Beyond the Veil of Death

CHAPTER 10 TRAINING (4)

Looming over him, the necromancer's voice turned sharp. "You still serve me. Your strength, your power—they are mine to command. You will use them as I see fit. But now... I will no longer push you to your limits. You've endured enough. Your tasks will match your newfound power, and you will carry out missions that will test you... but not destroy you."

His voice grew colder, more distant. "But do not forget, Zarkus... you are still mine. I created you. I control you. And your existence... I can take it away with a mere thought. Never forget that."

Zarkus listens to the necromancer's response with a mixture of resignation and relief. On one hand, the idea of no longer being pushed to the brink of death brought some comfort. But on the other, a deep pang of resentment tugged at him. Zarkus was still under his command, still bound to his will.

Taking a deep breath, Zarkus tried to keep his voice steady as the next question formed on his lips. "And what about my free will?" Zarkus asked quietly. "Do I have any control over myself?"

A chilling cackle erupted from the necromancer, his amusement dark and twisted. "Ha ha ha! Free will, little one? You have none! You are my creation, and you exist solely to serve me. Your life, your power, your very existence is mine to command."

Zarkus scowled in frustration. As much as he hated to admit it, his words rang true—he was his creation, bound to his control. Yet, there was more to this than simple obedience. Before Zarkus' resurrection, he had been nothing—a lowly goblin, weak and insignificant. Now, Zarkus was a powerful undead, capable of feats of strength and magic beyond his wildest imagination.

With another deep breath, Zarkus steadied himself. "And what about my life? You gave it back to me, even though I was just a goblin. Why? Why give me this chance—this power—if I'm nothing more than a puppet to you?"

The necromancer's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing with irritation at his persistence. But after a long sigh, he seemed to resign himself to answering.

"Fine, little one, I will indulge your curiosity," the necromancer said, his voice gruff with annoyance.

"You want to know why I brought you back from the dead?"

He stepped closer, his tone shifting into something more grave. "The truth is... it wasn't my choice. I was ordered to resurrect someone likeyou." Zarkus's eyes widened in shock as the necromancer continued. "It wasn't out of any twisted generosity. No, a higher power, one to whom I am bound, commanded me."

The necromancer's eyes gleamed with a cold light as he went on. "This higher power instructed me to take a weak, worthless creature and transform it into a powerful undead—a tool for his use. So that's what I did. I took you, molded you into a weapon, obedient and ready to carry out his bidding."

Stepping even closer, the necromancer's gaze bore into Zarkus. "You might think you're special, that you've become something more," he hissed. "But you're not. You are still nothing but a pawn in a larger game. Your purpose is simple: to follow my commands, and more importantly, the commands of the one who ordered your resurrection. That is all you are."

His words were a bitter pill to swallow, even though Zarkus had long suspected there was more to his resurrection than what he had originally told him. Still, hearing it laid out so plainly filled him with a mix of anger and resignation.

But then, another question arose, one he couldn't ignore. "And who is this higher power?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. "Why did he want me to be resurrected? What did he expect me to do?"

The necromancer sneered, his eyes narrowing with irritation. "Ha ha ha! You truly are a curious goblin, little one," he mocked. "But very well, I shall indulge your questions."

His voice dropped into a dark, menacing whisper. "The higher power that ordered your resurrection is none other than... the Demon Lord."

At the mention of that name, the room seemed to grow darker, the necromancer's expression twisting into a bitter scowl. "As for why you were chosen? It's simple. Creatures like you, such as a Goblin, are weak, pathetic—easily controlled, easily discarded. Perfect for the Demon Lord's plans."

His presence seemed to fill the room, suffocating Zarkus as he loomed over him. "Before your resurrection, you were nothing—just a lowly, insignificant goblin. But now, you are a powerful undead, forged by my hand, bound to the Demon Lord's will. A puppet. Nothing more."

Zarkus' eyes widened in disbelief. The Demon Lord. The very ruler of all demons, a being of unfathomable power and cruelty. Fear gnawed at him, but alongside it, a spark of anger ignited. He was just a tool to be used and discarded.

"What does the Demon Lord want me to do?" you asked, your voice tight with both fear and defiance. "What is my purpose in all of this?"

The necromancer's gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Are you certain you want to know, little one? The truth may be more than you can bear."

But when he saw the unwavering determination in Zarkus's eyes, he sighed and continued. "Very well. The Demon Lord's plan is simple—conquer the world, enslave all who oppose him, and rule with absolute power. Your role in this? To be a key player in that conquest. You, with your newfound strength, will lead the demon army to victory."

The necromancer stepped even closer, his towering figure casting a long shadow over Zarkus. "Now that your training is complete, you will be introduced to the demon army. No more hiding in the shadows. You will take your place as a leader, executing the Demon Lord's will."

His tone softened slightly, though the threat still lingered in the air. "But do not confuse your power for freedom, little one. You are still mine. I created you, and I can destroy you just as easily. Never forget that."

Zarkus mind reeled, torn between shock, fear, and a strange sense of purpose. The idea of being a pawn in the Demon Lord's grand scheme was horrifying, yet there was something about the power he now wielded—something that made him feel less like a helpless tool and more like a force.

The necromancer grinned, clearly pleased by Zarkus' silence. "Ha ha ha! Good, little one. You're learning your place—accepting your purpose. That's good."

His grin faded, replaced by a serious, almost somber expression. "As for when this begins... it starts now. Follow me."

Without another word, the necromancer turned and walked toward the far end of the dungeon. The hallway was damp and dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of mold and decay. Zarkus followed closely behind, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

After a few minutes, Zarkus reached a large wooden door. The necromancer placed his hand on it, and the door creaked open with an eerie groan. Beyond the threshold, the path to his new life awaited.