The figure in a dark cloak huffed softly in irritance. It was difficult, pouring liquids into the carefully inscripted grooves without spill. It didn’t help that he also had to simultaneously hold mental control over two spells while doing so. The figure took a moment to glare at the shadowy bodies standing near the edges of the room, as if it was their fault that he had to do everything by himself. He couldn’t really blame them, even if he was just frustrated with the casting work. While useful for menial labor and carrying out basic commands, the reanimated corpses he brought could do little to help with tasks that required more finesse.

But that would change tonight. Hopefully.

The figure turned his focus back to the task at hand. It was necessary to set the death-attuned metals into the altar quickly, as the animation and mindweaving spell constructs needed to be cast after the runes were formed but before they fully set. He carefully tilted the cylindrical container in his hands, enchanted to keep the insides hot, and poured a thin stream of glowing metal onto a series of carved lines near the top of the altar. The orange liquid seemed to pulse, spreading with supernatural speed into branching depressions over the stony surface. It smoothed out and, instead of darkening as it cooled, began to glow brighter.

The newly poured metal linked with the runes which were already complete, beautiful traces of light neatly clinging to the stone altar. Many of the groves were already filled, but the ones near the top were still dark. The figure continued pouring liquid metal, eyes glued to the point of contact between bright orange and black.

It was a very peaceful moment. Even if it was only a necromancer, an altar, and a waterfall of fire.

— -

The last bits of runic metal flowed out and completed the inscriptions. Almost imperceptibly, all the runes on the altar began to dim. The figure gently set the container down and placed one hand on the altar, not seeming to feel the burning heat. He closed his eyes and felt the two spells he had prepared straining against his mental bonds, trying to release their shaped energy. He slowly let one go, the animation spell, channeling it into the metal. The magic was quickly drawn in, igniting the runes anew and beginning the process of siphoning mana from the air. He pushed with the other spell in his mind and felt the mindweave construct rush to join the animation spell in the runes. This one took longer, and he trembled with the effort of maintaining a magical connection with the altar.

It went through, eventually, and the figure pulled his hand off the runes. He sensed the immensely complicated spellwork layer itself over the altar, targeting a still shape lying on top. After taking a moment to inspect his hand for burns, he heard a notification in his head.

| [Necronum Altar] has been triggered. Runic catalyst detected. Enacting ritual…

| [Necromancer] Level 17 -> 18

| New traits: [Ritualification (I)], [Runic Affinity (I)], [Animus (II -> III)]

The figure relaxed after hearing the prompt in his head, knowing that he hadn’t made a mistake in the process. He sat down—collapsed, really—and watched the magic go to work.

If a passerby mage happened to be taking a stroll in the Kriloris dungeons, nearly a mile beneath the surface, they would have noticed thin streams of mana coalescing into a swirling cloud over a small chamber. The distinctive aura of death magic was pressing heavily upon everything around the cloud, and if the passerby had any common sense, they would have hightailed it out of what was clearly a necromancer’s casting session. Nobody wanted to encounter the nameless horrors and cursed flesh which would undoubtedly emerge.

True to expectations, the creation of a monster was taking place. On the altar in the middle of the room, a shape began to move as life—a semblance of it, at least—entered its body. Rigid strands of muscle contracted and limbs periodically spasmed as a new mind got oriented for the first time. The sight of long-dead flesh moving again would have been rather unsettling for most people, but the figure didn’t so much as flinch. Being a necromancer meant seeing much worse.

This was rather tame, however, for an altar reanimation. There weren’t any bloody holes in the body, alien organs attached to the torso, or freakish metal contraptions in place. The body was sourced from a middle-aged man (who was not murdered, thank you very much) and enhanced by a [Death Weaver]. Most of the change had been done internally and all that needed to be done was give a spark of magic.

Well, more than a spark.

The mindweave being imprinted into the body on the altar was a very impressive spell. Nearly as good as an actual soul, in fact. He was unable to discern it clearly, which meant it was at least a tier four spell. It would certainly be enough for an eventual monster designation, although the resulting undead instincts and self-control were to be seen. The downside of using a mindweave instead of a soul was that the resulting creature would essentially have the brain of a child. A young one.

