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I decided to Merge this entire mini-story into a single chapter for convenience. If you would prefer to read it with breaks (how it was originally posted) Skip this chapter and move onto the next. If you read this in one go, then you can skip to 1.14 Link in the author notes

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The grand auditorium was a magnificent display of magical architecture. Hundreds of hand carved seats surrounding the central platform. The walls towering into the sky and supporting a dome of dazzling glass. Along the masonry were huge screens of scrying glass. There were no lights in the room, yet somehow it stayed illuminated at all times. A natural glow permeating the air. Even now, enchanted brooms, cloth, and cleaning golems carefully prepared the room for its first class. Time was short, and the headmasters wanted it to be perfect.

The central bell rang and the doors opened. The cleaners vanished in a puff of smoke as students flooded the interior. The fledgling spellcasters filled with a sense of awe. Since arriving at the academy, the wonders of magic were on full display. The wealth, the power, and the wonder etching itself into their minds. Many rushed to the front seats, trying to get the best view for the lecture. While excitement was in the air, many knew the price of failure. Families had spent their entire fortune in hopes of having a professionally trained mage. Even getting accepted was an accomplishment, the students undergoing various tests before being shipped out. But that was the easy part, the school was ruthless in its lessons. Many knew the rates of failure, on average only 3% of incoming students would make it. In the first year alone, nearly 80% would be sent home. Already alliances were being made, those of the upper class trying to make pacts with other powerful families. Unfortunately for them, magic didn’t care about upbringing. Only how much you were willing to sacrifice to learn.

The academy was brutally efficient at identifying those with significant talent. The various instructors went extra hard in the first years. They wanted to break the students, grueling trials, testing friendships, and making it a living hell. A simple three mark system led to expulsion, three mistakes and they were gone. Some would say it was cruel, but it was a necessary evil. The magics taught created powerful casters, those that graduated could shape the paths of nations. Furthermore, magic was inherently vicious. A rebound could cause catastrophic damages to not only the caster, but the world around them.

Even those of high level were not immune to the backlash. Last year the head of dreamwalking disappeared in the wondrous realms. His students left scrambling through his notes and writings trying to glean any information they could. They’d organize search parties in an attempt to find his wayward soul and return it to the physical realm, but so far not even a scrap remained. It was a chilling reminder to never take casting lightly. The aether praised sacrifice and humility, while punishing those who refused to acknowledge the dangers. Only when a student demonstrated the intelligence, wisdom, and fortitude required would the headmasters allow them to transition to the next level. If they couldn’t accomplish it in one year, they were sent home as failures.

As the chatter reached its crescendo, the faculty door slammed open. Two massive slabs of ivory with an intricate carved design representing the school’s mascot. A raging beast with five heads, a dragon, lion, human, horse, and snake. Each head fighting with one another. The meaning of the creature was lost from the passage of time, but it was the symbol of this grand academy. A loud boom silenced the students, the echoing sound lingering in the air as the instructor approached the stand.

Stepping onto the podium activated the room's magic. All across the walls, the scry-glass sparked to life. Each one displaying a life feed of the podium and the professor at the center. His wrist flicked and a board appeared in the air. Glancing up, he shifted his fingers and adjusted the glass to zoom in on his display. Without even acknowledging the class, he began his first lesson. The worlds “Intro to Magic” Appearing on the board.

“Magic is a fundamental force permeating our world. While none have found the origin, there are many theories on how it arose. For now, we will be focusing on the fundamental ways we can harness these ethereal powers for our own benefit. I am sure each of you has an aptitude for a certain path. The classes you have chosen and the skills developed are powerful, but a crutch to your studies. Here we learn true magic, here we create the skills, here you will become [Archmage]’s and not some [Hedgewitch].” He said “witch” with a disgusted tone.

“While the Will may have blessed you with talent, here we mold you for greatness. A [Fire Mage] may only know a few basic spells, but a [Archmage of the Flame] shall create his spells.”

He paused and began writing on the board.

SYMPATHY

Sympathetic was one of the most basic forms of mana manipulation. At its foundation, it formed a connection between two objects. Yet, for its simplicity led it to being widely used across classes and allowed for a greater flexibility. Furthermore, due to its ease of use, it was integrated into a lot of modern technologies. Many ended up stumbling upon Sympathy without even realizing it. They’d learn little tricks or techniques to make projects easier. However, those that delved into the path of Sympathy were some of the most creative mages around. Only limited by their mana and creativity.

“As a demonstration” He pointed at an over-eager student sitting in the front row.

His lips moved, but there was only silence. Pulling out a small rock, he lifted it into the sky. Instantly, the student's chair was sent flying into the air. His screams of terror echoing in the room as he struggled to hold onto the side.

“Strike one!” The professor flicked his hand, and an X appeared imprinted on the uniform.

“A true mage is prepared for any surprise! To lose composure is to unleash wild magic, even in the most extreme situations you remain calm. Two more and you are expelled”

He lowered the rock and the chair returned to its place. The terrified man tried to calm himself and focus on the lecture. He knew the teachers were crazy and this was only the start. However, for all the showmanship. A hidden lesson was already taught. It was an insidious method of identifying the most studious of students. A slight grin crossed the instructor’s face as he saw who caught on. He memorized their faces as those would be the ones he’d personally tutor.

To the bulk of students, they were either awestruck or terrified by the display of power. Completely missing the most important part of the lesson–his lips. He had just given them their first sympathetic incarnation, their first glimpse of skill-less spellcasting. While their words were lost, the smart ones memorized the shapes. Hopefully, they’d be able to decipher the spell back in their dorms.

“As you can see, Sympathy is far faster than any other form of non-skill based magic. However, overuse can quickly drain your mana pool resulting in exhaustion. Now let’s go over the basics.” He put the rock away and returned to the board.

In theory any two objects could be linked. In practice…not so much. Identical objects of weight, size, and material were nearly perfect transfers. Meanwhile living objects were much harder to manipulate. As such, the best use of this magic involved matching materials before creating a link. For example, if one wanted to move a boulder, then link it with a stone. To fell a tree, link it with wood. Due to such requirements, it wasn’t difficult to identify a mage of Sympathy. The users tended to carry a large variety of materials on their person at all times.

“While fast and flexible, the primary drawback to sympathy is what we call work” He turned back to the students

“Sympathy, in theory, is one of equal exchange. For me to lift the…screamer’s chair, I had to expend mana equal to the force to raise it. However, in practice, it required quite a bit more than that due to my choice of material. You!” He pointed and another student was called to the podium.

“I have linked these two objects to the chair. Please move each”

All were watching as the first-year reached for the stone. He gripped the cool material and tried to lift it into the air. Immediately he felt his shallow pool rapidly dwindle. Yet, he could only make the chair wobble in response.

“Hmm good try, but let's not pass out on our first day. No marks, but focus on expanding your mana reserve” He critiqued and gestured to the piece of wood.

The student nodded and tried a second time. This time he was able to make the chair levitate slightly, before halting.

“Well, you tried…” The professor sighed it seemed like they were getting worse each year.

“Still not a total failure, as you can tell the wood to wood connection was far stronger than wood to stone. Now to truly maximize efficiency, it is best to have a piece of the connected object.” He pulled out a small splinter and placed it onto the sample.

“One more time please” and the student did so.

Even with skill exhaustion, he was able to lift the chair nearly a foot off the ground. He held the spell for nearly 5 seconds before his arm gave out. The professor shooed him away and continued.

Sympathy wasn’t limited to movement, all forms of connections could be made. By heating one object, you could ignite another. Furthermore, you could make sympathetic chains to external sources. This was how [Magical Engineers] and their variants created mechanical monstrosities. By linking their materials to mana batteries, waterwheels, or any other device that could “work” they could transfer it into their creations. If efficiency wasn’t an issue, they could transform types of work into others. Heat could be turned to movement, movement into light, light into cold, and more. Once again, the only true limit was the creativity of the spellcaster.

