowed him to calm. As his breathing came slower, he closed his eyes, ignoring any more attempts the Master sent to horrify him. The rest were all mind-tricks, visions or nightmares. And he knew it. Sitting there quietly he breathed slow and carefully, conserving the air that he'd surely need for the long night.

--

Soon Astus began to worry. He was feeling light-headed, and when he drew breath his lungs didn't seem to fill. He reached out for more air, and more air, but none would come. Soon he began to panic, drawing in fast, worthless breaths. His chest began to feel as though a thousand pounds of stone were crushing it, and his body tingled as if his limbs were falling asleep. He closed his eyes, and suddenly the blackness of the void in front of him exploded into a bright cherry color.
And he breathed.
He opened his eyes to bright surges of amber pouring down onto him. He shielded his eyes from the light, but then the brightness soon faded as his eyes readjusted to the murky dawn of Duskwood. His teacher stood over him, a wicked smile on her face.
"Looks like you passed. Now get up."


--

Sanarath closed his eyes as he finished another book. He sent a curse flying at a nearby creature and the rat soon died. Sanarath grinned, flicking a finger and with a bit of concentration, bringing it forth as a zombified critter.

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 5: One Mourning

One morning, Astus sat in front of the Master, eyes closed as they breathed deeply together, focusing their energies in meditation. "Are you ready?" He nods, and she leads him to a table where a small child's unconscious body lies-- maybe four or five years of age. "This small body should be your first target to change. You recall a few nights ago I taught you to channel the powers of undeath? And the other night I taught you to manipulate and kill the body with unholy energies? Yes well, today I will teach you to raise the corpse as an actual slave. Using what I taught you, reach into the places of spirits-- be it the nether, the Dream, the Spirit World, the Shadow Realm, the Dark Below...or wherever. Wherever you find it easiest to pluck souls from. Ah, though I wouldn't try to reach into the dream. The Dreamer would trap you in endless sleep, I believe. Do as I do."

The rogue dark ranger closed her eyes, and when she reopened them coiling mists of nether flowed down her face as she seemed compelled to chant unintelligible words as the fog began to snake around her feet, white-hot runes of magic shot out of it in a circle around her, and she raised her hands, closing her eyes once more as the tears of nether ceased their flow. The arcana glimmered with unholy energy, and she stepped forwards from the rune circle, the purple deathgate-esque cloud of energy swirling in a pillar of power. She pointed her hand at it, and slowly a white light that -almost- resembled a human being flowed from the gate, hovering loftily in the air. She smiled; it wasn't resisting her will as she sent it swirling to a nearby body that was sprawled on another table. The gate of shadows dispersed into the air and a corpse rose. "This is the long way to raise a corpse, and it has a one hundred percent chance of success."

Astus, nodded, looking to the child. She smiled wickedly at him, and he began to reach out for the Nether. He found no souls, no matter how hard he searched. He tried to reach out to the Spirit World, but the place of shamans wouldn't respond, nor would the realm of shadows, it seemed. "Having trouble, are we?"She chuckled softly, the newly risen minion of hers collapsing as she sacrificed it with a spell. "Pull the energy to you, don't just search through it blindly." Astus thought a moment. None of the places he searched reminded him at all of the place he was when he died. It must have been the Dark Below, then. He reached out further, his thoughts only on the vague flares of memories of that horrid place. He found it, the wails of the dead hung loudly inside of his mind, and he had to quickly still his nerves against the unnatural fear rising within.

He began to pull the energy to him, and as he opened it eyes they were filled with black light. Instead of the chill mist that flowed from the Master, sparks of blackness lit in his hands, flicking out tendrils of energy, crackling dark greens and the occasional purple, though mostly a black haze. He looked at his Master tentatively, and she made the motion of slamming her hands together. He nodded, mimicking her. A pulse of darkness was sent outwards from his hands and a haze of blackness spread around his feet. Astus took a step back as a brilliant white hand shot out of the mists, followed by another, then a head, and then the long cloud-like body of a spirit. It looked at him with hatred, and battled against his will before being easily subdued by the necromancer. Astus grinned wickedly-- the feeling of being in total control was exhilarating. He thrust his hand at the corpse, the black gateway to the lands of death shattering as the ghost was compelled at the corpse, it was molasses sinking over the body, wrapping around it like some sort of blanket before sinking within it like water on a sponge. She began to thrash violently, waking and letting out a few wails of pain, sobbing in the anguish of it all before slamming her head on the table and killing her due to the fragility of her young brain. Her skin changed from the pale white of her living flesh, to a slow grayish-green as her body jerked on the table in seizures.