The animation construct used was a step up from the basic jerky control a zombie or skeleton might receive through miasma corruption or mass reanimation and had more fine-tuned senses than the advanced bodily aspects of a ghoul. It was the product of seven month’s work; the necromancer needed to make sure it would fit the mindweave spell he discovered. No point in having a powerful body and a capable mind without the means to link the two. It was a shame an animation construct wasn’t included with the mindweave, although the scroll couldn’t have possibly fit them both…

All thoughts passed from his mind when the revenant rose unsteadily. Dense coils of muscle writhed underneath pale, nearly white skin. Underneath the enhanced tissue was shaped bone and tendon, mana and blood boiling in a twisted amalgamation only held together by potent magic. Most people would worry that the undead creature would explode or try to murder him, but the necromancer was confident in his spellcraft.

He watched as his first revenant slowly climbed off the stone altar it had been laying on. The whole process was less… dramatic than he thought it should’ve been. It awkwardly stood and eyed him, not seeming to know what to do.

The necromancer figured that a speech might be in order, something to proclaim his position as its creator, or maybe to welcome the revenant into the world. Speeches were never his thing, though, so he decided not to say anything. Who knows, the revenant might start off judging him wrongly. Necromancers were sensitive to the feelings of the undead, after all.

That was actually a lie, mostly, but the necromancer knew that the revenant was basically a child. Disregarding the dead, six-foot-tall part, of course. He took a breath, opened his mouth to say something, and promptly sneezed.

Shit, dusty crypt. Damn, dammit, find a clean place for once, why can't I—there goes a first impression.

Bemoaning the fact that the hygienic upkeep of the dungeon crypt was somewhere between dismissal and nonexistent, the necromancer realized that the revenant had jumped about a foot back and was now looking at him strangely. He wiped his face with the edge of his cloak and tried to think of something to say.

“So, uh, hi. I’m a necromancer and um, you’re a revenant. Sorry about the sneeze.”

Lords, that was awful.

The revenant started at the sound of his voice. It opened its mouth and made a noise vaguely like a hiccup. The necromancer stared as it seemed to struggle with something. It struck him that the revenant might not know how to speak. The vocal cords weren’t damaged, were they?

Without warning, the revenant whispered, “I’m cold.”

The necromancer blinked. It could speak! That would’ve been awkward if it couldn’t. He saw that the revenant was currently in a considerable state of undress, which meant that it wasn’t wearing anything. And it was cold, now that he thought of it. Crypts didn’t have much in the way of heating.

What the revenant needed right now was clothes. Luckily, the necromancer had brought a bundle of clothing. It wouldn’t do to have his creation walking around naked. He gestured to one of the figures standing near the walls of the room and it strode forward, carrying a large bag. The ghoul opened the package and the necromancer took out some basic articles of clothing. He sent a mental command and it stepped back. That was the perk of being a necromancer—there were always undead assistants at hand. Always reliable and never complained. He didn’t have to pay them, too.

The necromancer handed the clothes over to the revenant, trying not to look at it below the waist. The creature put the cotton undershirt on, creating a large tear when it tried to put an arm through one of the sleeves. The necromancer sighed. He gestured again to the ghoul and took out another shirt.

This might take some time.

— -

Once the revenant had finally gotten all the clothes on and was looking like a passable reanimated corpse, the necromancer led his small group of undead out of the crypt chamber. Three ghouls stalked ahead while the remaining four zombies followed, holding materials the necromancer had brought along. They could handle most tier two monsters and maybe hold off small adventuring groups, although the chance of running into anything in the Necronum-controlled sector of the dungeon was slim if they didn’t attract undue attention.

The entire crypt area was covered in various types of runes to keep out local pests: feral undead, dungeon monsters, and overzealous adventurers. Few types of people could navigate through without tripping alarms and traps all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. The runes didn’t bother the Necronum-marked necromancer and his undead companions, although their passage was recorded. If it were someone without a Necronum mark, they would have been beset by undead guardians, curse inflictions, and nasty arrays of death magic.

