At Any Cost

Jameson wasn’t the best necromancer out there by any stretch of the imagination. Her Nan had told her so many times that he should leave that to her brother. ‘Necromancy was a man’s art,’ she’d say. ‘Women create and deal with giving life. Healing, for example. Not death and certainly not bringing the dead back.’ Thinking back, maybe Nan had been trying to look out for her, attempting to get her to let it go so she would lead a normal life. She certainly would’ve benefited from a little bit of normalcy from time to time in the past thirteen years she’d been practicing. 

Her mentor hadn’t been an easy person to follow. He was a retired wizard for the kingdom and had found a calling in Necromancy. The retired bit had been had been a vast understatement, she had found out later. He had actually been outcasted for a big oopsie in the war. He’d raised the dead to fight alongside the living in hopes of fighting back against the invaders. However, he’d also brought the enemy's soldiers back to life who had out-numbered their country’s three to one. They had only just managed to push them back long enough for her mentor to raise the dead in a last-ditch effort to win the battle and then it had been for nothing. The capital had been overturned and taken over. The only reason he hadn’t died is because he’d somehow convinced the new king that he had meant to only raise his dead. 

The second princess had worked out some deal with the now-new king to be his queen to help assimilate the people to his new rule. Jameson thought the king must be blinded by whatever she must do at night because that was a terrible reason to base a partner much less a ruling member. But monarchs could be that way she assumed. Trifling their lives away on useless drama. It did make her job easier though. With a shaky marriage and a kingdom on the verge of a civil war, it made for a perfect time for an apocalypse. Which is what might happen if she gets her hands on the amulet that will grant her total power over life and death. What she hoped for.

As a general rule, necromancers tended to be cowards. Afraid of death but, in equal parts, afraid of life. Therefore, floating somewhere in-between. A good necromancer siphons the energy from their dead straight into their own veins, keeping them alive well passed when they were supposed to die. She had never been a good at anything in her life, except necromancy. She wanted to be the goddess of life and death of this realm. She wanted to silently stroll into the castles around the world and disrespect the court in front of their people with the knowledge that their rulers could do nothing to stop her. She'll raise armies and then slaughter them once again, as she feels fit to do so. She would do that until she got bored and the people started getting clever. Then, she would throw the world into turmoil and restart it only to start again. No other reason than she truly wished for chaos, for an equal to come to hunt her down and kill her. She would get that, no matter the cost.

Scaling the mountain hadn’t been that hard, she supposed, so how hard could it be to stick your hand in a mechanism built to take a lump of flesh in exchange for ultimate power. At least, that was what she was saying to herself as she stood in front of a giant altar etched with images of people writhing in mixtures of pleasure and pain. She’d done extensive research and had found that nestled in the center of a small mountain village was the Heart of Rebirth, the amulet she needed. The townspeople were worshiping it like a relic from the gods. She had slaughtered them. After all, it was said that it required the blood of the living and the ashes of the dead in order to be relinquished into a necromancer’s hands. She had thought that she needed to just give it enough blood but clearly, it still wanted more. 

When nothing happened after pouring her master’s ashes into the gaping maw that passed for a mouth on the creature most prominent on the pillar, she realized she must have read the instructions wrong. They needed living blood. And seeing as she was the only living thing left around here… She rolls her sleeve up, revealing the black veins carrying her putrid blood to her heart, keeping her alive against her will. Just because she didn’t want to be alive, didn’t mean she wanted to ruin a perfectly good jacket. She watches as she slowly inserts her tightly clenched fist into the demon’s mouth. Immediately, the pain slices through her. It isn’t quick either. It feels like an animal is ripping her flesh apart, peeling the skin off and shaving the meat down to the bone before slurping the marrow from her bones. When it does finally stop, the force of her trying to pull away, has her falling backward on her back. 

Again, nothing happens. 

Jameson cries out in both unbearable pain and frustration. She’s on the verge of panic when she hears the click. A door had popped open in the pillar, revealing a bundle of leather. She stumbles to it, clutching her arm even as it’s starting to repair itself. She falls to her knees, her breath coming out in shudders. This was it. What she had been searching for all this time. Her hand shakes when she picks the bundle up and pulls the cord until it falls open in her lap. Inside reveals a stone the color of dried blood wrapped in black metal hanging from a length of cord. Never one to be patient, she snatches it up and pulls it over her head. 

She had never been a good at anything in her life, except necromancy. She had been too good. 

She watches as the world seems to pulse with power. A sense of rapturous joy washes over her as she realizes that she’s done it. All she has to do now is make some strong foes and spread the rumor that this can kill her. The only problem is she can’t seem to stop the power from pouring into her. Everything around her dies and decays until even the earth beneath her and the sun above her starts to fade. As she watches the world around her fall further and further into darkness, her soul greedily lapping up the energy being shoveled into her, her cries of joy become cries of fear. Louder and louder she cries but she can’t stop this. Whatever terrible magic she released onto the world, she was now its vessel to use to devour everything.

Finally, the tears form as the weight of everything lands on her. After the last sparks of light disappear from her vision, the tears stop and the screaming starts again. Then silence. She would be trapped in an endless loop of torture of darkness and quiet, with no one to even glare at.

And the worst part is she would have no one other than herself to blame. 

Not for the rest of eternity.