《Master of Bones: A Dark Progression Fantasy Series》


 1 - FIRST DEATH

    1 - FIRST DEATH


    I was killed when I was eighteen years old.


    Stripped naked, bound to a stone slab, a dagger shoved up under my ribs and straight into my heart. By that point, a concoction of sacred chemicals, forced down my throat earlier, was surging through my veins. They helped keep me calm¡ªa little bit, at least. They dulled the pain¡ªbut not as much as I''d been promised.


    But more than anything else, they kept me paralyzed. This was necessary because the priest needed to be precise about where he stabbed me.


    It felt like a sharp piece of ice had just entered my chest. The chill spread rapidly through my body.


    The last thing I saw before I died was my father, Prime Necromancer Asathiran Asar, the High Lord of Bones.


    For the first time in my life, I saw pride in his eyes.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    And then death claimed me.


    What can I say about dying? Not much, I suspect; I suspect that my experience was not the norm. At the exact moment of my death, the priest, whose name was Salakan, and who had once been my tutor, used his necromantic powers to bind my soul to my body.


    This was not an easy thing for him to do, and there was a great price to pay for it, although I would not know about that until later.


    Nor was it easy for me.


    A great, black void beckoned. Endless. Fathomless. Boundless.


    It called to me. And I wanted, so very desperately, to fall into its infinite embrace. But I had been warned that this would be the case. I was prepared. And more than that, I was determined.


    I couldn''t die yet. I had too much to do.


    I had an Autarch to kill.


    A world to conquer¡ªand to save.


    And perhaps most importantly, I had gods to devour.


    You will learn more about that soon.


    Because I knew what the void meant¡ªand I knew that there could be no escaping it once I entered¡ªI pulled myself away from it. Formless, intangible, a soul lost upon the winds of undeath.


    I dragged myself, inch by inch, back into my body.


    And I came back to life.

 Master of Bones - chapter 2 - Resurrection

    2 - RESURRECTION


    At the exact moment of my resurrection, three things happened.


    The first was that, a thousand miles away, across the sea, and at the heart of a vast and terrible empire, a man named Marak¡ªwho ruled this empire¡ªhad a nightmare.


    I was that nightmare.


    He would tell me this many years later. But in truth, he didn''t need to, because naked and freshly returned to the living, covered in my own blood, I felt a fragment of myself embed itself in a stranger¡¯s dreams.


    The second thing was that poor Salakan, who had taught me so much of what I knew ever since I was four, exploded. One moment he was there, the next, he was splattered across the floor and walls of the Dying Chamber.


    Necromancy is a harsh discipline, and there is always a cost for it.


    The third thing was that I pissed myself.


    A towel was wrapped around me. Two acolytes of the Death Shrine guided me silently down a black corridor. I was shivering badly, like I¡¯d just been out in the middle of a blizzard. I could hardly feel my feet or hands. And whenever I closed my eyes, even just to blink, I saw Salakan¡¯s remains scattered throughout the chamber, intestines hanging from a chandelier, a single, bright-green eyeball looking up at me from the floor.


    I saw, also, the Void.


    The Void is not death. Death is death, and no one really understands what death is; we necromancers have spent centuries, perhaps even millenia, attempting to get to the bottom of it, to no avail. Many have interrogated the dead, hoping that from them, we might learn the truth, but even those lost souls seemed clueless regarding the matter. What we do know, however, is that what we call the Void, that black, sucking maw, is the portal to death, the funnel, if you will, down which the souls of the newly dead are poured.


    I tried not to think about it. I did not succeed.


    Indeed, the Void would haunt me for the rest of my life.


    I was brought to a bath, already filled with hot water, and left alone. I submerged myself. Steam filled the room. My hands explored my chest, where a deep wound that led to my pierced heart ought to be, but there was nothing but smooth, freshly healed flesh.


    This is something that happens to all necromancers. In fact, it is what makes us necromancers.


    When we are deemed ready by the High Necromancer of the Withered Isles, we undergo The Dying. This is the process you have already been introduced to: the slab, the knife, the swift death, and then the rebinding of one¡¯s soul to their wounded body. This ritual gives us access to our power; necromancy can only be yielded by one who has already personally touched death, and whose soul exists simultaneously in the world of the living, and in whatever world comes next.


    It doesn¡¯t always work. Not everyone survives it. Many cannot resist the pull of the Void. Others possess souls that are simply too weak to endure the back-and-forth struggle.