He watched in amusement as they frantically took notes on this lecture, but there was still a lot to cover. He waited for one student to stop writing before continuing onto the next top. Wiping the board of his notes, a grin crossed his face as heard their cries.

Rituals

“Rituals are an ancient form of magic closely related to the divine. While a god’s power is a separate entity from the aether, we mages can still make use of the style. At first we thought magic was untamable. Something that had to be forced with our own mana and bound with our will. However, we were only partially correct. Magic IS wild, but it can pick up…how do I put this…impressions. It might be easier just to show.”

Reaching into his bag, he placed a series of candles along the desk. Each one carefully aligned in a spiral pattern. He took his time measuring the distance between each one, adjusting them in minute ways. Satisfied, he took a series of herbs and formed connecting lines between the objects. Finally, he lit the wicks and began his incarnation.

“I’ll give you thirty seconds to memorize this setup.” He waited briefly as the students frantically noted down the ritual.

Once time was up, he carefully extinguished the flames one at a time. Pausing to say the next part of the ritual before pinching his fingers together. Sweat formed on his brow as he carefully concentrated on the display. With the last step down, he snuffed out the final light and the entire room was plunged into darkness. This wasn’t just a normal nightfall, it was the absence of all. Both light and sound were gone. Nobody could tell how long it lasted before the candle relit and the world returned to normal.

“The benefit of ritualistic magic requires nearly zero mana to perform. By tapping into the woven tapestry, the effect spontaneously occurs. Additionally, The ritual of darkness has been performed for thousands of years. This constant imprinting allows us to cast the spell with relative ease. Additionally, because rituals only require a particular set of steps; you can create effects far above your standard level. Of course, that is easier said than done. Those that lean into the [[Ritualist]] classes have a much easier time of it. Whether it be substituting materials for mana, the effect naturally stronger due to their bonds with the tapestry, or even gaining skills that allow them to cast a spell but save it’s effects for later. Lastly, the underlying current seems to be appeased by showmanship. Using higher quality materials and adding a bit of flair will enhance its effect.”

He knocked over the candles and pointed to another student.

“You, please perform the ritual as demonstrated”

The whole auditorium turned to the student. This was clearly a setup and they wanted to see his reaction. Grabbing his notes, he shuffled down the steps to the podium.

“Do not worry about the incantation, I’ll chant it for you. Just set up and perform the actions please”

He did his best to replicate the professor's ritual, carefully setting up the candle arrangement, laying out the herbs, and snuffing out the light. Holding his finger at the final flame, he felt the magic begin to take hold. IT was an exhilarating feeling and one he savored briefly.

“Go on” And he felt a hand on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he extinguished the light.

The world fell into darkness once more and he cheered out.

“HAH I DID IT!” — only to be met with some stifled laughter.

“Do not laugh at a fellow student or I’ll have you volunteer for the next!” He shouted, it was disgraceful. The best lessons usually came from failure.

“Now, while rituals are powerful. To disgrace the aetheric webway leads to more intense backlash than the other paths of magic. Thankfully, the rebound of darkness is self-blindness.” He felt the student begin to panic.

“Calm down or do you want a mark? Backlash is common in our line and you must be willing to deal with the consequences. Hopefully you made a friend to take notes for you” He turned back to the board and continued to write.

Rituals are inherently linked to complexity. The more flair and steps, the more powerful the effect. While clerics and those of various cults only need to please their fickle gods, ritualists are attempting to imprint order into the aether. Some are so intense, it requires hundreds to meet at precise times. Hired dancers, alchemists, masons, and more all working together to generate a single effect. Each consistent repetition is easier than the last. In fact, the first casting of darkness required 7 towns instead of 7 candles. The path dedicated to finding ways to reinforce their magic in the world. Out of all the paths it encouraged the most collaborations and could produce the strongest effects of any. However, it required tons of preparation and commitment to make any progress at all.

“Moving on, I think curing your blindness is a perfect use of our next section."

Shifting back to the board, the instructor moved onto the next topic.

Alchemy

“While many argue Alchemy isn’t within the primary paths of magic, I personally reject that motion. Yes, classes within this profession rarely graduate from these halls. However, this is primary due to the nature and…cost of the class. The low-rank potions such as healing, endurance, mana, etc are fairly simple to make. Any mid-level [Apothecary] can produce it without issue. But what of a greater potion of restoration? What of a potion of giant’s strength? These tinctures are rare based on the difficulty of generating suitable ingredients. Even I have yet to brew a greater restoration potion, but let’s walk through something a bit more simple.” He returned to the board.

A lesser potion of restoration. The fastest method involved combining fifty high quality healing potions into a cauldron. On a low heat, the [Alchemist] carefully pours each one in, one at a time. While merging the liquids, the temperature could slowly add distilled basilisk blood. Of course, that is a three day purification process requiring a beast slaughtered within 48 hours. Titrate in the blood until the mixture transforms from a deep crimson to a light purple. If too much is added, and the color changes to maroon, it is a failure. Upon success, the mixture must be rapidly cooled within one degree of freezing. Pour the liquid into a glass vial, while keeping it chilled. Exposure the proto-potion to the sun for 12 hours, constantly rotating the liquid within. Sieve out any clumps of material and slowly mix with freshly ground toothward. Stir until a slight glow appears and then the potion is complete.

While the steps seem simple, the cost is exorbitant. Yes, a lesser portion of restoration can easily set a broken limb.--but a healer could do the same for a fraction of the cost. Furthermore, at each stage there is a high rate of failure. Even following the recipe exactly could end in failure. Minute conditions such as the laboratory’s temperature, humidity, latent magical energy, stray dust, and a variety of other factors can influence the final product. As such, most of the headmasters agreed that only those of significant talent would be allowed to walk this path. The cost of training would fund a small kingdom!

“Before next class, I want each of you to sit and calculate how much gold you’d need to create a potion of stoneskin without any levels. Good luck!” He began to wipe away the board and remembered the blind student.

“Oh, here” He popped open a minor restoration potion and poured it into their eyes. Within moments the blackness began to fade.

He wished he could speak more on the subject, but he himself didn’t have the passion for this area of study and quickly moved onto the next.

Enchanting

“I am sure you are well aware of the ban on enchanters in most kingdoms. However, here you are free to practice the art for…educational purposes. The path of an enchanting is a battle of wills. Nearly all spells in this school are ones of trickery, deceit, and illusion. I do hope after graduation, each of you will recognize the signs and learn to protect yourselves properly. This path is hard struck on the rule of three. Can anyone tell me what that is?”

One student raised their hand to answer.

“Spells and incantations can be repeated up to three times to amplify their effects” The pupil replied.

“Correct! In fact, nearly all forms of magic can be boosted by repeating the initial phrase. I’m sure some of you have tried to apply this phenomenon to your own spells and failed miserably. As I said before, it is deeply rooted within the enchanters realm. Each subsequent repetition drastically increases the difficulty of the casting. Even skill-based spells tend to falter under these conditions. However, for every spell on this path, you may only cast with a set of three. Now, I’ll be using a simple illusion spell. Please relax and don’t resist I promise no harm”

The instructor began the first round of incantations. Unlike before, the words could be heard by the entire class. It didn’t matter to him, the spell was far above the average mage’s ability. It was a long poem describing the beauty of nature. Each word delicately left his lips as a slight breeze overtook the room. Upon the first repetition, the smell of morning dew filled the space, the walls shifted in color, and a sense of relaxation crept into their minds. In the second round, his voice lowered. Each phrase taking much longer to speak, a bit of spittle flying past his lips as he forced the incantation out. His fingers gripped the desk to stabilize his weakening limbs. As he approached the last stanza, veins popped on his forehead while blood crept out of his nose. Upon completion; long vines began to snake across the walls, the sounds of birds echoed in the air, and rays of sunlight penetrated the sky.