The child's hand began to move like in some horror movie, rising up in front of her face. The creature screamed, as if it retained some level of understanding, but couldn't control what it was doing. "Let me try something?" She looked at him curiously as he scanned the room, the blackened light fading fast from his eyes. He spotted a young boy, still alive and most likely the girl's brother. "If you'd like." The necromancer's mouth split from ear-to-ear in a malevolent smile. The undead child moved mechanically from the stable, each movement jerky and unstable. She looked at the boy with fearful eyes. She began to shamble towards him, and the boy let out a few cries to her, to get her to respond.

"Your sister is no more."

The girl jumped, clawing at him and biting into his flesh with her new sickeningly sharp teeth and clawlike hands, as if the unholy magic had caused her flesh to change in such a terrible way. She swallowed bits of bone and flesh as the boy wailed the cries of death, blood spraying across the wall. As she devoured her brother, she mewled softly as if she knew what she was doing...
But could not stop herself.

Astus sighed, leaving her to her work. He turned around and saw someone standing behind him, but before he could get a good look, he blinked in surprise. After he opened his eyes, the man was gone.

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 6: Darkness Called, but I was on the phone...

Sanarath watched Astus study. Astus flipped pages in a book, and then narrowed his eyes, flipping his own book as he felt as though that man was stalking him,

--

Astus spent the next month practicing the use of necromancy to kill and create new followers, occasionally learning more; he learned by experimentation or by his Master's guidance. He found great fault with the tiring ritual to create an undead serf, and as he rested from calling forth another into his power, he felt his energy being heavily taxed by his only vanguard. He sighed, looking from each of the creatures as they shambled around him mindlessly. He glanced up a few times, saw the same man from before, but every time he went to talk to him he was gone.

Why did the beasts feed upon him so? He stood, frowning annoyed as he sauntered across his room in the catacombs, yanking open a drawer to reveal a collection of arcane crystals. The crystals were scooped into his hand, and as Astus's eyes flared a lovely shade of blue-green their magic soon was depleted, devoured by the elf. Astus took a deep breath as he felt himself return to a more normal state of being.

Sitting on his desk was a pile of grimoires and tomes; some of them were from his teacher, others from the catacombs's library. He had just finished reading a journal on necromantic magic from his teacher, and after successfully garnering the correct permissions, he practiced on the unwilling prisoners in the cell across from his room. He began to hiss unintelligible words, and the soft purple radiance of Undeath magic began to flow into his hands after a few attempts at the spell. It began to change, putrid browns and sickly-yellows spewing forth; and with a word the noxious gasses quickly spread over the prisoners. They quickly began coughing, darkness forming under their skin as blood clotted and strange bumps grew on their flesh, first red and quickly turning to various shades of black and purple, some popping to ooze thick, vile, blackish blood with sickening green scum in it. Astus grinned wickedly.

Their eyes grew blood-shot; a few of them began to vomit as the magical plague ravaged them, the Wandering Death. One man hung back in the corner, shaking with wide eyes in dread at what he saw before him. He kept staring at his hands as if he expected them to begin to change color any moment. Astus pointed at one of the infected men, standing near the uninfected man. Astus looked through the book quickly to ensure he'd do the next spell right. Astus looked at them, knowing that it was so easy to afflict them so terribly due to their weakness at being kept in the poor conditions of the jail. He muttered the cantrip, a flare of necromantic energy exploding within the man as he began to shake violently, his nerves spiraling into waves of pain as they were pecked at by nibbling bites of decay. The man soon died from the curse, and Astus frowned in disappointment. It irritated him that people could be so weak.

It's how the living are.

Astus looked up suddenly, glancing about the area for where the voice came from. He shivered with a sudden chill as he turned back to the Dying. “Soon you'll be fr…what am I saying?” He blinked, grinning wickedly as plague-spores began to flow in dark-mist throughout the room. He shrugged. It would fade later, and he'd come back for their bodies.
Come now, hurry up. Astus growled, looking around furiously. "Whoever you are, get the f**k out of here before I kill you!" He screamed into the shadows, unable to find even the remote direction the voice came from.

