The Necromancer Legacies Novels & Stories

THE NECROMANCER Necromancy is the practice of magic or black magic involving communication with the dead – either by summoning their spirits as apparitions, visions or raising them bodily – for divination, imparting the means to foretell future events, discover hidden knowledge, to bring someone back from the dead, or to use the dead as a weapon. Sometimes referred to as "Death Magic", the term may also sometimes be used in a more general sense to refer to black magic or witchcraft. It is a practice to make a dead person alive, show it puppeteers, and the act of controlling an empty vessel such as the dead body of a person.

“I don’t know yet.” Jameson scoffed. “Great. “So, if I understand correctly—we’re going to destroy an ancient Council that has been running the supernatural world for centuries, and at the same time, fighting off some kind of primordial horror that happens to be living in Lena’s head at the moment?” I sighed. “That about sums it up.” Jameson rubbed a hand over his face. “Fantastic.” Soraya, who had so far kept quiet, sighed. “It’s possible.”

“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.”

“You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever comes next, I’ll be right here.” I shook my head, my resolve hardening. “You’ve done enough, Adrian. More than I could have ever asked for. But this is my battle now.” He frowned. “You don’t have to—” “I do,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “Marcus isn’t just trying to destroy me. He’s trying to erase my father’s legacy, and that’s something I can’t let happen. This final fight—it has to be mine.” Adrian searched my face, and after a moment, he nodded. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect it. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

The same chiseled features, the same piercing eyes, the same aura of confidence and power. As Lucas approached, Marcus's eyes never left his face, drinking in the sight of his prized jewel. He saw in Lucas a continuation of his legacy, a worthy successor to the Blackwood throne. And in that moment, Marcus knew that his pride was justified, for Lucas was the perfect heir, a true Blackwood in every sense of the word. *** The scene shifted to a sleek, black limousine, gliding smoothly through the city streets. Inside, Marcus and Lucas sat side by side, yet worlds apart. The air was heavy with tension, thick with unspoken words.

His eyes widen, meeting mine. I move my foot slightly and press it over his cock, and a loud scream leaves his lips as the tears stream down his cheeks. “Please, please,” the begging begins before I move my foot, and he gasps for air. “You said you wanted to destroy her, and I can’t do that, and I simply can’t do that. Do you want to know why?” I ask, and he nods slightly, but I grab my knife from my pocket and stab him in the leg, pressing it with my hand as a loud scream leaves his lips.

Without his guidance, she would be lost, vulnerable, and exposed to the darkness that awaited her. Marcus delved into the arcane, deciphering ancient symbols, translating forgotten languages, and unraveling the mysteries of vampire mythology. He poured over ancient texts, consulted with other scholars, and conducted arcane rituals, all in an effort to understand the Crimson Zone and its secrets. He spoke of ancient rituals, of blood magic, of artifacts of immense power, and of the delicate balance between the mortal and the immortal. He explained the history of the Blood King, his rise to power, his reign of terror, and his ultimate downfall. He revealed the secrets of the ancient council, t

Even the enchanted instruments tucked themselves away into shadow, as though they, too, were listening. Spell legacies were rare. Complete ones? Practically mythical. Families fought and bled to retain them. Some were handed down in fragments, scraps of spellcraft guarded like treasure. But a complete legacy? For me? I barely registered the whispers sweeping the crowd. “…he’s a first-year…” “…how’s that even possible?” “…wasn’t he a commoner? A hybrid?” But louder than all of them was the high, sharp, strangled inhale from somewhere to my left.

“I told them that I would, and I did it. They’re still under my wing right now. If you’re trying to tell me that I have failed, then I guess I’ll have to say the same for you.” She stared at me, and I stared back. It was quiet between us until she took my hand and started to lead me toward a small puddle of water where I could see the future or the past depending on what she wanted me to see. “What now?” I snapped. “Just look.” She left my hand and made me look into the water. I peered into the water, and it was just still images of everyone who had died so far in the war. There were bodies scattered around the ground. Witches, vampires, and werewolves alike.

> “You summon us again, little mortal. What would you bleed this time?” Malric grinned, a wicked thing stretching across his scarred face. He wore no crown, no armor—only a dark cloak embroidered with runes stolen from forbidden scrolls. His eyes, once a dull steel, now shimmered faintly with unnatural crimson. “I want your legions,” he said coldly. “The shadows in the East. The beasts that hide in bone and smoke. I want them ready.” A low, guttural laugh rumbled from the portal. “You seek to wage war against the Omni Draco himself?”