Prologue

  In the northernmost region of the Oroyan continent, there is a mountain range inside the kingdom of Typhon. They are known as the Icelock Summits, and the deepest parts are known as the World’s End. The World’s End was a mostly barren and desolate tundra, with few monsters hardy enough to call it home. No humanoids dared even try to settle there. And yet, nestled deep into the north of the World’s End, there was a single, solitary infernal stone keep. Its massive walls a dark charcoal grey, sharply contrasted by the pure white of the surrounding snow. The stormy, snowy night was peaceful, and a piercing silence filled the valley. Until, of course, a thundering crash came from the keep.

  Inside the keep, there was a large training hall with ceilings vaulted several stories high. Weapons dotted the walls, the same dark grey as the exterior, broken up with heavily contrasted white marble inlays that let the light of the lanterns reflect and fill the room. The walls were divided into 5x5 blocks, and each had intricate runes carved on it. One, however, had a large crater with a man inside it. The man pushed himself out of the crater and cracked his neck and shoulders. He was large and had a powerful physique. Most notably, his left arm was made of a deep black metal, and his eyes were thin, draconic slits.

  “Oh, so we're fighting dirty now. Fine by me.” The man said as he spat blood onto the floor. “I wanted to keep this as my little secret, but after what you pulled, I think it's only fair, Master.”

  In front of the man stood an even larger figure, covered in scales. 4 horns twisted out of the Master’s head, deep black with glowing red inlay. He stood 2 heads taller than the man before him, and his large black wings cast an imposing shadow, even while furled into his back. This was a dragon in hybrid form. Somewhat humanoid, but mostly draconic. A powerful magic and aura wafted off the Master, enough to gag most High Mages.

  “Come now, Sev. What exactly do you think you can do to me, hmm?” The Master taunted. “If only you were as strong as you think you are.”

  “Hah, I agree. But let's see what you think of this, yeah?” Sev said, a twisted smirk crossing his blood-stained face. “After all, I’m just getting warmed up.” He said as he bent to pick up a small rock that had come out of the wall when he was thrown into it. The wall had already started to repair itself, but Sev was able to secure a sharp, flat shard for himself.

  Sev slowly walked towards the Master, making sure not to break eye contact. Dance of Blooded Sand. As Sev thought these words, his spine ignited with pain for a brief moment. 99%, for 10 seconds. The pain shot into his chest, causing him to cough up blood as he walked. The Master looked on, as he could tell something was about to happen. NOW. As Sev thought the final command, he seemingly vanished from the Master’s sight.

  “Well, well, invisibility? Or teleportation? I wonder whi—” The Master's words were cut off by a sudden flurry of strikes to the face and throat.

  Sev activated the infernal leech burrowed on his back and into his spine and brain stem. As he did, the world around him froze in place. 1… 2… 3… He began counting to himself as he sprinted forward, closing the gap in an instant. He quickly threw several punches into his Master’s face, as well as landing a full hit onto his throat. Sev quickly grabbed the horns and used them to slam the Master’s face into his knee, before quickly stabbing and ripping the rock into his master’s arm, creating a deep gash. Sev finally took several steps back to build space as he finished the countdown. 9… 10…

  Suddenly, the world caught up with Sev, his master reeling for a moment from the strikes. The Master blinked several times, trying to process what just happened.

  “What the fuck was that?!? Where has that been all this time?!” The Master bellowed in both rage and pride. “You cut me? You bastard, I’ll kill you for that!!”

  “Oh no, don’t kill me again, Master. I wouldn’t want to die, I’m too young!” Sev said, his words drenched with sarcasm. Please, between you and the Daemons, I’ve already died well over 300 times. You know as well as I do that you can’t give me a True Death.

  “Fucking brat, don’t push it.” The Master said as his wings flared out and he rushed Sev. The two of them began fighting in earnest, with Sev barely landing a blow on his master. The Master, however, was getting his anger out on Sev. Talon-like claws dug into flesh, ripping and spraying blood onto the wall and floors. Sev landed one good punch to the Master’s ribs before his face was grabbed and slammed into the ground.

  A few strikes later, the Master grabbed onto Sev’s fleshy arm, holding it out before slicing it off with his claws. Sev grunted in pain. Why is it always the damn arms!?!? Fuck it, Dance of Blooded Sand, 99% for 2 seconds, NOW! Sev once again disappeared from the Master’s sight, before reappearing and slamming his metal arm into the back of his master’s head and beating his face into the ground.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to bow to me, Master. Raise your he—” Sev’s taunting was cut short as the Master pushed his way off the ground and ripped his claws across Sev’s face. Sev gritted his teeth and grunted in pain once again. FUCKING PICK A DIFFERENT EYE! I JUST GOT THIS ONE BACK! Sev thought as his eye was ripped out and sliced in two. The Master continued to beat on Sev, not letting up on the weight or frequency of his attacks. Finally, the bout was over. Once again, Sev had lost.

