Death is not the end, it is a new beginning. 

- Book of Vitaemancy, first page

“20 Years,” Varyn mused to himself. A small smile spread across the gaunt man’s face as his thralls toiled below. The scent of rotting and decaying flesh lingered in the air, and the clinking of steel tools against stone echoed for miles around, mingling with the faint moaning and whimpering of frightened and desperate people. Before the great necromancer stood a gate of impossible size, unable to be seen in its entirety without looking to the star-filled night sky. 

This was it, Varyn thought to himself, my final triumph. Pale fingers traced a book bound in dark purple leather before him on a pedestal and flipped to the last few pages. The pages themselves were perfectly preserved despite its age, and within contained the blueprints of the gate nearing its completion. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of giddiness for what might lay beyond once the final rune was finished. His teal eyes that were once brown fell upon the page again, finger trailing over a specific passage. He who builds the gate shall be granted access to my realm and drink upon my power. He who drinks upon my power will become eternal, become above all, mortal or Ideal.

He let out a musing sigh, then delicately closed the ancient book. Upon its silver leafing was a mural of dozens of strange entities, each one alien to the eyes, and only similar in form by eight arms and a single, large, teal eye sculpted into their featureless heads. Varyn took a leisurely stroll away from the balcony he currently resided on and into the palace that was now his, overlooking the city and world that was now under his rule.

As he stepped into the hallway, he mentally pulled at the connection of the guards flanking the doorway. Two constructs of bone, skeletons by closest definition, rattled once then began to follow after him in perfect lockstep, their exquisite rifles at parade rest against their bare shoulder blades and piercing teal pinpricks of light staring ever forward from their empty eye sockets. Together, they strode across an extravagant, empty hall made of white marble with gilded patterns along the ceiling and floor. A picture of decadence and wealth made even more garish by paintings lining the corridor. Varyn’s expression turned cold, he was to be a god in but a few minutes - no, above a god, according to the book anyway – what use did he have for mortal works? He reached out with his mind, feeling the millions of connections out into the city, the undead of all shapes and sizes that answered only to him, and he tugged at the connection of a small squad of his soldiers by the mansion's entrance. All it took was a simple, mental command, Destroy them and he could feel the response instantly. Lesser forms of Necromancy required much more specific instructions and a shaped soul. But with the tome in his hands, commanding the undead might as well have been as easy as breathing.  By the time he got to the end of the hallway, the squad passed him, about to destroy the works he deemed unworthy.

Upon exiting the palace, he entered an open plaza filled with cages of the still living, the soon-to-be dead. The sounds from earlier were much louder now, the wails of children, the crying and shouting of mothers and fathers. Each cage had more constructs in front of them, some large and carrying intricate, cannon-like weapons, the smaller ones standing with their rifles aimed toward the prisoners. Varyn went out of his way to inspect each of the cages, his chin turning upward as the beginnings of a smile spread across his face. He quietly walked alongside them, guards at either side as he made his way towards his great work. Each step he took made his nerves light afire and clutch his tome close to his side, his smug smile broadening into a full grin. He had to contain his laughter; such an outburst of emotion would be beneath someone about to become greater than a god.

Varyn soon stood before the gate. From this vantage point he couldn’t help but feel small. The book didn’t state a reason as to why this structure needed to be so big, and he was too excited for the possibility of what lay beyond it to truly seek deeper meaning. But as he beheld the almost-finished gate he felt his ego slightly diminish under its size. 

No matter, he thought, soon such structures will be trivial. The gate was still surrounded by steel scaffolding where constructs of bone moved about with tools, carving runes to the exact specifications listed in the tome Varyn carried. The structure was built in a park that was once meant for the elite of this city. Now nothing remained but the dried out husks of trees and the picked clean corpses of animals. Before the gate was a podium, and in between the two was a burning ritual circle trapping a small humanoid figure. They cowered as Varyn approached.

“Bulna,” Varyn started, unable to let his excitement creep into tone. “You look so frightened, it is unbecoming of an Ideal.” The figure looked meekly up at Varyn, shining, golden eyes of power now just dim spheres.

