The Genesis Of A Necromancer

While Jack and his team made their way toward a distant city, the events unfolding on the other side of the vast, barren planes were no less intense.
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The greatest military alliance the human kingdoms had ever known was about to make its move.

The massive, diverse army had gathered—each of the five great factions now poised for battle, ready to lay siege to the planes and claim them as their own.

Standing before their collective forces, the heads of each army were silent, their eyes scanning the sea of soldiers before them. The one who spoke was Drack, the brilliant strategist and mastermind behind the operation. He had been entrusted with the task of uniting the forces and guiding them toward victory.

"I trust you all know the reason we've come together today," Drack began, his deep, gravelly voice resonating across the assembled soldiers.

"I stand before you not only as your commander but as someone who shares your honor, your pride. Despite the hardships, the endless bloodshed, you've all remained steadfast, willing to risk your lives for the greater good. For the survival of humanity and for the wellbeing of our world."

His words rang out with a sincerity that reached deep into the hearts of the soldiers before him.

He paced slowly, his hands clasped behind his back as he considered his next words carefully.

Drack was no stranger to these kinds of speeches; he had delivered countless ones in the past, each designed to stir the souls of his men and women.

'The key is morale,' he thought to himself as he walked back and forth, his boots leaving deep imprints in the soft earth. 'Boost their spirits, make them feel that their lives matter. That their sacrifice will not be forgotten.'

"We appreciate your sacrifices, your willingness to fight," he continued, his tone steady and firm.

"And should you fall in battle, rest assured, your families will be taken care of. The kingdom will honor your legacy. Your loved ones will receive the highest honors, and your names will be forever etched into history as heroes."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

A noble title? For those who died in battle? The very thought of it was both a curse and a blessing.

Their families would be raised in status, granted riches and titles, their names forever linked to the kingdom's glory. Yet, the soldiers knew the truth: they would never live to see those benefits themselves. Still, it was a promise that brought a grim sense of solace to them. If they were to die, they would at least leave behind something of value.

But despite this, no one was eager to throw their life away. They were soldiers, not fools. No matter the reward, death was still a heavy price to pay.

A flicker of greed passed through their eyes, but Drack saw it, and he couldn't help but smile inwardly.

It was precisely this kind of reaction that made his plan even more effective. This sense of duality—of wanting to honor the kingdom but also seeking personal gain—would fuel their motivations, driving them forward into the fray.

'Greed is a powerful motivator,' Drack mused, his gaze sweeping across the soldiers. 'If they live, they'll earn wealth and spoils beyond anything the kingdom can offer. If they die, their families will be elevated to nobility. Either way, they stand to gain.'

"That said," Drack continued, drawing their attention back to him, "we will not waste our forces. We will take the cities one by one, methodically, until we reach the heart of the enemy—the capital city of these planes. Each kingdom has been assigned a city to conquer, and the strategies have already been mapped out. I will now brief you all on the details."

He turned, gesturing to a large map that had been unfurled before the soldiers. The map was covered in intricate markings and annotations, outlining the path to victory.

Each kingdom had a designated target, a specific city to be claimed. The strongest warriors of each faction were already in position, ready to lead their forces to battle.

At the front of the Avalonian army stood a towering, burly figure, clad in thick, blue armor. His presence was overwhelming, an imposing sight even among the sea of soldiers.

A massive helmet with intricate designs covered his head, making him stand out sharply against the backdrop of the army. The helmet seemed to almost shimmer with an otherworldly aura, adding an intimidating weight to his already formidable stature.

Beside this figure stood Alogra, his eyes closed, his expression serene and calm.

Alogra's presence was starkly different from the burly warrior's. Where the soldier exuded strength and intimidation, Alogra radiated a quiet, almost ethereal calm, as if his mere presence was enough to dominate the space around him.

His gaze was distant, lost in thought, yet his every movement carried a quiet power.

The burly warrior, his voice gruff and unyielding, glanced at Alogra with a mix of respect and curiosity.

"I'm surprised you came," the burly man said, his voice low and steady. "Of all the soldiers from the Kingdom of Swords, I never expected you to leave your sacred mountain."

Alogra's lips quirked into a faint smile, but he didn't open his eyes. Instead, he spoke with an air of casual indifference.

"So I can't decide to fight for my world again?" he replied, his voice gentle but carrying a weight that couldn't be ignored. "But I suppose you have a point. I'm not one for battles or war."

The burly man raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "Really? You've never cared much for these sorts of things, have you? There must be another reason you've come down from your mountain."

Alogra's eyes remained closed, though his expression hinted at amusement. "You know me too well," he said with a hint of irony. "You must have figured me out."

The burly man's eyes narrowed as he watched Alogra carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. He had heard rumors, whispers of Alogra's actions and motivations, but he was still uncertain. It was rare for someone like him to get involved in such matters unless it was truly necessary.

"I've heard whispers," the burly man said after a pause. "Hay told me about a certain student of yours."

Alogra's reaction was subtle, but the mention of the name "Hay" seemed to catch his attention. His lips barely parted, and his calm exterior shifted just enough to signal that the mention of a student was a subject of interest.

"A student?" Alogra repeated with a casual shrug. "Did Hay teach him?"

The burly man watched Alogra carefully for any sign of deeper recognition, but Alogra's face remained a mask of calm indifference. It was as if the mention of the student was nothing more than a passing curiosity.

The burly man's gaze flicked from Alogra to Drack, who was still addressing the troops, his voice booming and commanding.

He could sense that Alogra wasn't one to reveal his thoughts easily, and the more he tried to probe, the more the enigmatic figure seemed to retreat into himself.

Alogra, still composed, turned his gaze away from the burly man and let his eyes scan the battlefield. His attention shifted momentarily toward the other kings—Carlos, whose demeanor was uncharacteristically quiet, his head bowed as if lost in thought; his assistant bishop, ever vigilant, watching every movement; and Kiara, standing a little further off, her curiosity as palpable as the heavy air.

Alogra's eyes lingered on them, and he felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

The other kings were looking at him, their thoughts no longer hidden. They knew there was something more to Alogra than what he revealed, and now, their curiosity was piqued.

The weight of their gazes pressed against him, but Alogra didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed the silence to stretch out, letting the tension build.

"You're right," Alogra finally said, his voice still calm, yet carrying an air of finality. "I don't usually concern myself with matters of war. I've never been one to take part in these kinds of struggles. But I have two reasons for being here, and they're not what you think..."