  Sevagoth Lavos slumped before his master. His arm severed, blood trailing out of both ears and his nose, his right eye missing from its socket. Labored breathing was interrupted by the occasional coughing up of blood and spit as he tried to regain his composure. This was by no means the first time he had ended up in such a state during training, but that didn’t make it any easier or hurt less. After all, he was a mere mortal. It was a miracle that he had survived, and yet he couldn't help but wish he had died this time as well. At least if I had died, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of the healing.

  The Master slowly shifted from his hybrid form back to his human form. He was taller than Sev, but less bulky and built. His scales, wings, and horns melted away. They were replaced by pinstripe dress pants and shoes, a deep blue silk shirt, and a solid black silk vest. The Master lost his fangs, his face instead gaining a salt and pepper grey beard and short, slicked back hair of the same color. He was rather handsome and looked to be around 50 years of age.

  The Master stared at Sevagoth with a cruel grin, face twisted in arrogance. “You are still weak, boy.” His master muttered, stooping down to be face to face with the wrecked frame in front of him. “And yet, I can’t help but feel pride for how far you’ve come. It’s not every day a mortal faces a Primordial and lives to revel in it.” The master slowly placed his hand on Sevagoth’s shoulder, allowing the healing magic to course through the wounds. Slowly but surely, Sevagoth’s breathing leveled, wounds healing and scarring. His eye began to reform, his right arm growing back from the shoulder. Even though his injuries were healing, the pain only grew. These were not the result of fighting a man, but a Primordial. And as such, they took far more than mere simple magic to heal. The more powerful the healing magic, the more painful the healing process. The pain of receiving the wound was amplified threefold as it healed, causing even a seasoned warrior like Sevagoth to be brought low. As Sevagoth tried to remain silent, his body and face contorted in pain and agony until finally it was over. There he knelt before his master, healed and whole once more, with sweat and blood drenching his face, hair, and clothes.

  Sevagoth began to stand, leaning on his master for support. His limbs were stiff and pained from the utter exhaustion he faced. The healing may have restored his body on the outside, but it did little for the blood loss that he had suffered. “Thank you for the lesson, Master Rakam”, Sevagoth said as he was led to a bench to rest. “I tried everything, and yet all I could really do was put a single scratch on your arm.”

  The master smiled as he held the wound up, like a proud parent hoisting up a child’s painting. “And yet before the surgery, you could barely dodge my attacks, let alone land one of your own. Take pride in your hard work, boy. This training takes time.” The master smiled widely as he said this, watching the wound quickly heal as he stopped limiting his regenerative power. “It seems you are finally adapting well to the heart. Is it causing any pain or discomfort? Perhaps dizziness or lightheadedness?”

  Sevagoth finished a long draught of water before responding, “Not as of now, though even if it were, I’m not sure I’d notice through the beat down you just gave me.” He chuckled to himself before continuing, “The heart seems to have finally calmed. I haven’t had any of the pains that were present right after the grafting. Perhaps I’ve finally been able to merge fully with it.”

  His master looked thoughtfully at the stitches present on Sev’s chest. “The weeping seems to have stopped, even after combat. It seems the stitches are helping it heal up nicely. Though you’ll have quite the nasty scar.”

  Sevagoth laughed, “It's alright, I’ve heard that chicks dig scars.” Both of them laughed as they sat to rest and recover.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a hybrid form? You said you wouldn’t hold back while training me.” Sev said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “And why didn’t you tell me that you could turn invisible?” Rakam responded.

  “Invisible? Hah! You think I cloaked? Shouldn’t your Truesight have seen through that? Don’t tell me your vision is failing in your old age?” Sev taunted.

  “Very funny, boy. If not invisibility, teleportation perhaps?” Rakam said, restraining himself from killing Sev again.

  “I don’t have my magic core anymore, remember? And there were no shadows. How could I teleport?” Sev said, a smirk crossing his face. He hasn’t figured it out yet. Maybe I should have started using this sooner.

  “Ugh, fine. What is it then?” Rakam all but yelled, his patience reaching its limit.

  “Well, now I’m not going to tell you. It’s much more fun to watch the great Rakam flail in ignorance.” Sev said with a chuckle.

  “Careful, boy. I could always gut you like a fish and eat you until I get the talent.” Rakam sneered.

