There is a creature known as the night lich, a superior form of elder lich
born from the absorption of still more mana. Throughout history, only a
handful have ever existed—a fact for which the living are eternally grateful.
The power of a night lich is immense.
They have access to spells beyond human reach—ranging into the
ultrahigh-level spells of the sixth tier. With that power, they are a match for
even high-ranked dragons, no matter how long-lived. Worse, they possess
all manner of skills, command hordes of undead, boast brilliant minds, and
ensconce themselves within nigh-invulnerable fortresses.
They are rulers of countries, undead kings.
There were three night liches of considerable fame.
The dragon night lich, Kuphantera Argoros.
The titan night lich, Hyaeon.
And Fear, the Shadow Lord, whose true name was unknown but
presumed to be a night lich.
Each held sway over a domain the equivalent of a small country,
terrorizing the lands around. For this reason, the race itself was a symbol of
horror, discussed in terms otherwise reserved for creatures of myth that had
wrought havoc upon the heaven and earth.
Though a member of that terrifying species, Banejieli "The Abyss"
Anshas, had remained shrouded in darkness, unknown to the world.
And yet, here he was, bowing low as he exited a massive room. With six
arms and two heads, he had not only mastered the sixth tier of arcane magic
but the other disciplines to the same degree. He was a fearsome creature no
human could ever hope to defeat. If he ever emerged into the light, the three
night liches of infamy would soon become the four. Instead, he had founded
a clandestine society and remained the most senior member.
He called this society The Abyssal Corpus.
They were a group of undead casters, and the original goal of this
organization had been to ensure their mutual interests did not come into
conflict.
Every manner of undead being would live eternally and, if devoted to
the study of magic, they would inevitably clash with others of their ilk
given enough time.
Lacking the three core drives of the living, undead were often consumed
by lusts of another nature—and if that undead was a caster, then this was
almost always a thirst for knowledge. When the same knowledge was
sought, it was all too easy for those conflicts to get out of hand, resulting in
all-out war that continued until one was eliminated from this world.
Where the living divided their energies among food, sleep, and sex, the
undead were singularly focused—and that made it impossible to dissuade
them once they were committed.
Many an undead had met their end in this manner, and still more had
tried to profit off the intervening conflict only to get swept into the chaos
themselves.
Rather than attempt to monopolize knowledge and magic items in the
face of certain destruction, it was better to cooperate whenever possible,
smart to negotiate a peaceful solution. Those who understood this had had
their names added to a register.
In later days, this would be known as the Graniezzo Inscription. A stone
engraved with the names of all members—though none had enchanted it,
enchanted it became.
At the time, they'd been a loose-knit group of four night liches and three
elder liches. Their little band had a handful of rules as well as the implicit
understanding that anyone who broke them could expect the others to dole
out appropriate punishment.
Two hundred years later, they'd become a proper society, with a solid
rule book.
And more undead had joined them. An inner circle of seven but an outer
circle of forty-eight. Fifty-five members was a decent size for any
clandestine society, and the average difficulty rating of the inner circle was
around 150.
Yet, few knew they even existed.
Their membership was split between two types of undead.
One cultivated power among the living and used that to further their
own ends. The other had absolutely no contact with the living and simply
worked quietly toward their goals in the shadows of the world.
There were few in the former group and far more in the latter. As a
result, their actions had escaped wider notice.
Gaining power in the world of the living made it that much easier to
make enemies. Since undead were seen as the enemies of the living, it was
not uncommon for multiple countries to band together and wipe them out.
For that reason, the first type had steadily dwindled in number.
Naturally, there were those who lurked in the underworld, with none the
wiser—but not many undead had the talents that required.
The upshot was that The Abyssal Corpus remained barely more than a
tall tale. In fact, they had pointedly avoided inviting the three night liches of
infamy to maintain their low profile.
Outside the room in which IT sat was a massive corridor. To one side, a
room illuminated by dim lamps.
