The Bone King’s Gambit

The torches flickered with pale sapphire flame, casting long, shifting shadows across the obsidian walls of the ruined sanctum. I stood at the threshold of the ancient chapel buried beneath Varkir Hold, Mira at my side, Sael trailing behind like a phantom burdened with secrets. The earth still trembled faintly—a leftover shudder from the battle against the Devourer's spawn. Its stench lingered in the air like a blight that refused to die.

But my thoughts weren't on the carcass of the beast. They were fixed on the whispers I'd heard in the crypt—the words etched beneath the altar. "Beneath. Bound. Broken." And then, the chilling vision of Valanya, the Crimson Queen of the Nocturne, summoning the High Bloods.

"She moves," I murmured aloud, my voice rough with suspicion. "Valanya summons her war council. The High Bloods… they stir."

Mira tilted her head. "You've seen this?"

I nodded. "In the flame of fate. In the cracks of this world's bones. Her call echoes through the nether." I paused, letting the eerie stillness breathe between us. "It's begun."

Sael stepped forward, eyes grim beneath his hood. "Then we have little time."

We departed the ruins swiftly, shrouded in illusion thanks to my latest acquisition—[Veil of the Mortal Husk], a spell that allowed my skeletal form to mimic the flesh and aura of a living man. It required constant focus, a tether to both magic and memory, forcing me to relive the faintest echoes of my humanity. But with each hour, it grew easier. Or more dangerous.

My thoughts drifted inward as we traversed the frostbitten pass that led toward the forest's edge. The wind whispered secrets to me—secrets buried in snow and grave soil.

My system, display current abilities.

[Necromancer's System – Soulbound Interface]

Name: Xerces, the Bone Sovereign

Race: Lich (Disguised as Human)

Level: 37

Titles: Harbinger of Hollow Flame, Binder of the Silent Choir

Passive Abilities:

– Soul Reservoir (Advanced): Stores up to 100 fragmented souls. Each soul empowers necromantic spells.

– Graveborne Constitution: Immune to disease, poison, and aging.

– Bonecraft Mastery: Improves animation and reinforcement of skeletal constructs.

Active Skills:

– Raise Undead (III): Animate up to 20 corpses simultaneously.

– Death Lance: Condense raw necrotic energy into a piercing projectile.

– Wailing Maw: Summons spectral jaws from the Underrealm to devour targets.

– Veil of the Mortal Husk: Cloaks lich form with a mortal illusion.

– Grave Reversal (New): Redirects death-based spells back to the caster once per day.

– Marrowforge: Reinforces a summoned minion with armor made of bone and shadow.

Soul Count: 68/100

Every skill a weapon. Every spell a secret. I would need them all.

For as night fell like a curtain, I felt it—an undeniable shift in the fabric of the world. Somewhere beyond the veil, Valanya stood upon a dais of blood-stained glass, her voice a siren's call to the highest lords of her bloodline. The Nocturne Clan, fractured for centuries, now stirred from their crypts and castles.

Somewhere Else – The Court of Crimson Thorns

(Brief Interlude)

Queen Valanya raised a goblet of black ichor, her crimson eyes narrowed beneath the weight of prophecy. Around her stood the High Bloods—six monsters clothed in silk and hunger. She had summoned them not out of desperation, but delight.

"Xerces lives," she said, voice velveted with malice. "And the old bones remember their king."

There were murmurs.

The eldest, Lord Malgrin, leaned forward. "Then it is true. He has returned… after all these centuries."

Valanya smiled, her fangs glinting. "And we shall make him watch again. Watch as the world he once died to protect burns. Watch as Mira, his last flame, is extinguished before him."

Back to Xerces

(Returning to the Mountain Pass)

My breath fogged unnaturally from the magic that animated me. We camped beneath the roots of a shattered tree—nothing but snow and silence as our companions slept in shifts. Mira had fallen asleep against my shoulder, trusting me more with each passing hour.

I wanted to believe I could protect her. That the warmth I felt in her presence was more than a phantom flicker of a life long gone. But I was no man. Not anymore.

A shriek pierced the night.

Sael jolted upright. I rose immediately, already summoning the spell matrix for Death Lance. Through the tree line, a figure burst into view—a villager, bloodied, half-mad.

"They're coming!" she cried. "The forest—it moved! It swallowed my husband!"

And then it arrived.

A Thornwight. Towering, veined with black roots, flesh composed of rotten wood and writhing vines, all pulsing with corrupted life. Its face was a stolen mask—wood shaped into a screaming maw. It had followed her. Or perhaps it had let her flee… to find us.

"Sael, with me!" I shouted. "Mira, stay back!"

The creature bellowed, and I countered instantly—Death Lance seared through its shoulder, exploding bark and sinew. But it did not fall. It charged.

"Raise Undead!" I cried.

Three corpses from the nearby woods shuddered from beneath the earth, summoned from shallow graves—former hunters by their tattered leathers. I funneled a soul into each, eyes glowing with the fire of forgotten wrath.

The Thornwight met them with a swing of its bramble-coated arm, shattering two of them instantly. But the third I reinforced.

"Marrowforge!"

Bone twisted over bone, creating an armored shell. The undead retaliated, leaping with inhuman agility onto the Thornwight's back, plunging a rusted sword into the nape of its wooden neck.

I seized the moment.

"Wailing Maw!"

The air split open as ghostly jaws erupted beneath the creature's feet, dragging it into a brief pocket of the Underrealm. It shrieked. Its false mask cracked.

But still—it lived.

It lunged toward Mira.

"NO!"

I stepped between them, arms outstretched—and in that instant, Veil of the Mortal Husk shattered. My flesh illusion dissolved into ash, revealing the glowing bones of the Bone King beneath.

Necrotic energy surged within me like an old friend.

Soul Count: 66… 65… 64…

I lifted both hands.

"Bind to Ash. Break to Bone. Fall."

From the earth erupted a massive construct—a skeletal hydra of human remains, jawless but snarling with deathless rage. It struck with all three heads, and in a final blast of Death Lance, the Thornwight crumbled into ash.

The silence afterward was almost religious.

Mira looked up at me, wide-eyed. Her breath hitched, not with fear—but awe.

"…you're not just some cursed wanderer," she whispered.

"No," I rasped, voice hollow with soulfire. "I am Xerces. I am the Lich King reborn. And I will not let this world fall to ruin again."