Evil Reincarnated

Advice from the Dead

Vexel POV

I felt bad leaving. I had just told her everything I felt and here I was, leaving again. She told me she liked me for who I was, but I wouldn't like me if I was her. Deep down, I hated myself for what I am. How could she love me if I didn't even love myself?

I don't know what it is, but something told me she had seem more then I thought. She was intelligent and trusting. That was always something I never understood. How could she trust and like someone like me?

On my way out of her home, I brush past a table with a sword displayed on it. I pause, glancing down at the worn weapon. It's blade was rusting and the leather hilt was torn and wearing away. Whoever's sword this was, it was well used. I suppose it was Ezara's. I knew she knew how to use a sword. I touch the glass container the sword was encased in. The case was cool and smooth. I could feel a strong energy coming from it. I could tell it wasn't Ezara's. It was something stronger, someone who was powerful and strong. The energy almost overwhelmed me.

"It was my husbands." Ezara says from behind me. I could hear the sadness in her voice. "He... passed a long time ago." She hesitated before saying passed. I don't think she believed he was dead. "You remind me of him, in a way."

I was still focused on the sword, on the energy it emitted. "He was a strong warrior." I state.

"Mhm. He would've protected me and our family at all costs, even if they hated him." She leans against the doorframe to her bedroom. "I miss him every day."

"May I take it out of its case?" I ask, still touching the case. I glance at Ezara and she gives a slight nod.

I open the case and hold the sword in my hands. The energy felt even stronger. I could feel his spirit begging to be heard. I close my eyes, focusing on it. I open my eyes to see a spirit standing beside me. He was tall and burly, his muscles prominent. He had shaggy black hair and many visible scars. He wore a lot of leather and steel armor. The same sword was sheathed in a hilt on his belt. He seemed ready for war.

"Who are you?" He asks. His voice was deep and powerful. I had faced many men like him, but he seemed stronger in some way. I could see the intelligence in his bright eyes and the battles he's seen. Something told me he was more important then a simple warrior. He was someone people answered to. Someone they even feared.

"My names Vexel." I state.

"You're a demon. Vyriviz. My name is Mercer Vortigerson." He responds, narrowing his eyes. He looks at Ezara. "I miss you every day too, Zyllebal." He says, as if responding to her. I knit my brow.

"Zyllebal?" I ask, also glancing at Ezara.

"She never went by Ezara when we were together. Before I was murdered." I look back at him. "I wanted nothing more then what she wants now, a quiet life. Much like you, my power always kept me in the battle. In the end, it became my end."

"What do you mean? You weren't a demon." I say.

"I was immortal, or so I thought. Cursed by an old god now forgotten." He watches Ezara. She stares at me strangely. "It took a toll on me. Every time I died, I came back to life. I died like every human, I could feel all the pain. Every time I awoke I was consumed by anger and hated. I often attacked those closest to me."

"That sounds horrible." I respond. "I remember something similar. Every time I died as a demon, I had to reform."

He stays silent for a few moments. "How are you here?" He asks. "I know you're a demon, even they can't see me or speak to me. I'm dead."

"I'm a necromancer." I state. "I've learned to communicate with the dead. I could feel you're essence... your energy on the sword. I knew you were still here, watching over her." I nod towards Ezara. "You're stronger then I ever was. Perhaps I came to ask for advice."