ILuvRem

Ashes of Xerces
A Dark Fantasy WebNovel

Betrayed. Slain. Reborn in bone.

Xerces was a man with no legacy—just another soul swept aside by war and greed. But death was not his end. Awakened in a shattered crypt as a skeletal Lich, bound by forgotten magic and cursed immortality, Xerces is cast into a world ruled by monsters, kingdoms, and ancient magic.

Haunted by fragments of his past and hunted by those who sense his rising power, Xerces walks the line between man and monster. To survive, he must master forbidden sorcery, raise the dead beneath his banner, and learn to walk unseen among the living. But his resurrection came with a price—and a purpose.

The Nocturne Clan, vampiric tyrants who orchestrated his death, still rule from their obsidian spires, feasting on blood and fear. Xerces has not forgotten. He will not forgive.

From cursed forests to forgotten ruins, from phantom cities to crumbling thrones, Xerces’ journey begins in shadows—but it will end in fire.

He was a man once.
Now, he is death reborn.
And the world will kneel before his ashes.

Ashes Of Xerces

Perspective: Elira, the Apothecary's Daughter

Elira had grown up beneath its boughs—picking nightshade roots, fetching fresh bark for fever salves, memorizing the rhythm of its seasons. The forest had always sung in subtle tones: the rustle of wind through moss-laden trees, the hoot of owls at dusk, the steady drip of dew onto ancient stone.

But now, it breathed like something alive. Something watching.

She tightened the cloak around her shoulders and pressed forward, steps crunching against brittle leaves. The roots here twisted unnaturally, like veins under skin, writhing just out of view whenever she turned her back.

The other gatherers had returned before dusk.

She hadn't meant to. The black-root vine was hard to find, and Mama's cough had worsened again. They needed that tincture before the snow came.

That's what she told herself—until the silence started following her.

She broke into a run when she saw the trees shift. Not sway. Shift.

Their bark rippled like flesh. Sap leaked black from open knots.

Behind her, something crawled through the trees on many legs—too many—and none of them made sound.

Elira screamed once. No one heard it.

When she woke, she was no longer alone.

She lay on a bed of withered flowers, in a chamber not made of wood or stone—but of flesh.

Pulsing, breathing walls. A ceiling of wet roots. A floor slick with decay.

Not because of bonds, but because of weight. The weight of something coiled inside her chest.

"Elira," a voice whispered. It did not come from a mouth. It came from inside her. "Your name no longer matters."

She cried. Her fingers clawed at her skin, at her chest, trying to tear out the thing nestled there. But the more she fought, the more she felt it smile.

The forest melting into ash. Black spires rising where trees once stood. Villagers kneeling—not praying, but breaking. Worshippers, hollowed and fed to something beneath.

She saw him in fire and ruin. Bones ablaze. Power breaking like a tide.

But the Devourer… it laughed at him.

And it whispered a new name for her.

Outside the chamber, the roots began to shift. The Devourer, wounded by Xerces's defiance, had begun seeking new life to twist.

And Elira… the last daughter of the village…

The Forest Takes Her