The doctor had finished sewing the opening of the corpse and was now making strange gestures with his hands on the body; as the spell increased in intensity. This curious procedure made Viktor's stomach turn. Every gesture the doctor made was burned into his memory. The incomprehensible words of the spell reverberated in his mind as if they were familiar.
As the mantra continued, the atmosphere in the laboratory cellar changed perceptibly. Viktor felt static electricity build up inside his own body as if he were trapped in the middle of an incipient electrical storm. He felt the shadows thicken around him. The air itself had taken on a suffocating quality. He looked greasy and tainted.
Seen out of the corner of his eye, as he watched the doctor and the ritual taking place below, the impenetrable darkness that refused to disappear from the corners of the vault seemed to run like oil across the ceiling and ruined walls and gradually envelop the room, as if the shadows we
Viktor knew that he should have reported what he had seen that night, what he thought he had seen, to the Inquisitors. But now it was too late. In fact, he should have gone to the Inquisition earlier, after the discovery he had made in Dr. Tepes' library or even before that, when he saw the body snatchers. Of course, it was too late. The consequences for him were too dire and final to consider. No, he should just watch and wait alone and unaided for this to be over.On the thirtieth day of the month, Herwin visited him again. The excuse was that Professor Theodria had sent him to find out what had happened to Viktor and find out what was happening. Herwin was treated unceremoniously and Viktor dismissed him without giving any reason for his recent absence from school.Herwin returned four days later and insisted that they let him in and the two apprentices explain what was going on. On that occasion, a delusional Erich expelled him from the apartment. Herwin stormed of
I can still remember the first time I took the life of another man as clearly as it had been yesterday.I have killed many. The bully Inquisitor, the desperate prostitute, the unloyal soldier, the alcoholic priest, the grumbling ferrywoman, the repulsive and manipulative bloodsucker of the Moroi clan, the rude undertaker, the half-deranged militia soldier, the pompous nobleman, the master of the wizard's guild, my own apprentice, the big-whisked rat catcher, the stupid adventurer who fancied himself a hero, the innocent twins, the greedy thief.But I still remember the first. The first is special.I can still see his face as he strangled him. I can see the red and bulging eyes, the swollen tongue sticking out of the mouth, the puffed cheeks turning from pink to purple. I can hear the husky gurgling sputtering of the man choking and trying to inhale air that will never reach his lungs. I feel his desperate hands hitting mine, the nails scratching my skin and pene
Viktor arrived at the apartment building as the temple bells struck ten o'clock. In the dark, one of his feet brushed against something hairy and wet. Viktor stopped and took a step back.The unearthly luminescence of the moon illuminated even the darkness of the street, where the light devoid of shades stripped the object of all its color, but in spite of that it was unmistakable.Erich's cat lay dead in the street. His skinny body was unnaturally stretched out. Hideously black blood stained his spiky ginger hair where the wagon wheel had passed over him.Seeing such an incongruous image momentarily distracted Viktor from his own worries and anguish. Erich would be greatly affected. For some strange reason, he adored that grungy stray cat.Viktor bent down and scooped up the cat's body in the cape. The pungent acrid smell of the dead animal assaulted his nostrils even more strongly than the smell of burning fat from the plaza.Viktor entered the s
Viktor turned his head slowly and saw that Erich was standing in the doorway, his horrified face turned into conspicuous shock. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Viktor was busy panting, and Erich was simply too scared to say anything.Viktor's roommate had no need to explain what he was doing there. If anyone had to explain something, it was Viktor. And yet it was Erich, still standing in the doorway and not daring to step through, the first to speak.“I… I heard the cat. He was meowing. M… I wondered what had happened to him. "Viktor glanced at the body lying on the workbench. The front of the ginger cat hung from the edge of the table."Well, now you know," Viktor replied.Erich looked from Viktor to the cat and back to Viktor, the same shocked expression of horror painted on his face."H ... how?" was the only thing he could pronounce."I don't know very well ..." Viktor admitted, puzzled by the exp
His dreams grew darker, but he told himself it was undoubtedly a simple adaptation to his new gift.Each night, by the light of a lamp, he filled notebook after notebook with notes of his new discoveries. It had been weeks since Viktor and Erich had last attended a class at the magic school.They slept during the day, and when dusk cast its shadows over the city, they ventured outside to discreetly make their way to the warehouse.Each night they followed a different route, sometimes retracing their own steps in order to make sure they did not follow them and to avoid detection. They worked non-stop until the first gleams of the pre-dawn light began to fade the velvety darkness of the sky.And so they continued as the first month of autumn progressed. But life was on its way to the other side of the insular world of darkness they had created, and by the twelfth day of the month the plague had already established itself firmly in Genbofen.Rumor had