  “Oh, please, it’s not a talent, so threaten all you’d like. I finally have something that you can’t take, and that pisses you off. Good.” Sev laughed as he said this, patting Rakam on the back.

  “Bastard.” Rakam hissed, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Sev’s patronizing reach.

  About 15 minutes later, Sevagoth and his master left the training hall and entered the main room of the structure. It was similar to a normal home’s living room, but far less warm and comforting. Similar dark grey stone walls stretched high into the air, with smaller stripes of marble and lighter stones to help the room feel less dark. 2 small sofas sat around a small coffee table, and a large Crater Bear rug was strewn beneath. This room was connected to the kitchen and a small dining room. Dark oak chairs surrounded a smooth marble table, left without decoration. The kitchen had a large stone oven and stove top, as well as several dark oak shelves and crates. It even had a large, walk-in chilling room. For being a stone keep in the northernmost section of the world's end, it’s not all that bad. Sev thought as he sat down on one of the sofas. Rakam stretched and yawned, shaking out the leftover adrenaline from the fight. “What shall we have for dinner, boy? I’m thinking meat, lots and lots of meat.”

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  Sevagoth merely rolled his eyes. “Of course, a dragon would say that. Although I do remember it being your turn to hunt, dear Master.” Those last words were all but dripping with sarcasm.

  Rakam (used to the sarcasm) simply rolled his eyes in return and began to walk towards the doors. “Fine brat, what do you want today? I recently sensed a herd of hellboar nearby. Perhaps we should see how these taste.”

  Sevagoth nodded, “Very well, just try to leave enough for me to actually butcher this time. I’m sick and tired of you always destroying the game before I have a chance to do any good with it.”

  Rakam held his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know. I’ll be more careful. I’ll leave the preparation to you. I’ll be back shortly.” Rakam began to shift and twitch before finally changing back into his original form. A massive, hulking Elder dragon stood well over 50 feet tall at the horns. He approached the stone double doors, almost filling the frame. Black scales several inches across were accented and outlined by pulsing red energy. It looked as if the dragon was made of slowly drying lava. Standing before Sevagoth was Rakam, the draconic primordial of death and destruction. His massive wings tucked onto his back as he pushed through the doors and left the stone structure behind. Before the doors closed, Sevagoth saw his master flap his wings, taking flight as a massive gust of wind and snow whipped out from underneath. The doors closed, and Sevagoth was left to himself.

  After showering to clean himself of the blood and sweat from training and changing into a fresh set of clothes, Sevagoth took a long look at himself in the mirror. Being only 21 years old, he looked much older due to the amount of scar tissue that decorated his chest, arms, neck, and face. His left arm was made of a black metal that seemed to absorb and twist the light. It used to be bulky and strangely shaped, as it had been grafted straight off the corpse of a golem during his panicked escape from Infernus. Yet now, it had smoothed and shaped itself to match his other arm almost identically, except for the now scale-like patterning that had taken over the surface of the arm. “Huh, must have been the dragon heart. Strange.” His eyes now had slits for pupils, and the sclera was almost pitch black as well. His right eye had previously been destroyed in a fight with a Blood Wyrm a couple of months ago, but had since been replaced after the grafting as well. The long scar that had caused the wound remained, however, stretching from his hairline down to his left cheekbone.

  Physically speaking, it was obvious that Sev was quite the force of nature. He stood slightly above 6ft tall. Broad shoulders and a chest filled with muscles tapered down to a toned core and wide lats. His torso was covered in countless scars from blades, burns, and teeth. Several of the scars almost looked like craters, as they were covering places where chunks of flesh and muscle had been ripped off. He had been working his ass off every day for years and years to get to this point, but who knew he would have had to sacrifice so much more to go any further.

  The most obvious addition to his scar collection was a massive, jagged cut that spanned most of his chest. It started just beneath his left pec, moving down well beneath his right side ribs. The stitches were helping it heal, but the regular abuse of training meant it wouldn't be healing fully any time soon. “Fuck me, I look like hell.” Sevagoth pulled his shoulder-length brown hair back into a loose half-up ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. The streak of white hair on the right side of his head stuck out like a sore thumb, but he had grown quite used to it. After all, he had gotten it from his father, so there was no use complaining. He took several breaths to calm himself from training, as his right eye slowly swirled away from the purple draconic slits to his ‘normal’ humanoid blueish grey, and the black slowly faded to white. His left eye returned to its uniformly pale color, devoid of a pupil, similar to that of a blind cave fish. He sighed heavily, inspecting the eye more closely. I fucking hate this thing. Makes me look like even more of a freak. I wish I had learned how to shift; at least then I could make it look normal.

