Twelve Years Ago.
In the graveyard of the disgraced fallen, in an island named Netra island to the East of the Calm Gale, stood a six-year-old red haired boy and a 38 year old man next to him. In front of them lay a body. One of the soldiers who fought on the front lines with the goal of winning, but their fate had no victory in its records. The body, along with the long row of bodies that lay beside it, remained still.
Since Damion was six, that made Spire nine when he began necromancer training. Their father, Noel, was stuck on the idea that Damion would be his successor. He believed both sons could do it, and even as Damion's decline began, Noel figured it would be a sign of greater ability later. Damion was a terrified child. He only managed to raise the corpse's finger. This angered his father, and as a result of his beatings, Damion cried every time. His crying made him lose concentration, however little it was. After training, he went home to his only source of happiness—his mother and their help, Ritta. A kind and careful maid with a heart of gold. She hated the idea of neglecting a child regardless of their power level. She always took care of Damion's wounds, tending to him even in front of his father and Spire. Of course he was the only one with wounds, both physical due to his father's beatings and mental thanks to his disbelief in his skill… which caused the beatings… and in turn… yeah. Working at their house was a choice Ritta made for her friend, Damion and Spire's mother.
The Gravethorn family was one of necromancy, mostly due to their father. However, power evolved differently in each of them. Their father had the ability to control small portions of dead tissue with precision. Their mother was powerless, coming from a fire-drifted heritage, never managing to awaken her abilities. But she loved her children regardless. Spire, his big brother, had gained the ability to use entire dead bodies. He was able to control their movements, though it was rough, seeing as he was still a kid. Despite his enjoyment in the ability, he was pushed to his limit multiple times because his father wanted no less than perfection with each and every lesson he had for him. Spire sought his father's path—the path to power.
Then Damion was born, and whatever Noel sensed in him was enough to make his dreams come true. All the child knew was that his father expected something he wasn't interested in. With his first few lessons, Damion was revolted at using bodies and making them do unnatural things. His father wanted to teach him, mentor him, but because he was uninterested, Noel decided to use force. That was when their mother began to despise their father. While she had no problem with him training Spire due to his love for necromancy, she was absolutely against forcing any of her children to do something they didn't want.
When Damion was still taking walks with his mother, he came to know that she was an archer. It seemed interesting at the time, but as he grew older, she did it less and less. One day, she asked if he was interested in archery. He definitely was. It was important to him as it was important to her. Better yet, it would allow him to take a different path than the one his father wished for him. But clearly, that wasn't the plan for the breadwinner of the house.
His talent was something Noel was impatient to draw out over time. So he forced it more and more as Spire got the hang of it. It had been two years (Damion at nine) of endless training. He got better at controlling dead insects and animals because humans were too much for him to handle. This gave him a balance between his father's and mother's sides. Ritta even had fewer wounds to deal with, so things seemed to be going well… but not for long.
A month before his tenth birthday, Damion's mother passed away due to illness. Buried with an amber necklace that she used to wear almost all the time. It was tied like a bracelet on her rested hands. Now… Damion only had his brother, Ritta, and his father—who got much worse at parenting after he lost his wife. The beatings became more frequent. He lashed out all the time, and they all paid the price for his actions. Spire decided to take matters into his own hands and left home. He urged Damion to follow him, but Damion was too scared to face the world outside. He did admire his big brother, just like most younger siblings do, but the day Spire left, Damion was forced to realize they had different paths in life.
With no one to hold on to high hopes for necromancy, Noel took everything out on Damion—until the day he couldn't take it anymore.
On his tenth birthday, Damion woke up and decided to practice archery. He was thinking of his mother, and it was all he could do without his father's influence. Ritta always looked after him and gave him pointers on where he went wrong. She brought him refreshments when he rested. She loved him like her own son. Nighttime arrived, and Noel called upon him. They walked in silence to the 'training grounds', as their father often called it. Noel pointed down at the body they were to try necromancy on. Damion prepared himself, he always used to say a small prayer to cope with his abilities. He closed his eyes, whispered, "Forgive me." and saw the body. It was covered in tatters and he could see the hands… it was a recent death. He sat down, clasped his hands together, and began his concentration on the body. It began moving… its hands carefully gaining a pivot to get up, its tatters fell off its face.Then he saw it.
Her face.
His mother.
His breath caught. His teeth grit, and his eyes burned with a rush of emotions. His father had dug up her grave, brought her here… for this… instantly, he felt a certain dark purple aura around him. One filled with pain, suffering… too much for him to handle.
Disgusted. Revolted. Broken.
He looked at his father with a face that made Noel feel threatened. He hit him across the face, sending him to the ground.
"Who do you think you're looking at with those eyes?!"
Damion kept quiet. He didn't make a fuss like before. Meanwhile, Ritta watched them from a rooftop in the distance. Her hand tightened its grip on her bow.
He stood up and glanced at his mother's body. His whole body shook, his mind went through so many thoughts until it went blank. Traumatized by what his father did, his entire being shook and his legs gave out. On his knees, the only thing that ringed in his mind was his father's sin.
'die.' He thought.
His father… whatever that man had become… took a step toward him as he noticed something.
"Fog??" Noel muttered. A cloud began building up around the graveyard.
'Die.'
The closer he got, the thicker it grew…
'DiE.'
Finally, Damion spoke.
"die…" He whispered as tears welled in his eyes.
"die.." His words came clearer
"Die."
His father heard it and kicked him, belittling him at the same time. Ritta watched and he readied an arrow. If Noel was to make another attempt at hitting Damion, she would end his life to protect Damion's. She drew back on her bow, tears welled up, her teeth grit.
Damion sat down after getting a grip on his balance. He was crying, weeping uncontrollably. At his feet, the ground began forming cracks… like veins along the ground.
"DIE!!"
Immediately, Noel began feeling a rumble below them, and shortly after, a hand rose from the ground, then an arm.
Eventually, a body stood in front of Noel, poised to attack.
More hands. More arms. More bodies. The corpses rose in complete silence, save for the sounds of the earth splitting apart.
Then, they attacked.
They ran at him, at least forty corpses began clawing at him relentlessly, while this was happening, Damion regained some of his senses, watching the multitude of enemies he didn't know he summoned. Scared and confused, he ran away into the woods. Atop the roof, Ritta's body had given out, she was entirely paralyzed with shock from where she was, she had already laid down her bow and the arrow that now, had no objective…