The silence of the underground crypt was heavy, oppressive. Dust hung in the air like time itself had stopped breathing. Cold stone walls, carved with forgotten glyphs, stretched outward into darkness, and Kael's footsteps echoed like a death knell. He moved slowly, each step deliberate, the flickering violet light of his summoned flame barely illuminating the path ahead. But he wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
The old world—the world of mortals and suffering, betrayal and blood—felt like a memory blurred by time. Ever since he'd awakened in the in-between realm, something inside him had changed. His heart, once driven by pain and revenge, now beat with the rhythm of something older… something darker. Death no longer frightened him. He controlled it. And now, it whispered to him, guiding him deeper into places not meant for the living.
Kael's mind replayed the visions from the night before—flashes of an ancient entity, skeletal and regal, seated upon a throne of bones. Its voice still echoed inside him, like a wind stirring ashes: "To gain power over the dead, one must first strike a pact with death itself."
That was why he had come here—to the tomb of the Nameless Sovereign, a legend whispered only in dying breaths. The Sovereign had once ruled the forbidden domains of necromancy, commanding armies that never slept and kingdoms that never aged. It was said he died refusing to serve any god but death itself. Now, he rested here—sealed beneath layers of enchantment, time, and fear.
Kael approached a vast stone door, its surface cracked by centuries of decay but still holding a faint pulsing energy. The moment he touched it, cold rushed through his arm, stabbing deep into his bones. It wasn't the chill of air—it was something else. A presence. A test.
The glyphs on the stone flared to life, burning violet, and a voice roared in his mind—not from around him, but within.
"Who dares knock upon the silence of death?"
Kael's knees buckled, but he didn't fall. Instead, he gritted his teeth and answered aloud, his voice steady despite the pressure crushing his mind.
"I am Kael. Betrayed by the living. Chosen by the void. I do not knock—I claim."
A long pause. Then, the stone groaned, and the door cracked open with the sound of a world breaking.
Inside, the chamber was vast. Pillars of blackened bone spiraled upward into darkness. The ceiling was lost to shadow. At the far end, resting atop a dais wrapped in withered banners, sat the sarcophagus of the Nameless Sovereign. Time had warped its shape, but the aura emanating from it was undeniable.
Kael stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Show yourself," he demanded.
The flame in his palm extinguished. Darkness swallowed everything.
Then, with a low hum, a new light shimmered in the air—not fire, but soullight. A spectral form emerged from the sarcophagus, cloaked in decay and dignity. The Nameless Sovereign rose not as a corpse, but as a remnant of will bound in magic and malice.
"You are not the first to come," it said. "But you may be the last."
Kael didn't flinch. "I came to make the pact. I offer my soul, not in surrender—but as a weapon."
The Sovereign tilted its head, hollow eyes glowing. "You offer power… for what purpose?"
Kael clenched his fists. "For vengeance. For balance. For those who died screaming and those still enslaved by the cruelty of the living. I will remake this world, even if I must burn it to ashes."
A pause. Then, laughter—dry, ancient, and hollow. "You speak the language of the damned."
Kael stepped closer, standing at the foot of the dais. "Then teach me its full form."
The Sovereign lifted its hand. "Very well. But know this: a pact with me is not one of servitude, but bond. You shall carry my legacy, and my curse. You will never again taste peace. Nor will death claim you gently."
"I never knew peace," Kael replied. "And I've already died once."
The Sovereign raised its other hand. Between them, a scroll formed in mid-air, inked in shadow and blood. Runes danced across its surface, too ancient for human eyes.
"Speak the vow," the Sovereign whispered.
Kael didn't hesitate. "By the void between breaths, by the dust beneath graves, I bind myself to the Sovereign of Death. My soul is no longer mine—it is our weapon. Let those who oppose me know dread. Let the world know the Controller of Death has risen."
The moment the final word left his lips, the scroll ignited in black flame, and Kael screamed.
It wasn't pain—it was transformation.