He took a moment before starting the third repetition. Grabbing a bit of water, he wet his parched throat and wiped off the blood. Performing such a mass spell was a feat of strength. Even with something this simple spell, enchanting hundreds of minds tested his limits. Yet, he wanted to show off the power of a true archmage. Taking a deep breath, he began to utter the poem for the last time. Within the first few words, his muscles began to seize. An intense tremor overtook his body, but he powered through. Reaching the second part, it felt like he’d taken a bat to the head. A painful throbbing headache that made his vision blur. His eyes began to bleed and darkness started to take hold. This wasn’t good, gripping his arm, he dug the nails deep into the flesh. The rush of adrenaline allowed him to refocus as he forced out each and every syllable. His lips cracked open and bled, voice hoarse and sickly, and his mind addled from the casting. With one gargled cry, he finished the spell and collapsed into his chair.

In a dazzling display, thousands of glistening butterflies appeared. The swarm of insects obscured the view as the world transformed around them. A scintillating display of otherworldly colors flooding the vision and exotic smells tickling the nose. Thousands of fluttering wings creating a high-pitched hum while their light touch caressed the skin. Within moments, the cascade of insects began to explode into dust. Each tiny pop revealed a cloud of color that melded into the scenery. At first the scene looked like a piece of watercolor, but as more joined it became more real. A living piece of art which enveloped the gawking students.

For all the magic displayed, this was the most impressive of all. The chamber transformed into an idyllic outdoor paradise. A faint sun casting colored rays of light over a bright green meadow. A winding river cut through the landscape displaying a variety of exotic fish. Even the smell was comforting, a rich scent that calmed the mind. Within the spell's effects, it was a perfect paradise. But for those watching from outside, the students looked like drooling addicts. The sight always made the instructor chuckle. So many rich brats now in a magical stupor. Thankfully, the spell would last about ten minutes giving him a much needed rest. Wiping the sweat from his face, he popped open a mana potion, and closed his eyes. He was their master enchanter, but he hated how these spells exhausted him. Maybe he could find a prodigy within this group, but most couldn’t handle the…drawbacks.

“I hope you enjoyed the trip” He watched as the students were horrified by the drool and other…expulsions. He could see a few had pissed themselves, well they should have read the pamphlet about not drinking before class…

“As you experienced first hand, most enchantments have some tell at the start. If you are weak willed and allow the spell to cast, the duel is over. Entire armies can be removed by one well placed spell. Fortunately, recognizing what is happening instantly makes it harder for the caster. Something as simple as calling out the spell can cause it to fail. If something feels off, assume the worst. However; if against a high level enchanter, then you must physically stop them. Track the flow of aether or search for the one who is struggling. Thankfully, the more debilitating the effects, the harder it is to cast. Once identified, stopping them once is usually enough.”

Taking another sip of water he continued.

“However, for simple enchants you may not have that luxury. While they are not nearly as dangerous, they can be used to obfuscate. Your best option is to study basic anti-enchantment techniques including various eye buffs or counter magic. Those who graduate shouldn’t have any issue acquiring these skills without the Will’s assistance. Moving on to the most dangerous type of all”

Summoning

“Some may argue that summons are a combination of other paths. However that is not the case. Each summon is unique in both casting and effects. There are a wide variety of creatures you may call to assist you. Demons, Avatars, Servants of the Greater Powers, and more. Before even attempting to cast a summon, it is imperative to do thorough research. Calling a demon and not knowing its proper name is a surefire way to become possessed. Likewise, calling in a servant without proper precautions can lead to a very angry god. However, while we encourage the development of all aspects of magic, summoning is one that requires oversight in every casting. For this reason, if you decide to take this path I recommend you supplement with a secondary type. Now let's go over the basics shall we?

Demons tended to be the most dangerous of all and each fell into a predefined category. Demons of Law were silver-tongue and promised great power for “little” costs. Usually something simple that could be construed into something far greater. They used magical contracts, negotiations, and red tape to trap the summoner in a never-ending contract of servitude. On the opposite end are demons of chaos. These are wildly unpredictable and are natural oathbreakers. Sure a contract my work at first, but due to their nature these binds will slowly fade. However, they are far less intelligent than those of the Law and can be brute-forced to serve. When working with those of chaos, always be ready for a trick. Nothing about them is to be trusted, for example a demon of life may be called to heal a devastating plague. However, if not banished in time, those twisted life energies can lead to bulbous growths and fleshy tumors. In one extreme incident, a small town was completely merged into a living pile of flesh. Their bodies combine into a towering growth, but never experience death. Others you may call upon are those of nature, progress, death, and some of more…esoteric aspects. He turned back to the group and made one simple command.

“If you would like to try a demon summoning, you will need explicit permission from our representative from the city of contracts. Even the headmasters cannot overrule this requirement. Moving on.”

The second set of summons would be that of the divine. Each god had a different set of servants which fulfilled various roles. Calling upon a All-Seeing One from Dalros can help fight illusions or other trickery. Normally, these types of beings are restricted to their various sects or from acts of mercy. However, with sufficient material and power, a mage can forcefully summon one for assistance. When dabbling in the realm of gods, tread carefully. These creatures are extensions of the divine and most deities do not take kindly to these magics. As such, it is best to hide your identity before calling or you WILL make one very powerful enemy. Of course, not all gods are against these. In fact, some may encourage the calling of their servants. As they require a sufficient offering or equal trade. As with demons, it is imperative to property research the being you call. The mortal body is not designed to withstand the divine. You’ll either burn out, become enslaved, or far worse.

“Now we do have some priests here that may teach you how to summon the lesser spawn. Just avoid their sermons, I don’t want to lose any of you to the priesthood ok? Now for our last section for summoning we will discuss necromancy”

Eldor stared at the board before him. A simple word for all to see…

Necromancy

It had so much…history behind it. Like many other archmagi, Eldor’s primary goal was the pursuit of knowledge–no matter the cost. However; that…Cult had such a stranglehold on necromantic magic, it was nearly impossible to study. Their stupid god was stifling any new discoveries and stamping out progress. But fighting death was a futile endeavor. Only through plenty of donations and diplomatic pressure, were they even able to bring up the topic to their students. It was a joint effort between the headmasters and the “divine leaders”. The team combed through all texts, changed curriculum, and removed “problematic” literature from the academy. Hard lines were drawn on what could be taught to the fledgling magi. Any deviations from the approved studies would bring swift judgment. It was so…frustrating. He was already a master-class enchanter, he had yet to abuse his class. Why couldn’t he properly train others to do the same?!

Even now, the only spells sanctioned by the priests were simple things like [Death Bolt]. All other texts with higher tiered magic had been scrubbed. Furthermore, the basic rituals were forbidden. While they could discuss negative or death zones, they couldn’t talk about how they were created. In fact, they went so far as to censor any positive texts as well. Before the purge, Eldor recalled an old historial text discussing a kingdom heavily influenced by necromancy. Thousands upon thousands of corpses were raised and used as labor. Each one carefully designed for the task at hand, vast zones of negative energy fueling the masses. Meanwhile, their still living citizens enjoyed a life of luxury. Instead of working to survive, they could pursue whatever passion which drove them. Arts flourished, classes expanded, and life was good.

Sure there were some…negative aspects of it. The largest involving the vast amounts of living sacrifices. Every day they had to slaughter a decent amount of people to fuel the death fields. However, that was easily dealt with via prisoners, slaves, and culling the elderly. In fact, the elderly saw it as a way of giving back to the next generation. Their lives fuel the various rituals maintaining the negative regions. They were given a painless death, their lives transformed into energy for the mass of undead. It was a selfless act, it was something that should be thanked not scorned. Of course, they only made up about 10% of the total needed. But Eldor was sure there were more efficient ways of keeping the cycle going.

And that was the root of the problem! With the spread of Deas, alternatives could never be studied. Worse yet was the incident at the academy. As time passed, the cult became less active. Their priests visited less often as they expanded worship across the lands. With the lack of oversight, new books snuck past the censors. They were minor tomes at first, simple spells to manipulate bone, others teach how to merge flesh for rapid wound healing, and minor animation of vermin. They knew it was trouble, but the temptation was too great. One by one, the students began to practice in secret. Books passed around under protection spells as word spread through the upper classes. Many brushed it off as a rumor, but the ones who knew quickly formed their own sect.