As they hurried through the dark catacombs, the revenant decided to ask the necromancer questions. After getting the grasp of talking, it seemed to be a very curious creature.

“What is a revenant?”

“Well, you’re a revenant. A type of undead, like the ones right there,” The necromancer gestured at the zombies around them. “Except you’re stronger and smarter. Oh, also, revenants usually have souls chained to a body, but you were, er, born with a mind instead.”

The revenant nodded happily, bounding effortlessly besides the necromancer, who had downed a stamina potion for the trek out of the dungeon. The zombies half-shuffled, half-ran to keep up with the two.

“What is a undead?”

The necromancer slowed down a bit, waiting for the potion to kick in. He adopted the lecturing tone of someone who was reciting information they were well-versed in, “An undead is a type of monster. If something dies and is reanimated by necromancy or touched by miasma, it’s now an undead. Most undead are feral, which means miasma naturally corrupted whatever mana was in the body when it died. Feral undead are dangerous because the miasma decays much slower than death magic and they can get stronger by corrupting mana in living things or the environment.

“Non-feral undead are created by necromancy and are usually stronger than feral undead, although the death magic keeping them running unravels over time. Just like other monsters, both feral and non-feral undead can receive a monster designation if they’re powerful or unique enough, which stabilizes their miasma or death magic.”

The revenant stopped ogling the dank passageways, the zombies, and its own pants for a moment to look at the necromancer. “I have a monster designation. The voice told me.”

The necromancer nearly stopped in surprise, but kept his jogging pace after considering that if he did he would probably slam into the zombies behind him. He had meant to ask the revenant if it was able to get a monster designation, but apparently, he didn’t need to. Designated monsters developed their own indexes, special abilities, and variant choices, becoming more dangerous and specialized compared to normal monsters. Usually, necromancers couldn’t create designated undead until they were at least level thirty. Or was it twenty-five...?

He wasn’t at that level, anyways, and didn’t expect the revenant to hit this milestone until he could enhance it in a higher-tier ritual.

Just wait until he got back to Dashold and told his sister that he, a necromancer with less than twenty levels, was able to create a designated undead. A revenant, no less, which was better than a ghoul and much better than a zombie. While this wasn’t a groundbreaking result, it indicated high potential. Either that or the runic catalyst he used was much more powerful than he’d imagined.

The necromancer was eager to investigate more. “Did you hear a voice, or see any words?”

The revenant, expression thoughtful behind its black pupils and milky skin, slowly responded, “Yes. There were words and a voice. They woke me up.”

It tried to recall its first memories of coming into the world. It wasn’t hard, considering it all happened what seemed like scant moments ago.

— -

It was cold. So, so cold. And fuzzy. The feelings and thoughts came to mind unbidden. It didn’t know why, but the words felt natural. Instinctive. It didn’t realize that it was experiencing, thinking, existing. Not at first. There was a flood of information and sensation that made it just wish for everything to stop. Orange light, soft and fading, that felt like burning fire. A crowd of presences, distant and alien, setting uncomfortable hooks into its mind. And then there was magic. It was everywhere, flowing through its body, intertwining with the presences, surging in the air. And all of a sudden, just as it was getting used to the sensations, there was darkness.

With the darkness came hunger, a craving for light. For life. A black, brutal instinct began screaming for control—quickly silenced by a voice.

| The ritual was a success. Progenitor: Anthony Crishaw, Necromancer (III)

Monster Designation: Revenant (II)

| Traits found...

| Enhancing base attributes…

| Enhancing magic affinity…

- Tier ceiling reached -

Monster Designation: Revenant (III)

Traits: [Undead], [Shaped Body (II)], [Runic Empowerment (II)], [Necromantic Bond (I)]

Abilities: [Miasma Sense], [Corruptive Surge (I)], [Undead Presence (II)]

- Achievement: Unbound by Death -

- Achievement: Rise, Creation -

- Achievement: Boosted (I) -

The voice brought relief. All the confusion and pain slipped away. The light, the presences, and the magic all felt more comfortable, more familiar. Acting on instinct, it opened its eyes. A dimly lit ceiling of stone was the first thing it saw. Another instinct prompted it to stand up. Shakily, feeling surreal, it slowly sat up and rose, finding itself standing on a large… [Necronum Altar].

