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Chapter 74 - Death of a Necromancer
🕑 Added 2026-01-28 19:30:10 +0000 UTCThe City of the Winged Men
The City of the Winged Men wasn’t a city by conventional means. Eight settlements have been built around the Mountains of Morn. Traveling between them using gliders was far more efficient for the individual than making the journey through the mountain paths.
Not a city, but a loose gathering of settlements.
He did even see several people gliding around. This was definitely faster than finding a craftsman, having the said craftsman build a glider, and testing it.
The city was half legendary across the known world. The language spoken and their culture were entirely unknown. However, that did not mean communication was impossible.
Robert landed the dragons on the largest settlement beneath the mountain. He didn’t know if these people were aware of dragons, but seeing two large, four-winged creatures fly down had their attention.
He landed on the ground, slow and deliberate. The lands around the Hidden Sea did not seem conducive to growing crops. It explained why the people even bothered to settle up so high.
The people who approached him and Sandor were armed and tense. They wore thick, fur clothing with feather ornaments on their arms and legs and bird-shaped masks. He did not understand their words except for one.
Valyrian.
It was spoken with hisses, as if almost a curse.
Robert pointed at himself and shook his head. “Not Valyrian,” he replied in Valyrian. It appeared these people knew and hated the Valyrians.
The one at the head of the group pointed at the dragons, jabbing his spear threateningly. He assumed the man was asking about how he had the dragons.
Robert replied with several words. Steal, thief, take without seeing—anything to get across that the dragons were stolen.
The words meant nothing to the guards, but thankfully he was saved when an old man came from the back. His Valyrian was broken too, just like Robert’s, but at least he had one person to speak with.
“You stole dragons?” the old man asked.
“Eggs,” he replied.
“Valyrians let you live, how?” If anyone had done something as bold as stealing dragon eggs, the Valyrians would chase them to the ends of the world.
“Valyria gone, torn apart. Valyrians dead,” Robert explained in broken Valyrian. This was far better than having to explain himself through drawings and motions.
The old man took a step back, looking weak. Whatever their bone with the Valyrians was, hearing their deaths must have shocked him. The guards surrounded the man, believing that Robert threatened the man.
“How?” he asked after explaining the situation to his fellow men.
“One summoned demon. The others tried to stop. The demon destroy the islands,” he explained as best as he could.
“Demon?” the old man asked.
“Evil creature,” he reiterated. Perhaps the old man didn’t know the meaning of the word.
The old man let out a deep, hearty laugh, saying something to the guards in his own tongue with the word Valyria in it. The guards erupted into cheers.
He assumed they were the descendants of slaves that had escaped the Valyrians and ended up in this place. Even centuries later, they must have been afraid that the dragonlords would eventually make their way here.
“What do you want?”
“Wings for him. To kill another evil creature. It controls the dead, controls corpses.”
The City of the Winged Men did not have any trade with outsiders except Carcosa. It meant gold was still valuable. He bargained with the old man, reaching an agreement of one hundred gold dragons for a glider.
The old man was polite enough to invite them to stay at the settlement for a few days, but in the interest of not inviting any trouble, he chose to camp outside.
The people here had smaller builds, and the gliders were made for their size. Sandor would need something custom-made not to crash-land.
He kept his distance; so did the Winged Men—centuries of isolation had not erased the wounds the Valyrians had left—except for the elder. He had questions about the world beyond the Mountains of the Morn. The fate of the Valyrians after the Doom interested him the most.
It was a mutual exchange of information.
Robert came to learn that the Winged Men always had Valyrian speakers should their oppressors ever return. He wrote down the interactions for Asgard’s library.
On the third day, the glider was ready. The way he understood it, the trees on the peak of the Mountains of the Morn were light but extremely durable. It would take more pressure than humanly possible to break one of them, which made it the perfect material.
The leather was elastic, making it resistant to tearing. Fitted to the frame with glue and stitches made of animal intestines that were equally durable, the glider was truly a handy device in the terrain they lived.
Sandor was grimacing every step of the way, hesitant to jump. Robert had enough and ordered Ra to throw him off.