    I spent a while in that bath, just thinking, and relishing in the burn.


    I had survived¡ªbut of course I had. There¡¯d never been any alternative.


    I was different. I had been made for this.


    My mother, High Priestess of Skull, had consumed the flesh and blood of other necromancers while I had gestated within her.


    Their power ran through my veins. I¡¯d been chosen for the ultimate task before I¡¯d even been born.


    For a long time, as a child, I had resented this. A part of me had wished that I could¡¯ve chosen my own destiny; that someone would¡¯ve at least asked me. I had even gone through a rough patch of wanting to run away, to cast aside the vestments of a necromancer and seek some other, ordinary life. Once, at fourteen, I had commandeered a small rowing boat and had attempted to make it across the stretch of the Abyssal Sea that separated our islands from the continent of Telemir. All things considered, I hadn¡¯t done too badly¡ªI¡¯d gotten close enough to see the great white cliffs rearing up in the distance.


    But then the skeletons sent by my father had caught up to me.


    There¡¯d been dozens of them, occupying rowboats of their own, and rowing tirelessly. Others had swam up beneath me, not needing, of course, to surface or breathe; their bony hands had appeared upon the rim of the boat and they¡¯d hauled themselves up, dripping and leering. I smashed the skull of the first with an oar, and then the rest pinned me and rowed me back to my scowling, enraged father.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    But that had been a long time ago. Four years, anyway.


    In the present, acolytes brought me the robes of a fully-fledged necromancer. I dressed reverently. Despite my past misgivings, I¡¯d come to want this more than anything else. I had dreamed of donning the vestments of the Order. One of the acolytes pinned my robe in place; the pin was a brightly polished, silver skull. Another acolyte handed me a silver mask fashioned into the likeness of, also, a skull.


    If it wasn¡¯t already obvious, skulls were very popular amongst the Withered Isles.


    My father entered the chamber.


    Prime Necromancer Asathiran Asar wore his own mask, brass, and marked with the sigils befitting his rank. His hands were clasped formally in front of him. His eyes were golden¡ªas were my own, and as had been my mother¡¯s.


    ¡°My son,¡± he intoned.


    I bowed my head. ¡°Father.¡±


    He placed a hand on my shoulder. I couldn¡¯t even remember the last time he¡¯d touched me.


    ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    Nor could I remember him ever asking a question as personal as that one.


    My initiation had evidently changed everything.


    ¡°I feel well enough,¡± I said. ¡°My head hurts. And my heart hasn¡¯t stopped racing since¡­well, since it started beating again. But, overall, I am well. And eager to proceed with the plan.¡±


    My father nodded slowly. ¡°Good. Very good. And do you feel your new powers? Are they within reach?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d thought about yet. But, indeed, it was a good question¡ªI¡¯d survived the ritual. I was a necromancer now. Power over death and undeath were now mine to command. I had spent all my life dedicated to the study of the theory of necromancy¡ªof learning how to control it.


    Now it was time to put all of that into practice.


    Imagine that you¡¯d spent eighteen years learning how to use a sword¡ªexcept you¡¯d never actually wielded one before. You¡¯d never even touched one. You had, however, studied every possible aspect regarding how one might use it, control it, manipulate it. You¡¯d learned how to make swords, how they worked; you could detail every individual design component. You could write an entire book about swords.


    And then, finally, someone put a sword in your hand.


    Imagine how that might feel.


    ¡°They are within reach,¡± I confirmed, but the truth was, I wasn¡¯t certain. How could I tell? I would need to test myself later, in the solitude of my own chambers. For now, it was imperative that my father believe that it worked; I wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d do if it hadn¡¯t, but it was unlikely to be pleasant.


    My father let out a breath. ¡°I am immensely pleased to hear that. You saw what happened to Salakan?¡±


    I nodded. Salakan hadn¡¯t just been my tutor¡ªhe¡¯d been a close friend of my father¡¯s for decades.


    ¡°There were other losses,¡± my father said slowly. ¡°All across the Isles. The cost was high. It only serves to highlight just how important you are to our plans, Aurion.¡±


    My full name is Aurion Asar I. I did not have an Order title like everyone else on the Withered Isles.


    Instead, I was, officially, by tradition, and as outlined in the Great Necromantic Prophecy, the Deathlord Prime; a chosen and deliberately created instrument of change and good in the world, destined to rid the universe of certain malign forces.


