The stars glimmered above Necropolis, their light casting a spectral glow over the realm. Souls moved through the shadowed streets, past ancient temples and solemn buildings. The Veil of Transition shimmered with an ethereal radiance, while shadows and orbs scurried about, ensuring everything was in order for their god’s departure. The servants with physical forms, draped in flowing robes of black and white, diligently managed the logistics, guiding the lost souls who arrived after a recent bloody battle.

One such servant, his robes whispering like the night breeze, ushered the newly arrived souls towards the Gardens of Serenity, where they might find peace. Azrael, towering and formidable, stood beside the veil, his presence a beacon of calm. The light orbs dotted around the realm cast warm shadows that soothed the restless spirits, their glow interweaving with the ever-present hum of ancient magic.

Azrael’s gaze swept over the scene, the weight of his imminent departure pressing on his thoughts. The realm, with its haunting beauty and ceaseless flow of souls, seemed both timeless and transient, a delicate balance of light and shadow, order and chaos. The earthy scent of moss and damp leaves mingled with the soft murmur of whispered prayers, creating an atmosphere thick with the tension of the unknown, where the line between reality and fantasy blurred.

As Azrael helped the souls move through the Veil, his gaze lingered on the shadowy, blurred visages of the world beyond. Sprawling fields, endless deserts, towering forests, and bustling cities shimmered in fleeting glimpses. A pang of envy touched him as he continued to guide the souls toward their transcendence. Time flowed, and eventually, the last soul stepped through the Veil, leaving Azrael alone in the Hall with its towering ceilings. The silence was a welcome reprieve, though it felt lonely.

Stepping away from the Veil, Azrael’s gaze lingered on it. In a few days, he would leave these grand halls and beautiful gardens for a world he had only seen in blurred visages and the fragmented memories of the souls he guided. Lost in thought, he wandered through the realm, passing temples and gardens until he found himself at the edge of the Void.

The Void, as it was known, was the border between the realms. Gods could traverse it without issue, and each realm had its unique connection to the others. However, souls were forbidden from entering, as crossing the threshold would cause their existence to cease. Azrael had created a barrier, an invisible wall that souls could not surpass. Those who tried to step through it would be gently returned to the gardens.

Standing at the edge of the Void, Azrael contemplated the immense change that awaited him. The ethereal glow of the moonlit groves and the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves filled the air, intertwining with the ever-present hum of ancient magic. The boundary of the realms stretched out before him, a shimmering veil between the known and the unknown, light and shadow.

“Oh my, if it isn’t Lord Azrael of Necropolis,” Chernobog emerged from the shadows, his presence both unsettling and mesmerizing. His obsidian-black skin absorbed the faint light of Necropolis, making him appear as though he were part of the darkness itself. His long, flowing hair moved like smoke, merging seamlessly with the surrounding shadows. The pale silver of his eyes glowed faintly, drawing all who looked into them into an endless void.

Clad in robes woven from the very essence of shadows and adorned with glowing runes, Chernobog moved with a graceful, spectral fluidity. His dark, twisted staff, topped with a light-absorbing crystal, symbolized his dominion over the void. As he spoke, his low, soft voice resonated through the chamber, a whisper carried on the wind.

“It has been a while, Lord Chernobog,” Azrael replied, his voice stoic and cold. “How come you’ve decided to show yourself now?”

Chernobog didn’t respond immediately, instead stepping to the edge next to Azrael, overlooking the Void. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It was,” Azrael replied, his gaze unwavering. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Can’t I visit a friend anymore? Tough times have fallen on Necropolis, I see,” Chernobog murmured, his voice laced with an enigmatic softness.

Azrael’s eyes narrowed, the shadows of the realm flickering around them. “Your presence here is rarely just a social call.”

Chernobog let out a low, mirthless chuckle, the sound like the rustle of dead leaves. “Perhaps I simply wished to admire the void with you, to bask in the silence that even gods find so rare.”

