Standing beside the Stickman's corpse, Vallynor delved into meditation, directing his focus toward the collection of necrotic energy flowing through his body and soul. This energy filled him, much like water fills a void. Ascending, it gathered on the platform of his ziggurat, partially dissolving and reinforcing his body, soul, and mind.

The time spent in this practice allowed Vallynor to clear his mind and rectify all imperfections. Under his skilled guidance, the foundation of the temple slowly rose, as if the earth itself yielded to his will.

As a necromancer, Vallynor decided to name his temple a ziggurat, envisioning cubes stacking upon each other, diminishing with each level. The right floor of the ziggurat's foundation became a solid base, supporting the further steps of his grand construction.

Occasionally, souls so feeble that not even the fallen hastened for them flew to the Stickman's body. Sometimes the fallen came too, but they were too weak, and Vallynor could destroy them with his scythe, without resorting to magic or necrotic energy. Severed parts of corpses were neatly arranged next to the Stickman's carcass, like a model for a future masterpiece.

At one moment, a new soul arrived, swiftly captured by Vallynor. Opening his eyes, he met the gaze of the souls, wondering why they preferred to head towards the Stickman's body, ignoring the scattered corpses. Out of curiosity, Vallynor took the weakest soul and placed it in a severed head. The head began to slowly regenerate a new body but at some point froze, turning into a motionless creature, devoid of activity.

Studying this phenomenon and analyzing the subject's soul, Vallynor realized that this weak soul was devoid of all spiritual energy and entirely imbued with impurities, leading to its vegetative state.

Contemplating, Vallynor pierced the soul with his hand and transferred a drop of spiritual energy to it. The body, having ceased to regenerate, resumed the process for a few seconds before again freezing, turning into a dead object without signs of life.

"Interesting!" Vallynor exclaimed, using the Hand of Exhaustion on the subject's corpse and allowing the soul to be absorbed. Then, he returned to his training, slowly increasing the necrotic energy, like an artist crafting his somber masterpiece.

***

Deep beneath the earth, nearly at its core, the catacombs unfolded, within which sprawled a dungeon. Inside this gloomy space stood Yena, her head bowed to the floor after finishing her report, in which she unraveled all the gathered information. Before her towered a being, not a demon, not a devil, nor even an angel. It was a devilish creation. A mixture of fear and pride, along with other emotions, intertwined within her. After all, before her stood a creature that could almost rival the lord of the primordial hell, the master of all demons and devils, for it turned out to be his progeny.

Yena awaited the next words, but however much she stretched her anticipation, the response was only dead silence. Only faint, almost inaudible sounds, as if flesh and bones were slowly regenerating.

"So, his name is Vallynor?" — a hoarse and powerful voice sounded, almost divine to Yena.

"Yes!" — she almost shouted in response, then immediately regretted this impulsive outburst. Fear pierced her, and she wondered if she should have shouted her answer.

"I'll remember him... Wait until I give new orders," — the demon spoke, issuing his final commands. Then he turned and began to scratch the walls, sealing his power around.

Yena settled against the wall, casting a glance at the prison filled with runes, symbols, and chains intended for the prisoners. In one corner stood out huge flasks, the material of which remained a mystery. Nonetheless, with every look at them, she felt a tremor of fear inside. She knew why she was so afraid. In these enormous tanks sloshed water from the River Styx — a substance feared by any living soul. Why such a thing was here, in this place of confinement, remained a mystery that tormented her mind.

***

Upon opening his eyes, Vallynor reached toward the Stickman's body but halted midway. After pondering for a moment, he extracted one of the remaining souls and drained it nearly to its limit before placing it into the Stickman's body.

The corpse slowly healed its wounds but eventually ceased. Vallynor scrutinized it, directing all his senses, hoping to confirm his hypothesis. A new necrotic energy emanated from the Stickman's body, prompting a joyful smile from Vallynor.

"To be able to draw energy from souls and replenish my energy reserves. I just need to figure out mana, and perhaps, I could utilize other types of energy."

With his eyes closed, Vallynor continued to meditate. When the body stopped producing necrotic energy, he gave it a small amount of spiritual energy. Occasionally, he wounded the body to prevent it from fully healing.

During this time, no new souls appeared, which dismayed Vallynor and confirmed one of his suspicions. The fallen souls instinctively sought bodies that were less damaged to conserve energy, and the Stickman's body had minimal damage.