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 7: I tried to *69 Darkness but then I was kidnapped.

It had been a long time since he'd seen her. The Master. He hadn't really…wondered where she had gone. But he was eager for a lesson. And she dared to tell him those words. The impudent b***h.

**

"Student. It has been a while, too long. I trust you've finished the studies I gave you?" Astus nodded as she blinked her red eyes. Those crimson orbs of cold hate. Her hate is weak. She wants you dead.
"I'm sorry?" Astus tilted his head, "Did you just say...s-something?" She tilted her head.
"I asked if you finished your st--"
"No, not that. After?"
"No." She gave him a strange look, peering about to see if she noticed anyone else behind him in the gloom. Neither of them did. He shrugged as he followed her down the spiraling halls of the catacombs to the large pile of bone and limb. "We're going to have a test." Astus nodded silently, he'd long forsaken speaking during his lessons, even if he had questions. There was no point in speaking to her, she would just silence him. He had to figure things out by himself, if he had questions. Probably couldn't answer if I did. "See those bones? Create a skeleton and animate without your hands." Of course this would be the test, they'd been working on it the last time they met. He'd mastered the technique, and in his spare time developed a few nifty ways to manipulate bone on his own. Nothing too special, but he figured it's be able to save his life someday. “Right. Let's get on with it.”
Everyone has bones, right?
No.

He sighed, watching the pile of bare limbs. Eyes narrowed to slits, he sent his mind's eye deep into the depths of his memory. The two emerald pinpricks cut through the darkness as his eyes reopened, his lips forming into a wordless chant, a lucent mauve flare flicked into form, the shadowy glimmer surrounding the necessary bones. They began to hover, moving through the air or scraping along the ground. Soon the legs had been pieced together, and Astus was shaking from the effort. He pumped magic into the ritual as the skeleton formed, bone by bone, each gently dropping itself into its place and locking there. Not a great job, but it was good enough. "You can do better than that, hones--"
"Shut up Master."

He growled out the words in his focused state, ready to kill her for simply interrupting. Where is this anger coming from? You. Astus hissed out another word, filling the newly formed body with shadow magic, manipulating the evil energy into the shapes of dark runes, letting the shadowfire sear the devilish marks into the aberration. He tried to ignore his contradictory thoughts, though to not much avail.

The skeleton stood there, walking around to Astus's will before the Master raised her hand, muttering something. Reality seemed to blur around her and twist into a strange gateway, and then the plane of existence tore, from the nether rising her own ghoul-- with a blade-- which slashed the armor-like bones of Astus's minion, empowered from the magic of undeath. Astus frowned, raising his hand, the same strange holes forming in the fabric of reality around the attacking ghoul, Astus's own three servamts joining the skeleton from the Nether. They raised their blades, easily dismembering the assailant, leaving gore to drip along the ground.

As it died, Astus drew from it the energy keeping it alive, causing it to fall apart into a pile of flesh. With a word Astus redirected the mana to the corpse, raising it in his service. He frowned at his teacher. Surely she could do better. She can't. Can't she? No.

"Well...you've learned well. I dismiss you from my training-- you've learned all I can teach you."

"You... aren't serious." Astus narrowed his eyes at her, smoothing his robes as his ghouls copied the incredulous stare. She tilted her head.

"What else could you want to know? I've taught you everything you need."

“Everything I need? I'm afraid you don't understand, ‘Master'. I require mastery over life and death, and apparently, you're too weak to give it to me.” He folded his arms, turning up his nose.

“Fine. I'll give you all you need for that.” She folded her arms, scowling as she closed her eyes, clearly straining to find knowledge to give him. He hissed angrily at her, the ghouls repeating the gesture as if to emphasize him.

"Everything I need isn't what I want, you whore." Astus stepped forwards with an arrogant stride, raising his hand, looking down on her. A loud whip-like sound echoed through the small room as Astus backhanded his Master.

Astus shook his head. How dare she tell him that? How dare she tell him there was nothing else!? Lies! All of it! He opened his mouth to speak, but they were in his head, and his jaw clamped shut as a torrent of whispers struck him with vertigo.



I will teach you.

More than she ever could.

The b***h is a liar.

She knows some...

Pity.

But it will never be enough.

Never

Kill her.

Kill her.