“Whatever you’re doing here, it won’t work. Power over souls always comes at a cost.” they reply, bitterness barely hidden behind their last attempt at defiance. Varyn sneered, lifting the book and placing it carefully on the podium, leafing through the pages.

“Why yes, the cost of life.” Varyn retorted. “Your life more specifically, and about ten thousand others.” He found the page he was looking for, flattening it down as he glanced at the weakened Ideal. “Such a small price in the grand scheme of things, don’t you think?” he added, eyes closing halfway as he focused back on the page. Just as they had done many times before, the words on the page spoke directly into his mind, whispering voices imparting their knowledge on him so that complex ideas came as easily as reading a children’s book. 

“You don’t really believe that do you? You don’t even know where the book came from, who wrote it. Those with power aren’t usually so inclined to share it so openly with strangers.” Varyn’s gaze flicked back to Bulna.

“So far it has granted me our world and you. Whatever is on the other side of this portal is mine to take, I have earned it.” Varyn growled in reply. Then, the sounds of tools on stone ceased and Varyn looked up from the Ideal to the gate. “Aha, perfect.” He mentally tugged on the connection to all of the thralls on the scaffolding, calling them back down as he let slip an amused chuckle. “Well, it seems our talk is at an end, Bulna. Do you have any last words?”

Bulna stared, then spoke in a trembling voice, “I hope that one day you share the suffering of all the people whose bodies you chained to your will.”

“How noble,” Varyn replied dryly. Then a single, pulsing ring of teal flame roared from around the necromancer, his eyes closed, and he lifted a hand into the air. Varyn had prepared a speech for this moment, but to hell with speeches, he had waited too long for this. 

The necromancer’s eyes flared open and fire burst from his hand, licking at the air before extending outwards. First it joins with the flames that surrounded the god, roaring up high where the two fires met. The god screamed in agony as power pulsed through the fire back towards Varyn who lifted his other hand and slid one foot back, turning half way and pointing back towards the plaza filled with cages. Fire shot through his body and through his second hand, a line stretched out to each cage as all of the occupants cried out at once.

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The humans writhed against the fires of death, their souls extracted from their bodies leaving nothing but hollowed carcasses behind with slime dripped from their decrepit mouths. The necromancer threw his second hand forward toward one of the bottom blocks of stone that made up the body of the gate. The fire burned from each of the etched runes at the base of the gate and climbed its way up to the top. With a flick of the wrist, the Ideal’s soul was yanked from Bulna’s body, manifesting as an intricate weaving piece of artwork like hands linked to wrists in a spiral surrounding a shield with a lion’s face born upon it, an Ideal’s near-god like soul. It was hurled into the center of the gate. Lightning arced out and captured the soul in its center, pulling it apart. There was one last scream before there was silence, save for the idle burning of the gate’s runes.

Between the portal’s arches now sat something akin to a body of water, suspended vertically with currents gently rippling the surface. On the other side Varyn could make out the shadows of tall structures, some of which seemed to extend even further past the highest point of the newly opened portal.

Varyn sat in awe of what lay before him in deafening silence. He had done it. All he had to do was walk through the gate and infinite power would be his. As he was about to move away from the podium, however, a being passed through the gate. It didn’t step as he did, instead it floated an inch off the ground, toes pointed towards the earth. The figure could only be described as human in the loosest terms. It looked to be about 10 feet tall and had two long, atrophied  legs that connected to a stretched out torso. It had eight arms ending in clawed finger tips, two crossed over its chest, fingers digging into the flesh, two before itself beneath the other arms clasped in prayer, and the final four splayed behind the creature and bent unnaturally as if imitating the wings of a bird. The upper half of its face was taken up by a carved, teal eye outlined in black around the unblinking lid. The figure itself had lines tracing across its entire form as if it had been yarn twisted together, waiting to be unraveled; yet the quality of its skin appeared to be more like porcelain. It glided across the park, dead grass turning to dust in its wake as it approached the necromancer. 

