The streets of Zone-3R hadn't changed in the hour we'd been gone.
That felt… wrong.
Birds still scattered from the rooftops like nothing had happened. The haze of distant mana exhaust still drifted over the skyline. Somewhere in the next district, a street preacher shouted the end of days to a crowd of none.
But something had changed.
Me.
And the silence Arielle wore beside me told me she felt it too.
We sat at the edge of the nearest med station, a hollowed-out parking garage with triage tape strung between cracked pillars. The medics had cleared us but kept glancing back like I might sprout horns. I didn't blame them.
When you walk out of a C-rank dungeon with a dead party member, a destroyed boss-tier monster, and an unranked tag that suddenly says "Necromancer," you get looks.
Especially when the undead that killed said boss looked like it stepped out of a legend.
Ashbourne was gone now. Back in the ring. Or rather, back in Purgatory—the spiritual realm that lived beneath my skin, fed by mana, memory, and something older than either.
I could still feel him. Sleeping. Coiled like smoke in the distance of my mind.
Watching.
Waiting.
Arielle broke the silence.
"You need to report."
"No," I said.
"Elijah—"
"If I report this, they'll try to take it from me."
She didn't argue. Just stared at her hands like they might give her a better answer than I ever could.
"I don't even know what I am yet," I said quietly.
"Necromancer," she said. "Ancient Variant."
"That's what the window says. That's not what I feel."
I flexed my fingers. The sigil on the back of my hand flickered—one of the three spokes now gone, the remaining two pulsing faintly in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Arielle studied it. "What is that?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But it's tied to them. The Triad."
"Three of them," she murmured. "Ashbourne, and…?"
"Lilith. Lucifer."
"Those names are ominous."
"I didn't name them. I think they named themselves."
A pause.
"And you can only summon them with that word?"
"'Awaken.'"
She nodded slowly. "And the rest?"
"The rest come when I call."
"How many do you have?"
I closed my eyes. Focused.
Ten slots. That's what the system had told me. But not all of them were full. Not even close. There were whispers in the dark, figures moving in the mist of Purgatory—half-formed spirits, fractured bones, waiting to be given shape.
Right now?
Just Ashbourne.
The only one who had clawed his way into the world.
"Technically," I said, "I've got room for nine more."
Her voice softened. "Elijah…"
"I know."
"This is dangerous."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you scared?"
I turned to look at her. Really look.
Arielle had always been the brave one. The smart one. The grounded one. But right now, she looked at me like I was a stranger.
Because maybe I was.
"Because," I said, "for the first time in my life, I'm not nothing."
Her gaze faltered. "You were never nothing."
I almost believed her.
But the truth had a way of clinging.
We parted ways an hour later. She went back to her guild compound. I went back to my apartment—a crumbling studio wedged between two mana-scarred tenements in the Upper Dregs.
The door creaked like it didn't want me there.
I stepped inside.
Silence.
Dust.
And power.
The second I crossed the threshold, the ring pulsed. My vision blurred.
And then—I was somewhere else.
Purgatory
It was cold.
Colder than the dungeon. Colder than any winter.
A black sky stretched above me, pierced by streaks of faint silver light. The ground beneath my feet was made of ashen stone and fractured obsidian, glowing faintly with veins of mana that pulsed like veins under skin.
This was Purgatory.
Not a place.
A realm.
Mine.
The first zone was small—barely a hundred yards across. Circular. Empty, save for a central pedestal made of white bone. On it sat a book.
And in the shadows?
They watched me.
Shapes. Spirits. Undead.
Not evil. Not hostile.
Just waiting.
Like soldiers standing in formation, unsure if they were still at war.
Then—Ashbourne stepped forward from the dark.
He looked the same as he had in battle. Seven feet tall. Armored in death itself. His scythe hung across his back like an extension of his will. But here, in Purgatory, I could see more—his eyes burned brighter. His silhouette shimmered like starlight on frost.
And I could hear him.
Not with my ears.
With my mind.
Ashbourne:You have questions.
Me: "A few."
Ashbourne:Ask.
I moved to the pedestal, fingers brushing the ancient book. It opened on its own—pages filled with shifting runes and diagrams I didn't understand.
"What is this place?" I asked aloud.
Ashbourne:The realm between death and becoming. A forge for the unliving. A throne for the forgotten. Yours, now.
I turned slowly, watching the silent ranks beyond him.
"They're all mine?"
Ashbourne:They will be.
"And the Triad?"
Ashbourne:We are your first and final generals. Each tied to your will. Each awakened by progress, pain, and power. I am Scythe. Lilith is Shield. Lucifer is Spear.
"Why me?"
Ashbourne tilted his head slightly.
Ashbourne:Because you are the last.
A chill ran down my spine.
"The last what?"
Ashbourne:The last Undying. The last to carry the mark of the Scion. The last to walk the boundary between life and what lies beyond.
I swallowed.
"And the Surge? The dungeons? Is this connected?"
A pause.
Ashbourne:The Surge cracked the walls between dimensions. But the rot began long before. You will learn. When the second awakens, truths will follow.
I glanced at the book again. Its pages were shifting. One page showed the symbol from my hand—the sigil of the Triad. Three points, one dimmed.
Lilith and Lucifer still slept.
"But when?"
Ashbourne:When you are ready.
A pause.
Ashbourne:Or when they no longer have a choice...
I returned to my body like a diver surfacing from the depths. My apartment came into focus in pieces—ceiling. Floor. Window. And then pain.
So much pain.
My head throbbed like someone had hammered a bell behind my eyes.
The Awakening hadn't been clean.
It had left scars.
I groaned and pulled myself upright.
The moment my feet hit the ground, the ring pulsed again—this time not dragging me in, but releasing something.
A flicker of movement across the room.
A shape.
Bones.
Not Ashbourne.
Not human.
A simple skeleton, pieced together from magic and memory, now standing in my living room.
I stared at it.
It stared back.
Then gave a little salute.
"…Well," I muttered, "this is new."
I extended my will. Thought about it dissolving.
The skeleton bowed, then vanished into shadow.
That slot was filled now.
The system worked.
I can call them.
Even the weakest undead were now mine to command. And they were just the beginning.
Later That Night
I couldn't sleep.
My window overlooked the city's edge, where jagged towers still stood from before the Surge, untouched relics of the old world.
I wondered how many like me had awakened in the shadows.
How many were unranked. Forgotten.
How many had vanished without ever knowing what they were.
The city didn't care.
The system didn't care.
But I did.
Ashbourne's words echoed in my mind: You are the last.
Of what?
And more importantly—why?
A soft knock came at my door.
I opened it to find Arielle, hoodie up, face unreadable.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
I stepped aside. "Me neither."
She walked past me, didn't say another word. Just stood at the window, staring at the dark.
"I reported Darrin's death," she said quietly. "Filed the forms. Took the blame."
"You shouldn't have."
"I didn't say I wanted to. Just that I did."
I moved beside her, leaning against the wall.
"People will ask questions."
"They already are," she said. "But not the right ones."
"What do you mean?"
Her eyes found mine. "That Warden didn't come from nowhere. Someone… or something… placed it there. Waiting."
"For me."
She nodded. "And now they know you've awakened."
I felt it too.
The shift.
The quiet before something bigger.
Outside, the city hummed with oblivious life.
But something in the dark was watching.
Waiting.
And not everything would bow as easily as death.