It was a slow and careful process. If discovered, there was a high chance of execution. Since the cult had free reign over necromancers, there was little chance of mercy. But the taste of forbidden knowledge was far too great. Pacts were made to keep lips tight, code words created so they may discuss in public, even special markings developed indicating a safe place for practice. Yet, these books were only the start. As their resources grew, they began to hire [Smuggler]’s and other shady dealers. Huge bounties were placed on necromantic texts, rumors, and even samples. The upperclassmen ventured forth to fields of battle. While they said they were there to help cull the roaming dead, in reality they were gathering information. As they continued to grow, the cult caught wind of the action. A deadly duel in the underground occurred, information brokers captured and interrogated. Baits laid out and false rumors started to halt the flow of information. Even with their vast resources, they couldn’t identify the leader. So many layers were developed, cells were formed isolating information, minds were enchanted to prevent thought reading, nearly every aspect was blocked in some way. Seeing such an intricate network, the cult realized this was a problem that couldn’t continue.

With the priests focused on stamping out the flood of information, those inside the towering walls began constructing grand chambers. Sympathy magi worked alongside summoners to evacuate underground caverns. Rotating teams fueled various golems to dig through the tough bedrock. It was a grueling process that required huge pools of mana to accomplish, yet they were persistent. Quickly following the excavators were the Ritualists. The teams worked in sync as they chanted and drew runes all across the walls. At first it was simple things, glowing runes to provide light, filtration spells to keep the air from stagnating, and silencing sigils to block scrying. However, after 3 years, they stumbled upon a massive break-through.

One adventure stumbled across the ancient dungeon of a former [Lich Lord]. While the Lich was long gone, his texts remained behind. Word spread and the Cult quickly swarmed the site to purify the area, but one book was able to be salvaged. Located within were the basic principles of necromancy. Various spells on how to raise the dead, modify corpses, halt the rot of specimens, and most importantly; turn away the eye of Deas. With such a spell, they were able to turn these caverns into training grounds. No outside source could sense the flow of death below. The chambers quickly turned into macabre laboratories. A place for the fledgling [Necromancer]’s to hone their craft.

But it wasn’t enough to stop those from outside, but their colleagues as well. The more esoteric enchanters quickly agreed to practice on their fellow pupils. Rarely would they be able to cast these spells without serious consequences. Soon the hallways leading to the chamber were littered with long-lasting enchantments designed to turn away curious onlookers. Some created simple illusions, a wall instead of a door. Others addled the brain, causing anyone nearby to forget what they were doing. However, with so many working in tandem, only the greatest of casters could penetrate their magic.

With the foundations set, the sect began branching out. No longer were they satisfied reading through old texts. They needed materials and resources to practice. Corpses were ordered under the guise of medical training, Grave dirt was pilfered from nearby regions. Soon a blood tithe was enacted. Those within the cult were required to donate a pint of blood every few weeks in order to access the caverns. While they couldn’t directly create a negative zone, they were able to achieve the same effect by piling corpses into a single chamber. With the concentrated deathly energy, it was able to form a well within the room. Each room was carefully monitored for spontaneous reanimation, those that did were quickly whisked away for study.

It was a renaissance of magic. So many new classes were developed. People began to specialize into different roles. Some took up [Fleshshaper] and developed self-sustaining flesh golems. Some delving into the paths of animation and achieving the class of [Greater Necromancer], allowing them to summon and control vast amounts of undead. While others preferred a more traditional casting role. Focusing on controlling the flow of negative and deathly energy. These [Dark Mage]s were quite varied in their roles, but tended to drain the life of the living to empower their allies. Even those not directly interested in necromancy picked up a few new skills. Things like [Sense Undead], [Negative Attunement], and more. So much progress had been made in their studies and this was only the start.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Eldor couldn’t be prouder of those trailblazing mages. . His alum had risked it all in the pursuit of magic. It was a noble cause. Even after the purge, some of their nearly crafted skills were integrated into society. Basic things like bone manipulation to help with healing or ways to efficiently kill off undead with basic magics. He wished he could convince the cult to allow more studies, he was sure that new skills could be developed to combat the lingering threats of undeath. Yet, they were far to shortsighted to see all the advantages of it. Instead whining about how it desecrated the soul. How it was an affront to their god. How it left contaminated land in the wake, stifling any new life. It was this reason the clergy and the mages didn’t get along.

Yet, as they grew in size. The ability to hide their actions became exponentially harder. Enchanters were working in shifts to keep the spells charged. Coin was flowing out of the coffers as they paid bribes to various officials. Food was scarce as the anemic students ravenous devoured what they could. Even supplies rapidly dwindled causing the academy to take greater risks in acquiring corpses and other reagents. With so many moving parts, cracks began to form. It only took one stupid mistake for it to all collapse.

How he wished he could have been there. Of course not now as the bulk were executed, but to taste that euphoric sense of new magic. Spellcaster was inherently personal. While the various paths formed the foundations, each could be tweaked to match the mage’s personality. The flow of the aether empowering the soul, the energy filling the body. It was so…intoxicating. A raging inferno that grew within. Yet, he knew that overindulgence could lead to backlash. Flesh could only handle so much. Channeling too much aether had killed far better magi than him.

But alas, it only took one moment of weakness and the world united against them. One devout follower of Deas had applied to be a mage: Ralnor. He had the mind of a mage and the wisdom of a cleric. Seeing such talent, the academy couldn’t help but let him in. The student yearned to acquire the rare class [Spell Priest]. They were few and far between, but powerhouses within their religions. However, for all his talent and drive, the academy was stupid for letting him in.

As the new student roamed the halls, he could sense the overwhelming dread. Something was wrong, a tickle in his brain. He tried to ask around but was met with vague answers. Thinking it was another challenge from his teachers, he began to investigate. He wasn’t the best at it, but being so close to Deas gave him a few passive blessings. As he wandered the halls, he caught the smell of rot. It was pungent, filthy, something that needed to be cleansed. A simple prayer to Dead and a minor blessing was bestowed upon him. It took his entire being to not reveal his emotions. Standing at the end of the corridor was a shambling zombie. He couldn’t believe it! Before his prayer, it looked like an upperclassman. With renewed vigor, he quickly returned to his dorm. The depravity only increased as he passed more and more undead. He wanted to vomit, it was vile. It was wrong. He wanted to fight back, but knew that he’d be silenced and forgotten. There was only one way to stop this.

Sitting in his dorm, he pulled out his sanctified scry-glass. It was a cherished gift so he may still attend the various services and perform his penance. Using the coded language, he requested a direct contact with their leader. Moments later, the man’s face appeared. He was clearly unhappy with the interruption. Yet, he knew that Ralnor would use this in a true emergency. Face to face with his mentor, He carefully explained all he’d witnessed. The [Archbishop of the Afterlife] quietly listened to the facts, occasionally asking some clarifying questions. As they talked, all the pieces fit into place. Cutting the feed, the Archbishop reached out to the other leaders. To act against the academy would create much blowback. It was supposed to be a politically neutral location. A place of learning and study…but they could not allow this to continue. Already their god was starting to awaken, his wraith sweeping through their members. Gathering their most talented members, the Church of Deas marched to war.

News quickly spread of the cult’s movement. Thousands of members joining the call, these groups undertook a long pilgrimage to fields of battle. Supplies were stifled as the cult pressed their influence on nearby caravans. Each passing day more sects arrived forming a grand perimeter around the academy. The headmasters tried to negotiate with the cult, but their messages were quickly rebuffed. Each one directed students to reinforce the walls and to prepare for a siege if their relations soured. After a tense week, the [High Father] stepped into the field. His voice was mighty as he channeled the divine might. His speech was long, accusing the academy of breaking oaths, how they committed sacrilege within its walls, and how justice would be swift. Any who were tainted with deathly magics would be executed. Only by surrendering would they have a chance of surviving. Seeing the lack of response, the [High Father] signaled his army and the assault began.