  He rubbed the recently healed scar around his neck that looked almost like a necklace, a scar given to him when his ‘Dear Master’ literally bit his head off during training. “It's a good thing that bastard can at least bring me back after he kills me. Though that doesn’t mean I haven't gotten sick of dying. What’s the count now, 100, 150 times? And is there really no other way to train me than to kill me half the time? But if this is the only way to kill that fucker, then it's worth it...” *Sigh* He washed his face one final time, taking another look at himself. “I guess this will have to do for now.”

  Rakam soared through the skies above the World’s End, searching for the pack of hellboar he had sensed earlier in the week. His wingspan stretched over 100 feet, and his shadow was cast on the ground as if he were a massive cloud passing in front of the moon. Come out, come out. Ah, there you are. He thought as he finally picked up their scent. He tucked his wings to his sides, plummeting towards the ground before catching himself at the last second. He was close to The Glade, and as such, had found the wandering pack of hellboar. “Don’t worry, you’ll make a wonderful meal.” Rakam said to the boars as he towered over them. The Hellboar were massive creatures, almost 3 times the size of a polar bear. And yet, they were dwarfed by the sheer size of the Elder Dragon.

  Rakam simply walked forward, his presence more than enough to freeze the boar in place. He quickly slashed at them with his massive talons, killing 2 in an instant. As the 2 squealed, the rest of the pack snapped out of their trance and rushed away into the frozen forest. Well, I guess I can make time for a snack. Rakam thought as he tore a chunk of flesh out of one of the Hellboars. A few minutes later, not even the bones were left. Rakam stretched his wings and grabbed the remaining corpse, lifting off from the ground in a flurry of snow. A short while later, he approached the keep and landed at the entrance. He smelled fresh bread and potatoes as he approached the door. I’m glad the brat can at least cook a decent meal. He thought as he began to shove the door open with his horns.

  After about an hour or so of preparing dinner (cutting and boiling potatoes, making bread, etc.) Sev finally heard the telltale signs of his master's return. A loud thunderous roar that seemed to shake the heavens rang out as a loud thud came from outside the door. Rakam returned, hellboar in tow. He opened the door and entered while dragging the large corpse, letting in a flurry of wind and snow behind him.

  “It’s about time you returned. The bread and potatoes are already almost done. What, did you get lost and take the scenic route again?” Sevagoth asked snidely from the other room. As if to ignore him, Rakam merely pulled the boar corpse into the kitchen for Sevagoth to begin butchering. “Oh wow, you even brought it back in one piece! You really can teach an old hound new tricks.” Sevagoth said sarcastically while preparing the butcher's block.

  Rakam simply chuckled while transforming back into human form. “You know, most people would never guess that you are talking to a Primordial with that tone. To anyone else, it would just seem like we are long-lost friends, finally reunited.” He said. Both rolled their eyes and carried on with their tasks. Rakam stepped out to clean himself up before dinner, while Sevagoth began butchering the massive hellboar.

  After dinner was prepared, the student and master began eating. Some small talk was exchanged between bites, but nothing of substance. Until, of course, Rakam broke the silence with a harrowing question. “If you were to face him today, would you win?”

  Sevagoth waited a moment before responding. “Honestly, I don’t know. I have no reference for how strong my parents were when they were murdered, or how much stronger he has gotten since that day. I have no idea what he is capable of, nor do I know if he is alone or with an army. There are too many unknown variables to say for sure.”

  Rakam smirked, “Good, your beatings haven’t damaged your brain at all. You can think without emotion clouding logic. You actually remembered the things I’ve taught you.” Rakam adjusted slightly, leaning forward to meet Sev’s eyes. “Well done.” It was rare for Rakam to give compliments that weren’t backhanded in some way or another. Things like “being strong, for a humanoid”, etc. This wasn’t one of those instances, however. This was simply a genuine compliment, and that felt strange to Sevagoth. Almost as if something was horribly wrong.

  “What’s with the warm-fuzzies all of a sudden? While I appreciate the kind words, it feels like you left out a ‘but’.” Sev said.

  Rakam finished a bite of food before looking Sevagoth in the eyes. “There is something you should know about that heart you grafted. It’s been over a month since you arrived here, and it's been about 2 weeks since you grafted that heart. While I was being honest when I said it was the heart of a dragon, I wasn’t completely honest about what kind of dragon the heart came from.”

