After the long winded explanation his vizier made about how the new academy department he had built needed to implement multi-lingual professors, along with golemy instructors that actually know about golems, and how the mice gangs were tunneling through it’s sewage system again, he decided to finally do what he always wanted. He was going to start making his people into immortals. And what better way to do so than go to the graveyard(s). He was pretty excited to test out what new things he could do.

He took out a big dusty vellum tome detailing what each dead ratkin wanted to be revived as. Considering that his people studied revival arts extensively, they could, at best, raise others into wightmares and bone sovereigns. Unfortunately being undead still meant you couldn’t feel the warmth of a lover or taste sweet berries. And most importantly, sleep. Most graduates of necromancy and animancy colleges report desperately craving for sleep or the cessation of consciousness. The raised don’t fare well either reporting severe cases of depression in the first two years and anhedonia for the next four.

Terrible quality of life, but they make for great bureaucratic workers, on account for the lifeless and soul crushing work. Dennis wasn’t willing to let any of his people suffer such torture. He hoped that being a divine lich would help give them back the things they missed from life.

After scanning multiple pages of text, he finally reached the names of his friends.

He just has to prepare a bit for a mass resurrection to take place.

Liches are are beings that have two fundamental similarities regardless of the method of acquiring immortality.

1. The first one would be a phylactery, a receptacle for anima or soul and linking it with a mind. This might either take the form of an object that is usually immutable or attach itself to an idea, art or an archetype. Terrifying things usually happen when this is done incorrectly.

2. The second would be the severance from the cycle of rebirth. This means the lich must either get something else to regularly take their place or supply energy, most of the time other souls, to power a mechanism that anchors them to the phylactery. Liches regularly form new ways to trick the mechanism of afterlifes and rebirth to their advantage.

Fortunately some, like myself, place curses on people who desire to be revived in a later date by preserving their corpse in a sort of timed semi-death. People who pick this option, like a majority of his people, either fear the afterlife or hate the eternal cycles of rebirth.

Being a divine lich has a creative way of dealing with the downsides by linking everyone revived as a phylactery, which he is one now, and by creating an isolated rebirth cycle by borrowing an essence from a God, stacy, and attaching it to themselves.

They are reborn unto themselves by possessing their very corpse and reviving it. As such they can die, in fact they can die as many times as they want. Provided that at least one of them still exist. This allows them to be a part of the living, having the instincts of survival, emotions, and sensations, while guaranteeing that they all have the opportunity to see the next day.

Fascinatingly this allows anything about them die in a sense. For example, a geriatric mousefolk could die and rebirth it’s own body in the prime of their life. This is done by killing off the concept of their age and storing it in their pooled samsara.

Some might wonder if this is, as the otherworlder’s say, op. Well in an isolated view point, yes it is. Compared to everything he’s witnessed, no it really isn’t. The divine lichdom and mass immortality is the bare minimum in surviving this damned reality. Nothing short of a hero can guarantee the survival of his kind, after all the humans, demons, and wolffolk survived this long by having heroes that constantly support their kin.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Well now he needs his heroes back. He needs his friends from beyond the grave.

He dragged the large tome and threw it in a wheelbarrow conveniently positioned near every shelf of the tower. He rolled it off the spiraling ramps at the center of the structure going down, floor after floor after floor. He was sweating and panting, a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time. He finally reached the ground floor and reached the mausoleum.

Still wheeling his huge tome and surprisingly ignored by everyone he passed by, maybe because he’s not wearing his ‘I am a magical demigod’ royal outfit that obscured his real body, till he reached the temple where four guards were stationed in front of the massive mausoleum gate. They wore silver armor crafted by his disciples and yours truly which were made to withstand the barrage of force and magical might for at least a few hours. They even have the ability to teleport anywhere within the mausoleum. They were specifically trained to be unbeatable inside the place. Two guards were chatting near the green torches with bored looks, another one was eating a spiced lizard roast, and one was actually asleep.

I should probably have them go to another department instead.

He looks at one of the ratmen, the one asleep near a giant sword, and sees a handsome cute face.

Dennis wipes drool off his face

STOP! Damn it Dennis keep it together!

He averted his gaze to the ones chatting instead.

One was gruff and muscular despite holding a slender bow charged with power, while the the smaller boyish one played with a spear that changed sizes with every twirl.

He shook himself again and focused on the one eating the lizard. He was wearing his helmet despite eating, but that wasn’t the problem. The guy was shirtless. The guy was shirtless!

Damn it Wyatt why did you put all these 10’s in one place.

Oh Goddess please help me, why are they all hot.

It might actually be a problem if they were stationed anywhere else where he regularly sees them. Dennis decided they needed to stay here. Out of sight, out of mind. Or it would be if he wasn’t directly looking at the sexy guys and currently have only them in his mind right now.

Dennis keep it together. Control your gay thoughts.

He rarely comes here opting instead to seek the help of other people. Nevertheless he needs to at least look like the ‘lich of the creeping frost’ so that he’ll be let in the deeper levels and not be mistaken as another kid by some other guard before getting bailed by Wyatt.

He hid behind the pillars and prepared make himself look like his ‘intimidating lich’ self.

So he pulls his own shadow and makes a cloak to obscure his wheelbarrow and body. He looked like a figure of death made manifest if only he wasn’t so short. Next he conjures a crown of glowing eternal ice and places it on his head.

He stands in top of the wheelbarrow increasing his height. Lastly he should probably make something to help him move the tome. So he ensouls the wheelbarrow with one of his artificial soul gem ‘BA-B1 CH33-KS’ which stands for “Branch: Anafabula - Base(1); Class: Herald #33 (Kinetic Shifter)”. It was one of his most convenient ones capable of moving things and not just killing like other artificial souls made by his fellow necromancy practitioners.

The wheelbarrow creaked and groaned as it came to life.

“Hello my little lovely, Daddy’s got you” He said with affection.

The wheelbarrow responded by producing a sound of falling pipes somehow.

“Daddy just needs you to carry me till we reach inside the mausoleum okay”

The wheelbarrow made a dink sound.

“Now just move while I’m on top of you an-”

The wheelbarrow carrying Dennis and the tome moved obscured in shadow, but instead of moving using the wheels it moved horizontally scraping metal against stone creating sparks as it neared the entrance.

The sound was so awful that everyone, even the guards, were staring at his intimidating visage.

Dennis, frozen by the the situation, attempted to stop the wheelbarrow, unfortunately he was already in front of three jumpy, battle-hardened guards and one who was quickly donning his armor. Atop his ensouled wheelbarrow, he towered over them inadvertently projecting an aura of power and malice.

Dennis was too deep in this charade now, so he might as well push through till the bitter end.

In for a chip, in for a gem.

He put on his most lichy, regal, ‘I am ages older than you mortal’ voice that he used in public events and diplomatic settings.

“A fine evening guardsmen of the crypt, I require entry to it’s inner sanctums. Might thee guide me on this task?”