A combined prayer rippled through the masses. Each offering up a piece of themselves to invoke Deas’ blessing. Their combined might unleash the winds of death. A freezing cold that tore across the land, the deathly chill siphoning the warmth of life. It was nearly invisible, only the trails of frost indicating where it passed. Yet, for all it’s might, it couldn’t penetrate the school’s wards. Runes appeared on the walls as ancient spells activated. Amongst the gale of death, the magical barrier stood strong. Chromatic colors filled the sky as the bubble of magic enveloped the school, cutting it off from the outside world.

But this was only the start, Deas was relentless. A second miracle appeared, a thick cloud of dark smoke crept along the ground. Globs of negative energy coalesced within and splattered against the earth. While slower than the winds of death, it was far more potent. The choking miasma turned anything it touched into muck. The air itself darkened as the negative zone siphoned and fought against the sunlight. Slowly, the dark magics engulfed the academy. The barrier intensified as it withstood the deadly smog. Yet, it stood strong. Frustrated, the [High Father] began another round of prayer. They were going to unleash miracle after miracle until those walls fell.

Since the army arrived, the various leaders argued on the best action. Sides were quickly drawn as each made their case. Unfortunately, for three of them, they had no idea that necromancy had even been studied. Each had been so focused on their own paths, they shut out the world around them. Now they had to face the consequences of their ignorance. Zenos the [Archmage of Sympathy], Illoneus the [Ritualist of Splendor], and Oreas the [High Alchemist of Transmutation] angered at the other two. IF they knew what was going on, they could have stopped it! The oldest, Zenos, had dealt with the cult once before and knew the horrors of battle. IF it wasn’t for the other two, he’d have fought them on the spot for such treachery. They had put all this work in danger, so much would be purged when it was over! Meanwhile Illoneus and Oreas tried to offer up scapegoats. Maybe they could help some of the students escape the cult’s wraith or use various enchantments to cut off their access to death magic. Anything to form some compromise. Yet Zenos knew it was impossible. Deas was not a merciful god. He was fair, but brutal.

Then there was Arceus the [Enchanter of deathly Illusions] and Cirhan the [Archmage of Grotesque Creations]. They were true magi, both focused on the pursuit of knowledge. With so much powerful magics, they assured the others of victory. With the cult eliminated, they would be free to study without restraint. A subsect of summoning would be available to students, whole new classes developed, and new magics created. They could be the catalyst for change, the first to establish necromancy as a legitimate profession. It would usher in a whole new era of magic!

But they didn’t buy it. The cult had influence, nearly every city was intertwined with death. Their priests are solemn and fanatical. Now that the academy was targeted, they would never relent. Even if they somehow won, they’d be assaulted until the end of time. And if they lose? All their work would be lost, all their studies gone. Centuries of knowledge would be burned to the ground, nothing would remain as the cult purged all records. The risk was far too great for one aspect of summoning.

Their tensions finally reached their crescendo on the first miracle. Even though the wards held, seeing the powerful intervention was terrifying. One mistake in their defense and death would come. Without any other options; Zenos, Illoneus, and Oreas united in their demand. Those others had to surrender or flee. They would not shelter any of their kind. . Only then could they try and negotiate with the [High Father] and try to salvage the academy. It would be hard, but if they volunteered to be subjected to The Eye, they may be spared. But the two didn’t relent, aether began to gather in the room as their emotions flared. Suddenly Illoneus turned…

“Arceus…” Illoneus called out, his tone dripping with spite.

The enchanter grinned with such smugness. He’d been caught. Using [Double Speak], [False Whispers], and [Alter Self]. He formed a disguise allowing him to chant without notice. The moment the assault started he began his most powerful spell [The World Turns Against You]. Sure there were more flashy options when he leveled, but the man was one subtlety. It was quite insidious, nearly invisible to the untrained mind. At its core, it made simple adjustments. Tones became more aggressive, doubts were amplified in the brain, and the occasional threat was whispered on the wind. All senses were disrupted, objects were slightly off. They’d trip over pebbles they didn’t see, drop objects by misjudging the weight, even smell foul substances at random. A constant stream of minor inconveniences would pile up, the illusion shifting to make life a living hell. But the danger was its simplicity. Everything could be written off as either bad luck, stress, lack of sleep, or just brain fog. Even still, recognizing that they were cursed was only the first step. Shattering the spell required otherworldly skills. Runes couldn’t be drawn properly, wording for incantations forgotten, and reagents would disappear from view. The spell would actively hinder any attempts of removal. Only through outside help did they have a chance of breaking free. Usually by then, they’d have lost their friends from lashing out. Lost their homes due to accidents, or even lost their lives from misjudging a sword swing. But it mattered not, he was already on the final stanza, one more phrase and this fight would be over.

Realizing the danger they were in, Illoneus immediately activated his own capstone–[Rebound:Grand Ritual]. His ring shattered into a cascade of white light. A scintillating flare that engulfed the room in his magic. Arceus cursed, he was too far into his spell to cancel. Thankfully, Cirhan was quick. The Summoner pricked his finger and fed the blood to a gem on his wrist. In a cloud of smoke, his prized golem Zolam appeared. The animated mass of rock was embedded with various runes and magical gemstones. His arms were made of concentric rings that constantly rotated. As they shifted, the runes quickly aligned into one of anti-magic. The air deadened as the golem began to absorb the ritual. His body glowing as the precious gems filled with aether. One by one they were overloaded and exploded with a resounding crack. It didn’t need to stop the spell, only allow Arceus to finish his own.

Illoneus realized he was moving too slow. He’d need to end this now. Swapping targets, he quickly used [Mass Teleport] to escape alongside the other headmasters. His original plan was to just transport the betrayers directly to the cult, but this was his second option. Unfortunately, by adjusting the ritual mid-cast, he couldn’t designate their destination. Instead he offered up his second ring as a sacrifice. It was something personal and of great worth, thus they were each transported to a place of personal significance–their labs.

There would be no compromise. With the lines drawn, Arcues immediately initiated his contingency. Tapping the scryglass, he triggered his latent spells hidden throughout the academy. A signal to the sect of death that negotiations failed and they would need to fight. In that single moment, the halls turned into a battlefield.

Halting his spells, the wonders of necromancy were revealed to all. Layers of deceit and illusion were pulled back showing how far the sect had grown. Shrouded students transformed into wraithful creations. With their shackles gone, they immediately turned towards the other. It was a bloodbath, unprepared students were ambushed by the deadly creations. Bloodied claws tearing into flesh and devouring the innards. Vermin and other minor creations tore through the walls as they swarmed the retreating students. Shadows grew and twisted as dark beings appeared. They crept along the floor and ceiling, each jumping between various areas of darkness. Their ethereal hands reaching out and through the flesh. A necrotic touch that rapidly rotted anything in their grasp. Blobs of living flesh slithered through the vents and drains. Tendrils of glistening viscera reaching out to bind those passing. Strong acids digesting the flesh and slurping up the soupy mass.

But this wasn’t just the creations, the students themselves joined in the fight. Alongside the wave of deathly constructs, terrible spells were unleashed on their fellow man. Razor sharp ice pinning people to the walls. Grand fireballs igniting robes and flesh, Blasts of sand stripping off skin and muscle. Those that tried to fight back were rapidly cursed by the various enchantments, the stumbling students only food for the growing army of undead. Screams of agony echoed through the halls. What was once thought as safe is now a killing ground. . This wasn’t a fight, it was an extermination. Within the first few moments nearly a fourth of the student body had perished.

Those not killed in the initial assault quickly regrouped around their own headmasters. Pockets of resistance began to appear in the onslaught of death. Ever prepared, Zenos immediately began to counter. Directing his students, they rapidly shifted the room into a kill zone. Walls were shifted and reinforced, traps created with their magics, and all restraints of magic lifted. While some froze in the face of death, many stood firm. Zenos stood proud, as long as their resolve held, they had a chance.

