An infallible truth, that has existed since the formation of the sentient races (goblins don’t count), is that good or even somewhat mediocre decisions aren’t constructed when you’re put on the spot. Countless examples exist that prove this truth, but the most notable and, arguably, the most destructive example involves the successful human meal chain The Hurried Sandal's Food for Fast Moving Fellows, or T. H. F. F. F. M. F. for short.

To the uninitiated and terminally stupid, the idea that anyone would have trouble deciding on what food to order when the lines are so long seems outlandish. What they fail to realize is that nothing the Hurried Sandal does is slow; even their lines are deceptively fast. If a person doesn’t have a well-thought out order before they enter the line, then they’re bound to order the triple bread stacked bison sandwich instead of the double bread stacked beef sliders. And with a cutthroat ‘you buy it, you eat it’ no refund policy, it is not surprising that the Tyrant of the Western Isles declared war on the food chain conglomerate. By the time a person hears an audible “uhh”, it’s already too late and the worst should be assumed.

“Uhh” I audibly croaked, as I frantically racked my brain trying to think of a good question. Frankly, I didn’t even have the slightest idea of what would be a good question to ask. I wasn’t an expert on Necromancy; technically, I wasn’t even a beginner.

“You’re wasting my time. Spit out what you want to know, so we can get started.” demanded the Dark One, as he tapped his foot on the ground. Technically, the Dark One had all the time in the world since he was immortal, but that was beside the point. Even he became impatient.

“Just give me a second, please. I’m struggling to think of a good one.”

“You could-” A possessed George was cut off.

“Don’t give him any more ideas, zombie. He’s taking long enough as it is. More ideas will only make his indecision worse.”

George promptly shut his mouth. It was a wise decision to stop talking when an immortal being told you to.

“Ah, how about you teach me how to raise the undead.”

The Dark One furrowed his eyebrows.

“You want me to teach you to raise the undead? That’s like asking an Arch Fire Mage to teach you how to light a candle. I’m appalled you’d even think to ask me that, considering all of my built up knowledge.”

“I can think about it some more,” I conceded.

“No. No. There’s no need for your dull brain to continue thinking. I’ve suffered long enough, waiting for you to figure out what you’re going to ask me. You’ll learn how to raise the undead and that’s final.” The Dark One pointed his bony, discolored finger at the ground as if he was a father making an ultimatum.

George groaned, or maybe it was Alric who groaned. George pinched his misaligned nose. Admittedly, I wasn't entirely sure who was in control of George’s body. The Dark One didn’t give me time to ponder who was who and started teaching George.

Whatever George was learning flew over my head. I did not know what a Mana matrix stimuli was, nor did I know what a flux infusion death ray was. I knew what overgrown lima beans were, but I couldn’t figure out how they related to necromancy. If anything, I was more confused about what necromancy was after I had finished listening to the two of them speak. Purgatory was a far kinder fate than listening to the endless ramblings from the two necromancers. No god-fearing peasant would tolerate this sort of abuse.

As the two men finished speaking in jargon, I witnessed George slump back. He no longer stood straight; he no longer looked at me with sharp analytical eyes. This was George I knew: the mean-spirited zombie who found it fun to call me mean things and stomp around.

“It’s your turn, human. Raising the Dead is a simple, but important skill that all aspiring necromancer’s must learn on their way to Lichdom.”

“What exactly is Lichdom?” I asked, inwardly cringing slightly. I should know that.

“I take it you’re inexperienced in the Art of Undeath. Then I will start from the beginning, and guide you through the process of utilizing dark essence. It is strange to see a mortal with no experience manipulating mana have such a large store of it.

Close your eyes, and hunt for the sensation of mana within your chest, then look outward searching for it like the mana starved beast you are. Pull at it, conquer it, devourer it, crave it. Mana Manipulation is like a muscle. The greater your obsession with mana is, the better you’ll become at developing your senses.”

I closed my eyes and looked inward, feeling a bit silly. This was something little children pretended to do after hearing about some washed up wizard strolling through town. I wish I could say I felt whatever The Dark One wanted me to feel but I couldn’t. Maybe I was not focusing enough, maybe I didn’t have any talent. I stood there with my eyes closed for close to an hour, before the Dark One spoke up.

“You’re not an exceptionally bright one, nor particularly talented, but even those with little initial talent can make something of themselves through other means. I’m sure many individuals more talented than you died to the jaws of Malkor the Devourer. There is a way to speed up the process, but you’re not going to like the way your bones crack and twist, how your flesh burns and shrivels, how your blood boils.”

I gulped. “Well, if that's what it takes.”

A guttural laugh came from the mouth of the Dark One as black bile oozed from his mouth. He clutched his stomach like a lunatic, and bent down on his knees. His black soulless eyes met mine. I wanted to run, to get as far away as I possibly could. I didn’t dare move a muscle.

“As if you had any choice in the matter. Your survival hinges on what I will teach you. I know Malkor lives, and the only way out is through the way you came. This will be fun. Rejoice, you're one step closer to salvation.”

The Dark One stepped forward and placed his grotesque fingers on my shoulder like a father reassuring his daughter that everything will be fine. I did not feel fine, nor did I feel reassured. I felt nervous.

Agony. I felt the feeling of ligaments tearing, bone splitting, shifting as dark mana was pumped into every crook and crevice of my body. It was a different sort of feeling than the holy magic that burned like the sun. The dark mana did burn, but it burned in the same way that ice burns. The cold was colder than any winter storm, colder than frostbite.

“Feel it! That is what dark mana is; that is what you must yearn for.” cackled the Dark One.

“No.” I muttered.

“I will not stop until you yearn for it! Until you embrace salvation.”

I was repulsed by the horrid feeling. I wanted it gone, I wanted it gone, I wanted it gone. The icky dark cold feeling did not belong in me. An invader, yes, an invader. I could not think; I could not breathe.

“Embrace it.” whispered the Dark One.

I mustn't. I collapsed on the floor, tears shedding out of my eyes, sweat covering my body. I gave in to the dark feeling and the pain. The pain lingered. My body felt more numb, yet, when I looked around, I saw the world with clarity.

Strange shapes and colors should not have been dancing off of the cold stone walls. It was pretty, but they shouldn’t have existed. Each color moved differently, behaved differently. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was seeing.

“What are the colors?” I asked. I was in a dazed sort of state.

“That is mana. Isn’t it glorious?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“The mundane and boring magic users tend to stray away from mana sight. They say it causes people to go insane, that the squiggles cause madness. It is those who cannot truly see that are mad, not us, never us.”

“How do you know?”

“Does a blind man know of sight? Does a deaf man hear? No. No. No. They’re ignorant about the true nature of the world.”

I nodded.

The Dark One clapped and danced.

“Good, now that the transition is complete we can move on to teaching you how to raise the dead. Unfortunately, I don’t have any corpses.” The Dark One glanced at the glowing purple door. “However, I do know where you can find some.”