Sighing, Vallynor stood up and applied the Hand of Exhaustion to the severed corpses, leaving only the Stickman's body, which he placed in his inventory. He made sure he left nothing behind and headed in the direction where he sensed Annino, Glazik, Lich, and the enormous fat rat were.

As Vallynor walked through the forest, he encountered torn corpses and fallen beings weaker than griffins or Stickmen, which he killed and collected their souls and necrotic energy. Eventually, he disposed of the corpses with the Hand of Exhaustion (or perhaps, Hand of Enervation???).

After killing another fallen creature resembling a fox with three feathered tails, Vallynor sat and pondered. He gathered energy and directed it throughout his body, eventually reaching the palace of his mind. He transformed the energy and accumulated knowledge into bricks, which he meticulously laid to form the foundation of his future power.

A rustle made Vallynor pause, and he opened his eyes to see a gigantic black skeleton emerging from the black sand. The skeleton, about 5 meters tall, looked at Vallynor with interest. Holding his scythe, Vallynor prepared for battle, but instead of attacking, the skeleton bowed, and from its skull came a strange but pleasant voice.

"Are you a necromancer?" The black skeleton scrutinized Vallynor, waiting for an answer. Vallynor, unsure of what to say, remained silent. But the skeleton too remained silent, as if patiently awaiting a response.

Finally, Vallynor decided to reply, "Yes, I am a necromancer."

"I see... but who are you? You're a new face I've never seen before. Maybe I don't know all the souls in this world, but I know ALL NECROMANCERS... And this is strange!... Why do I feel the urge to serve you?" The Black Skeleton looked at Vallynor and his actions, tilting its head. Then it kneeled and with a swift motion impaled the fallen beast that was about to attack Vallynor.

"Ah... and who are you?" Vallynor, slightly confused, prepared for battle, hearing the skeleton's aggressive emphasis on necromancers.

"A newbie? Hm… it doesn't matter who I am. I've forgotten my name and who I was. Solitude is both a blessing and a curse for the undead, especially for those of us who came into being naturally. Now tell me, why did I feel an affinity for you the moment I first saw you? This has never happened to me before?" The Black Skeleton reacted to Vallynor's rude behavior but instead demanded an answer.

"Perhaps it's because of the Blessing of Death. I am an apostle of the God of Death, and no undead can harm me." Vallynor, after some thought, immediately understood the reason for the skeleton's friendliness and that he was safe. And that the Black Skeleton would not attack him.

The black skeleton opened and closed its jaw several times, watching Vallynor intently. After which it said, "I see." Approaching, it noticed Vallynor getting nervous, and, with a slight laugh, asked, "What's your name… Apostle of Death?" Then it sat back to be roughly at eye level.

"Vallynor," he looked intently at the black skeleton. Vallynor began to analyze the skeleton's words, and several statements made him feel some hostility towards all necromancers.

Undead born through natural causes and possessing intellect are extremely rare. For a necromancer, such a specimen is valuable and rare, like gold to a Jew or sale items to moms and grandmothers.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

This is because such undead are a treasure trove of knowledge, capable of inspiring any necromancer. That's why many intelligent corpses fear necromancers, and this skeleton was no exception.

"Vallynor… I see. I've never heard this name before. Have you recently become a necromancer?" The Black Skeleton tilted its head slightly, speaking.

"Yes, recently," Vallynor, after a moment's thought, looked at the Black Skeleton, sensing that something was about to happen.

"Vallynor, I ask you for a favor," the Black Skeleton bowed its head, seeking Vallynor's help.

"A favor? What favor? And why me?" Vallynor was surprised and began to question the Black Skeleton.

"Yes, a favor. I ask you to bring me eternal rest. You're the only necromancer I've met in the last hundred years. And lately, I no longer meet Baba Yaga… Please, grant me eternal rest."

"How?" Vallynor was greatly surprised by the Black Skeleton's words. Why did it seek death, and why must he be the one to do it?

"Extract my soul and cleanse it of memories. Destroy the consciousness along with the mind, or what remains of them. In exchange, my soul will become yours, and you can do whatever you wish," the Black Skeleton immediately explained how to kill him, as if talking about some other creature.