He watched each with a critical eye. Offering advice on how to use their skills for offensive purposes. They’d only have a few moments before the second wave hit. His prized pupil had shifted and molded metal into makeshift swords. Connecting the metal to a top, he let it spin on the floor. The result was a deadly wave of spinning blades that eviscerated the lesser undead. Others were a bit more blunt in their application of sympathy. Forming links between stones, they would lift debris into the air and let it smash down on the invaders. While effective, it was quite an inefficient use of magic. There were many variants of sympathy, each one as deadly in their own way. Satisfied with their defense, he turned back to his workshop. He had an idea in mind, but would need a lot of time to accomplish it. Restarting his great furnace, he began gathering fuel. This spell would require a ton of energy to work.

Illoneus wasn’t as lucky as the others. He only had enough levels to store 3 grand spells. With mass teleport used and the second sacrificed, he was left the most dangerous of all. It was a last resort and one he wouldn’t use lightly. Unfortunately, he had studied grand magic. Things that were a spectacle to the eye, massive effects that required much planning to set up. Outside of the basic [Fireball] or [Ice Spike] he was short on true offensive magics. Instead, he relied on his pupils for the defense. Walking around his spire, he activated various wards and barriers. While these were primarily used to stop backlash, they should at least delay the army. He quickly commanded his students to prepare their spells. With a flick, he unlocked his storage allowing them to use any reagent no matter the cost. Bidding them luck, he climbed the stairs to enact his own plan. Contacting the cult, he could only hope they would agree to his terms.

Meanwhile Oreas was having the time of his life. Alchemists were always a bit crazy, the toxic fumes doing something to their brains. His capstone skill [Linked Storage] while innocuous was quite effective. It was simple, anything in his lab he could “grab” from any range. Standing at the forefront of his students, he threw potion after potion. The moment one left his grip, another appeared. A maniacal cackle left his throat as he witnessed their effects. He rarely could trial them on flesh. Yet this was the perfect opportunity for knowledge. As they landed into clumps of undead, various effects were unleashed. Some turned to glass before shattering on the floor, others melted into viscous puddles of slime, another group transformed into stone statues, and even more burst into flames. Pausing to message his arm, he sipped a focusing potion and glanced around. Like him, his students were using this time to the fullest. His prized pupil unbothered by the commotion was rapidly taking notes on what potions did what. Various annotations on ideas to improve their efficacy underlined for future testing. Others were working in groups to perform their own experiments. One team unleashed a corrosive haze that slowly stripped those caught to bone. The flesh melting and dropping to the ground below. While it greatly weakened the attackers, the bones were unaffected. As such, all they accomplished was transforming a group of ghouls into animated skeletons. Thankfully, those were quickly torn apart by some transformed pupils. Various animal extracts distilled into a singular substance, their bodies melding with the beast’s essence forming chimeric monsters. While their intelligence dwindled, their strength drastically increased. Rampaging brutes tore through the undead flinging bodies into the air, their thick hides protecting them from the bites and claws.

However, while the headmasters were able to protect some students the others only delayed the inevitable. Many barricaded themselves in classes, they did their best to halt the flow of undead. But once a few other mages joined in the assault they were quickly eliminated. Their bodies rapidly reanimated and joined the ranks of undead. Even those of great talent struggled in their defense. While they could win in a mage duel, it was nigh impossible to focus when surrounded by an army of undeath.

“Is it time?” Cirhan turned to Arceus

The two were swapping between scryglass, assisting their students where they could. While they wished they could do more, it was time to focus on the army outside. With the paladins, warpriests, and other attackers stepping onto the field; it was time to unleash their grand spell. Both paused for a second, staring each other in the eye. After casting this, there would be no going back. They’d be marked for life. With a mutual understanding, Arceus grabbed Cirhan’s hand and offered up his own well of mana.

Shifting his focus away from the animated undead, Cirhan turned towards the map on the table. It was a perfect replica of the underground caverns. The entire region is carefully carved out into a massive spell circle. At each point they had created a region of death. It was a masterclass in summoning and something he had been yearning to unleash. Cutting his finger, he touched the blood to the dark ink. A guttural chant passed his lips as he spoke the forbidden words. Deep in the underground, the carved runes lit up with the ancient magic. His pupils began to join the spell, each holding hands as they circled the zones of death. Negative energy whipped through the tunnels as aether connected each region. Bits of magic leaking from the spell circle and causing the ground to tremor. Within moments, the isolation runes disintegrated. Their actions now open for all to see. With such a powerful spell, mages from all over the world felt the shift in aether. Various skills activated as the world’s eye turned toward their academy. But it didn’t matter, in fact. Cirhan was happy all could see, they would learn the true power of necromancy!

But what the two didn’t tell their students was a spell this grand required a certain…sacrifice. As the final words left their mouths, they spell activated. Each room of negative energy rapidly expanded until it filled the entire circle. The students caught in the wild magics rapidly drained their life. Muscles atrophied, eyes began to wither, and a terrible weakness took hold. Some tried to flee, but they only stumbled a few steps before collapsing. Moments later they were nothing but desiccated corpses, their lives fuel for the grand spell.

Up above, a feeling of dread swept through the army. The [High Father] and his inner circle began chanting protective prayers. They were not sure what was happening, but they needed to be prepared. Calling for a retreat, the various groups tried to return to camp only for the ground to open beneath them. Giant chasms tore across the land, swallowing those too slow to flee. Screams of terror echoing through the deep canyons as the men fell to their doom. Huge plumes of decay shot forth draining the region of color. The scent of rot and putrescence lingering on the nose. Spells were cast and weapons were drawn as they stared into the gaping abyss. Terrible screams cried out from below, a chorus of hundreds piercing the air. It was pure blasphemy. A cacophony of anguished cries that grew by the second. Within moments, a pillar of corpses erupted from within. Dozens upon dozens of bodies melded together into a single column. The mass of bodies crashing down as a second appeared. One by one those others arrived, all connected to a singular body. .

It was a hand, a huge hand of animated flesh. Walking along the tips, it barreled through the army with brutal efficiency. Each digit slamming down with such force it left a small crater behind. Even at its size it was quite quick. It targeted any spellcasters, charging forward and quickly smearing them into a bloody paste. With the horror unleashed, the [High Father] shifted from casting miracles to empowering his army. Warpriests joined the chant as their weapons glowed with divine might. Every swing unleashed a flash of light that seared the flesh. Yet for all their attacks, the creature only regenerated. Each kill adding to his ever growing mass. And it was only the first of three…

The second soon crawled from its prison. A towering creation of flesh and tendrils. It had no defining characteristic, just a glistening blob of viscera. Slimy appendages slammed into the ground as the thing pulled itself forward. All it passed was left in a state of decay. Stringy globs of putrescence left a rancid slime in its wake. The rancid goo desecrated the land with pestilence. Puffs brown gasses wafted from seeping holes. A smell of rot and filth carried on the winds and assaulted the senses. Those nearby were overwhelmed with sickness and malaise. Many succumbed to the foulness, collapsing to their knees as they began to vomit. Eyes bled as they clawed at their throat, the vomit turning red as their innards began to rot. Congealing chunks of blood intermixing with the yellow bile. Some tried to crawl from the creature, but the effects were too great. The slug-like monster crept forward. Tendrils of flesh lashed out and pulled the men towards it. Upon contact, veins penetrated the skin crept beneath the surface. Their flesh yellowed as they melded with the monster, yet they didn’t die. Leaving their voices intact, it wore their screaming flesh as macabre armor.

Then the third arose from the ground. Unlike the first two, this one floated in the air. Three casters merged into one. Their crying faces were covered by boney hands. Dozens of other limbs haphazardly attached at the torso. The heads were spaced equally from each other allowing full view of the battlefield. Frost fell from the body as a terrible chill filled the air. Those it gazed upon felt their fragile mortality. However this one was far more blunt then the others. Each limb pointed at a target and a blast of decay shot forth. Each twitching finger unleashing a high tier death spell. The thing cried in sorrow as it murdered the cult, It begged for the priest to kill it, and screamed for the weak to flee. Every few moments pausing to unleash a wail of painful agony.

