Marrowbound

The spiral staircase beneath the Ossuary Vein wound deeper than any of them anticipated. Abraham lost track of time, footsteps echoing endlessly as the stone around them grew colder, more oppressive.

It was as though the Vein was compressing, alive, and breathing down on their necks. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, denser, whispering secrets in voices too ancient to comprehend.

Chop took the lead, its bulk unnaturally silent. The soft glow of its carapace lit the path ahead in rhythmic pulses, like a beacon synced to Abraham's heartbeat. Its antennae twitched in agitation, constantly scanning the air.

Occasionally, the undead ant would pause and emit a low clicking noise that echoed strangely against the bone-laced walls. The sound was almost... reverent.

Tess kept close to Abraham. "If I had a bone for every creepy tunnel I've walked into with you, I could build my own undead army."

Abraham offered her a weak smile. "You'd became a terrifying necromancer."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother with minions. I'd just resurrect you every time you collapsed from your own magic."

"Don't give me ideas. I'd start charging rent for the space in your spellbook."

Their banter faded as the tunnel finally leveled into a vast chamber.

The chamber resembled a cathedral, as if the architect had been a mad lich. Colossal femurs formed the supporting arches, and vertebrae spiraled around the central altar like serpents.

The walls were etched with sigils too old for any modern tongue, pulsing dimly with a sickly luminescence. It was death sanctified; pure, cold, and undeniable.

A mist clung to the floor, thin at first, but growing denser near the throne. The air stank of myrrh and rot. Every breath Abraham took tasted like grave soil.

In the middle stood a throne carved from fused pelvis bones, and above it floated a glowing sphere, the same sickly green hue as Abraham's sigil. An oppressive aura filled the room, one that made the marrow in their bones tingle.

A voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"So... the boy steps into the marrow of the world."

Tess drew her weapons. Chop hissed and lowered its front half in a defensive stance.

From the shadows emerged a woman—if she could still be called that. Her skin was white bone wrapped in threads of sinew and robes of flayed silk. Her eye sockets blazed with emerald flame. On her brow rested a crown of finger bones, and from her spine hung a veil that writhed like seaweed in unseen current.

"I am Lady Veyla," she said, tilting her head with mechanical precision. "Bone Queen. Keeper of the Root. The marrow sings to me, and now, to you."

Abraham's mouth went dry. "You're the one who put the mark on me."

She descended from the air, robes trailing behind her like banners in a spectral wind. "A shard of me did. I needed a vessel. You—curious, broken, malleable—were ideal."

Tess stepped in front of him, blades gleaming with fire. "He's not your vessel. He's his own."

Lady Veyla laughed, a sound like shattering glass. "How quaint. The knight defends her lovely necromancer."

Abraham pushed Tess aside gently. "Why me?"

"Because you were on the edge. Dying. Forgotten. Lost. But beneath that frailty was hunger. And I... As far as I could remember, feed on hunger," she smirked.

A sudden pulse of pain radiated from Abraham's chest. He stumbled, gasping as the sigil under his skin glowed.

Lady Veyla extended a hand. "Give in. Become what you were always meant to be. Deathborn. Corpsebound. You've only brushed the threshold of your potential."

But Abraham gritted his teeth. "I don't take power from those who demand obedience."

With a roar, Chop surged forward, its mandibles clacking in fury.

Lady Veyla snapped her fingers. The throne exploded.

From beneath it, skeletal beasts erupted—serpents made of rib cages, wolves stitched from mandibles, a giant bear-like creature with skulls for paws. The room descended into chaos.

Tess leapt into battle, spinning, slashing. Her swords shimmered with fire, striking cleanly against bone. Chop tore through enemies with primal fury, green flame spewing from its mouth like a hell-forged furnace. The air was filled with clashing bones, war cries, and the dry snap of breaking undead limbs.

Abraham chanted.

Sigils burst into light beneath his feet. New undead rose—his own, shaped not by hate but by will. A soldier with a spine-blade arm. A six-limbed ghoul with a centipede gait. A lion-headed knight stitched from armor and femurs. A skeletal hawk screeched overhead, blinding foes with bursts of green light.

They clashed with Veyla's army, bone against bone, death against death.

Through it all, Veyla watched, her expression unreadable. Her fingers danced in the air, occasionally summoning writhing chains of bone that lashed out like serpents. Abraham dodged them narrowly, sweat pouring down his brow.

The scent of incense and blood choked the air.

When Abraham reached her, exhausted and bleeding, he collapsed to one knee. She smirked.

"Impressive. But you still bleed. Still cling to flesh."

He hurled a sigil at her chest.

The explosion lit the chamber.

She stumbled, robes scorched.

"I may bleed," Abraham said, panting, "but I choose whose voice I carry. And yours isn't it."

Lady Veyla screamed, voice shredding the walls. But even as her form withered into ash, her laughter echoed:

"You will return to me… when your hunger grows too deep."

As her form crumbled, the chamber began to collapse.

"RUN!" Tess shouted.

They fled back the way they came, bones falling from the ceiling, the very architecture of the Vein unspooling into dust. Chop threw two of the beastlings onto its back to carry, sparing them from being crushed. The skeletal hawk flew overhead, guiding them with flashes of green.

They barely made it out, coughing, bruised, bloodied—but alive.

Abraham collapsed beside the entrance, panting, skin pale and eyes glassy.

Tess knelt beside him. "You okay?"

He gave a tired grin. "You're going to resurrect me after all."

She rolled her eyes and helped him sit up.

Behind them, the gate of the Ossuary Vein sealed itself, pulsing once… then silent.

But inside Abraham's chest, something whispered.

A part of Lady Veyla remained.

Watching.

Waiting.

And though Chop remained silent, it occasionally glanced at Abraham—not with concern, but understanding.

It, too, had heard the whisper.

And somewhere deep underground, where the Ossuary Vein once pulsed with unholy life, a single bone trembled in anticipation.

***