Necromancy Novel 소설 & 이야기

“Say what you came to say.” Varian tilted his head. “The dead want you, brother. They want their Alpha back.” The ground shook. From behind the heirs’ army, the snow split. Bones clawed their way up. Old armor rattled. Wolves with matted fur and glowing red eyes pulled themselves from the earth. Necromancy. On a scale Malric couldn’t have dreamed of. A hundred undead stood between the heirs and the gates. Ryn cursed. “Gods, I hate magic.”

“I'll eradicate every last one of them from the surface of this world, if I have to.” I followed the trial of the cart to an open valley. Meara's scent had just been there, or I could smell a drop of her blood. But something else was there with me. Dead carcass. Immediately it lunged at me as I turned to face it, but I was left stunned. My feral red eyes dimmed for a moment. It was a brown fur Lycan, only that this particular Lycan smelled like a vampire. I had seen this before. A conjuring—Necromancy. Such magic was forbidden, lost to ancient wars. It takes only a powerful witch to be able to conjure a soul from the underworld into a dead Lycan's body.

Uncle Jax warns me. After uncle Jax leaves, I continue to read through the strolls, learning more about the vampire prince. Before the lycan king and the vampire king ended the war of the wolves and vampires, Samuel would slather whole packs of Lycans and wolves alone. The more I read about this guy, the more I realize how right uncle Jax is about this guys being a phsyco. He's unstable and unpredictable, but I could definitely use his help. I look over towards the window, seeing that the sun is starting to go down. I frown, seeing that the day is coming to an end, but my sister isn't here yet.

I moved away and decided to go through the files I'd taken. I saw lists of supernatural species to be hunted. He could never get enough of the game like he'd called it. Hunting our kind, hunting every kind of supernatural beings brought him pleasure. They were all pawns in his sick games. I hoped and prayed he had the answers I'd seek.

Reproduction, nutrition and an extremely strong territorial behavior. With these first descendants, Doctor Christopher Krynick had created the monsters that now flooded the world and that still pose a threat to every single being on this planet today, almost two decades later. Proles had no natural enemies. They were bigger, faster and stronger than me. Their natural relatives and besides, they felt the need to mate with everything, just kept still long enough. Therefore it was hardly possible to master this plague and it was still questionable which of us would survive in the end. They or we?

I know exactly what I’m going to do, and I can’t wait to show off. I’m a bit cocky when it comes to my abilities, but I have every right to be. The truth to mastering necromancy is that one has to die. I stopped my heart with drugs and was dead for a few hours while I fought the darkness of death to figure out how to revive myself. One can’t be the master of death if one hasn’t defeated death. It was strange coming back to life after being in the literal black abyss of death. I felt like I had been dead for decades, but it was merely hours. I fought the wastelands of my own consciousness on a journey to learn how to revive myself from within my fucking mind without being able to physically t

He refused to believe in supernatural beings before despite the strange things that happened to him and his constant nightmares, but now that he was here right before one, there was no way to deny that fact. The side of her lips lifted a bit. “What do you think?” He didn’t say anything. From all the mythical books he had read, only dark creatures had red eyes, and the most famous were… vampires. What was more peculiar was he had dreamt about them before. In his dreams, everything felt real. It was like something about them kept on haunting him. “A demon or a vampire?” He didn’t want to know but he needed to. “Both.” His jaw clenched. He wanted to believe that this couldn’t be real, but altho

The air becomes heavy, charged with a pre-storm intensity. The moonstone on Aichonne's finger, which had been glowing with a soft, protective luminescence, suddenly turns. It flares. A jagged, corrupted black light erupts from the stone, a pitch-dark energy that tastes like ash, rot, and the deepest, most ancient betrayals. It isn't just a signal; it’s a parasite. It reaches out, tendrils of shadow lashing against the wind. The royal sky-mount beneath us screams, a sound of raw, unadulterated agony as its wings stiffen, paralyzed by the sudden, violent surge of dark, necromantic magic.