Cirhan nearly collapsed. Three monsters of legend summoned forth. Already he could hear The Will in his head, such a display of magic pushing him into the next level. But it would have to wait, each point was precious. Only after thorough research would he decide what to do. Gazing upon his creations, he felt powerful. That stupid cult was starting to falter. The bullies now faced something far greater than ever before. A gleeful laughter leaving his throat as the beasts slaughtered his oppressors. He felt an inherent connection with the death zone, every one that fell refilling his own mana. Each kill expands the zone slightly. There would be no mercy, he would hunt each and everyone down. This wasn’t some stupid post-battle horde either. Each was linked to his will. Whenever he noticed some resistance, he would disengage and focus on the unprotected. Their heroes called out as they chased the monsters down. Entire sects slaughtered as the lower-leveled members were targeted. He was going to destroy their foundation and allow the rest to topple from it.

While Cirhan dealt with the cult. Arceus returned to the academy. Leaving the others unattended was asking for trouble. Like Illoneus, he wasn’t one for direct combat…but that didn’t make him defenseless either. Instead he used his mind magic to link all his students into a collective. Their knowledge rapidly shared between groups as they worked as one. Taking a moment, he delved into the aether and felt the stirrings of something powerful. Sending a command to his students, he forced them to leave the others alone. They could cower for a bit longer, and besides after they had won they’d need fresh sacrifices to rebuild. With the plan set, the army of death assaulted the labs with a renewed vigor.

Zenos could hear his students start to fall. The group retreated back towards his reinforced laboratory as the assault intensified. Many already were suffering from burnout as they pushed their magic to the limits. The shattering of mana potions echoed in the room while cries of pain pierced the cacophony. Yet they still didn’t stop. Some even pushing beyond their limits, burning out in a flare of aether-light. But truthfully, Zenos didn’t care. They were all dead anyway, might as well go out fighting then a coward. Staring back at his flaring furnace, he felt a tinge of sorrow. This spell would destroy everything. He built this from the ground up, traveling the realm for exotic materials that could contain his powerful magics. Yet; magic was all about sacrifice and if he wanted to succeed, it would all have to go.

“MORE” He called out as students threw all they could into the flame.

The metal glowed red hot, the radiant heat burning his skin as he stared at the deforming furnace.

“This better work” he muttered as he pulled out a vial.

Oreas had concocted this potion from a lost bet years ago. It nearly killed Zenos when he first used it! He still wasn’t sure how, but that crazy man had distilled the essence of a volcano into this one small vial. One droplet was enough to set his old lab aflame, even still he could hear that man's cackle from the “Accident”. However, now he was glad to have such a powerful source. Slowly, he walked back to the field of battle, carefully stacking his skills to protect him from the grand spell. [Unnatural connection], [I am merely a conduit], [You are all one], [Reinforce Sample], [These Chains Shall Not be Broken]. As he concentrated, he gathered various samples from the ground chunks of rotted flesh, enchanted bone, and globs of shadowy essence. Once selected, he began chaining each to the invading army. An intense chill overwhelming his flesh as his vast pool of mana rapidly drained. His mind fogged as was pulled 1001 ways. Each passing moment, more were added to the spell until he couldn’t contain it.

“FUCK YOU BOTH” he cried out as he tossed the samples and potion into the blaring furnace. Flames erupted with such force he was sent flying across the room before smashing the wall with a sickening…

CRUNCH

“WHAT DID HE DO” Cirhan had to drop his connection with his army. His veins burned as the sympathetic magics tore through his creations.

Each one burst alight as the raging inferno transferred into the constructs. The heat was indiscriminate, even those not targeted were ignited from proximity. Those that didn’t sever their connections felt their blood boil from within. While members of the cult back off from the flames. Huge chunks of the army transformed into a raging bonfire, fats igniting and adding to the ever growing inferno. Deep, thick smog filled the sky as the corpses collapsed into smoldering fires. While it devastated the army, it did little to halt the rampaging monstrosities. However, the damage was done and the clergy was given an opportunity to regroup.

Zenos wasn’t as lucky. The archmage had pushed himself beyond mortal limits. His skin burned black, his body failing. However in that singular moment, He showed the world why sympathy was the path to follow. One single spell and he had wiped out half the undead army. His surviving students did their best to alleviate his wounds, but his life was done. He could only hope that one of his pupils would surpass his greatness.

All could feel his passing, the incredible aura fading from the realm. Oreas and Illoneus filled with a deep rage. While Arceus and Cirhan were satisfied that one of their foes was gone. As the two worked together to regain control of their army. Illoneus stood in his tower surrounded by his injured pupils. Gaping wounds stuffed with gauze, limbs raised up in tourniquets, and a few unconscious from blood loss. He failed them, he was a grand ritualist, he should always be prepared for the worst. But he couldn’t dwell on it now, more would die if he didn’t take down these wards. Focusing above, he began to align the astralarium. Each star carefully shifted to channel the astral energies. Working through each ward, he slowly unwound the spells, neutralizing it layer by layer.

Oreas reached out and felt nothing in his hand. The alchemist finally understood his mortality. Most of his students had perished in the name of science. His scribes noted their cause of death for the archives. The bulk hadn’t even fallen by their enemies, instead their creations failed at pivotal moments. Transformations turning unstable and becoming a mindless mass of limbs. Experiments backfiring and coating the students in toxic liquid that rapidly aged the flesh. Normally, they had fail-safes to resist such reactions. However, in the field of battle it was do or die. Only when he witnessed the crowd combust did he relax. That old man finally did something. Suddenly his eyes widened as he felt the man’s passing. This wasn’t a game any more, he would end this even if it killed them all. With the attackers turned into a burning mess, he returned to his lab to craft.

While a major setback, it wasn’t the end. Since they had turned this whole region into a negative zone, it just took time to reanimate another group. Yes it wasn’t as strong, missing many of their more powerful undead, but it was enough. With an army of zombies and skeletons, the two headmasters resumed their assault. The normally jolly Cirhan was frustrated from the whole experience. Why didn’t they give up already? His creations had wiped out so many, but they kept fighting. His summons attack the flesh while Arceus invades the mind. They were both one man armies, tapping into the academy’s leyline, and still the cult didn’t give up!

“WHAT!” He cried out as Arceus tapped his shoulder.

“Look there…they are up to something.” Arceus pointed at the [High Father]. No longer were they actively trying to engage the undead.

Instead, the entire army had gathered into concentric rings. A living ritual of chanting men and women. The [High Father] leading the entire group in unison. Prays, offerings, and vows were committed as they yearned for their god. Their strongest warriors formed a perimeter to halt the advancing undead. Even the towering monstrosities struggled against the divine barriers. Letting go of the army, the undead turned mindless. Instead he focused the negative energy into his three most powerful creations. With the flood of undeath, they began cracking at the defenses while ignoring the heroes assault. near the [High Father] was an entire congregation.=.

“Working on it, take out the other headmasters! We need to crush them now. ” He replied.

However, at that moment they felt the barrier flicker. The two glanced at each other with mutual understanding: IIloneus. They were split, either stop the chant or keep the wards. However, with their defense down they had little to protect themselves from the army. Once more, Cirhan shifted his resources into the academy.

The ritualist realized his actions were discovered when the attacks reached a crescendo. New monstrosities appeared before his tower. Undead spellcasters, flesh beasts, and massive marauders. Each creature working in tandem to dismantle their defenses. The reanimated students are gifted with craving for aether. Their very touch rapidly drains the magical barriers, the flesh beasts lashing out and tripping those trying to flee, while the towering warriors execute those with a single swing.

Illoneus could barely stomach the massacre. Heads smashed into the ground, bits of brain matter splattering the earth, glistening viscera and gore stained the marble, and captured students were eaten alive by the wave of dead. He couldn’t watch any longer. But should he do it? Fiddling with his final ritual ring, he heard a student begging for his family. His arm twisted and bent as a ghoul pulled on the limb. Damn the consequences, he couldn’t delay anymore. the warriors executing those in a single swing. He could barely stomach the sight of heads flying. Glistening viscera stained the cobblestones the students tried to slow the assault. He couldn’t delay anymore, he had to unleash another spell. Twisting his ring, he activated his capstone once more. [Rebound - Grand Ritual] [The World is but a Single Moment].