Kill her.

And then he felt it. He felt the tug of consciousness, the subtle pull of logic putting perspective on things, his consciousness awakening to give him guidance with its words. It was right. I'll always be right. "You have outlived...you're usefulness. I want everything, not your weak spells. You don't even deserve life." His ghouls gurgled, surrounding her. She let out a yelp of surprise as the ghouls clawed her, covering her in the pile as she let out a sickening wail. Astus smiled dryly, satisfied as he wiped his hands as if cleaning himself of filth. He began to walk away but stopped as his elven ears picked out a small sound from within the pile. The ghouls had gone limp and motionless as his Master's hand shot from the pile of corpses.

"Every time..." She climbed from the pile of stunned ghouls and stood atop them, flourishing her cape dramatically. "You're gonna pay for that, kid." This whole charade seemed out of character for her, but Astus sighed, backing up a bit towards the large heap of bone. She bared her teeth in a snarl as she sent a crackling bolt of shadowy lightning careening towards Astus. He raised a hand to block, but the spell blasted through his defenses and he fell against the pile of bones, gritting his teeth in pain as they stabbed into his back. He muttered a cantrip, waving a hand as spears of shadowfrost materialized, turning and whizzing through the air at the Master. One sliced her arm, thick green ichor pulsing from the cut as another shot into her stomach, covered with a burst of yellow and white discharge.

She hissed angrily at him and the pile of bones began to shudder as her hands moved in complex gestures, glowing fog twirling into existence behind the runes. A small circle of light slammed into Astus, and he let out a yelp as the bones dug through his flesh, the rune causing arms to wrap around him, holding him tight. She smiled at him as the color seemed to be sucked away as if the world became black and white photograph around him, a small yellow mist swirling in her palm the only color. It began to flow outwards, twisting into dull oranges and vibrant crimsons. "N-no! Nggfuuu!" Astus let out an ear-splitting scream as his flesh began to turn sickening shades of death under the power of decay. He felt his consciousness slipping away, heart beat slowing, breaths coming slower... and slower...

He looked up weakly at her, eyes pleading forgiveness. She shook her head, cackling madly as she raised a hand to drain away his enervated soul. Suddenly the pile of bone lurched, toppling down around them and causing her to lose concentration. Astus fell into darkness as the bones raged in a hurricane, slamming and crushing the Master with a spray of muck-laden blood. As his mind lost touch with reality he thought to himself dazedly as he was lifted from the frozen earth.

Cold. Soo... cold. M-mom-- c-close the w-window, w-why is it s-so c-cold...

**

Astus opened his eyes to darkness. No light anywhere. Simply shadows as far as the eye could, well couldn't, see. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back in forth in the cold. He felt snow and ice beneath him, but he didn't know where he was-- or even could've been. He had just been in the catacombs and now it felt like he was in Northrend.
I'm dead again. Aren't I? He exhaled a resentful sigh, his breath exiting his mouth as chill fog. No.

...Northrend? Astus let out a stunned breath as his head jerked around towards the voice that had plagued his thoughts as it reverberated through reality.

"Northrend."

[Aphetoros]

Chapter 8: Eternal.

Sanarath finished reading a book, closing it and letting out an exasperated sigh. Complete. His training is finally complete. He breathed heavily, sighing a few times before looking at the scythe in the corner of the room. It was carved out of bone, dark sigils flowing through it. A small undead mage, high elven no less, waited next to him. Cold blue mist billowed in his eyes; though deep within there was a soft flare of green light. He waved a hand and his eyes flickered a bit, a yellow mask of plagued light shining in front of them, as if to imitate the amber luminesce of the Forsaken. He began to step carefully down the stairs, putting as little weight on them as possible.

--

Astus was bathed in the darkness, and though he couldn't tell where he was he clearly, though it was somewhere in Northrend, a small Scourge-esque building that seemed to have been abandoned long ago. Cobwebs stuck loosely to the ceiling and a thick layer of dust had settled over everything. Astus was so cold he was numb, but yet his soul seemed to burn. “Good, you're awake.” It had started just like before, the new Master loomed over him while he was sleeping, a silent vigil. His robes were that of a San'layn blood prince. His eyes flickered with soft autumn light and his flesh was necrotic. He glowed with an aura of power.

