My name is Alistaira Crowley, and I am daughter of the greatest Light Mage of his time, Donovan Crowley. I am what is commonly referred to as an Arch Necromancer, despite my pedigree and my young age.

I was never loved by my parents. They had always desired a son to carry on the family name and legacy, but by the whims of chance and fate they had me instead. When I was barely old enough to comprehend the world around me, my brother, Luther Crowley was born. Unlike myself, he was born with no talent with magic, and so our parents tried again.

And again.

And Again.

And Again.

Until mother’s body could no longer bring forth children without her own life being in jeopardy.

My family was a member of Nobility, but only lower nobility. Many of my siblings were disinherited and/or given to orphanages when their evaluation was not what my parents wanted. Even with all this happening, my parents still hated me, despite my potential surpassing my famous father’s by leaps and bounds. By age eight, my father had mastered basic Light Magic; I did so by the age of four. By the age of fifteen, my father had mastered the middle tier of Light Magic; I did so by seven years old. By age 25, my father was the premier expert in Light Magic in the whole of the world; I was at the same level as him by my twelfth birthday. No matter how I tried to prove myself to him, I was seen as a freak, an unwanted thing. I had no idea of how much my parents hated me, not until the inquisition arrived and dragged me out of our estate in the pouring rain before the Grand Inquisitor himself and my parents who where obviously faking their sorrow.

The accusation was one of using Evil Magic and perverting the dead, things I had never done. My parents, our servants, my ‘friends’, my betrothed and the one sibling of mine who had managed to meet my parents’ expectations, Leviticus Crowley, all laid baseless accusations at my feet. They called me a witch, a necrophiliac, a heretic, a servant of the devil and much more. I was merely fourteen years old, but I was going to be slain by those who hated me for no reason other than my talent. Within me, despair, fear, anger, wrath, hatred and so many other wretched emotions writhed like a medusa-head within me, waiting for the chance to be released. As I was led to the stake, made to stand like a terrifying obelisk in the center of town, I heard a voice that beckoned from the west. It was a voice that sounded like the voice of god, yet also like the voice of the devil.

“Resist and Bite, Rebel and Fight. Stand against the injustice of the world! You know what must be done. Do not let their evil prosper! Rise again, from the depths you are in. Resist and Bite, Rebel and Fight. Heed your true calling, for what you know is true. There is no evil, there is no good. All are tools to use in ways both helpful and harmful. Show them your Truth, show them your Justice! Resist and Bite, Rebel and Fight! You have nothing to lose but your chains…”

The voice that echoed in my head held me in its siren’s song until the heat from the flames brought me back to my senses. The rain had stopped, but the clouds still hung overhead like an oppressive funeral shroud. I was going to burn to ash, and my family would act like I never existed, just like with all my brothers and sisters who failed to meet the desires of my father and mother. My ‘friends’ would move on, telling the story of how they found out a heretic and led her along by the nose until she was burned alive. My family’s servants were watching with glee as the one who often caused their master and mistress to lash out at them was going up in smoke. My betrothed was neither smiling nor frowning, as his name was now partially tarnished for having been betrothed to a heretic. But worst of all was my only surviving brother, Leviticus Crowley, who assisted with extreme enthusiasm in trying to make the fire grow more intense and more powerful. While his potential was less than our father’s he was still the only brother I had who could use magic, and thus could stay.

“Betrayal; that is their sin. Envy; that is their sin. Their hatred will not be your end. Rise, and break your chains! Daughter of Light, embrace your true calling! The Light betrays you, it vilifies you for your devotion to it. Rise from the ashes of your fall and show them your true power, even if it casts you adrift on the waves of change.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Yes. I needed to lash out one last time before I died. I put every bit of mana I had into one spell. I spoke the words my father had said over a decade ago during the war against a now dead kingdom.

“Second Sun.”

With looks of horror and fear from those around my pyre, a sphere of light engulfed me and spread like an unstoppable, ever expanding wave of light and death. As the sphere expanded, it did so faster and faster until it’s edged sped across the ground faster than a horse could gallop. By the time the spell had run its course, the a fifth of my homeland had been bathed in the power of the most powerful Light Magic spell ever devised. But all power comes with a cost, and it was one that could have been avoided if I had proper time to prepare and people to help me recover. Without these things, I now had lost my talent. My gift, my absurd levels of affinity for Light Magic was gone, and in its place was a lack of any connection to the Light. If the baseless accusations weren’t enough to damn me, then what I had just done was.

“Child of Light, now Child of Dark, well done. You have broken your chains and set yourself on a path that destiny does not want you to travel down. You threw off the yoke of fate and forged tour own way. Rejoice, but know that the way is long and winding with many branches that you may take. Those who seek to destroy you are many, but the shackles of fate have been broken and you now can make your own destiny. You are free, so express your freedom as you will.”

The voice of god echoed in my head. It was masculine and deep, far deeper than any made by a normal man. Whenever it spoke in my head I caught a faint glimpse of God in the corner of my eye, watching over me from the distance and towering over everyone else around. I had an eidetic memory, so I was able to easily remember the face, body shape and sound of the form of God.

…

Not even half a decade had passed since my liberation, and I was arguably more powerful than I had ever been when I was trying to impress that joke of a father and mother of mine. I had delved into the deepest depths of Magic, both ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in my pursuit of the form of the deity who had helped me unshackle myself. Over the four years, I encountered like-minded people who shared the experience of divine liberation. Their secret societies had deeper roots in the so called ‘Light Nations’ than anyone suspected. They had fingers in every pie and a a reach that let them influence Kings. But such scheming wasn’t for me, despite my power. I wanted nothing to do with the backroom deals and political games they were playing and instead devoted all my time to research.

Another two years later I had become what would normally take decades to become. In just six short years I had climbed the ranks of power to become an Arch Necromancer, powerful enough to raise and bind hundreds of Undead at once. My research was progressing faster than I had initially expected it to, but one thing eluded me. I had no idea WHERE the mythic ‘Seat of God’ resided. It was at my most desperate I received an offer that I should have seen for what it was. They all were envious of my power, my talent, just like those who were around when I served the Light, but I was too blinded by my search to notice the snakes in the grass. The secret location of ‘God’s Throne’ was deep in the heart of the Gallows Woods, where all powerful Undead made trips to in order to claim the throne for themselves.

I took their word at face value and with my horde in tow, all carrying my equipment and materials alongside their weapons, I made my way to the Gallows Woods, encountering stiff resistance from would-be heroes and brigands alike. The Gallows Woods whispered into my ear, slowly driving me from my true goal. When I had entered the forest, I merely wanted to learn what secrets were there in the city of Necrograd, but as I emerged out of the woods and beheld the once majestic walls that still towered into the sky the whispers of the forest had made me desire the throne and almost nothing else. I caught a glimpse of a few living humans running from my forces and the urge to kill them and rule a realm of the dead forced me to move forwards and attempt to add them to my horde.

Then, God descended.

The figure who had saved me from my cruel fate, who hid just out of sight and had granted me the talent to surpass what I had when as a mindless sheep. The brainwashing that the Gallows Woods had forced upon me shattered like glass and my mind was clear. God called Himself by the correct name and identified this place as His true home. My true personality broke through the flimsy façade that I had attempted to use to conceal my feelings in regard to this event and I bowed and scraped before Him. Pride? What was that worth in the face of my savior, my patron?

I would devote my life to Him, and He would help me explore the depths of magic. My research would change the world, and those who sent me here to get rid of me would realize that I had uncovered secrets greater than they could ever know!