The Boundless Necromancer Novels & Stories

He smiles as he watches the head of the clan and everyone around that room dead and bathing with their blood that put him in utmost content. He who sacrifices his very soul and is bound into the chains and clutches of that God. The master of the dead, a necromancer, and an alchemist. He who is supposed to be dead yet is alive and continues to like a cycle of a jellyfish and two. He is greeted as his very creation and façade of an older sister, replies. “As your very wish, master.”

His breathing was shallow but steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only reminder that he was still here, still alive, still mine to claim. The scent of blood clung to the air like a storm that refused to pass. It drowned out everything else, seeping into me until it filled every corner of my senses. I could taste it still—sharp, sweet, maddening—and every breath I drew only fanned the fire clawing at my insides. I had witnessed the binding ritual performed countless times. I knew its weight, its consequences. But never—never—had I felt this.

His ultimate goal required an army of zombies that kept growing at an exponential rate, until there were so many that nothing could stand before them. At present, any bodies he reanimated were clumsy, slow moving creatures, but once he fully destroyed the seal, he expected that to change. Long dead corpses would always be slow, but the more recently deceased should be capable of moving almost as fast as living humans, making them far more dangerous. He wished he could have reached this level of success a century ago, before the armies of the world became so mightily armed with modern weapons of destruction. He was still learning back then, though, and he hadn’t had the black waziri to aid h

Their mouths gaped, sewn shut with thread that glowed faintly, trapping centuries of screams. They had once been warriors. Wolves. Mages. Leaders. Banished, betrayed, erased. Now, they belonged to me. A figure emerged from the skeletal trees. He was tall, draped in rotting velvet that reeked of earth and decay. His face was hidden by a jagged mask fashioned from bone. The Necromancer. “You summoned me,” he rasped, his voice grating like stone on stone. “You know the price.” I rose to my feet, my shadow stretching across the poisoned earth in ways no living thing’s should. “I’ve already paid.”

“Berus.” Silas called into the crowd, waiting as a dark figure emerged from the crowd, a black aura surrounding him. I lifted my head slightly so that I could see him, this large cloak covering a hunched frame, a large, bony hand holding onto an oak staff which was twisted up towards the heavens, an elegantly placed crystal ball attached to the top, the oak curling around it. His face was covered partially by his wavy silver hair, his amethyst eyes shining through, promising me a world of pain should I take even a single step out of line. His dark blue cloak was tattered and old, the colour fading ever so slightly, his skin sagging and wrinkled. I knew of this warlock, I knew that he was a n

Jim had to place his palms against the damp, chilly walls to keep from losing his footing. “Yes, this is one of the most difficult and deadly workings that Monanom taught to her followers,” said Father Powers. “It crosses every barrier of the natural order and turns a resting place for the dead into a vessel for unborn life. To create one, you have do some ungodly and unspeakable things, lad. Things no decent, sane human being would ever consider, but that’s what it takes to create any object of immense power.” “What do you do with these grave eggs?”

The mortals beside their towering rocks were drooling stinky black liquids, their hands raised toward the moon, trying so hard to catch it. Patting the dirt away from his golden armor, he rolled his head and glared at them. “Is that all you’ve got? Sadly, even with your abilities combine, you’re still incapable of putting a scratch on me. I must commend you, though. You’ve decapitated all my allies in just one blow.” He looked up suddenly when the moon was entirely covered with a reddish glow. “Ah, now we’ll see Zheira’s awakening. Watch closely, Vladimir! The woman you fantasized would be the one to end your miserable life.”

He injected me and then here he was planning to take my powers; that only meant that healing my babies was going to be impossible. "It's time to have those powers, my friend is on her way here Vandeer Blight, the best necromancer", All the remaining color drained from my face when l heard the name. This wasn't a witch but a necromancer. He chose a necromancer over his family.

“They’ve brought reinforcements. Something else. Something alive.” I tried to comprehend what he meant, but before I could, the shadows shifted violently, and a figure—larger than any human, moving with an almost fluid, unnatural speed—emerged from the smoke. It was impossible to judge its form in the dim light, a silhouette that was both terrifying and incomprehensible, radiating menace with every deliberate movement. It moved with intent, with the singularity of purpose that made my skin crawl and my stomach drop, and I realized, with cold certainty, that the forest had become a predator of its own, bending the world to its will.

She raised one hand letting faint blue light glow from her palm as she examined the corpses without touching them and then she nodded slowly her voice calm but grave when she spoke. “They were under a binding spell,” she said quietly. “A very old and very powerful one. If they tried to say the name of their master or reveal any identifying details the poison would activate instantly killing them before the words could leave their mouths. This is the same magic we saw with the runner at the border. Whoever is behind this is using necromantic wards to protect their identity. It is not something that can be broken easily. The spell dies with the messenger.” I ran a hand through my hair exhaling