“Y-you're a Bl-blood Pr-prince.” A burst of laughter erupted from the figure, though he soon grew once again silent and serious. “You flatter me.” It was true, though. It had to be. The man looked exactly like a Blood Prince of the San'layn, though he was extremely weak compared to his brethren, probably why he'd gone unnoticed when he'd left to live on his own in the small building, no one cared. Astus inhaled deeply through his nose, the sweet smell of flesh and blood lavished over the r—sweet? Since when had he deemed the smell of flesh ‘sweet'. It was tantalizing, strangely, as if he could reach out to the slabs of meat lying on the tables and eat them raw. It had to have been a trick of the mind, played by the Darkfallen. Behind him his old master sat, face bathed in scarlet by the light of an Eye of Dominion. “She is my minion now, elf. Do not worry.”

Astus let out a sigh of relief, Good, he thought, a slight smile twitching on his face. Fools have their place. He watched the necromancer closely, before he finally asked the question, pushing himself to his feet and leaving his hand-print in a table to his right as he leans on it. “Are you a necromancer, then?” The creature let out another guffaw at the question before his face suddenly becoming somber once more.

“I am more than a mere necromancer, though that crude term for the art could be used. I consider myself a master of the Grave; I perfect the art of death.” He waved his hand, a shadow taking shape into a long, hooked scythe, outlined with dark crimsons and shimmering gold. Runes slithered across its surface like they lived, or as if they flowed like a torrent of blood within it. Almost as if the scythe had its own life. Astus closed his eyes, shivering in sudden dread as he looked to his feet. He would never amount to what this… this Darkfallen could. Why, though, had the man brought him here? Perhaps that should have be—

“Perhaps you wonder why I've brought you here, ‘Nemeth.' You are arrogant, you are stuck up, and furthermore, you disgrace yourself by learning from that,” He took a pause, spitting out the word that as he jerked his thumb at the former Master. “And I will not have Sin'dorei befouling the Art by using cheap knowledge and sloppy technique. I will teach you the… more secretive and more important ways of our craft. The perfection of Undeath. Once you've left my tutelage, you'll no longer rely on the living for your energy. You will create undeath… perfectly.”

Astus couldn't help but grin at these words, a refined form of necromancy known to few? This was the power he truly wished to command. “So you will make me a better necromancer?” The hand hit Astus's face, and he stumbled, though no mark was left. “Do not disgrace the Art with such a term—but theoretically yes.” Astus raised a brow at this, Theoretically? He scratched at his long white hair, pulling down his hood at his new Master's request, stripping until he was bare. He scowled, rubbing his numb face.
A chill wind brushed through, tickling him down in his pelvic-area and he shivered his face flushing as he felt oddly embarrassed at the strangely sensual feeling it gave him. “Bah, quit acting like a teenager, Nemeth.” The necromancer tossed robes to Astus's feet, and he slipped them on quietly, still frozen in the bitter winds of the North, though the robes flickered with magic at the master's word and his felt himself warm. Ah, he nodded, enchanted. “I am Sanarath, by the way. Self-proclaimed Lord of Undeath.” He made a dramatic bow as Astus coughed into his sleeve. “So, Sanarath… why did you bring me of all people?” Sanarath shrugged as if he didn't know, and he opened his mouth a few times to give an answer, but only came up with, “Because I felt like it.”

Astus found this peculiar, but he wouldn't argue. He knew this would benefit him greatly. The man sat him down, making a gesture and a small word in Astus's head. Do as I do. Astus obliged, placing himself in a slightly priest-like meditative stance, he began to murmur words softly. Astus watched a few times before trying them himself, and eventually he got them. He whispered slowly to himself as he spoke out a long phrase many times over, stuck in a long meditative trance. It had only been a minute, but when he looked up Sanarath was gone, though it felt like eyes were burning into him. He checked throughout the small house, but no one was there but him. He opened the door to the cottage and peered outside, there were no footsteps in the snow, either. A small book was tacked to the wall, and Astus unhooked it, flipping through the pages silently.
With several nods he recounted the incantation slowly in his head, which was the same thing he'd been meditating with earlier. He took his wand; it always helped when learning new spells. He waved it in the offered motions as he murmured words that he couldn't even understand, presumably Gutterspeak or some other language of the dead, and slowly but surely the shadows of the room rose around him. The shadow began to solidify, thickening quickly and taking shape around him like a suit of armor. He tapped it. It was strong as steel, this… was a plate-suit of armor. Yet it wasn't heavy, nor did it seem to impede him. He grinned. “Thank you, Sanarath. Where'd you go anyway?” He heard a crash up the stairs.