    Personally, I did not prefer to be called the Deathlord Prime.


    When I was a little boy, my mother used to give me individual pieces of human bone to play with. I used to put them together and construct new forms.


    My mother used to call me ¡®her little master of bones¡¯.


    That had been her idea of a cute nickname for her child.


    She died when I was eight under circumstances I still considered suspicious.


    Since then, I had adopted the self-styled title of Master of Bones. My father hated it. I didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°May I be candid with you?¡± asked my father.


    I winced, dreading what might come next. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°I fear, my son, that there is simply no time to waste. In an ideal world, you would remain on the Withered Isles for several more years, mastering the necromantic arts. But we do not , I am afraid, live in an ideal world. The Enemy grows more powerful by the day. His hold over the world strengthens.¡± He squeezed my shoulder. ¡°What I¡¯m saying is that it¡¯s time for you to go. To leave the Isles. To step foot on Telemir, and on Autarchy soil, and do what you were born to do.¡±


    My heart thudded in my chest. I¡¯d known this was coming, and I was mostly glad about it. I¡¯d spent my life dreaming of the day I¡¯d finally leave the Isles and explore the world.


    Now that it had come, I felt terribly afraid.


    I was comfortable here amongst the dark, brooding temples of the Order, on the gray, rocky beaches, and in the shadows of the ancient statues that had stood guard over the Withered Isles since before our Order had ever arrived. I was at home in the suffocating catacombs, in the tombs of my ancestors. I had friends here, and family, and enemies, too, but I might miss even them; at least they were familiar to me.


    I met my father¡¯s eyes. Gold staring into gold. It was said that our bloodline harkened back all the way to the demons of old, who once roamed the earth and bred with mortals.


    I wanted to say, I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m ready.


    I wanted to say, father, I¡¯m afraid.


    But I couldn¡¯t. In the Alakathin Order of Undeath, one could not show weakness.


    And so I said, ¡°I will leave at once, father.¡±

 Master of Bones - Chapter 3 - SOUL EATER

    3 - SOUL EATER


    I did not have much to pack. The chamber in which I had grown up was a small, sparse box of black stone. I am, I would say, an average sized man, yet my bed, and this chamber, made me feel like a giant. I had an old wardrobe filled with robes; daily robes, ceremonial robes, night robes. They all looked more or less the same, plain and black. I stuffed them into a travel bag. What else? I had a few notes my mother had written a long time ago, and these I rolled up carefully and stored at the bottom of the bag. I had a silver ring I¡¯d found washed up on the beach as a child, and this I slid onto the index finger of my left hand. There was really nothing else for me to back.


    A small arch was cut into the sea-facing wall. Through it, I watched the thrashing of the sea, almost black in the early morning. The sun would soon rise. I intended to be on a boat as it did so. The Withered Isles weren¡¯t far from the coast. I could make it to the continent today, although it would be a long and tireless day.


    I knew very little about the outside world. I didn¡¯t know how to camp. How to start a fire. I didn¡¯t need how other people outside of the Isles operated. I was well versed in history, literature, art, and a multitude of other academic pursuits, but reading information in a book is a much different thing to experiencing the world.


    More or less, I didn¡¯t know what I was doing.


    I knew only that I needed to kill the most powerful man in the world.


    You might ask why.


    I will tell you.


    Allow me to introduce you to the Philosophy of Death.


    We necromancers believe that the most beautiful and important thing is life. Without it, we wouldn¡¯t have death. As an extension of this, we place great value in the soul; all living things have souls, and the souls of humans are the most powerful of all. When a person dies, their soul is dragged into the Void and then enters whatever realm lies beyond. This is the natural way of things, and is very special. In this way, souls last forever, and no one is ever truly gone.


    Except, gods exist.


    There are the Primordial Gods, and other divinities besides. All of them feed on souls. The more powerful they are, the more they feed, so that when a person dies, there is a significant chance that, instead of entering the Void, they will instead be caught in the jaws of a ravenous and awful god.


    Gods are like cancer. They grow and grow and as they do so, they need more souls and more energy to sustain themselves. They upset the balance of the universe, and they will destroy it, and all life, if they are not stopped.


    And that is why it is my destiny to destroy all gods.


    Now, back to the most powerful man in the world.