His guard screamed but held on to the glider for dear life. Once it caught the wind and began to glide, he quieted down.
Time was short. Once sure that the glider worked, he handed over the coin, bid his farewells, and left.
—
They camped far from Jinghi for the first day. The dragons flew the distance without a stop, and the sun was rising when they landed. Going into Stygai while sleep-deprived would be a death sentence.
Camping for the entire day, the two of them left the following morning. There was a small island off the coast of Asshai, far from the shadow that darkened the land.
It would be the last stop before Stygai.
“So, ready for this deadly little adventure?” he asked Sandor in the middle of their dinner.
“Does it matter? We either succeed or die,” his guard grumbled. Not every day did you walk into certain death with a man known for defying all odds.
“That’s the spirit.”
“I was just thinking if it would be better to fight our way through,” he admitted. One mistake in the air, and he wouldn’t have a chance to save himself.
“It’s just the two of us. I don’t want to confront the spirit of the sorcerer while tired from fighting a horde of undead creatures. Do you?”
“You would know better.”
—
Stygai
Back on the suffocating skies, Robert readied his suit. Their target, the long, narrow building at the top of the valley, was in sight.
“Ready?”
“I am.”
“Obelisk, Ra, stay here.”
His dragons snarled. They felt the unnaturalness of the city and didn’t want him gone.
“Follow me,” he called out to Sandor, and jumped.
Swearing, Sandor ran towards the head of the dragon, gripping the bars of the glider tightly.
He caught up to Robert, looking down at the corpse city. Now that they were closer, he could see the undead monsters below clearly. Half-decayed corpses, human, animal, and mixes of the two, were walking around aimlessly.
Fighting through them would be a nightmare in itself.
The air became more suffocating the lower they went down. He could hear whispers of words that meant nothing but cluttered his thoughts. He gripped the bars even tighter now that they almost reached the structure.
Breathing was getting difficult each second.
Robert was the first to land. His flight suit retracted, and he rolled to soften the fall. Sandor let the glider go once his feet touched the ground. The speed almost sent him rolling, but he righted himself.
The building was even more foreboding this close. The outer walls were long and narrow, as if spears were thrusting to the sky. Waves of smoke rolled from the black stone.
“Inside, now,” Robert said with a low tone. The ominous, crimson light was right behind the gate in front of them. He pushed on the stone, feeling it move while shadows were crawling over his hands.
Sandor pushed the other side with his shoulder, grunting. The doors groaned as stone scraped on stone. Once the gate was open enough, he slipped in with Sandor behind.
Outside, he could hear the groans of the undead.
They pushed the gates back to bar entry. Rushing through the hall with weapons drawn, an undead human came out of the living shadows. A rotting corpse with crimson glows in his empty eye sockets, Robert backhanded it away.
“Quick, out of the hallway,” he shouted. Now that the creatures knew they were here, there was no need to keep silent.
The hallway was too narrow and dark for two to fight effectively. He slammed through several more corpses, throwing three of them off as they reached the end of the hallway.
What must have been a throne room looked like a nightmare given form. A crimson crystal, as if liquid, living blood contained within a vessel, floated far above a throne.
It was vaguely familiar.
Rotting human parts were strewn around, seemingly inert. He took a step forward, and the crystal pulsed. Shadows coalesced around the crystal. A tendril with a maw emerged, letting out a screech. It slammed to the floor.
Smaller, crimson tendrils flew out of the point of impact, stabbing through the body parts, and drew them together.
Legs fused into one, becoming pillar-like limbs. Several torsos did the same, followed by arms, and finally, a head.
It happened too fast for him to react and disturb the process.
The comically tiny head’s empty eyes lit up. It roared, pushing the shadows away and rattling his bones.
“Go for the legs,” Robert shouted, already running to kill the creature. Its massive meat slab of an arm came down. The attack missed when he suddenly stopped. The floor shattered, sending chips of rock flying away.
He brought Nightblood down, leaving a deep gash, but it did not go through the bone. Sandor did the same to its right leg, but the result was the same each time. Crimson tendrils stitched the wounds back, leaving a black ooze behind.
