Boundless Necromancer Novels & Stories

she said, finding my confused gaze again. "Aaron? But their nests are impossible to find. Not unless... light have mercy," I said, feeling like I'd been punched in the chest. "We're gonna go," Lills mumbled, getting to her feet. I nodded, too lost for words to find the one's that would make her stay. Scorchers were dangerous, a militia that stood outside the rules and laws the rest of us lived by. They were those who'd committed their lives to the destruction of every non human creature beyond the borders of the Diarna, the furthest mining town in the south. They married their work and bred for numbers. They were smart, strong and loyal to a fault and would rather see our entire world blaze

The dark night was lit only by the shinning flames of ritual candles. Valtor stood surrounded by witches, their low chants echoing in the eerie silence. They worked quickly, forming a shimmering void in the center of the altar—a portal meant to tear through to Dreadfall Citadel. One witch stepped forward, her hood casting shadows over her face. “This spell is dangerous. If it collapses, we cannot undo the damage.” Valtor’s eyes narrowed, impatience flashing in his dark gaze. “I don’t care,” he growled. “Just make sure it doesn’t collapse. If you fail me, I’ll rip your heads off one by one.”

The Hollow Queen didn’t look away from the altar. “I expected as much.” “She has Lucien back.” This time, she turned. And her smile—slow, cold—was like winter sinking teeth into bone. “Good. Let her feel safe.” She opened a scroll, its parchment ancient and inked in a language lost to all but the cursed. The runes shimmered with something dark—alive. “Let her believe she’s healed,” she murmured. “Let her believe she’s whole.” She dipped her fingers into the blood again, then pressed them to the stone.

"You've been suppressing it for too long." She shook her head. "That's impossible. I'm not that strong." Kael crouched in front of her, his expression serious now. "You're not supposed to be. Not unless you were born with bound magic." She stared at him. "You keep saying that. What does it even mean?" He studied her wrist again, the mark still glowing faintly. "When two powers-demon and witch merge, they create something called the Bloodbound. A fusion. The last one nearly destroyed three realms."

Not quite a shadow. The Pale One smiled — faint, knowing. “You shouldn’t be here,” it said, voice carrying the echo of a thousand deaths. “I could say the same,” Soreth replied, though his throat was dry. “You shouldn’t exist.” The Pale One tilted its head. “And yet, here we both are. Two ghosts searching for the same truth.” “What truth?” “The one your masters buried.” The Pale One’s form flickered — now nearer, close enough for Soreth to see the faint shimmer of symbols written across its skin. “The Soulbound were the price of your immortality. You just forgot who paid it.”

“Isn’t fate just so damn cute?” Lyka sighed, “You are powerful, each of you and you need to discover it. To expand it.” “But enough to defeat him?” Art snickered. “Yes, enough to destroy him. We will talk about it later. Before that you can read this book.” Shalom handed them a thick, leather bound book. In the cover, was a handwritten word. Bloodsongs. In wild red. ____

It all came back to her, but what she didn't understand was why he was here? Nara trying to ask as she felt herself and her witches growing weaker, "why are you here? What do you want?". The necromancer bent down to her level smiling evily, "you see I'll tell you, my powers have a little issue, I'm still strong but I need a little enhancement witch. And your nephew is the perfect sacrifice for this", as he said that Nara grunted trying to get him but couldn't, the necromancer laughed standing up straight and moving around.

Anyone that crosses me will rue the day they were born,I thought with a sinister smile. After untying my hands,I slowly crack my neck from side to side, reliving the kinks in my neck. I feel the fear in the air as I crack my bones. I slowly stood up from the chair I was tied to. A menacing grin on my face. I was a sight to behold. I grabbed the blindfold and with one single tug,I removed it. I opened my eyes slowly, taking a while to get used to the bright white light and the natural light filtering through the window.

Constantine leaned in closer to Baros, her voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Baros, my dear, as we perform this spell, I want you to ensure that it binds not only my powers but also the loyalty of the men I've sired. I want them to be my devoted servants, my private army, ready to carry out my every command." Baros nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "That's a delicate manipulation of the spell, Constantine. It's not just about power; it's about controlling their wills without them realizing it."

Something that still carries the Church’s coin and the Church’s warrants. He sips his ale slowly, eyes scanning the wall behind the bar where fresh posters have been tacked up. The ink is still damp in places. Raven Winterstar stares back at him from the parchment—child’s face, white hair, sharp blue eyes that seem to follow him even in charcoal and soot. Below the sketch: **NECROMANTRESS. 500 GOLD MARKS. DEAD OR ALIVE.** Garrick sets the tankard down. Wipes foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. He’s seen worse bounties. He’s hunted worse things. But a child who raises the dead… that’s new. That’s interesting.