    Marak, who is Autarch of the Tiran Autarchy. Who has lived for more than three centuries. Who is said to have stolen power from the gods and intends to one day ascend to godhood himself.


    You can, I¡¯m sure, see our problem with that.


    It is much easier to kill a would-be god than an actual god.


    And so I must stop him before it is too late.


    #


    A surprise awaited me as I emerged from my chambers, travel-bag slung over one shoulder.


    The hallways of Shadow Castle¡ªwhich dominated Amel, the largest of our islands¡ªwere filled with my people. They lined the walls, all in their dark robes, hands held out so that as I passed between them, fingers brushed against my shoulders, my arms, my hands.


    Six hundred and three people lived in Shadow Castle, including myself, and minus poor Salakan.


    By the looks of it, all of them had turned out to see me.


    Many were acolytes and initiates, the lowest ranks of our Order, and these kept their heads bowed as they passed. Others, full-fledged necromancers, wore their bone masks and clasped my hands in a show of respect. Then there were the elders, the Sanctified, the High Priests and Diviners. These did not touch me, but they offered the occasional reassuring smile, or whispered a word of encouragement, and I heard each one and felt my stride become a little more sure, a little more determined.


    I could do this. I had to do it.


    We of the Withered Isles are not expressive people. We do not often display love or emotion. An outsider might think that we are cold, dead things, but that¡¯s not true. We¡¯re still people. We feel, and desire, and love. We just show it differently.


    I felt it all now. The love.


    The support.


    We were united in our cause.


    I smiled at familiar faces, paused to trade words wtih them. There was Grasa, an older woman who was famously the best at fishing out of anyone of the Withered Isles; she had once taught me how to perfectly gut and prepare a fish. And there was Litirun, a man around my age, broad and strong, who I had exercised often with, and who had taught me how best to utilize my own muscles. Tarith was there and he pulled me into a hug. Tarith was my best friend. We had grown up together and gotten up to much mischief. If I had to say one thing about him, it would be that he was a good person, and that I looked up to him immensely.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Be safe,¡± he murmured as we embraced. ¡°Don¡¯t get yourself killed, you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Dying once was enough for me,¡± I said with a forced smile.


    Tarith grimaced. He hadn¡¯t yet undergone The Dying. ¡°Yes, well. Listen, Aurion¡­perhaps I could come with you. The idea of you out there all alone¡­¡±


    I placed a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I appreciate that, my friend. Truly. But I have a feeling I won¡¯t be alone. I believe that my father intends to send someone with me.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. I suppose I¡¯ll soon find out.¡±


    ¡°Whoever it is, I doubt their company will be as good as mine.¡±


    ¡°Of that, I have no doubt.¡± I stepped away from him. I wished that we could talk longer. That I had time to give all of these people a proper farewell.


    But there simply wasn¡¯t time.


    ¡°We¡¯ll meet again,¡± I promised Tarith, and was then swept along down the hallway by encouraging hands.


    I hadn¡¯t quite realized how many people might care to see me go until that moment. Gladness swept through me, as did determination. They believed in me. Supported me. I possessed their trust, and each of them had made sacrifices so that I might fulfill my destiny.


    I had to be strong. To do what I¡¯d been asked to do.


    My father waited for me at the end of the hallway. He fell in by my side and together we walked toward the archway that would deliver us into the cold, outside air.


    ¡°You have everything you need?¡± he asked.


    ¡°For the most part,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯ll need money, won¡¯t I?¡±


    My father nodded. ¡°You¡¯ll get it. Someone is waiting for you at the wharf. They¡¯ll accompany you on your journey. I¡¯ve given them a very large sum of Autarchy money¡ªplus banking seals that will give you access to the fortune we¡¯ve accumulated within the Autarchy banks.¡±


    I raised my eyebrows. ¡°I had no idea we had a fortune.¡±


    ¡°There was never a need to talk about it,¡± my father said distantly. ¡°We have no use for their money¡ªexcept now, in this endeavor. So you can see, what you embark upon now is a mission that has been planned and prepared for decades.¡±


    ¡°And this companion of mine¡­who will it be?¡±


    He glanced down at me¡ªmy father was a tall man, whilst I was only of average height. His golden eyes burned bright behind his mask. ¡°Her name is Justinia. She is of the Isles, although she left a decade ago and only just returned. She will be your guide, protector, advisor, and, I hope, friend.¡± He stopped walking for a moment, and so did I.


