The Old Chapel Ruins – The Necromancer’s Trap

The Approach – A Sickening Presence

The Old Chapel Ruins loomed ahead, half-swallowed by the encroaching jungle. Moonlight barely pierced through the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows over the cracked stone walls. The air here was thick, wrong—as if something in the ruins was breathing.

Arlan felt watched.

Bones, his sharp green eyes scanning their surroundings, sniffed the air. "Rot. Magic. Blood."

Shade flickered beside them, a shifting blur in the darkness. "Master… not alone."

Arlan tightened his grip on his wand. He hadn't expected to be alone, but he hadn't expected this either. Something was happening inside.

Torches still burned within the chapel's shattered walls. The ritual markings on the stone were fresh.

Someone was here.

Arlan moved silently, creeping closer. As he peered through the crumbling archway, his stomach clenched.

A figure stood in the center of the ruined chapel, surrounded by glowing runes.

A young necromancer—barely older than Arlan himself.

He was shaking.

Not from fear, but from overwhelming power.

His hands trembled as he clutched a jagged bone talisman, its surface pulsing with unnatural energy. Sweat dripped down his face as he muttered incantations, eyes flickering wildly as if trying to keep control.

Arlan recognized the artifacts he was using—foul necrotic tools meant to amplify magic beyond a person's control.

Someone had given him these. Someone far more experienced.

And then—Arlan felt it.

A suffocating pull in the air.

A presence beyond the necromancer.

A whispering hunger.

The Blighted Wraith was here.

The Ritual is Complete – The Wraith Awakens

The necromancer's voice cracked as he chanted the final phrase, the air splitting apart with a horrible, tearing sound.

The runes flashed—and the Wraith emerged.

It wasn't just a spirit.

It was a curse given form.

A towering, skeletal entity wrapped in shifting black tendrils, its hollow mouth stretching open in silent, endless hunger. Its clawed limbs twisted unnaturally, and where its feet should have been, there was only an abyssal void, devouring light itself.

Arlan's stomach dropped.

The Wraith wasn't just undead. It was something worse.

The necromancer's eyes widened in horror as he stumbled back, suddenly realizing the truth.

He hadn't summoned a servant.

He had summoned his own executioner.

The Wraith turned toward him.

It struck.

The necromancer barely had time to scream before the Wraith's talons sank into his flesh, draining the life from him in an instant. His veins blackened, his skin shriveled, and his body withered into dust before Arlan's eyes.

The bone talisman clattered to the ground.

And then—the Wraith turned.

Toward Arlan.

The Fight Begins – Arlan is Outmatched

Arlan barely had time to react before the Wraith lunged.

He threw up a defensive barrier—too slow.

The claws tore through it like paper, raking across his chest. Pain flared through his body as the magic burned his flesh, the wound refusing to close.

Not just physical damage. The Wraith was draining him.

Arlan's breath hitched. His necrotic magic wasn't working properly. Every time he tried to cast, the Wraith absorbed it, growing stronger.

Bones moved to intercept.

The Wraith's tendrils lashed out, wrapping around him.

Arlan's eyes widened. "Bones, get back—!"

Too late.

The force slammed Bones into the chapel wall, cracking the stone. Even in his Ogre form, Bones wasn't enough.

Shade flickered forward, Ghastly hands flashing

The Wraith didn't even flinch.

Its form shifted, swallowing Shade's attack whole.

Arlan gritted his teeth.

He had never faced anything like this.

They weren't winning.

They were being consumed.

And then—Shade made a choice.

Shade's Final Gambit – Predator vs. Prey

Shade stopped attacking.

Instead—he moved toward the Wraith.

"Shade, what are you—?!"

Then—Shade threw himself into the creature.

Directly into its essence.

The Wraith let out an unearthly shriek as its form twisted violently, its entire body shuddering as Shade's essence tangled with it.

The shadowy tendrils lashed in every direction, trying to tear Shade out.

But Shade wasn't letting go.

He wasn't just attacking.

He was devouring.

A battle of will.

A struggle of two predators, both fighting for the same space.

The Wraith was trying to consume Shade.

But Shade—was trying to consume the Wraith.

And then—

Something snapped.

The Evolution – Shade's Rebirth

A shockwave of pure black energy erupted from the center of the Wraith's form.

Arlan stumbled backward, shielding his eyes as the shadows writhed and collapsed inward. The Wraith's form broke apart, dissolving into nothingness as the energy swallowed it whole.

And from the darkness—

A new figure emerged.

Shade.

But not the Shade Arlan had known.

His form was solid now, his mist-like body replaced with something more tangible, more real.

the characteristics of a hobgoblin in the form of a wraith.

Dark, sickly-green skin, covered in old scars and stitches, his muscles lean and strong. He crouched low, New curved daggers dripping with necrotic mist.

His eyes—once hollow white orbs—were now glowing slits, sharp and predatory.

A tattered black cloak flowed behind him, shifting as if alive, curling around his body like living shadow.

For the first time—he looked alive.

For the first time—he looked like a true monster.

Shade lifted his head, exhaling slowly.

Then—he grinned.

"Stronger," he murmured.

His voice was different now. Still eerie, still unsettling.

But clearer. Sharper.

Arlan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Shade had devoured the Wraith.

And now—he had become something new.

The Aftermath – A Dark Victory

Arlan slowly pushed himself to his feet, aching all over.

Bones groaned, dusting rubble off himself. "Master… Shade different."

Arlan nodded, staring at the creature that had once been his summon.

Shade tilted his head, his glowing eyes flickering with amusement. "Different. Better."

Arlan swallowed.

He wasn't sure if he had tamed Shade.

Or if Shade had tamed himself.

But one thing was certain.

The necromancers were raising monsters.

They planned on attacking Veyleigh.

And now—Arlan and his creations were hunting them.