Varyn wasn’t sure how to feel about this new entity, inside of him was a twisting sense of both excitement mingled with curiosity, and a deep sense of discomfort. As it approached, Varyn recognized the creature – one of the figures in his tome. The necromancer gulped in anticipation as the being stopped just outside of arms reach. It had remained frozen as its body floated towards Varyn and only now did the head move with a smoothness unbefitting of ceramic as the eye trained upon him. It spoke with countless voices, all in perfect chorus, crying out in harmonious Exaltation.

You have done well, child.

It began, and with each passing of vowels the world trembled beneath them under the weight of its voice. Varyn could feel it vibrate in his bones, his spirit screaming at him to supplicate before this creature. It was enough to keep the necromancer silent while… whatever this was called him a child. 

Few who receive the Father’s teachings manage the great feat you have performed today, but it was inevitable that one of you should succeed.

Varyn tried his best to keep his composure in front of the being. Hundreds of questions crossed his mind but he only managed to voice one. “You did not write the book?”

No. 

It replied, making the ground tremble again. 

We are the eyes and voice of the father, his sacrament. We are Exaltation, and we have come to welcome you to the Amaranthine Planes as its newest citizen.

Citizen? Varyn was to be above a god, not a citizen. The necromancer found his composure again and hissed indignantly. “I had read in this father’s book that I was to gain power to rival and surpass Ideals. I am more than just a citizen,” he replied haughtily and commanded his soldiers that still resided near the cages to begin to approach. All of them marched toward him. Their footfalls echoed in the silence of the now empty city. The Necromancer threw one hand outward to the forces that now approached. “I conquered this world by myself through my own power, I am to be its lord and god.”

The sacrament did not seem phased. It watched Varyn for a long, painful moment while the undead clamored behind the Necromancer and stood rank and file with larger monstrosities between them. Its silence made Varyn’s heart beat faster as he attempted to maintain an air of confidence.

You are but one of many.

It finally replied. 

Your conquest is born of his power, freely given, and now you are to be joined with the rest of his kin. You will be among peers who have reached heights equal to your own. A realm of eternal death held by all within, granted by power held by all within.

Varyn’s mind raced. What point is there of such power if he was going to be in a place where everyone had it? No, this wasn’t fair, this all was a lie. The Necromancer took a step back, almost stumbling off of the podium as he retreated back towards his soldiers, turning away from the sacrament who hovered there still watching. It didn’t take long to think of his reply to this new information. Varyn had bested Bulna, bested the countless people of this world, and he would best this creature. He glanced over his shoulder to the sacrament, then pulled on all of the connections of his thralls simultaneously with one command. Kill.

They did not budge. Varyn frantically looked about right before he felt a splitting pain in his head. He let out a cry of anguish as he felt all of his connections to his thralls be torn away from him, disappearing entirely as the soldiers rattled once, then all turned on him. Exaltation floated forward, disintegrating the wooden pedestal that was shielding Varyn until it towered over the Necromancer. 

Disappointing, 

it cried, tone ever locked in the singular emotion that defined it. 

We thank you for bringing this world to us. We will be giving it to someone more appreciative of the gifts that have been granted to them.

Terror struck Varyn’s features as he stammered out through his pounding headache. “Then what happens to me?”

It does not matter. 

The sacrament replied, settling down onto its knees, still floating an inch above the ground. Two praying hands unclasped to gently hold Varyn’s face, guiding him to stare into its unblinking eye. Its fingers were cold, so unbearably cold. 

But that is alright. You are ours now, and we do not give up on our own.

Varyn didn’t have time to question what that meant before the pain tripled, quadrupled. He writhed in the creature’s grasp, crying out in agony. Just what was this thing? In one of his last moments of consciousness his eyes flashed teal and he looked upon the soul of this creature. What he saw were blinding orbs of light, mixed with the fires of souls, together in one perfect and harmonious binding, so bright that it was like staring into the sun. His eyes burned and the pain became unbearable. He thrashed against the creature's grip as he screamed in terror, then all went black, and his life ended. Not in a glorious ascension to eternal life and power, but as a man, a frightened, weak man.