The Necromancer Legacies Novels & Stories

As his words echoed across the battlefield, the army responded, rising from the ground with a synchronized precision that was nothing short of terrifying. Magic swirled around the corpses, dark tendrils of energy wrapping around their bodies, stitching them together with a malevolent force. Veyra could feel the magic in the air, thick and heavy, like the weight of the world pressing down on her chest. It was necromancy at its worst, an abomination that should have been impossible, and yet, here it was.

Many creatures began to discuss heatedly. Wyot’s memories give James information about the Master Necromancer. However, the Master Necromancer was not from the current era but the Space Race Era. His cultivation rank was quite ordinary, but he was at least a Terra Acmean. He wielded terrifying sorcery and produced an army of powerful undead. The death spirits created by the Master Necromancer were unthinkably strong, as they had no fear of death. Moreover, they were immortal as long as their body and soul were not completely destroyed together.

I announce and Priest curses under his breath. “Jagger, keep an eye out in the back. There are secret paths inside the house that most likely lead them out,” I announce, and I don’t wait for my brother’s reply when I open the path and step inside. It’s dark as fuck and there’s no light at all, but luckily, our masks have night vision. I turn it on, stepping inside, but a hand stops me and I look back to see Priest shaking his head. “That is fucking suicide, brother,” he says and I pull my arm away from his grip, stepping inside and he takes a deep breath, following me.

“Because it wasn’t meant to be. The spell wasn’t just targeting minds—it was targeting history. Legacy. It wanted to erase the Amadeus name from existence.” She looks at us both now. “And because the spell was fueled by ancestral magic—and because they used a sacred relic as the anchor—there was no reversing it. Not without destroying the land. Not without tearing apart the very foundation of your bloodline.” “And at that moment, there was no time to do any of that”. Her eyes focus on Dominicus.

"It wasn't your fault. We'll figure this out together. We're still a pack, and we'll support each other through this darkness." “We have a bigger problem at hand, something sinister is going on", Cersei said. “This is some really powerful dark magic" “One that could evade my Clairvoyance”, Rey said. “I didn’t even think that it was possible” "This isn't just regular dark magic", Cersei begun. "Necromancy....", said Styria. The pack decided to regroup at Lucius' home to discuss the situation. They knew that Nyx was somehow behind this, but they had no idea of how they could defeat the necromancer.

She just needed to get through this and then life would go on as normal. “I am also lycan,” she whispered out. “You all knew my father – Russell Heron. He was a great blacksmith.” There is murmuring of agreement. Most the Lycans constantly got their armory repaired by him. “And all of you I suspect are familiar with the Archer Legacy. The legendary Archer bloodline that was chosen has to slay the vampiress--”

“At least you’re not afraid to speak your mind. But if you want to survive Green Valley Academy, you might want to ease up on the sanctimonious vibe. These people can sniff out a preachy attitude a mile away.” Gabrielle felt heat redden her cheeks. “I’m not preachy; I just believe in holding on to some morals. Maybe you wouldn’t understand that.” “Morals? Sweetheart, this place doesn’t run on morals. It runs on power, who you know, and a whole lot of cash.” He leaned closer, eyes glimmering with mischief, and for a brief moment, Gabrielle was taken aback, feeling vulnerable before the unnatural calm of his gaze. “You either adapt or drown, and I can see you’re already struggling.”

As if noticing my curious glances, Lucan leaned closer and explained, “That’s a Graveborn. They call themselves Necromancers.” I frowned, studying the man in question. At first glance, he looked human but the details betrayed him. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, and when he spoke, sharp fangs flashed briefly. I would’ve taken him for a vampire, but his skin wasn’t pale like the ones I’d met before; instead, it held a faint gray tint, like ash brought to life.

“You know it’s not that simple, not to mention this legacy my mother’s always going on about.” “What’s the point of being king of Lycans and werewolves if you can’t do what’s best for us?” Frost countered, his tone turning serious. “Tell me, what’s more important: that legacy or your happiness?” Frost eased up on the teasing, speaking more earnestly. He and Andriel were one; if Andriel’s human side perished, Frost would too, and that was something he wasn’t willing to let happen.

Inside, the air felt colder. Thicker. Like every book here breathed a little on its own. Some were chained shut with silver locks. Some had covers made from materials I didn’t want to guess at—scales, bone, darkened velvet. Alaric reached for one specific volume. Thick. Heavy. Black leather with a sigil embossed on the front: a circle surrounding a cracked mirror. “This,” he said quietly, “is the kingdom’s only known complete record on necromancy.”