I've lived a long fucking life—longer than most mortals could dream of.
And believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be.
The idea of being a necromancer sounds glamorous. Until you realize it mostly involves orchestrating genocides, stacking corpses like trophies, and dealing with gods who can't keep their divine noses out of your business.
It's not a profession. It's a fucking nightmare. Especially now.
Because right now, I'm surrounded by zealots.
These giddy bastards would rather piss holy fire than admit defeat. I can't even blame them; I've slaughtered half their number already.
Every spell I cast tears the battlefield apart—paladins flung through the air like broken dolls, their screams echoed with the violence. Bones crunch, flesh sears, and still they keep on coming. Like pigs to the dirty slaughter.
I pivot, raising my staff as another wave of golden fanatics charges. The ground splits open beneath their feet, swallowing them whole. For one brief, blissful second—silence.
Then the shouting returns.
"Stand your ground, men!"
The voice cuts through the smoke like a blade.
And there he is—the Paladin King.
Salomon.
Bathed in gold, the dying embers of sunlight clinging to him. His presence steadies the survivors; they cluster to him, blades burning with light, stepping over the fallen like the dead were never real.
I sneer.
"Finally—His Radiant Majesty graces us."
"Balzar of the Black Trinity!" he bellows, his voice a sermon turned into thunder. "Your reign of terror ends here! Its time to answer for every soul you've damned!"
I laugh—a dry, cracked sound older than I am.
"Terror? Is that what you lot are calling it now? Cute."
I drive my staff into the dirt. Shadows pulse from the veins of the wood. The earth splits. From the chasms, my soldiers crawl—skeletal hands clawing through mud, skulls igniting with blue fire.
The paladins hesitate. Even faith trembles before death.
But not Salomon.
He never fucking blinks.
"You think your puppets will save you?" he calls, calm even as the dead swarm. "I've slain worse than you."
"Then let's refresh your memory."
I flick my wrist. A berserker charges—an avalanche in armor. A skeleton leaps to meet him; the next instant, it's dust and bone shards.
"Impressive," I murmur. "Try this."
Black tendrils burst from the ground, coiling around the berserker's limbs. He bellows, muscles straining, until the darkness drags him under like quicksand.
"You could've made this easy!" I shout. "All this death—it's charity, really. Opening the Void isn't cheap."
"You're a monster," Salomon growls, flames licking across his armor. "This ends now!"
He charges.
Every step shakes the world. I raise a wall of shadow just in time. His blade meets it with divine fury, light against dark, creation against decay. The force drives me back, boots carving trenches in the earth.
But I don't fall.
"Aww… is that all, Your Majesty?" I grin through the strain. "No wonder they made you king—your speeches cut deeper than your sword."
"You can't win this, Balzar!" he roars. "Your darkness will not prevail!"
"Win?" I echo, breath ragged, laughter cracked. "You still think this is about winning?"
He doesn't answer, and that silence says everything.
This war was never about victory. Not for me. Not for the Trinity.
We started it because we were tired—tired of eternity, of gods, of the endless wheel of birth and death. We wanted rest. True oblivion.
The Void was our escape.
But he wouldn't understand. He never could. Bound to duty. To faith. To gods who never bled for him.
"You're a fool, Salomon," I whisper. "This was never about power. It was about peace."
"Peace?" His voice flares hotter than his fire. "You call this peace? You've enslaved the dead, slaughtered the living! You don't seek redemption—you're running from guilt. You'd drag the world into hell just to sleep."
"Maybe," I say softly. "But at least I'd finally dream."
He doesn't speak again. He just lifts his sword.
And then the world explodes in light.
My shadows burn. My staff cracks. His blade carves through me—through flesh, through soul, through centuries of sin. Pain floods me, pure and merciless.
And beneath it—
peace.
I drop to my knees, blood warming the ash. The world fades, white and still.
I smile.
Because this…
this was always the plan.