The two stood there, side by side, their forms etched against the ethereal backdrop of Necropolis. The realm thrummed with ancient magic, the air thick with the earthy scent of moss and the distant hum of celestial energies. In that moment, the line between reality and the dreamlike fabric of their existence blurred, casting both light and shadow in an ever-changing dance.

“Times are changing,” the old god replied, “Perhaps I did wish to visit you and simply…” he gestured, “wish you a safe journey.”

“Oh?” Azrael was genuinely surprised.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Chernobog chuckled. His voice lowered as his gaze lingered on the void before them. “How’s Erebus? Has he…”

“He’s fine, Chernobog,” Azrael replied, his tone calm and stoic. “He has proven to be much more useful.”

“Thank you,” Chernobog murmured, a rare softness in his voice.

The two gods stood in silence, the ethereal glow of Necropolis casting long, shifting shadows around them. In the twilight of their shared moment, reality and the dreamlike fabric of existence wove together, casting both light and shadow in an ever-changing dance.

“How have you been?” Azrael asked reluctantly.

“I’ve been well. Everything is going according to your design, which isn’t surprising,” Chernobog replied with a faint smile.

Azrael chuckled, nodding his head. “You know how to flatter me.” he added with a sigh “How have the rest fared?”

“Marzana moved on. She is working under Terra in Terradia,” Chernobog reminisced. “The others, I don’t know what happened to them.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Chernobog chuckled softly. “Necropolis has been my home since the beginning.”

“You can return, you know. Work under me, help me manage—”

“Thank you for the offer, Young Lord, but I must decline. I am but a minor god,” he replied, bowing his head in Azrael’s direction. Azrael flinched, he crossed his arms as he ignored the mans gesture.

The two stood in silence a bit longer, the void before them seeming to stare back, an endless abyss waiting to swallow them whole. The ethereal glow of Necropolis cast shadows that danced like whispered secrets, the scent of moss and damp leaves mingling with the hum of ancient magic.

“You’re a good kid,” Chernobog finally said, his voice a low murmur.

Azrael sighed softly, unsure how to respond. After a moment, he stepped forward and faced Chernobog, placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head. It was a gesture unthinkable for a being of his stature, but Azrael was not blinded by pride or envy.

“What are you doing?!” Chernobog exclaimed in shock, gesturing for him to raise his head.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Even before I ascended, you helped me navigate Necropolis in that state. You saw a lost soul and decided to keep it.”

“It’s alright, raise your head, you moron! Someone will see—”

“I have the right to bow my head in my own realm, especially if it is to you,” Azrael replied, his voice calm and resolute.

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken gratitude and mutual respect. The shadows around them seemed to hold their breath, the realm itself acknowledging the moment.

Chernobog let out a hearty laugh. “Never change, kid.” He sighed, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and pride. “You did wonders to fix Necropolis. I can’t say I can call it that anymore.”

“Call it what? Necropolis?”

“It fits more to the old one, with its painful memories, its awfulness.”

“Necropolis is the name of the realm. I don’t get to change that,” Azrael chuckled softly. “But it will take time for the old one to be forgotten.”

“Two millennia isn’t enough.”

“For that, no. No, it’s not.”

Silence descended once again, swallowing the sound between them. Unspoken words, regrets, and praises hung at the edge of their tongues, but both knew it was not the time to lay out such tales, not on such an occasion.

“Marzana heard about your plan,” Chernobog said, breaking the quiet. “Can’t say she’s happy.”

“She was always a dutiful guardian,” Azrael chuckled. “I hope she’s doing well.”

“She is. She sometimes visits,” Chernobog replied, a note of warmth in his voice.

As Chernobog was about to speak, a bell rang from deep within the void. His gaze lingered for a moment before he stepped forward. “Duty calls, my lord.”

“Of course…” Azrael replied hesitantly.

