The knight surged forward to stop him.
Null screamed across the battlefield, its form extending like a whip. The knight raised its blade to strike the boy just as Null wrapped around its ankles, latching like chains.
"NOW!" Morte roared.
The rings collapsed inward.
Cataclysm.
A black hole bloomed.
Reality folded in a flash. The air screamed as everything within a twenty-foot radius compressed into a single singularity. The knight was yanked off its feet mid-swing, armor twisting, magic unraveling.
Its shield was torn from its hand.
Its limbs distorted, bones grinding under the pressure.
And then—
BOOM.
The spell collapsed in on itself, the singularity detonating into a shockwave of mana and implosion-force. The floor cracked. Several pillars cracked. Dust swallowed the chamber.
Morte dropped to one knee, panting, the back of his robes smoldering.
He coughed twice blood this time. That spell cost him a week's worth of regeneration and almost all his mana reserves.
But he wasn't finished.
The dust parted.
The knight was on its knees, armor warped and smoking.
Still alive.
Still moving.
Morte's eyes widened. "No... You're—"
The knight stabbed its sword into its own chest.
A burst of divine decay rippled outward. Not holy—anti-holy. It ignited the undead mana in the chamber. Null screamed and fell, twitching.
The Lich King didn't interfere.
This was the final test.
Morte stood barely and reached deep.
Into the core of his mana.
The place beneath logic. Beneath fear.
Where instinct ruled.
And only death listened.
He raised one arm. No incantation. No flourish.
Just one word:
"Obey."
The shadows in the hall froze. The always cold castle became even colder as if an older darker being was peering at those below him. The knight paused mid-strike.
And then one by one cracks begunn to show across his body.
Its limbs trembled. Then it screamed. Not with voice, but with raw soul-pressure. But it fell, crumpling to its knees, weapon clattering to the ground. Then as if he was made of ash his body began to drift apart.
As if banished by a greater being than the one that had summoned it.
Morte stood over the kneeling knight. Barely breathing. Veins glowing with mana scars. His eyes burned.
He turned to the Lich King.
"Done."
He landed softly. Breath even. Robes scorched. His left arm trembled from feedback, but he stood tall.
The Lich King descended the stairs. Each step rang like a funeral bell.
He placed a hand on Morte's brow.
"You have passed beyond my expectations."
"From this day forward, your will is your own. Your power is your oath. I name you heir. Officially. But I expect much more from you still."
He stepped back.
The braziers flared. Dresora's hard face softened.
And behind them, unseen by all but one, Kyris allowed himself a small smile.
Morte half-expected the old Kyris to return.
To speak in that clipped, unreadable tone. To offer some sly comment about his scorched sleeve. To scold him, gently but firmly, for not compensating for rebound pressure.
But the shadows stayed silent.
Kyris was there, of course—always there. Somewhere in the keep. Behind locked doors and silenced halls.
But the Kyris who had carried him through frozen corridors and brewed his tea with ritualistic precision—that man was gone.
Stripped away.
Two years ago, Morte had lashed out.
Furious. Lost. Thirteen, and already soaked in death magic, pushing boundaries no child should have understood. He had gone against the King's command—attempted to open a gate into Magus
The Lich King had not punished him.
Instead, he removed a distraction.
He reforged Kyris.
Didn't kill him. But perhaps that would've been kinder.
The butler had been bound by old magic, shaped by loyalty and death. The King had reforged him like a weapon—memories buried, personality scoured. The Kyris that returned was cold. Efficient. Obedient. Hollow…
When Morte begged for his restoration, the Lich King had said:
"A servant who defies purpose is a tool in error. Would you keep a broken blade, my son?"
Even now, Morte still looked for cracks in the mask.
And sometimes… he saw them.
A pause. A look. A faint hitch in the voice.
Ghosts.
Remnants of the man who once watched over him like a second father.
Morte clenched his jaw.
He was strong now. Fifth-tier. No normal mage could touch him. His will could rend flesh from spirit.Null had grown too—become a true shadow-partner, able to think and act with fierce, eerie precision.
Null drifted to his side, flickering but whole. His reflection.
And yet… there were still things beyond his reach.
Still losses he couldn't undo.
And as the throne hall filled with the quiet murmurs of Necrovia's gathered elite, whispering about his ascension, none of them saw the grief in his eyes.
None of them noticed that the boy beneath the power still looked for a friend who was no longer there.The lich king's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Rise, Morte. Fifth-tier. Child of Death. My son.Surely you wish for a Reward. If is with in reason and in my power it shall be done."
Just like that he was dumbstruck he wasn't as naive to believe it could be this easy for the old Kyris to be back. Had to be a test but if it wasn't…
"Yes sir if that is what you wish to do then I already know what i'd like."
The king Tilted his head Curiously. Morte could of swore he could see the lich King smirking. How does a skull even smirk?
"Oh do you now? Then tell me so I can make it so!" The king declared
"I wish for you to bring the old Kyris back."
"Oh morte you still neglect yourself and keep clinging to the things that are holding you back from your true potential. Unfortunately this isn't within reason. It would be detrimental to you."
Morte clenched his jaw and dug his fingers into his palm he could feel his blood begin to seep through his fingers. "Yes of course father, how foolish of me. Very well i would like books about advancing to the sixth tier surely this is reasonable enough"
The king stood and raised his arms and began to pull books from the shadows of his robes. He still didn't understand how that spell worked.
"Yes that is who my son should be hungry for knowledge not fleeting friendships. Had you not somehow managed to bond that puppet so tightly to your soul I would have gotten rid of him a long time ago or atleast unraveled his spellwork. Now I believe its time for you to go back to training."