Landious—three times the size of Earth and overflowing with Magical beasts, weapons, and the ones who master them: Realmforgers.
Once, they were legends. Shining beacons of adventure, the pride of the world. Now, they serve empires and guilds, their power traded like coin. The Divine Council decides who among them ranks where, from F to S. Sixteen chosen at birth, blessed with divine magic, rule from on high.
Theiton Darven, the Council's iron-fisted leader, prides himself on order. For decades he's hunted down unruly Realmforgers. One in particular slips his leash every time: Veyne Moregrove, S-ranked necromancer, unaffiliated, unpredictable, and terrifying enough that entire nations pray he never takes a side.
Far to the snowy north, in the dark spires of Castle Duskhold, Veyne stood in his laboratory. His long black hair whipped in the surge of power as he extended both hands over the skull of a black dragon.
The circle beneath it blazed violet. Bones shifted. Cracks spidered. From the sockets burst two enormous pincers, while six jagged protrusions jutted from the skull's sides.
"Experiment two hundred and thirteen, complete! Rise, my… crab dragon? No—definitely need a better name."
The fused monster scuttled forward, claws sparking with condensed necrotic light.
"Interesting. The dragon bone resonates well with crustacean remains. Common ancestor, perhaps? Needs further testing. Power level… B-tier at best. Still, could clear rubble from the crystal mine."
A flick of his hand dismissed the creature into the earth. Notes scribbled, findings logged, Veyne finally called out:
"Balgorth! Balgor!"
Silence answered.
"Balgor, what are you—"
A blur of shadow leapt from behind. In a blink, Veyne's eyes flared red and a storm of jagged blades swirled to strike. The intruder bowed first, sinking to one knee.
"Master of my master," rasped the ghoul. "Lord Balgorth is… indisposed. He answers the door for you, even now."
Veyne lowered his hand with a sigh. "No wonder I didn't sense you—you're not even one of mine."
The ghoul dipped its head once more. "Lord Balgorth will be with you shortly." Then it melted into the dark.
Veyne pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear, he's never heard of subtlety…"
By the time he reached the entrance hall, Balgorth was already shutting the heavy doors. The undead demon bowed stiffly, his broken crown of bone still jutting from his cracked skull.
"Balgor," Veyne said, "stop sending me ghouls. I need to teach you modern messaging magic."
The corpse of the Demon King smirked with rotten teeth. "My master. The messenger made its way to you, yes? Then I have served well. A visitor from the Council again. They insist you attend headquarters. I informed them you were… preoccupied. I also promised to turn them into tortured undead if they persist."
"That's the third time this month," Veyne muttered. "Theiton must be desperate. Fifty years of hounding me and now he won't let up… fine. If the old man wants my attention, I'll give it. Personally."
His crimson eyes gleamed. "Balgorth, prepare the death countermeasures in the dungeon. All of them. I'm paying the Council a visit."
The demon inclined his head. "Shall I activate all one hundred and fifty? It may strain your reserves."
"You'll power them in my stead. And raise the castle's defenses to maximum—kill anything on sight. If it's important, I'll resurrect it later."
"It shall be done, my lord."
Balgorth vanished into the depths. Veyne ascended instead, climbing the tallest tower until he reached the spire. A vast shape stirred. Three skulls cracked open, glowing eyes awakening.
"Rise, Necrothrix. We have a show to put on."
The undead dragon uncoiled, wings spreading wide enough to blot out the moonlight. Veyne mounted its spine, laughter rumbling in his throat.
The night air split with the beating of bone-forged wings as Necrothrix carried him south—toward the Divine Council.