He grumbled to himself, heading slowly up the old wooden steps, widening his eyes as they broke beneath his weight. He grabbed his chest, looking down at the hole as his heart pounded. Spikes were laden under the stairs.

Astus narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth in a snarl as he made his way quickly up the rest of the stairs, leaving holes in his wake. The upstairs reeked of death; decay was prevalent as flies swarmed through the halls. Astus made a motion with his hand, wavering slightly as he called upon magical energy. The flies bulged suddenly with plague, blisters popping over them and causing a decaying liquid to flood over them. They fell to the ground, small green sparks of life slamming back into Astus, reenergizing him. Astus stepped along the creaking hall. He moved slowly, the sound of dead insects crunching underfoot. He ignored them, as if some force kept pulling him closer. He heard Sanarath's voice all around him, crushing, pressuring. He began to take haggard breaths, his vision blurring and dizzying as he fell into shock. He stumbled into an open room and lay there on the floor. He heard footsteps, all around him, hundreds of thousands. He saw a man walk up to him. “Hey ‘ass'tus. Remember me? Zendris Longstrider.” He coughed, sliding back and gagging at all the men in the room, the same face with different outfits, all talking with near different voices. Though he could distinguish them. A man in a scarlet robe and hood stepped to his left, holding a small flickering flame in his hand. “Nemeth, charmed. The Gilnean accent was flawless. “Auveid Sunbringer, Light bless you.” A man in robes suddenly stood on the other side of Nemeth. Next to him was another man, frowning sadly as he dropped a deck of cards which seemed to vanish as they touched the ground. Fin'diel Felo'melorne… remember me?

Astus remembered all of them, but most of the disguises in the backgrounds had blurred together. He hadn't used them in years. Something very strange was going on. “Sanarath!” He wailed, looking around for his tormentor. “What are you doing to me!?”

The question is what you have done to yourself…

He felt a kick to his side, and he yelped, rolling over through the crowd as they beat on him. A small mirror was to his left. He tried to grab it for support, only succeeding in wiping away some of the dust. And there he saw in the mirror himself in the room, alone, writhing in pain like a fool. He looked away from the mirror. “No… I…” He began to stand, still shaking wildly as they beat on him. Suddenly everything froze. Astus closed his eyes with a disgusted scowl on his face. Trembling all the while, biting his lip so hard that blood flowed freely from it, he waded through the crowd, pushing the elves out of his way. He stepped into a room, Sanarath was there. “You… b***h!” He raised his hand, bringing it down onto Sanarath's face. He didn't move. Astus's hand had passed right through him. “What… I…?”

You don't exist Astus. There is no Astus. You're just… a figment of my imagi—

“That isn't true!” Astus roared, charging forth and passing straight through Sanarath, crashing into the wall. “I won't… believe that…” He crumpled to the floor as Sanarath looked at him. Astus crawled weakly into a corner, whimpering as the scythe fell over him.

With a maddened wail, he gripped the scythe in two hands and swung at Sanarath. It connected, sending the man sprawling. He coughed many times, his blood falling through the ground. You can't… you don't exist… Sanarath bled ichor heavily from a wound at his neck. The scythe had actually harmed him. “Whether or not I am a figment of your… imagination or not. This… is my life!” Again he swung, Sanarath falling lower to the ground as again and again he was struck, sliced into little bits. He coughed a few times as Astus drained the last of the unlife from the body. Seconds later the disguises came crashing through the room, weapons poised to kill. “Stop!” Astus looked at them, no longer did he fear them. “I will not hide anymore. You're not real, none of you are! I demand that you leave my head, leave me be and never speak to me again! Get out of my head!” Astus looked at another mirror in that room; again he was the only one in the room, though strangely battered and bleeding. “I no longer need you… I am Astus Duskwither, through and through… I'm... I refuse to be a slave to aberrations within my own mind. Look at yourselves now and you look… at nothing. You are nothing forever, and that is what you've always been.” The mob charged at Astus, but they did nothing. Astus shut his eyes tight as he swung the scythe in a wide arc. There was no sound.
Astus opened his eyes and he was alone. Alone for the first time in years.

