The Genesis Of A Necromancer

Far away, in a space that seemed detached from the entire universe itself, a realm of breathtaking splendor floated amidst the starry skies.

A vast land, suspended like a celestial island, radiated an ethereal beauty that seemed almost otherworldly. This was no ordinary place—it was a domain shaped by divine power, its existence defying the very laws of creation.

Floating islands adorned this realm, each one a masterpiece of nature and magic intertwined. The lush green fields stretched endlessly, their gentle sways reflecting an eternal spring. Vibrant flowers, too vivid to be real, painted the landscape in a kaleidoscope of colors. Their petals shimmered faintly, exuding a glow that seemed alive, as though the flowers themselves breathed in the divine essence of the place.

At the heart of this magnificent expanse stood a castle, a structure so radiant it appeared to be sculpted from pure gold. Its spires reached for the heavens, and its intricate designs whispered of ancient artistry lost to time. This was the palace of gods, a sanctuary of power and secrets.

Inside the castle, however, the atmosphere was anything but serene.

In a grand hall filled with opulence and light, the air was thick with tension. Lavish tapestries depicting celestial battles adorned the walls, and the high ceiling bore murals of the gods in their prime. Yet all eyes were fixed on a single figure at the far end of the room.

Seth.

Seated in an ornate wheelchair, his presence commanded both reverence and dread. The gods assembled in the hall dared not meet his gaze directly, their grim expressions betraying their unease. There was something profoundly unsettling about Seth—not just his condition, but the aura of raw power and bitterness that radiated from him.

He was a paradox of divine beauty and unspeakable horror.

The right half of his body was a vision of perfection, a testament to the divine elegance expected of a god. His skin glowed faintly, flawless and radiant, while his features were so striking they could inspire awe in even the most hardened of warriors.

But the left half of his body was a nightmare made flesh.

Dark tendrils pulsed and writhed beneath his decaying skin, as if alive, constantly attempting to heal the damage but failing. The flesh appeared to rot and regenerate simultaneously, an eternal cycle of torment. His mouth on that side was grotesquely contorted, the flesh warped and twisted as if mocking the perfection of his other half.

Even the bravest of the gods struggled to look at him without flinching.

Seth's twisted smile deepened as he felt the faint ripple of energy that had traveled across the cosmos. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine—not of fear, but of long-simmering rage reigniting.

"That bastard," he snarled, his voice cutting through the tense silence. His words dripped with venom, each syllable filled with a bitterness honed over eons. "You see what I told you all? Do you still doubt me now?" His piercing gaze swept across the room, daring anyone to challenge him.

"We never doubted you, Seth," one of the gods finally replied, his tone measured and calm. He drew a deep breath before continuing. "But your methods… corrupting the faithful servants of Olion? That was a step too far. Even you must see that."

The god rubbed his forehead as if the mere act of reasoning with Seth was exhausting.
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Seth leaned back in his chair, his good eye narrowing dangerously. "Step too far? Do you have any idea what I've endured? What that traitorous bastard did to me?" His voice rose, a mixture of fury and anguish. "I should have destroyed him when I had the chance!"

The god said nothing, his calm demeanor unshaken, though the room itself seemed to tremble faintly in response to Seth's outburst.

"Do you doubt my resolve?" Seth demanded, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Or worse—do you sympathize with him?"

"No one here sympathizes with Erebus," another god interjected, his voice firmer now. "But we cannot let your vendetta distract us from what truly matters. The Tournament of the Gods is upon us. Our focus must remain on that."

Seth let out a bitter laugh, the sound as twisted as his broken body. "The Tournament of the Gods?" He spat the words like poison. "You think a crown will protect you from him? You think a title will matter when Erebus rises again?"

"He cannot rise," another god argued, his tone resolute. "His soul is fractured beyond repair. Even if he tries, he will never return to his former strength. You know this."

Seth's glare darkened, his aura flaring slightly as his rage threatened to consume him. "Do not underestimate him," he hissed. "That bastard is a master of survival. He's cunning, patient, and far more dangerous than you give him credit for. If we allow him even the slightest chance, he'll find a way to regain his power. And when he does, he will come for all of us."

The gods exchanged uneasy glances. They couldn't deny Seth's words carried a kernel of truth, but his obsession with Erebus was spiraling out of control, and they all knew it.

"Enough," said a deep, commanding voice. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the speaker, the strongest among them. His presence alone seemed to calm the rising tension, his sheer authority unmatched by any other god in the hall.

"Seth," the god continued, his tone firm yet devoid of malice. "Your concerns are noted, but we cannot afford to lose sight of the bigger picture. The ancient treasure of the gods—the key to ultimate power—is within reach. If we secure it, not even Erebus could stand against us. Focus your energy on the tournament. Once the throne is ours, you can deal with him as you see fit."

For a moment, Seth's fury wavered. His good eye flickered with something resembling consideration. He knew the truth in those words, even if he despised admitting it. The throne represented a power far beyond anything Erebus—or even Seth himself—could hope to challenge.

"I will not lift my curse on Olion's men," Seth finally said, his tone colder than ever. "If Erebus dares to interfere, let him come. I'll use his own servants to crush him."

The gods nodded, some reluctantly, others in silent agreement. None dared push Seth further, knowing his wrath could turn on them at any moment.

As the meeting concluded, Seth's thoughts turned inward. He could still feel the faint echo of that cursed energy—the same energy that had left him in this grotesque state. His fists clenched tightly, the tendrils under his skin writhing in response.

'I will not rest until you are destroyed, Erebus,' he thought bitterly. 'I'll see to it that you never rise again.'

Far above the golden spires of the castle, the stars seemed to shimmer in silent witness to the gods' deliberations. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the universe, a faint ripple of power spread, unnoticed by most but deeply felt by the one they called Death.