Beyond the Veil of Death

CHAPTER 3 TRANSFORMATION... BEGIN

The necromancer's reaction was sudden, his hollow laughter erupting from the depths of his chest, echoing like the voices of the damned through the dark, cold dungeon.

"Hahahaha... oh, how amusing! Yes, I suppose that would be a challenge for you, wouldn't it?" His laughter was sharp and unsettling, as though the very idea of a goblin settling down was absurd beyond belief.

"I've witnessed stranger things than goblins with lovers, but in your case... Hahaha!"

As the laughter died, his mirth evaporated like mist, and the chilling mask of clinical detachment returned. "Now then," he intoned, his voice once again flat and cold.

"Let us continue. Your occupation... what is it?"

Zarkus took a moment to gather his thoughts. "W-well... I usually... go out and... explore d-dungeons... w-with a small group of g-goblin friends..."

With deliberate precision, the necromancer scrawled down the new information, his bony hand moving like the scrape of death itself.

"Exploring dungeons, you say? Intriguing..." His voice trailed off, his mind clearly turning over this detail, eyes gleaming with a new, dark curiosity.

"Next question." He leaned forward slightly, the flicker of interest deepening. "When you're in these dungeons, what is it you seek? What do you accomplish?"

Zarkus thought carefully before answering, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "W-well... it depends on the dungeon... sometimes we explore and try to find a way through... other times... we try to... loot any treasure we find..."

The necromancer's quill moved slowly, recording Zarkus's answer with thoughtful care. He nodded, his skeletal grin widening. "Exploring and looting treasure... dangerous, but no doubt rewarding, if you live to tell of it." His eyes glittered with something like dark amusement as he continued, his voice carrying a sinister edge.

"Tell me, what do you fight with? What weapons and gear do you carry into the dark?"

Zarkus hesitated before responding. "W-well... my primary weapon is a r-rusty longsword... and as for my gear, I usually wear... old and dirty r-rags... nothing fancy..."

The necromancer's eyebrow arched as Zarkus confessed his meager possessions. A flicker of amusement crossed his expression, and he sneered, "A rusty longsword and rags? How fitting for one of your station. Destitute and desperate." His words dripped with disdain, though curiosity lingered in his gaze.

"Very well. Let's proceed." His tone shifted, probing deeper into Zarkus's potential. "What of your combat skills? Your abilities? Can you cast magic, fight with any proficiency, or perhaps... possess some unique talent?"

Zarkus took a deep breath, trying to assess his own abilities under the necromancer's scrutiny. He knew he wasn't a formidable warrior, but he did have some skills honed from years of dungeon exploring.

"I-I'm not very good with magic," he began cautiously. "A-and I'm not a skilled fighter either. I mostly rely on... my instincts and... the help of my friends. As for unique skills, I guess I'm good at... finding hidden paths and... avoiding traps..."

The necromancer listened attentively, jotting down the information with meticulous care. His expression remained inscrutable, but the air around him was charged with an unspoken anticipation.

Zarkus felt a strange mixture of apprehension and curiosity as he awaited the next question. What other details would the necromancer seek, and how would this relentless interrogation shape his fate?

The necromancer's sigh was heavy, filled with the weight of disappointment, his skeletal hand tightening around the quill. "It seems," he muttered bitterly, "that I've chosen a weaker specimen than I'd hoped."