"But… why?" Vallynor tried to understand why the Black Skeleton wished for death. Even if he had enough reasons, he couldn't comprehend how one could wish for their own end, especially one as cruel as described by the skeleton itself.

"Hm?… Look…" The black skeleton, with a bony hand pointing in a direction, continued, "This world is dead. And I, I suffer… Battling the filth within me, which has almost enveloped me… It might seem that being undead and fallen doesn't have many differences. But even I, an undead, fear becoming fallen!… That's why I beg you, boy. Give me a quiet end," the skeleton ended up sitting on the sand, showing how earnestly it wished to die.

"I cannot help... I am too weak," Vallynor replied uncertainly, understanding that the Black Skeleton truly longed for death. Vallynor already knew how to assist him and acquire a high-quality soul, yet he felt his own weakness.

"I understand... If I were fallen or my body were injured enough to weaken the bond between soul and body. But I am undead and additionally not fallen. Even if I desire death, my soul will instinctively fight. For you to be able to destroy me, you must at least reach the third tier of the soul and possess a magical schema that will protect and aid you..." The Skeleton paused and looked intently at Vallynor. In response, Vallynor also watched and pondered the Skeleton's words. At some point, the Skeleton continued: "You are not so far from the third tier... Very well, I will help you reach the third tier of the soul."

"...Eh?" Vallynor didn't immediately grasp. But it seemed he had gained an unexpected ally in his suicidal intentions. Rising, the Skeleton gestured with its bony hand as if inviting Vallynor to follow him on this dark path.

Marching through the forest, Vallynor silently stared at the bony back of the Black Skeleton. The one who always catches every fallen on our path, sending them into semi-death for my subsequent training of their souls.

It would have been satisfying, if not for one "but." I need to collect six souls to then transform them into ruins. This is necessary so that, upon reaching the third tier, the platform could withstand the power of these souls. I already have three souls, but I need six more, and importantly, they must be of high quality with talents. The souls of a mage and a warrior, for example, to enhance my abilities as both a mage and a warrior. And even better if they possess talent incomparable to Divine genius, born once in a century. This talent will prevent me from remaining mediocre.

So, six more souls are needed, and I have already reported this to the Black Skeleton. He merely nodded and changed direction, moving away from the city.

Perhaps I would start to worry and develop plans for a quicker return, but observing how my soul is restored, how my mind expands with each meditation, and how the foundation strengthens, I realized I would soon reach the third tier. Who would have thought that the Hand of Exhaustion, applied to monster corpses, could accelerate the tempering of the body. The techniques of Alexander only sped up the insane pace of my development, all thanks to a time artifact for which I still haven't devised a name.

Unaware of this, a month passed, both in normal and accelerated time. Walking on the black sand, I felt a strange dryness underfoot. Looking down, I saw black soil, which reminded me of the old days with Baba Yaga.

"Stop!..." I exclaimed, looking around. It turned out that these places were very familiar to me, as if I had often been here before.

The Black Skeleton turned to me, casting a questioning glance. Realizing what I had recognized, he nodded. In response, I asked, "Are we heading to Baba Yaga?"

The Black Skeleton silently looked at me, as if pondering what to reply. Eventually, he nodded, awaiting my reaction.

"Why didn't you say we were going to Baba Yaga?" I asked, changing my tone. He just nodded and changed direction, and we moved away from the city.

Usually, I would worry, trying to devise plans for a quicker return. But, watching how my soul is restored, how my mind expands, and how my body becomes stronger, I realized I would soon reach the third tier. Such is the price of the time artifact and Alexander's techniques.

Suddenly, the Black Skeleton spoke: "Were you supposed to be scared? But know, many rumors about her are false. I don't know why she behaved strangely in the city, but in reality, she is a kind old woman who has endured much."

After hearing this, I understood why the Black Skeleton hadn't disclosed where we were heading. He himself had encountered people asking strange questions about Baba Yaga. But he was good at keeping things unsaid. Thus, he never mentioned that he had learned magic, curses, and so forth from Baba Yaga.

"I'm not afraid of Baba Yaga because she was my teacher in curses and black magic."

"And why am I only learning this now?" the Black Skeleton was surprised. He had seen me only twice, and both times were related to him. In the first case, all the city's inhabitants taught me, and in the second, I became an apostle.