    My father drew in a deep breath. ¡°The path you¡¯re about to walk is not an easy one. In fact, I suspect it will be long, cold, lonely, and endlessly unpleasant. You will suffer. You will cause offers to suffer. You will kill, and perhaps even lose your own life in the pursuit. You may, in fact, lose everything.¡± His eyes softened ¡°Worse, I can not tell you how to achieve any of what I need you to achieve. It is simply unprecedented. You will need to figure it out yourself, Aurion. I would not ask anyone to do this alone. And so I hope Justinia will make things at least a little easier.¡±


    I swallowed thickly. ¡°And who is she, exactly? Why her?¡±


    ¡°She is a very formidable woman. She was sixteen when she left these Isles, and so never underwent The Dying. I gave her one directive only: to explore the Autarchy, learn their ways, and become the most capable companion possible to my son. She has, in other words, dedicated the last decade of her life to honing herself into a weapon and a tool for you to use.¡±


    I tried to imagine that. Leaving home on her own, still a child, knowing that the next ten years of her life were to be dedicated to someone she¡¯d never met¡ªsomeone she wouldn¡¯t meet for a long time. What sort of person could endure that?


    We continued down the hallway and then passed beneath an archway decorated with inset skulls. These were the skulls of our ancestors, and they looked down upon us favorably. Outside, the wind was howling. Black clouds gathered up above, though soon the sun would rise and bless us with its light. I hoped that the weather would clear up. I didn¡¯t fancy the idea of rowing across the strait in the midst of a storm. Having grown up on the Isles, I was naturally a strong swimmer, but nonetheless, the Abyssal Sea was treacherous, and had claimed the lives of far more accomplished swimmers and sailors than I.


    A narrow stone path wove its way down the rocks that led to the wharf. A light fog partially obscured the way ahead. Through it, I could just make out a dark silhouette standing at the wharf. In the water, tied to a post, was the rowboat that would deliver us to Telemir.


    ¡°If she seems strange,¡± my father said quietly, ¡°it¡¯s only because she¡¯s lived amongst them for so long. Her life has not been easy. But I assure you, you can trust her with your life. She is as dedicated to the cause as any of us, and she has sworn an oath to you.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t even know me.¡±


    ¡°No. And yet she has, nonetheless, sworn one. She will be an extension of your will. But there is only one of her, Aurion. Treat her well. Keep her close. If the time ever comes when you feel as though a sacrifice must be made¡­ensure that you are not squandering her life for nothing.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said. The idea of having to sacrifice another person, and especially an ally, was inconceivable.


    At the time, anyway.


    It¡¯s funny how things change.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go no further,¡± my father said with a sigh, coming to a stop. ¡°Wade ahead into the fog, my son. You know what you have to do. You know the end goal. Trust in yourself and in Justinia. Trust in the cause.¡±


    I clenched my jaw. ¡°May I be honest with you?¡±


    ¡°I suspect that, if there is ever a time for honesty, it is now.¡±


    I looked into my father¡¯s golden eyes. We¡¯d never been close. I couldn''t have even said with any real confidence that he loved me¡ªor was capable of feeling love. And did I love him? I supposed that I did, in the way that a child feels obliged to love their parents, in the sense of owing them for the gift of life, and for a childhood mostly devoid of extreme discomfort and suffering.


    Regardless, we¡¯d never shared feelings before, not really. Nor had we had any ¡®confessional¡¯ moments. This was especially true of our lives after my mother had died.


    I said, ¡°I¡¯m fucking terrified.¡±


    My father grinned. It was such an uncharacteristic expression from him that it was actively disturbing. ¡°You¡¯d have to be insane to not be terrified.¡±


    I nodded slowly. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want to give this whole thing a go in my place?¡±


    ¡°It has to be you. You know that.¡±


    I did know that. It had to be because many necromancers had sacrificed themselves in my name.


    Their souls swirled around inside me, trapped, and slowly burned for fuel.


    There are different types of necromancers, and various schools of necromancer.


    I was a soul-eater. Not by choice¡ªit was a curse I¡¯d received, as I¡¯ve said, while still inside my mother¡¯s womb.


    The two of us stood in silence. Searching, maybe, for last words.


    Until inevitably deciding that there were none to be found.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± I said.


    ¡°Luck to you, Aurion. And may you live forever.¡±