Lotr Necromancer Novels & Stories

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.

The heavy boots of the heavy infantry crunched against the freezing gravel, while the handlers struggled to quiet the massive war wolves straining against their iron leashes. Inside the war room, the map of the northern territories lay stretched across the table, pinned down by heavy brass daggers. Liam stood over it, his hands braced against the wood, his gaze locked on the narrow pass known as the Devil's Throat. "Torin said the array disintegrated," Liam muttered, his eyes tracing the red ink lines that marked their defensive perimeters. "That requires a massive displacement of kinetic energy or something worse. Anna, if this thing is tracking your bloodline, it’s not navigating the terra

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.”

“It’s tied to necromancy.” Alaric stiffened. His boots echoed softly as he crossed the room and stood by my desk, glancing down at the open pages. His voice dropped to a near-growl. “Is that…” “Maximus the Fallen,” I finished for him, eyes flicking up at his face. “But that wasn’t his real name.” Alaric’s brows pulled tight. “Explain.” I tapped the page lightly, not bothering to hide my knowledge this time. “He was a man. A necromancer. Summoned to protect the realm. He tried to close the Rifts using death magic instead of destruction. It backfired. Horribly.”

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.

“But what about life? What about the noble acts they do? Doesn’t that matter?” A dark smile flashed across the necromancer’s face, from which one could guess his condescending superiority. “No doubt, this world needs not only fighting units but also working ones. Like ants who build an anthill and drag the garbage out of the holes. But true power will always be on the necromancer’s side.” With these words, he poured more wine into the glasses and, began drinking his wine without taking his dark eyes from me. Like someone under a spell, I watched his movements. I just couldn’t look away. His every word, no matter how much I wanted to argue with him, seeped into my mind, putting down roots the