"You didn't ask, and I forgot to say!" I smiled foolishly. The Black Skeleton, covering his eyes with his hand, simply replied, "If so, then everything becomes easier." Turning, he continued on the path.

As I contemplated the possibility of meeting Baba Yaga, my undead heart ached. I understood...

An awkward silence enveloped us. Only the cries of the fallen attacking us broke it. The Black Skeleton destroyed them with one or a few blows, leaving a few for my training. After that, he absorbed their souls and stored the corpses in his inventory. Soon they would reach their goal.

Passing between the trees, I saw a familiar house where I had spent some time. At the edge of the territory, the fallen swirled around, attacking the barrier that protected the house. Taking my scythe in hand, I leaped into the attack.

The Black Skeleton closely watched as Vallynor fiercely destroyed his enemies, sucking out their souls. Every moment, his scythe filled with necrotic energy, giving him formidable power. Vallynor constantly cast spells, invoking the powers of the Land of the Dead and the Hand of the Soul.

"Fallen beasts, humans, and creatures rushed at Vallynor, seeking to devour his soul," thought the Black Skeleton. However, despite all their attempts, they all fell under the blows of his scythe or the influence of his magic. Throughout the time spent with the Black Skeleton, Vallynor, unnoticed even to himself, became stronger, ascending the tiers of his development. This process, if continued, would lead him to the third stage of body refinement, where he would have to stop and concentrate all efforts on the mind and soul.

Twenty minutes later, Vallynor felt the energy in his mind begin to deplete. Fortunately, around him were corpses emitting necrotic energy. Extending his hand, Vallynor directed this energy around him like sea waves, enveloping everything. But his ultimate goal was himself. The energy penetrated his body, flowing through his entire organism, filling him with power. His body became a reservoir for this necrotic force.

As necrotic energy filled Vallynor, its excess enveloped the corpses, causing them to resurrect and attack the enemies. The Black Skeleton closely studied the man over the month, understanding that he was well-trained but lacked real experience. Nonetheless, with each day, Vallynor grew stronger. He wouldn't have realized that before meeting the Skeleton, he could have fought so fiercely for only six to eight minutes, filled with energy. Now, he was approaching thirty minutes, almost halfway to the third tier of the mind. Such individuals, like him, were extremely rare for the Black Skeleton to encounter. And who among them can boast access to such a high-quality method of development?

Turning his head, the Black Skeleton noticed an odd creature — a mix of two women and some beast that had lost its distinctive features, clearly herbivorous. This fallen creature attempted to attack Vallynor, but its efforts were thwarted by the Black Skeleton, who lifted it by one of the women's necks.

"So powerful... Perhaps you often hunt here," the Black Skeleton remarked, glancing at the ground strewn with parts of bodies that had been drained of all necrotic energy.

Dividing the beast in two, the Black Skeleton tossed it at Vallynor's feet. Without wasting time, Vallynor absorbed the creature's soul, storing its corpse in his inventory to prevent it from turning into undead. The resurrected undead attacked and exterminated the strongest of the fallen, while others held back the less powerful. The most formidable fallen were torn apart by Vallynor himself with his scythe.

After some time, the last fallen collapsed to the ground, its soul absorbed by the Hand of the Soul. The resurrected undead slumped like puppets devoid of motion, and Vallynor sat in a meditative pose, beginning to gather all the necrotic energy swirling around like a tempestuous sea. Battlefields and graveyards are the most beloved places for necromancers. A paradise for those who wield this art. Battles and graves are perfect for those aspiring to win the heart of a lady necromancer.

The abundance of necrotic energy began to attract other forms of energy, including mana. Even in small quantities, this delighted Vallynor. Without hesitation, he began using this energy to strengthen his body, mind, and soul. Despite the pain these processes caused, Vallynor realized how long he had neglected other types of energy. Now, he understood he was harming himself in his quest to become stronger.

Vallynor's gaze rose to the mountain, paying no heed to what lay beneath his feet. The tiniest particles of energy helped him realize that he could no longer neglect the variety of energies and harm himself.

This passage showcases Vallynor's journey and transformation, both in his understanding of power and in the physical realm. His interactions with the Black Skeleton not only serve as a pivotal point in his development but also highlight the complexities of the necromantic arts and the moral quandaries they entail. The narrative builds on themes of growth, sacrifice, and the search for knowledge, encapsulated in the dark and mystic world of necromancy and the undead.