The words didn’t quite appear in its field of view; rather, they seemed to insert themselves into its thoughts. It was as if it automatically knew what the thing was. It looked up and saw that it was facing a dimly lit room with figures arrayed near the sides and one in the middle. The figure in the middle turned out to be [Progenitor Anthony Crishaw], based on another set of words which popped up in its consciousness. It decided that climbing off of the altar would be the right thing to do, and proceeded to do so, feeling new haptic feedback from using its legs and feet. Powerful muscles moved underneath its pale skin, responding easily to what it thought. It clumsily lowered itself and straightened, feeling strangely… apprehensive. All of a sudden, there was a frightening, explosive sound—

Anthony sneezed. He reached up with a side of his cloak to wipe his face, only to sneeze again, this time muffled in the fabric. The first one blasted into the corridors, slightly softened by the acoustics of the old stone hallways. The zombies barely reacted, only adjusting their pace as their master slowed. The revenant almost leapt onto one of them, feeling stuff inside it move in roiling waves.

Using the perception from [Miasma Sense] and [Necromantic Bond], Anthony sensed the blend of death magic and miasma inside the revenant swell in response to its heightened emotional state. The revenant had been speedily walk-running besides him, seemingly lost in its own head after he asked it about the monster designation. The sneeze apparently made it snap out of whatever trance it was in. Loud noises weren’t its thing, then…

Speaking of the sneeze, its reverberations could still be heard, fading away into silence only broken by the shuffling of multiple pairs of feet. As the noise traveled through the dungeon crypts, a faint skittering sounded up in the distance.

Monsters were coming.

This was only to be expected, and Anthony muttered a curse at himself for not staying silent. Even in the Necronum sector, the dungeon refused to be tamed, providing rich environmental mana for monsters who could and would respond to any hint of outsiders.

Anthony whispered to the revenant, “I think we’ve attracted some monsters, we need to move faster.”

The revenant nodded and followed Anthony, who broke into a sprint. They heard the skittering grow louder, suddenly punctuated by a shriek. Anthony smiled grimly. The runes in the Necronum sector would be activating, relentlessly targeting whatever was drawn to them. A shame they were designed to dissuade and weaken more than kill; even with the rich ambient mana of the dungeon to draw on, they ran out of power easily. Most of the time, a corridor or two of [Desolation Field] and some judicious application of [Soulburn] did the trick with keeping the passages clear, but particularly stupid or tough monsters could wander in for a while and make things… unpleasant.

After running for a solid ten minutes, the zombies struggling to keep up, Anthony slowed down. They had long stopped hearing the cries of pain from whatever monster that tried to find them. Either it was dead or driven off; Anthony didn’t particularly care. The sooner he got his small mob back to Drastum, the better.

The revenant craned its neck backwards, looking into the murky shadows of the passageway behind. “What was that?”

“A monster.” Anthony replied shortly, carefully scanning the ceiling. “Annoying and dangerous if you can’t avoid them.”

The necromancer stopped and stood on his toes, trying to brush away grime covering a small light stone embedded into the stone blocks above their heads. He gave up and pointed, “[Cleanse]!” Instantly, flakes of dirt and an unidentifiable crusty substance began drifting down, revealing several etchings. Anthony squinted. LFS.

To anyone else, they were three random letters, written in a stylish font on the stone. Initials, perhaps. Or patterns that coincidentally looked like letters. Anthony rolled his eyes. Whoever was in charge of carving out a section of the dungeon third floor for the Necronum certainly had a flair for driving people insane. They were probably long dead, but their work remained. Instead of creating a map, lords forbid, the Necronum dungeon crawlers who first braved the unexplored third level decided that their method of navigation would be special codes carved into the dungeon itself. It wasn’t very convenient for anyone other than the original crawlers, but adventurers weren’t exactly known for making things convenient.