Chernobog bowed his head in reverence to the god standing before him. “O Azrael, Divine Guide and Protector of Souls, may your presence be a beacon of hope and renewal,” he intoned, offering a prayer before the void engulfed him, leaving Azrael standing alone in the realm.

The wind blew a last kiss as the final bell tolled, and Chernobog was gone. Azrael remained, gazing into the void before he returned back to his duties at the Veil.

----------------------------------------

Only a few beings in Necropolis possessed the strength to maintain a physical form. Aside from the gods who could visit but seldom did, and Azrael, the sole ruler of Necropolis, there were a few who could sustain their corporeal presence. One such being was Erebus, a personification of shadow and mystery. Adorned in black cloth, he often blended seamlessly into the darkness. As one of Azrael’s devoted assistants, his loyalty to the ruler of Necropolis was unwavering.

Standing before the Veil of Transition, Erebus observed the blurred images of distant lives and places that seemed insignificant to him. His focus was not on the souls passing through but on his duty to Lord Azrael. Erebus’s entire existence revolved around his master; he lived and breathed Azrael’s name. Every word from Azrael was a command he followed with devout precision. Such loyalty inspired envy among other gods, who wished for a servant of Erebus’s dedication for themselves.

The Eternal Palace was enveloped in silence, a stark contrast to the usual hum of chimes and the murmurs of thousands of souls awaiting rebirth. This eerie, cold silence was, in its way, a welcome change. It signified that fewer lives had been lost, offering a rare respite that Erebus, standing at the edge of shadow and light, found somewhat relieving as he studied the Veil, watching the images within blur and shift.

Lumus moved gracefully through the halls of the palace, his pale, luminous skin casting a gentle glow that illuminated the path ahead. His white hair shimmered in the dim light, and his glowing white eyes radiated a soothing luminescence.

Clad in elegant robes of white and silver, adorned with shifting patterns of light, Lumus exuded an aura of calm and serenity. His crystalline staff, topped with a luminous orb, emitted a soft glow, enhancing the tranquil atmosphere of the realm.

As he approached the Veil, Lumus’s soft, soothing voice filled the air. “It is odd seeing you here, Erebus,” he remarked, his staff tapping gently against the marble floor as he neared.

Erebus turned to face him. “It’s always too crowded for me to spend time here,” he responded.

“Oh, does the Great Erebus not have a thing for souls, hm?” Lumus teased with a soft giggle, leaning on his staff for support. “What are you doing here?”

Lumus, another of the beings able to manifest physically in Necropolis, was an older and devout servant of Lord Azrael. His primary role was to guide souls through their transitions, offering comfort and support. He assisted Azrael in ensuring that each soul found peace and understanding before moving on.

“I wanted to see the Veil while it’s quiet,” Erebus replied, his voice stoic as he turned back to face the shifting images within the Veil. “I wanted to understand what Lord Azrael finds so intriguing about these pests.”

“Now, now, we don’t call them pests—” Lumus started.

“Bugs,” Erebus corrected dryly.

“We’ll work on that,” Lumus chuckled, his light-hearted tone a gentle rebuke to Erebus’s harshness, their voices echoing softly in the vast, silent hall.

“What does he even see in them?” Erebus murmured, his gaze lingering on the blurred images of a village, then shifting to a mountain scene.

“Curiosity,” Lumus responded with a hint of nostalgia. “I was curious about them as well!”

“Was?” Erebus raised an eyebrow.

“I had a chance to descend before.”

“Oh, right,” Erebus replied, his tone softening. “I apologize.”

“No, no, ancient history,” Lumus chuckled, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand.

Together, Erebus and Lumus watched the images flash by—the scenic beauty of natural landscapes, war-torn cities, chaotic battlefields, expansive seas, and bustling ships. All the marvels and miseries of the mortal realms unfolded before them. The two enjoyed the silence that followed, a shared moment of peace amidst the stream of passing lives.

“How’s planning going on your end?” Erebus eventually broke the silence.