After Viktor delivered the letter to be sent to his sister, he and Erich met again at the warehouse. Now, after sunset, the air had a characteristic autumnal chill that suggested the season was about to change again. In too little time the decline of autumn would give way to winter and the dead months of the year. A chilly wind blew in from under the wooden doors and whistled through the slate tiles above the hayloft.They were surrounded by a scene not much different from the one they had discovered in Dr. Tepes's basement. There were trestle tables, covered with Viktor's open notebooks. On a workbench were the instruments of a surgeon. And in the middle of all this was a heavy oak table set to become an autopsy table when the opportunity presented itself.Erich had "acquired" most of the equipment and Viktor preferred not to ask how he had gotten it. Viktor had just told him what he needed and Erich provided it. Around all this he hung a sackcloth curtain so that, in
Let me tell you a little about the nature of what you vaguely call "magic."I have never liked that word for it because it describes too poorly the reciprocal action of energy that only a few are capable of generating with enough power and control to affect the material plane.Those of us who have been blessed with the ability to control the ebb and flow of Mana do not see the world as mere mortals do. Our minds exist at the same time in the everyday material world and the dazzling magical world that only users of this power can know.This is so in the case of all sorcerers, Wizards, Witches and any user of arcane powers, including those who practice the science of death.The malevolent negative energy that necromancy uses is by far the most dangerous form of magic, but some will say the most powerful as well. But don't get me wrong, negative energy involves both physical and mental sacrifice as it corrupts you from the inside out. Not for nothing is it k
Viktor spread his hands over his body, palms down, trembling. It wasn't Herwin Reiss, he told himself, it wasn't anymore.As the vital spark disappeared from him, the corpse was nothing more than an empty vessel, an empty man. Inside his mind he saw the words he had to speak form into letters of fire, and he began to speak the words required for the spell. Erich's wavering voice joined hers and his accomplice began to recite the words whose pronunciation Viktor had spent long hours teaching her.The two students did not know what the words meant, but the power of the words could not be denied. The darkness of the warehouse took on a body. The air they breathed thickened, like the suffocating river mists that drowned the streets of the half-dead city, and it entered their lungs like mud.The alchemical stench of the preserved body was increased by the intense odor of plant decay, the ferrous aroma of spilled blood, and the bittersweet scent of rotting flesh.
Father Wilkud leaned back in his chair while he rubbed his temples with callused hands, as if that might somehow help clear the fog of uncertainty and malevolent skepticism from his mind.Only then did he realize that he had become so caught up in the story of Brother Mateo that he had leaned forward to listen more closely.Wilkud felt a sudden chill run through him, spasming his frozen muscles and causing his entire body to cower in fear. His feet were numb with cold and the skin on his face felt as if it were taut and clinging to his bones. He had been so engrossed in confession for so long that he hadn't even realized that the fire in the fireplace had gone out.What time was it? Wilkud wondered absently. How long had the tale of the dying priest lasted? The brother must have been talking for many hours. In addition to being chilled to the bone, Wilkud had a raging hunger. Or was it the all-consuming doubt that he now
Viktor didn't need notebooks or hours of preparation to cast spells in the mausoleum. Theodria drew the power of death from this place, and Viktor could do the same. But there was no question as to what the strongest will was there.Viktor could still feel the evil presence of the Tomb Raider that lingered on the periphery of being aware of him. There was no time to lose. Viktor had to act fast while Theodria was still stunned from the impact of his initial assault.Viktor, the dark magician, cast a spell using as fuel the negative energy that he had absorbed along with his own inner mana, combining both energies to use black magic, to use Necromancy."[Reanimate the dead]"Hot, sticky blood gushed out of Viktor's nose as the dark power gathering behind his eyes shot out with a second spell. The bitter taste of black bile filled her mouth and she doubled over at the waist in excruciating searing pain
Viktor could imagine the rest for himself: Erich taking him back to the house, observing his progress after the change that Theodria had imposed on him, encouraging him to develop his necromantic abilities and strengthen his mind; VIktor's friend betraying him unbeknownst to the impressionable peasant boy, acting as Theodria's spy, determining when Viktor had honed his talent enough to become a suitable vessel to which Theodria could transfer her malevolent soul.It wasn't Viktor who had driven Erich crazy. It had been his union with the Tomb Raider that had caused him to gradually lose touch with reality. This bitter revelation brought Viktor back to the present moment with tremendous shock.He knew that he was going to die. For a brief moment he wondered if he should allow Theodria or whatever her name is to finish him off instead of letting the black magic she had turned her back on use him once more for his foul purposes.