“New plan, go for the head,” he said, pulling back to dodge the rampaging undead’s arm.
Its size made it slow, but not by much. The attacks could easily be dodged as long as they were careful.
Holstering his sword, he pulled his hammer out. Dodging another lethal attack, he brought the hammer to the creature’s knee with a roar. The massive pillar of flesh and bone broke with a sound akin to a tree splintering.
Sandor took the opportunity to step on the creature’s arm to jump and take its head off.
“See? It’s easy once you know how to do it.”
His sense of triumph was short-lived. The undead were gathering outside the door, pushing it open as they walked forward with the sole purpose of killing Robert and Sandor.
And the head was slowly reattaching itself.
His hammer came down on the head, splattering it across the floor.
“Keep the gate while I get the crystal.”
Sandor did so with a nod.
The crystal was floating far above the throne, too high for him to reach. He broke into a sprint, using the throne as leverage to jump at the wall and launch himself back.
He caught the crystal with one hand, hanging in the air as it refused to come down. Hot, sharp tendrils raced through his hand, and the world turned dark for Robert.
The undead that were pushing the door stopped. The shadows across the Shadow Lands stilled for a second before being drawn back to Stygai. The darkness covering the land lessened, but the corpse city was a void that sucked all light out.
—
His eyes opened with a glossy look. The blue eyes were replaced with blood red, and memories rushed to his mind.
Power, more than any mortal could ever dream of. He was on the verge of ascending to godhood, but his vessel of flesh had failed him.
“Master Xolani, what a pleasure it is to see you finally find a vessel,” a voice came, one that brought more memories out of the depths of his mind.
“I remember you. The wish granter,” he said, with the voice of the previous owner of this vessel and his own mixing into one. The mortal was resilient, but he would be snuffed out soon.
“Indeed. It has been thousands of years since you lost your body,” the wish granter said.
His eyes widened. The passage of time was not easy to perceive with a shattered mind. “This one will serve me now.”
“Not for long, I am afraid.” Gaunter shook his head. “It is a mere mortal body, even if the most impressive among their kind. You will be broken to pieces again in hours,” he warned.
Xolani’s lips twitched. He would not return to that state ever again.
“I can grant you a new body, should you wish for it,” he added, rubbing his hands.
It was almost over now.
“Yes,” Xolani floated forward. “Grant me a new vessel, one that will not fail me.”
Gaunter snapped his finger. “Wish granted.”
A body rose from the ground. Long silver hair, a narrow face with glassy skin, dressed in dark colors. It was a perfect replica of his previous body, only this one possessed strength beyond flesh and blood.
The crystal, his heart, and the source of his power ceased flowing into the mortal. He willed it, and his spirit was torn out of the mortal flesh, fusing with the unholy creation.
His previous vessel fell to the ground, just in time for the new one to open his eyes. They were deep pools of red blood. Xolani grinned.
“Finally, my reign can start,” he laughed deeply, feeling the power course through his new vessel.
“And that makes three,” Gaunter O’Dimm said.
Xolani felt a tug on his soul. He turned around to see the wish granter pulling on it.
“Oh, Master Xolani, don’t tell me you forgot. Three wishes, and your soul is mine,” he said, voice deepening towards the end.
He could not even scream as his soul was torn away, and the grin of the wish granter was the last thing he saw.
—
Across the Shadow Lands, including Asshai and Stygai, the shadows that have been plaguing the land for thousands of years inexplicably started to fade. The dark clouds began to disappear, allowing sunlight to touch the land. The darkness over the black stones faded, giving way to a gray, harmless material. Creatures that had been taken over by the shadows were freed, though most had already perished long ago.
Corpses plaguing Stygai dropped dead instantly, granting peace to the souls tortured with this cursed existence for thousands of years.
The suffocating air gave way to a freshness most did not know even existed. Some dared to remove their veils, breathing in.
The people watched the sky with parted lips as to how this miracle had happened. All eyes turned towards the corpse city, the long-suspected source of this darkness.