A flash of light erupted from the shattered jewelry as a wave of magic swept through the academy. Anything it touched slowed to a stop, the attacking army paused mid swing. Everything went silent as the spell took hold, seeing the effects of it all filled him with a sense of joy. Yet, the sacrifice wasn’t over. Before the second part to hold, he felt the eyes of Zixais gaze upon him. A deep, resentful wave of hate smashing into his mind’s eye. The God of Time and Destiny tore through his soul, stripping it of memories. He would never know what was taken, but it was necessary to save his students. His thoughts must have reached the deity as the hate shifted into pity. At that moment, the ravaging stopped and he was freed from the God’s grip. Uttering the second half, his allies were freed from the effects. Each one immune to the time anomaly created.

He ordered them to retreat. Zixais was fickle and quite demanding. IIloneus had already spent 10 years of his life performing this ritual. And in return, he was gifted a single minute of pause. Many thought he was stupid dedicating so much to this single minute. But Illoneus knew that a brief moment was all one needed to change history. With his students safe once more, he activated the last bits of personal wards. The others channel their mana into the various barriers as reinforcement. They just needed to stall a bit longer. Using up the last few seconds, he tore through another layer of the academy’s ancient magics. The sound of the world returned and time resumed. This would be their last stand.

Once more Arceus felt victory snatched from him. He was systematically destroying that proud man, and now they teleported to his most inner sanctum. Still, it was a delay and only that. Tapping into the leyline once more, he personally worked on dismantling that final barrier. His army waited outside, eager to tear into the soft flesh of the remaining students. It was a race to finish, Illoneus working as fast as he could. While Arceus fought against the top pupils. Yet, he was too slow. That stupid man had destroyed their main protection. The grand barrier began to disintegrate, the magics floating away as sparkling dust. Illoneus had done it, he collapsed onto the ground with joy. All they needed to do was hold out for rescue.

The [High Father] smiled. That mage had done it, unfortunately there would be no rescue. His god demanded retribution, instead he would dedicate a day of mourning for the man’s sacrifice. Deas would reward him greatly in the afterlife.\ Reaching the crescendo of their prayers, the congregation performed one final bloodrite to summon Deas into the realm.

The sky parted as the world was cast into darkness. Everything stilled as their God began the final miracle. Ghastly light flicked above and coalescence into the image of a massive clock. A reverberating gong shook the land as light burst forth from the construct. Nothing was safe for their God’s ire. All things were touched by the light regardless of the protections held. Each and everyone embraced in the cold arms of Deas. Those touched soon saw their own clocks form. A decrypt device hovering in the air behind. With the curse set, panic set in. Yet, no matter what they tried they couldn’t dispel the effect Moments later, the [High Father] began to float high above. His body channeled the essence of Deas himself. His voice is deep and powerful. Only a single phrase was uttered

[All Life Ends in Death] and the clock began ticking to midnight.

“TAKE HIM OUT NOW!” Archeus cried out.

“WE HAD A DEAL” Illoneus was distraught, he was to die with the rest.

In those last twelve minutes, Cirhan and Arceus unleashed every skill they had. Yet it was nothing in the wake of a god. His monstrosities smited down with a flick, the slug exploding into a pile of filth, the hand torn apart corpse by corpse, and the mage crushed into a cube of meat. Swapping to his golems, they arose from the ground and charged forth. Yet the devout congregation didn’t give in. Each pounding fist, a few collapsed. But the others only chanted harder.

Arceus was erupting with divine energy as he went head on with the [High Father] he tried every enchantment he learned, anything to distract the man and interrupt the miracle. Each assault cost him far more than the damages he did. Yet, he couldn’t even insert doubt into the man, his faith far too strong for the mind mage. It couldn’t end like this. Every passing minute at heavy gong would indicate that death loomed. They had so much to teach, so much to learn, so much to uncover. Tears streamed down his face as they entered the final minute.

But there was still one final trick to be had. Oreas was giggling with glee as he watched the panic ensue. Such a grand display of might and he got to witness it first hand. His twitching eyes carefully watched the timer above. He hoped he measured the right dosage or his own finale would be the biggest flop of all. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out two potions from the reserve. While he used some in the battle, this was going to be a true test of his talent. As the final ten seconds arrived, he tossed both into the air, and chained together many of his skills. [Mass Replication][Friendly Fire][Special Delivery][Delayed Dosage][Temporary Boost] and finally [Trademarked by Oreas]! That last one wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t want any sleuthing spies to steal his formula.

The two portions quickly replicated over and over. Their trajectory flew across the academy as they honed in on their targets. Anyone deemed a “friend” was in for a wild surprise. The small ampules smashed into the cowering students. Most didn’t even notice as they held their friends. Death was coming and they couldn’t stop it. Yet the effect was nearly instantaneous, the ritualist smiling as he saw what Oreas had done.

“You dirty bast…” and the final potion smashed him right in the face.

The clock hit midnight and a wave of terror erupted from the skies. It was quick, brutal, and efficient. Nothing was safe as it tore through the various buildings. Shadowy hands reached from the heavens and swept through the grounds. Beings of pure necrotic energy reached into the living and tore out their screaming souls. Hundreds of offerings forcefully taken back to the realm of death. Only those carrying the god’s mark were spared. The rest were transformed into withering husks of rot. There were no second chances, everyone only had one life to live. A ghastly chill reaching into the body and tearing out the soul With their mission complete, the sky closed and the [High Father] gave one final thanks.

Sending in his scouts they found a peculiar sight. All throughout the academy were frozen statues. Rock creations in the exact replica of the students. They approached with caution only to be started by the sound of shattered glass. Quickly retreating they watched as the stone façade melted away into gasping students

“Survivors…?” They were astonished and called for backup.

Thankfully, they surrendered. Each explaining what happened and agreeing to be examined for any taint. Those that resisted the call of necromancy were lauded as heroes, while those that embraced the temptation buried in mass, unmarked graves. Once more, the cult and the academy worked together to rebuild. Only now, they took a far more active role in the teaching of the next generation.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Eldor did as he was told and only taught the most fundamentals of necromancy. With a priest of Deas watching, he couldn’t deviate from the pre-written script. He encouraged the students to practice with the priests and learn ways to counteract the horrific magics they may encounter. Warning them one final time, that if they ventured onto this dark path. That none would come to protect them from the wrath of the god. However, if one good thing came of it. With Archeus gone, he was quickly elevated to head of enchanting…

“As for our final lessons, I’ll cover a few unclassified or historical systems”

Witchcraft.

“I’m sure you have heard about these…alternative ways of magic. But you must be able to separate a witch from a mage. The class is one of emotion and power. Witches are versatile spellcasters who supplement their mana with…craft. What each witch does is dependent on their background and specialties. I cannot go further on this, but just be warned. There are no good witches in this world…”

Dreamwalking

“I wish I could say more, but even I dare not venture into these realms. As you may have heard, the primary expert was lost while on an expedition. However, if you have a heart for adventure, I will not stop you. Dreams are games, dreams are puzzles, dreams are…weird. They do not give traditional spells, instead completing a dream bestows a boon. Within our library, we have a variety of mapped realms but take this as a guide not fact. Many times the rules shift and change, adaptability is key to surviving these realms. However, if blessed with a powerful boon, you can perform feats equal to the greatest of spells…but are you willing to take the risk?

Druidic

“We have not seen a druid since society has rapidly expanded. Many theorize that this is due to our reliance on skills and industry. While many have tried to re-establish their connection to nature, none have yet to succeed. However, for historical purposes we do have some writings on the subject.”

With the last bit finished, he raised a hand.

“That is it for today, I will see you all back in two days for your first test. Study each of the path’s carefully. Each of you will randomly select one to be quizzed on. Welcome to the academy and good luck on your path towards enlightenment”