In order to travel through the Necronum dungeon sector, people needed to memorize the guidance codes and where they could be located. It wasn’t easy, considering the shifting nature of the dungeon, but the runic nature of the code engravings meant there were patterns if you knew what you were looking for. It was all a huge pain in the ass, but tradition, superstition of going against the sector founders, and a general lack of volunteers to remap the area meant that the codes were here to stay.

Anthony personally thought that a much better solution would be to use magical wayfinders, but he wasn’t an [Artificer] or a mage who specialized in enchantments and had no idea how navigation magic worked in the dungeon.

LFS. Anthony began walking again, mentally signaling the ghouls to regroup and search for paths leading downwards. They found one, about eighty paces down the hall and off a branching tunnel. He motioned to the revenant and hurried to catch up. This should be the last passageway they took until reaching a way to the second level.

They soon reached the end of the tunnel and found stairs leading upwards, the group having to stop as the revenant decided to trip over the first upraised stone ledge. The ghouls were already at the top, utilizing their [Miasma Sense] and [Nightvision] to make sure the way was clear. They conveyed what they saw with faint images through their bonded connection, allowing Anthony to get glimpses of a trial room.

It was a wide expanse with multiple pillars arranged through the center in neat formations, everything covered in vibrant plant life. The lush moss growing on the floor and blooming roots on the walls were a stark contrast with the depressing grey of the previous floor. Dungeons usually had different “themes” for each floor which affected the monsters, aesthetics, and layout; Kriloris-D2 was a rather typical underground jungle.

The change in scenery was welcome, replacing the drab stone brick and wrought iron of the crypt area. The sight of no triarch was also very welcome. Trial rooms had richer ambient mana which facilitated the development of triarches, which were basically bigger and more pissed-off versions of the monsters found on the same floor. Possessing strength and intelligence rarely found in their weaker counterparts, triarches were a dangerous, albeit rare category of monster.

Using the Necronum passages, Anthony was able to avoid most of the dangers of the dungeon by simply taking protected routes around the worst areas. There were no routes around trial rooms, though, so he had planned his excursion into the Necronum crypt sector to synergize with a scheduled crawl.

According to his estimates, a band of adventurers should be clearing out a part of the fourth floor right about now. They had done the courtesy of killing the triarch and any accompanying monsters in this particular trial room on their way in, as expected. A new triarch wouldn’t appear for a while, so Anthony followed his ghouls up the stairs and walked through the colorful trial room.

Unfortunately, just because there was no triarch didn’t mean all the normal monsters were gone. Several large, multi-headed hydra neonates were lazing around the opposite entrance to the trial room, soaking in the heavy ambient mana. Hearing Anthony’s group rustle through the shallow undergrowth was enough for them to dart towards the sound.

Anthony saw four monster snakes slither at them through vision from his ghouls, their green scales almost making him miss them amongst the foliage on the ground. He quickly called the ghouls back and pulled his glaive off his back. Moments later, two of his ghouls appeared. The third had been bitten on the leg and was trying to fend off two snakes at once. Anthony directed four of his zombies to help the ghoul before stepping forward.

“[Miasma Bolt]!”

A muted grey streak of light emerged from his glaive, flashing through the air to take one of the snakes in the head. It shuddered, dull white streaks spreading through its body, but didn’t stop slithering forward. His ghouls double teamed the other, trying to tear chunks off its body with their claws. Anthony stabbed the glaive forward at the snake which had been hit by his spell, hoping to keep at it bay so the miasma corruption could take its toll. He missed, but the snake jerked backwards, rearing up. Most if its head was already grey and weak. To his surprise, the snake unfolded two smaller heads, which bit off the first. The two remaining heads hissed angrily at him, unwilling to get close enough for him to stab.

Anthony glanced over at his ghouls, one of which had part of its torso dissolved away. Their snake lay on the ground, heads torn off. In this brief moment of inattention, the two-headed neonate lunged at Anthony. He only saw a flash of movement before a heavy impact made him stagger and fall. Dreading the feel of fangs sinking into his skin, he scrabbled at his chest, feeling for the snake. There was nothing and he looked up in astonishment, seeing the revenant standing before him, no snake in sight.