  The mood had obviously shifted. Sevagoth was well aware of the risk he ran when grafting; it was a very rare infernal talent that had almost no recorded data. Not exactly the best recipe for learning how to use it properly. However, Grafting was a talent that allowed the holder to graft limbs and organs from other creatures who had died. There was a large chance that the grafting would be rejected and fail, so there was no guarantee that there would be any value to trying. But on the off chance the graft took hold, it would give some of the strength or even talents of the slain creature to the grafter. When it worked, it had infinite potential, especially when trying to graft a creature such as a dragon. However, higher creature classes(such as dragons, elementals, etc) also came with greater risk. Not only was the graft more likely to fail, but the consequences were greater when the failure did occur. Too strong a limb or organ grafted onto too weak a host would lead to permanent paralysis, or even a True Death, where the grafter’s soul would be consumed or destroyed. If this occurred, the grafter would be unable to be revived or resurrected, no matter who or what did the casting.

  “So then, who or what exactly did that heart belong to before you gave it to me, Master?” Sevagoth asked, still trying to decide whether or not he actually wanted to know.

  Rakam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “That is a loaded question. Where should I begin? What do you know of necromancers?” Rakam asked curtly.

  “Only that one of them killed my parents. Why?” Sevagoth replied.

  Rakam nodded before continuing, “Necromancy is considered a forbidden magical art. Too many outbreaks and massacres have occurred because a mage with too much ambition and too little skill decided to play god. However, even forbidden magic can have those who have learned to master it. The killer you hunt is one such being, a master of necromancy. He is not the first, however; there was another necromancer who far surpassed even him. This necromancer was named Phrey, and a right bastard he was. He sided with the Daemons during the first realm war.” Rakam stopped for a short breath to give Sev time to process before continuing. “Phrey was obsessed with immortality for decades. It may sound cliché, but that cliché exists for a reason. He spent those decades panicking as his death neared closer and closer. One day, a tear opened and out came the Daemons. One of them just so happened to be a practitioner of necromancy, and made Phrey a deal. Something to the effect of teaching him the secret to immortality if he helped get the Daemon army into the city. Phrey didn’t even let the Daemon finish the offer before accepting. Eventually, after much trial and error, Phrey got his wish. He was immortalized as the very first Lich.”

  Even Sevagoth had heard that name. The great Lich Phrey, the man who betrayed his nation and caused an entire city to be destroyed, with not a single survivor remaining. “So Phrey used the city as sacrifices for his ritual to become a lich?” Sev asked.

  Rakam solemnly nodded, “Indeed, he did. 100,000 souls consumed so that Phrey could live on forever. Of course, it didn’t last very long; the Primordials arrived and killed the bastard for good, Phylactery and all. However, his influence had already spread too much. That man is the reason that the undead exist here in Antioch. While the majority of his soldiers were mere risen corpses, he was able to raise some ‘generals’ as it were. Extremely powerful undead that were as strong as entire regimens of soldiers. One of which was an Elder Dragon named Elliam. That risen Elder became known as a Dracolich, the most powerful of the Phrey’s generals. The heart now beating in your chest is his.”

  The silence was thick. Sev had just assumed the dragon heart he grafted with had come from a lesser dragon, or maybe even a wyvern. The fact that it came from an Elder Dragon, the rarest and most powerful of the dragons, was enough of a shock. But it was an undead Elder Dragon, a Dracolich, whose heart he now had thumping in his chest. What the fuck is going on?

  “Can I be controlled by another necromancer? Is my will actually my own?” Sev asked, concerned by the implications.

  “No, you can’t be controlled by anyone. There is not a necromancer now or ever who can control what you have become.” Rakam answered almost arrogantly.

  Sevagoth finally gained the courage to ask the final 2 questions he needed immediate closure on. “What the fuck am I now? With all of the other parts, what have I become this time?

  Rakam thought for a moment to find the right words. Finally, he said, “I’ll answer as straightforwardly as I can. You are now technically the highest class of undead ever recorded. You can name it whatever you want since you are the first to ever achieve this status, but the point remains. You are essentially a Lich Ascendant, or an Elder Lich. Congrats, kid, you have become an even rarer specimen than the fucking Primordials.” As Rakam said this, he was almost beaming with pride. He was training the most powerful being to ever come out of the mortal realm, and perhaps across all 3. He had a front row seat to something that most people couldn’t even imagine. And yet here this kid was, radiating with power.

  Rakam smirked one last arrogant smile before saying, “Cheer up, kid, this is where shit gets real. We have no idea what kind of potential you hold. We are about to pioneer into uncharted territory. The possibilities are endless. Once we figure out just how much of Eliam’s power you gained from the graft, you might even rival my power.” He had an evil look as he finished his thought. “The mortal realm might have just earned its very own god of death. So shall we begin in earnest, oh great one?”