In the distance, rivers of molten lava surged like a restless sea, their blazing crimson glow painting the vast cavern in fiery hues.
The surrounding rock walls, long exposed to the relentless waves of heat, had become scorching to the touch, their surfaces shimmering with a faint, molten-red glow.
Over the centuries, these stones had been tempered to a hardness that rivaled some of the world's strongest metals.
And now—
Atop a towering rock ledge, deep within a cavernous expanse…
A colossal fire dragon, its body covered in gleaming crimson scales, lay sprawled across a mountain of treasure—an opulent hoard of rubies, molten ores, and rare gems, all bathed in the fiery light of the cavern.
The dragon slept soundly.
There was no need to approach.
Even from a distance, the sheer presence radiating from its slumbering form was enough to dwarf the mightiest warriors of the Heroic Realm.
Whew—
From time to time, the dragon's breath escaped its nostrils, sending waves of scalding air rippling through the cavern.
But then—
Its massive body suddenly shuddered, as if sensing something.
Hum—!
In an instant, the fire dragon's eyes snapped open.
Lifting its slender, sinewy neck, the beast revealed a pair of blazing crimson pupils, each one burning with an eerie, flickering light—like flames given form.
For a moment, its gaze flickered with arrogance, ferocity, and wisdom—before shifting into a look of uncertainty.
Clatter—!
As the dragon stirred, gems and gold tumbled from its hoard, scattering across the cavern floor with a resonant chime.
"That magic..."
The fire dragon tilted its head, its deep, ancient voice echoing throughout the cave.
A moment ago, an immensely powerful wave of magic had flared—so potent that it had pierced the dragon's slumber.
But the magic had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
A mere hallucination?
Boom—!
The dragon's massive, fiery wings twitched slightly, igniting two blazing vortexes of flame within the cavern.
The temperature spiked once more.
How could that have been an illusion?
In the cavern's dark recesses, the dragon's fierce, burning eyes narrowed in contemplation.
In Land Of Terror
Here, in this forsaken land, the very air reeked of death and decay.
A vast ruined city sprawled across the crimson earth, its skeletal remains a testament to the horrors that lurked within.
By day, it belonged to the living.
But by night—
It was the domain of the dead.
And here, in this place saturated with the essence of the undead, the night never truly ended.
"Caw—!"
A haunting, piercing shriek echoed through the air as undead vultures, their decayed throats rattling, released their unsettling cries.
Below them, in the ruined streets, skeletal figures and mindless zombies roamed aimlessly, their vacant eyes reflecting the pale light of the blood-red moon.
Step, step, step—
The sound of hurried footsteps—distinctly different from those of the undead—broke the eerie silence.
A lone figure, Khajiit, moved carefully through the ruins, his arms laden with rare magical materials—treasures that could scarcely be found in the outside world.
With calculated precision, he navigated around the wandering undead, making his way toward a three-story building nestled in the heart of the ruined city.
Though still among the living, Khajiit was no ordinary man.
As a necromancer, he knew how to bend the undead's will—how to walk unnoticed among the creatures of the night.
Yet, as he moved, his gaze kept drifting upward—toward the ominous black tower that loomed over the city's center.
A structure like no other.
A monolith of shadow, devoid of windows, as if it had been forged from a single slab of darkness.
Even in the dead of night, the tower stood out—its pitch-black exterior deeper than the void itself.
This was the dwelling of the true master of the ruined lands.
He and the Zurrernorn Leader were mere guests in this forsaken domain.
The closer Khajiit drew to the tower, the more the negative energy in the air became overwhelming.
A flicker of heat and fear flashed in his eyes.
Here, in this place steeped in death, there was a chance—
If he could perform the "Spiral of Death" ritual, he might be able to succeed.
The mere thought sent a thrill of anticipation through him—only to be immediately extinguished.
No.
Even after months since his resurrection, his strength had not fully returned.
The loss of the "Orb of Death" had left him far too weakened, his power still far from its peak.
Damn those bastards...!
His hands clenched into fists.
If I ever find them…!
Grinding his teeth, he quickly lowered his gaze, withdrawing his attention from the Black Tower.
The rich, potent negative energy of this land was not his to wield.
It was fuel for the true ruler of these ruins—
A being who commanded legions of the dead, drawing their essence into something far more terrifying.
Months had passed.
Khajiit had already pieced together the identity of the one who had claimed this land—
A being beyond mortal comprehension.
In this world, few names inspired true terror.
Few could surpass even the greatest Death Mages, wielding power so vast it could erase entire kingdoms with but a flick of the wrist.
According to the secret records kept by the nations of the living, only three such beings had ever been documented:
The Dragon's Night Death Mage – Kfontara Angelus.
The Titan's Night Death Mage – Sjorn.
The Shadow King – The "Terror" of the Night Death Mage.
These names were etched into history, yet even the highest nobility, even some royal bloodlines, remained ignorant of their existence.
Because for the living—
Ignorance was a mercy.
And this place—
Was the domain of the most mysterious and most terrifying of them all.
The Ruler Of The Dead.