It looked at him worriedly, “Are you hurt?”

Anthony was trying not to hyperventilate. He carried healing potions and knew [Static Purge], which could neutralize venoms, but if the revenant hadn’t somehow knocked the snake away he’d be unable to heal himself while being attacked.

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I’m fin— I-I mean, no, I’m not hurt. Thank you.”

Anthony sat up and saw that his undead were arranged protectively around him. A quick count showed that one zombie and a ghoul was missing. He picked up his glaive and headed towards the corpses of the snakes, intending on taking what was left of the bodies.

The snake the revenant killed was relatively whole, spine bashed in where its heads connected to the body. Anthony marveled at the ease the revenant had killed it. It showed itself to be amazingly strong and he considered his money well-spent on the [Death Weaver] who had enhanced its body.

Anthony picked up the snake, noting the bloody stump of its third head had already grown white scales over the wound. The other two heads dangled limply, eyes blank.

Anthony ran some thoughts through his head. These were doubtlessly no ordinary snake monsters. The multiple heads and acidic bite had made him think, and the obvious regeneration was the final clue. Some type of baby hydra, at the high end of tier two—maybe even potential triarches. These were worth a lot intact.

It was rare to get mostly undamaged monster bodies of any kind, considering the effort it took to kill them. The fresh corpses could be used in research, or its parts for alchemical and crafting purposes. He handed the neonate to a zombie, who put it in a bag.

They found the other three neonates in pieces nearby. Anthony could only sigh when he compared the quality of these kills to the first one. But he still gingerly picked up the best parts and put them with the rest, rubbing his hands on the moss and grass underfoot to get the blood off.

A zombie and a ghoul had fallen when fighting the snakes, both with large parts of their bodies gone. Anthony looked regretfully at them, and mentally sent orders to lay them down behind a pillar. While most undead were quite disposable and hardly people in any sense, Anthony couldn’t help but think of them as more, even though it was a silly mindset.

He looked back at the revenant and remembered that the notion might not be so silly. It was turning out to be much more than a mindless puppet. Oh well. He’d dwell on that after he was out of danger.

The Necronum didn’t control much of the second dungeon level, but there were two very hidden paths out of the dungeon and into a network of underground tunnels. Anthony made his way to one of those, only encountering a few weaker tier two monsters in the passageways he took. They all quickly turned tail and fled from the necromancer and his entourage of death. It turned out to be an uneventful journey.

They finally exited the dungeon through several heavily enchanted doors, only able to be accessed by those of the Necronum. Anthony closed the doors behind him and began leading his group of undead, once again sending the ghouls up ahead. There weren’t as many monsters in the underground as in the dungeon, but those that lived in the harsh, craggy depths were ones to be wary of. He physically sensed the amount of mana recede as he walked further away, leaving the air somehow more still and somber. Only a few more miles of rocky tunnels to go before they reached a Drastum gateway, now. Anthony sighed and took out another stamina potion.

— -

After nearly an hour of traversing through the tunnels, they neared a Drastum outpost.

The third bend... the third bend... there it is! Anthony rejoiced at the familiar contours of the tunnel immediately before the outermost guard stations. Indeed, around the third bend of the tunnel they were walking in was a Drastum outpost. As ugly as the squat fortifications were, Anthony thought they were the most beautiful buildings he'd ever seen. It was funny how spending an afternoon navigating through a dungeon and miles of crappy cave-tunnels changed someone's perspectives.

Anthony made sure to show his hands while walking into view, keeping his eyes on the small compound and calling out, “Hail the station! Necronum business from the dungeon!”

There was no response. Anthony walked closer, bringing his undead around the bend. Usually, the soldiers in the tower would call out first, and hearing nobody return his shout made him apprehensive.

“Hello? Anyone in there?”

He came around the base of the tower to a gate blocking the tunnel. It had been torn open, battered sections of stone and metal littering the ground. Anthony stopped, seeing the bloody skeletons beyond. He looked at the carnage, heart beating faster.

“What the fuck happened?”