Solo Necromancer Novel Novels & Stories

They stepped inside. Raven’s sharp blue eyes scanned the spines—titles in languages older than Arcadia Prime, bindings of shadow-leather and bone. Victoria moved with purpose, fingers trailing over volumes until she stopped before a thick tome bound in matte black hide that drank the light rather than reflected it. Silver script crawled across the cover like living veins: *Intricate Military Command of the Dead* *Advanced Studies in the Art of Necromantic Warfare* Raven reached up—standing on tiptoe—and pulled it free. The weight surprised her; this was no slim intermediate text. This was dense, heavy with diagrams of battlefield sigils, troop formations of the risen, rites for coordinating

Sweet, cold revenge on those who betrayed me in the most horrific way. Roman is nothing but a tool for me to wield, a powerful Alpha I will use mercilessly to destroy my enemies. I cannot forget that. I cannot let even a shred of real feeling take root. Not when I'm so close to having everything I've dreamed of. Since this second chance at life fell into my lap, I've had one driving purpose - to make Dorian and Lily pay in blood for their sins. And now the means sits before me, if only I continue playing my cards right.

"Quentin will sneak back today. Would you like to come with me to the airport to pick him up?" "Quentin?" The name struck a chord of familiarity, echoing the male protagonist from my harem novel. "Quentin Bennett? The famous star Quentin Bennett?" "Yes," the woman gently touched my forehead. "No fever." I possessed an unusually high level of acceptance. Blinking, I realized I must have transmigrated. So, the reason that awful book was covering my face when I died served a purpose! Before my demise, I had been telling Randy that I would sue Quentin Bennett for bigamy!

Necromancer? "She can raise zombies, talk to ghosts and other dead, and she can heal the undead. Useful to have around. She's our primary conduit to Jeremiah." "Which one's he?"

Why would Maggie’s ancestors want to conjure and evil spirit or raise the dead? Fascinated by the pull of the words on the page, she softly whispered the Bring Forth the Dead Incantation. A cold chill swept over her and her temples throbbed. She carefully placed the ribbon down the interior binding of the pages and closed the book shut. The crystal didn’t look quite so out of place as it lay against the bottom of the pages. In fact, there was so much room between the size of the cover and the size of the pages that crystal tucked right up into the gap when she set the book on end. It was a perfect fit.

If only it worked that way. As my consciousness faded, my soul felt yanked back—to that Halloween night that changed everything. Lights strung like jack-o'-lanterns, crowds surging like a river. I was gripping my little brother Matthew Duncan's hand—warm and soft—terrified that if I let go for even a second, the tide of people would swallow him up. But in the blink of an eye, a puppet-maker's stall caught his eye. He pointed at a fierce general figurine, bouncing with excitement. "Eli! I want that one! The general!"

The smell of blood mixed with decay hit him like a wave, making him frown involuntarily. His face paled when he saw the dark red chunks of flesh mixed with bits of bones in the bag, hands trembling as he gripped the bag. "This…they're truly monsters!" Zack said, his tone filled with pity. After putting on gloves, he carefully took all the chunks of flesh and bits of bones out of the bag. "This is just too cruel!" Zack's eyes reddened, looking beyond enraged. Seeing him like this, I suddenly recalled how, three years ago, his eyes were just as red in anger—all because I was kneeling at the door, begging him not to kick me out.

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.

“The Unnamed realises the inferiority of our chaos shards, a true shard is infinitely more powerful.” The cloak grew over the mask again, as the masks stopped rotating, the mask in front being one screaming in agony. “Its time the Unnamed became serious then.” A small portal opened and a book floated out. It was old, with inscriptions everywhere. The book opened on its own, and a red glow came from within. “Seventh Chapter of the Necronomion: Judgement of the Dark gods.”