Novel & Cerita Lotr Necromancer

The room falling into silence around us. My eyes drift to his, his fiery orbs seem to look into the depths of my soul, like he could read every secret, both dark and light that resides there. A knowing smile spread on his face, momentarily lighting his handsome face before his expression returned to one of casual indifference, as if they were only discussing the weather. He moves his gaze to rest on my uncle, before he whispers into my ear. “Perhaps you may be entitled to the role of Princess of the Underworld after all.” With his last words playing in her ears, he moves back to sit in his chair. Falling into conversation with the man sat next to Lucas, who I have now found out is Malphas, L

I opened the box and froze. Inside sat a dark-magic gargoyle amulet. Its wings fluttered, and its eyes glowed red. "Are you insane?" I slammed the box shut. When Liam was five, Bastian took him to the clan graveyard but got distracted talking to the elders. Liam wandered into the forbidden zone and was so traumatized by a rogue gargoyle that it permanently messed with his bloodline. He had been terrified of them ever since. And now, the man responsible was giving his son this.

"I’m registering seventeen hostiles positioned around the sub-basement levels. He brought in high tier mercenary mages to force the physical lock on my mother's vault." "Mercenaries," Torin muttered from the rear guard, adjusting his grip on the leather wrap of his heavy war hammer. "They’re risking a structural collapse for a man who can't even pay them in silver?" "He promised them the Sovereign artifacts," Anna said smoothly, her eyes never leaving the readout. "He told them that inside the vault lies an ancient power capable of subjugating the North. He’s feeding them fairy tales because he doesn't understand the difference between a weapon and a containment seal."

He narrowed his eyes at the title and I realized that he wasn't completely comfortable with it. “There has been war, targeting mostly Lycans. Most of the lycan clans have been destroyed. Mine is the only one still standing in the south. We don't know who these people are, they move smoothly, too smoothly. The seers say they use black magic. That's all we know” I explained. He pondered for a while, “That may explain how they moved so quickly without being noticed. I sympathize with you and your people. But what exactly do you want with us?”

"He took my life, my identity, and now he's living with my name, my degrees. How can I just let that go?" I gave his back a comforting pat and met his gaze. "In a few days, when the weird end of days rolls in, we'll make him pay." Jim gave a small nod, his skin cooling down, no longer fired by my blood. Right then, I noticed something odd, the weak Haunts that had barely any strength were suddenly frantically feasting on my leftover blood. Their once translucent bodies filled with vigor as they started to circle and swoop around me. "I've got a plan!"

He knew I was not the Lumira whose medical records he had studied. "Dark magic is not native to this body," he said, placing his cards on the table with deliberate precision. Not playing cards. Research notes, thin and precise, covered in diagrams I couldn't read from this distance. "Necromancy at your level requires a soul that has already crossed the threshold. A soul that has died and returned, carrying the imprint of the grave. The original Lumira never died — not truly. She was murdered. There is a difference." He looked at me, and for the first time, his clinical mask cracked. Not with emotion — with hunger. The hunger of a scholar who had found the anomaly he had been searching for.

But even as I fought, something primal surged inside me—a feral enjoyment in the battle, mixed with a desperate need to end this and take Heather home, safe. “Die!” I snarled internally, tearing through another shadow. Damon’s Lycan let out a furious howl beside me, and together we pushed forward, determined to find the source. Finally, I spotted it—the necromancer. A twisted figure cloaked in shadows, its presence felt like a black hole, pulling all light and hope into its void.

“I just need to sever the ancient evil’s hold on him.” The Necromancer chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “Oh, young one,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You still don’t understand, do you? That kind of bond—the one between him and the ancient evil—is not simply a curse.” His grin widened. “It’s possession. It’s fate. And it does not break so easily.” Rigel gritted his teeth. “Then tell me what will.” The Necromancer’s gaze darkened. “There is a ritual,” he admitted, voice dipping into something almost reverent. “An ancient one. A forbidden one.”

He began to crawl further into the darkness, feeling the path the voice wanted him to follow. As he crawled, a strange feeling invaded his battered body. He felt as if he were near a fire that caused damage without heat. Again, he felt that he must remember something, but he didn't know what. -"Lord of the Necromancers" Her back arched violently as a thousand stars exploded in her broken mind. The scattered debris fell inward, glowing, incandescent. "I am a Necromancer. I am… the Lord of Necromancers." His mouth was not used to uttering sounds and the words came out hesitantly.