“We are prepared. Nothing major needs to be done anymore, just waiting for Lord Azrael’s approval. Yours?”

Erebus chuckled. “Ever the busy cat,” he teased. “Lord Azrael has already approved ours; we’re just waiting for others at this point.”

“Ooh?” Lumus chuckled, leaning closer to Erebus with a playful glint in his glowing eyes.

“What?” Erebus replied, a hint of challenge in his voice as he leaned forward to match Lumus’s height. “You’re jealous?”

“Of course not, I—”

“What are you two doing?” interrupted Azrael, his voice cutting through the playful banter as he stood beneath the archway. His expression was stoic, yet beneath that mask, there was a subtle struggle to maintain his composure. Startled, Erebus and Lumus quickly straightened up and turned to face him, bowing their heads in unison.

“Lord Azrael, welcome back!” they chorused, their voices perfectly aligned as they awaited Azrael’s commands.

Azrael’s gaze swept over them, the ethereal glow from the Veil casting shadows that played across his features, softening the stern lines of his face. The air around them thrummed with the hum of ancient magic, a testament to the charged atmosphere of Necropolis.

“Lumus,” Azrael began, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, ethereal space of Necropolis.

“Yes, my Lord?” Lumus responded, his face lighting up as he balanced on his staff, ready to receive Azrael’s commands.

“How are preparations going on your end?”

“They are finished, Sir!” Lumus replied, his attitude radiant. “Come your departure, we are ready to proceed!”

Azrael hesitated for a moment, taking a step forward. His towering form loomed over the two deities before him. He glanced at the Veil, its images swirling in a mesmerizing dance of lives and destinies. Turning back to face his servants, he nodded.

“Great, thank you.”

“Anytime, my Lord!” Lumus responded enthusiastically.

Azrael then moved to stand directly in front of the Veil, watching as the images blurred and shifted, portraying snippets of the mortal world—from the crashing waves of the sea to the towering majesty of the mountains. His mind raced with anticipation, trying to imagine the scents, the sights, and the events he would soon witness. A deep yearning stirred within him, a desire not just to observe, but to truly experience—to live. His heart, if such a being had one, seemed to beat in sync with the rhythms of the lands he was about to walk, his soul eager to drink in every detail of the vibrant world beyond.

“I’ve seen Chernobog…” Azrael admitted, his gaze fixed on the shifting scenes within the Veil. Erebus flinched at the mention, while Lumus stared intently at Azrael, his glowing eyes flickering with a mix of rage and disappointment, chastising himself for not noticing the presence of the dark god sooner.

“Why didn’t you call us, Sir!?” Erebus burst out, his voice tinged with concern. “We could have dealt—”

“You would not have dealt with him,” Azrael cut him off sharply.

“He is much stronger than us; he is no match for you and me, Erebus,” Lumus interjected, his voice steady as he leaned on his staff. “What does he want?” he asked, the usual calm of his tone now laced with a hint of venom.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” both Erebus and Lumus echoed in disbelief.

“Nothing. He was here to say goodbye.”

“Good riddan—” Erebus started to say, but he quickly shut himself off, correcting his tone. “I mean, Sir, I’m glad he has not caused any trouble.”

Azrael remained silent for a moment, contemplating the implications of Chernobog’s visit. The atmosphere felt heavier, the usual hum of the Veil seeming to echo the tension among them. Azrael turned from the Veil to face his faithful servants, his expression unreadable yet solemn.

“Even if he has strayed from his path, he is still one of us,” Azrael continued, his tone resolute yet not without a hint of empathy. “Should he return after my departure, inform me immediately.”

Erebus and Lumus nodded, understanding the gravity of their lord’s directive. The realm of Necropolis, with its eternal interplay of shadows and light, seemed to pause, as if sensing the weight of the moment.

“Yes, Sir!” they responded in unison, their voices firm, like soldiers receiving a crucial command.

“Now…” Azrael shifted the mood, offering a slight smile, “Shall we have a drink?”