With his head lowered, Khajiit moved swiftly through the entrance of the three-story hotel. Upon reaching the top floor, he stopped before a door and knocked.
Click!
The door creaked open on its own.
From within the room, a figure shrouded in thick, swirling darkness emerged—
The leader of the Zurrernorn Alliance.
His entire form was concealed within the shadowy mist, his presence looming over Khajiit.
"Levitate."
Without another word, the Zurrernorn leader extended his staff, lazily swinging it in Khajiit's direction.
Immediately, the magical materials Khajiit had brought lifted into the air, drifting effortlessly across the ritual chamber. Each item settled perfectly into its designated place—an intricate, long-prepared array of runes and symbols.
"So, after all that preparation… you still failed."
The shadowed figure chuckled, his voice a mixture of mockery and amusement.
"I suppose it was to be expected. That cunning, golden-haired brat isn't so easily dealt with."
He continued arranging the ritual, the swirling mist around him shifting like living smoke.
Then, in a voice that carried an almost fanatical edge, he added:
"But failure... only serves to fuel one's hunger for power."
Khajiit stood silently to the side, his gaunt features remaining impassive.
His hollowed eyes were fixed on the floor, but out of the corner of his vision, he carefully observed the complex magical formation laid out before him.
He already had a strong suspicion—he wouldn't be the only one here tonight.
Click!
As the final magical ingredient settled into place, the air within the room thickened.
The mana concentration surged dramatically.
From within the shrouding black mist, the leader of Zurrernorn suddenly produced a blood-red vial, hurling it into the center of the ritual circle.
The instant it made contact, the entire chamber was drenched in the stench of blood—despite the bottle's sealed cork.
Then, in a voice that reverberated with ancient power, the leader intoned:
"Resurrection of the dead!"
Deep within a dense forest, past the edges of a vast wetland, stood Sakeer.
In his left hand, he idly turned a pocket watch, its polished surface reflecting the dim light.
From time to time, his gaze flicked toward a corpse—the lifeless body of a gray-robed mage lying motionless nearby.
"This is taking longer than it did for Khajiit's resurrection…"
Sakeer murmured to himself, unfazed.
He simply waited.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Then—
A subtle tremor ran through the gray-robed mage's body.
It was faint—almost imperceptible—but Sakeer, having been watching closely all along, noticed instantly.
Without hesitation, he began to chant in a low voice:
"Resurrection of the Dead!"
Buzz—!
A wave of mana erupted outward!
Instantly, the corpse's melting flesh halted—the process interrupted.
Yet, unlike previous direct resurrections, this time something felt different.
The air trembled with an unstable chaotic force.
Boom!
A muffled thunderous crack rang through the forest, as though two opposing powers had collided!
The surge of wild, turbulent magic sent a shockwave outward, rattling the gnarled, eerie trees. Their twisted branches shuddered as if struck by an unseen tempest.
"Hmph!"
Sakeer snorted coldly.
In this invisible struggle, he could feel it—
He had the upper hand.
"Hmm—"
His eyes narrowed, and he increased his magic output, forcing the Resurrection Spell to take full dominance.
For a brief moment, the two forces clashed—locked in a silent battle.
Then—
With one final pulse of energy, the invisible resistance shattered.
The gray-robed mage sat up abruptly, his body gasping for breath as though he had just surfaced from drowning.
Sakeer's lips curled into a satisfied smile.
"It worked."
"Looks like I won't need my backup plan after all."
He observed the newly revived mage, his thoughts lingering on the battle of magic he had just experienced.
"In resurrection rituals, having a complete corpse and casting magic at close range…"
"...is far more effective than attempting it from a distance."
With this new insight, Sakeer's mind settled.
He now knew exactly what needed to be done about Quaiesse.
Boom!
Before the gray-robed mage could even react—
His body collapsed once more.
Unconscious. Defenseless.
Back in the Land of Terror
Within the ritual chamber, the aftermath of the failed resurrection was evident.
The precious magical materials that had been meticulously arranged?
Disintegrated into dust.
The once intricate chamber?
Left in utter ruin—as though a storm of chaotic magic had torn through it.
From within the shifting black mist, the Zurrernorn leader's voice seethed with fury:
"BASTARD!"
His low snarl rumbled through the wreckage.
The next day.
As sunlight once again bathed the wetlands, Sakeer glanced at his attribute panel.
His [Mad Mage] class skills had fully recharged.
With a calm expression, he cast his gaze toward the gray-robed wizard's lifeless form.
"Kill him again... then use 'Resurrection of the Dead' to deal with him properly."
This cycle had repeated three times.
After exhausting the Crazy Mage skill, the gray-robed wizard could no longer be revived through resurrection magic.
Crash!
A searing fireball, crackling with traces of lightning, shot from Sakeer's palm.
It collided with the wizard's motionless body, consuming him in an instant.
Within moments—
Only ashes remained.
Sakeer stared at the scattered remains, then let out a small sigh.
He rubbed his temples and muttered to himself:
"Maybe I'm being a bit too cautious..."