"Professor Theodria. Impossible"Hearing Viktor's words, Professor Theodria put on a creepy smile full of evil"for the moments…. That would be my current name, although it is only one of the many names I have used ”Professor Theodria removed the ring and immediately returned to its repulsive and decomposing appearance.If Professor Theoadria was the Tomb Raider, who was Dr. Shandri Drake Tepes?At that moment, Viktor realized that it was not Theoadria who was holding the lantern as if he wanted to inspect the body of his prisoner. The necromancer's servant stood beside him, silent, his ghastly face white as marble polished in the flickering glow of light in one hand."W ... what do you want from me?" Viktor stammered, overwhelmed by the horror of the situation he now found himself in. He had to know why they had brought him there. He had to know why he was going to
Erich led Viktor off the street and led him for a hundred yards, then into the maze of back streets around the carpenters and woodworkers guild. As they moved quickly, they were talking."Erich, where are we going?""I can't ... I can tell you.""Why not? Are we going to the docks? "Erich took a moment to reply.“Y… yes. T… that's it. ""But I thought you couldn't tell me."Logic seemed to have abandoned Erich along with good sense.“I… I can't! Because you ho… you would be horrified. "Viktor's blood ran cold. What could it be that Erich was so desperate to show him and yet he was unable to mention?Suddenly, all of Viktor's suppressed doubts and worries returned in a moment of panic that made his heart race. Erich was walking away, se
I have done all kinds of evil in my unnaturally long life as a necromancer, but the irony is that it was the wrong actions of others that made me a necromancer.When Inquisitor Felix Crissinger accused me, in our first meeting, of being that hideous specter, the Tomb Raider, I was, thus far, innocent of any crime. If that accursed Inquisitor had subjected me to the ordeal of the rack and inevitably found me unjustly guilty, he would have been burned on the pyre of heretics and killed innocent in place of that wretched Sederit Hischer.But the real outrageous irony is that if the irrational inquisitor had ended my life, he would not have been able to turn me into the very thing that the temples and the inquisition made so many puritanical efforts to eradicate. He would not have turned me into the very thing that Felix had accused me of.So I ask you, who prompted me to commit so many unspeakable acts of depraved evil?Who made me mean?And what is i
Under a sky the color of wet slate, Viktor paused under the shade of a tree and looked across the fallow fields, toward his hometown. After a frustrating five days of travel due to low carriage traffic, he had returned home once more.Wayward thunderstorms chased swift tides of clouds across the sky, like wolves hunting sheep.Chipped still looked the same as ever. The forests that gave the austere town its name were dotted with gold and reddish bronze, and the blackened branches stood out against the sky.Frayed-winged birds circled over the cliff to which they had given their name, their squawks barely audible in the breeze.As he moved out of the way again to cross the bare fields, Viktor heard a painful sound that chilled the blood in his veins.The lonely tolling of the chapel bell reached him across the desolate landscape. It could only mean one thing, because the bell rang when: someone had died and passed from the mortal world to the twilig
Some even put forward the ridiculous and stupid idea that it had been spread by rat fleas. Those people should be locked up in a madhouse.Certain preachers of catastrophes declared that it was a condemnation that had fallen on the city.The general consensus was that smallpox was dying out as the end of the year approached, as the disease that had spread in the fetid heat of summer was unable to survive the cold of the coming winter.Of course, others, of a more religious slant, said that the wrongdoers had been punished and that the gods showed their mercy. There was even talk that some of the city's inhabitants would return before the end of the year.By the time he finished his drink, Viktor decided that he had heard enough already and returned to his house not daring to stay there any longer.Viktor returned home to him, but he was changed beyond recognition.Under the lacerated sky that bled wisps of smoke stained red by the setting su
What is death? What does it mean to die? Where does that immortal part of us go when we die? Or is this fragile world the only thing there is?As the son of a priest of the god of death, I need not tell you that Mortis is the most austere, demanding, and ruthless deity. He offers very little in terms of blessings and favors to the common man who does his thing, and yet we all beg for his mercy.All the souls of the dead belong to him and he greedily treasures them ... he is a cruel and ruthless god who knows no mercy.Do you think that what I say is heresy?Maybe yes, but I also know it's the truth.I have looked out into the other world, into the icy abyss of what some stupid people call the afterlife.I will tell you what death is.Death is the ultimate thief. It is stronger than love and more durable than time.You may wonder if it is possible that someone like me can talk about love. However, believe it or not, I have loved