--

Sometimes we have to move on. Our lives demand so much from us… and I guess it was something I couldn't take. I made some wrong choices, sure. But I've done what I needed to do. I am not a good person, nor am I evil. I am Astus. The home of my people fell to the Scourge, and yet none chose to use the powers that they commanded against them. I think from the second I saw the abominations racing through the woods in their great horror, I knew this was my path. Most don't understand, and for this I am an outcast, shunned by the very people who birthed me. Someday those ignorant elves will learn the joys of death, as I have many times. This reminds me, mental note to destroy Tavren Black and that one Demon Hunter.

I'm not one to write journal entries, but I suppose I should take note of my last moments of mortality. Since I confronted… whatever the hell just happened yesterday, I've gained so much clarity. This does explain those times I'd pass out and awaken somewhere else. I'm sure there's some disorder that I'd be diagnosed with had I gone to a healer, however that does not matter. I have cured it myself. After reclaiming myself, I've seemed to recall much more. Normally I could only remember the catacombs, then being somewhere else. It was always a cruel trick. But now I know what did happen during those strange ‘black-outs'. Again, it does not matter. Soon I will attain perfection and such things will be meaningless.
I'm not proud of some of things I've done, but it's all for a noble cause. I will not tell others to agree with me, that is not my cause. I will not forget that cause, but should anyone else read this, know that I do not live for power. I do not live to slay those who oppose me, and I do not live for anyone but myself and my own whims. I am as constant as the north-most star, I live forever, and power lives for me.

Astus looked over the journal entry, tucking it away into a small backpack. He looked down at it sadly, but then smiled. Sanarath already had the ingredients for the ritual, strangely enough. Though I suppose it made sense; Astus must've been subconsciously directing Sanarath to obtain them. Astus took the blood further along the ground, nodding as the pentagram had been completed and checked for errors. None. Astus began to place desecrated candles of the Scarlet Crusade in small circles around the edge of the main circle. Astus held a skull in his hands—carved on it were dark symbols that almost had an innate verdant light. He held it up and the green energy exploded outwards, the walls of the building growing dark as everything seemed to be afflicted by death. He looked out the window as a circle of gloom spread outward, tainting and withering trees as the ground blackened, thin unholy fog present all through the air. Astus raised his hands beginning to chant softly as he tipped over a large bucket of blood with his foot. It spilled over the ritual circle, and Astus began to violently shake, crumpling to his knees as the blood swelled around him.

Astus muttered another word and the blood stopped it's bubbling, left, stagnant, the energy drained from it into the circle. Next, Astus drew sigils in the air, the unholy mists hurtling towards him and the circle. They flowed through the circle, causing it to release a jet of unholy radiance all around Astus as he fell further, flat on his stomach. He lay there, motionless. The jade-colored flame in his eyes going out. His flesh turned necrotic, sickly in color as it began to bulge with the strength of undeath. He looked down at his fingers, moaning in agony as they seemed to split away into near claws. The unholy energies ravaged his body, running their course quickly. His ears seemed to change a bit in size, growing larger and more curved outwards, growing into a harsher point. His hair turned from a murky black-gray to a stark white. His teeth became jagged and more pointed, two rising almost like fangs, but not quite. It seemed the way of the Sin'dorei to adopt such traits upon undeath, though Astus was lucky that it didn't go further, as he could've been labeled a San'layn and marked for slaughter by all.

He laid there, the circle depleted of energy and his body cold and lifeless. He was dead. His body was motionless for a long time before from the center of his eyes white light began to flow. The white became so concentrated it took on almost a bluish tinge, enough for him to pose as a death knight? Perhaps. He stood, swaying a bit, unused to his new state. He felt the raw energy flowing in his veins, and he looked to his left and used his new-found undead strength to grip one of the cracked tables in a single hand and send it crashing at a wall, where it broke into pieces.

“Long ago I read of awesome creatures, beings that have walked Azeroth longer than all men. These god-like beings, immortal and with divine power. This is what I am. I am eternal.” Astus walked along the bloodied floor, the ivory-carved eyes of his void of any emotion but determination. He stood in the snow, just as new flakes began to fall. Astus looked up. “My newly attained godhood is worthy of a new name. No longer am I called Astus. That is no longer my name. I am Sanarath.”