A waiting room for those seeking an audience with IT. Naturally, IT
would never think to prepare the like—IT was not a creature of
consideration—but Banejieli and the others had pleaded their case and been
granted permission to do what was necessary.
A voice within called to him.
"You're out? Then I guess it's my turn."
Banejieli had been waiting there prior to his audience, so he knew who
spoke without looking. Only those who'd been summoned ever came here.
Arriving unprompted would incur IT's wrath. All those summoned today
were a part of the inner circle. Four hundred years since the society's
founding, that circle now contained nine members.
"The Abyss." "Her Holiness in White." "The Rider of Death." "The
King of Rot." "Lord Redeye." "The Wise Wolf." "The Hordes of Yore."
"The Devourer." "The Golden Ghoul."
They had all been together and been called in one at a time. Now there
was but one left.
Her Holiness in White, Grazen Rocca.
A female undead with alabaster skin. She was on the cusp of reaching
the ninth tier, and Banejieli had been forced to admit she was a finer
researcher than he. She was a favorite of the one who controlled their
society.
No—
IT favors no one. IT merely stomachs us and uses us.
That much was clear from the way IT spoke.
IT did not even try to disguise it, going so far as to describe their spells
as defiled.
Thus, Grazen took no pleasure in her position.
IT merely took, providing little in return, let alone satisfaction. Perhaps
that was only worse for a researcher of real skill.
But no one dared voice these concerns before IT. Even if the whole
society banded together, they had no chance at victory.
"…Yeah, you're up. When you're done…can we speak? It's been so
long."
"…About…? Oh. Yes, yes, naturally, I'd be delighted. The usual place?"
"Indeed. I'll be waiting there."
Banejieli left her there, walking through darkness. Undead needed no
light. There was little point in having one in the waiting room. He knew not
who'd added it, but it was likely purely decorative.
Magical means had contrived to make the floor look like a single
polished board, but the walls and ceiling were rough, bored out of the rock
itself.
This colossal cavern was no natural formation. The society's controller
had carved it himself over a considerable amount of time.
He visited this cavern only every few years—each time IT summoned
them—and each time, the thought of all that effort made him chuckle.
Not because he was a night lich, and his skill at magic made him
contemptuous of physical means, but because it was a symbol of IT's
cowardice—a marked contrast to the arrogance displayed before them.
Certain he was far enough away, Banejieli cast Teleportation twice,
quickly reaching his destination.
He was outside a castle in the mountains, one belonging to Lord Redeye
—Krunui Log Entesh Na, one of the inner circle.
By far the most fastidious member, Krunui took great pride in his
appearance. His home was held to the same standard.
He had paid—in magical knowledge, magic items, or jewel-encrusted
treasures—other races to create the castle's decor, and even those with no
eye for these things could sense its somber gravitas. This was one reason
the inner circle always gathered here.
Banejieli moved to the front gate and found one of Krunui's undead
waiting to guide him in.
He was led to a room. Everyone else had already arrived, save Grazen.
"I'm here."
"IT give you a hard time?"
The speaker was the castle's owner, Krunui.
Humanoid, pallid skin—not a naturally occurring undead but a human
who had used magic to transform himself. Perhaps that was why he was so
particular about the fineries—traces of his old life. The others always
dressed the same—bedecked in magic items that radiated mana—but he
alone wore a new suit each time. Smartly tailored but little to no magic
infused in the fabric.
The others saw clothing as a means to strengthen themselves, but to him
it was merely decorative.
"Unless anyone objects, I thought we'd start once Grazen arrives."
Banejieli sat down on one of several benches, addressing his cohorts. No
one complained.
This was yet another in a long line of discussions, preparing to rebel
against IT.
Sheer strength was the only reason they'd ever accepted IT's control.
IT had learned of The Abyssal Corpus from someone in the outer circle.
There had been no warning before that first appearance and initial show of
force.
Rather than flee, they'd bowed their heads—believing that IT could
serve as a deterrent against the other great powers of the world. