When I apparated into the valley, the air was cold and still, thick with the scent of magic. Before me stretched my greatest accomplishment yet — the Containment Complex. Hidden beneath layers of illusion and anti-scrying wards, it stood as a fortress of dark research and alchemical creation. My subordinates moved in silence, robed and masked, tending to their experiments with the reverence of priests before a god.
In the heart of the complex lay my Sanctum Mortem, the chamber where life and death intertwined. Ten ritual circles, each carved with ancient runes and lined with powdered silver, waited for me.
On the stone tables rested bodies — not of innocents, but of criminals, outlaws, and those who had sought power through cruelty. I had found them dying, their souls ready to fade. Instead, I offered them eternity.
I drew the Resurrection Stone from my pocket, the faint glow of its ancient magic pulsing between my fingers. Combined with my runic array and the deepest knowledge of necromancy, it became more than a relic — it became a conduit between realms.
The room trembled as I began the incantation. Magic bled from the walls, humming with unnatural resonance. My wand sliced through the air, inscribing sigils of life, soul, and command. The air thickened — heavy, electric — as the ritual ignited.
One by one, the bodies stirred. Eyes of burning green light opened. Their skin paled to ash-white as power coursed through them. They rose from their slabs with slow, deliberate motion — and knelt before me.
Ten liches.
Not the mindless husks of ordinary necromancy, but intelligent, sentient beings. I had given them fragments of knowledge — curses, battle spells, blood wards, and the structure of loyalty itself. Their voices echoed through the chamber as one:
"We serve the Master of Death."
I smiled faintly. "Good. Then rise. You are my Ominous Ten — my lieutenants of shadow, commanders of the undead legions to come."
The liches straightened, dark auras rippling like heat over stone. Around us, the containment barriers hummed, feeding on the surge of necrotic energy.
I felt satisfaction stir in my chest. This was power not born of cruelty, but of vision — a merging of death and will, bound by my genius alone.
The Ominous Ten would spread my influence across the hidden corners of the magical world. They would whisper my name into the silence between life and death.
And soon, when the wizarding world looked to its new age, it would find my hand guiding its every shadow.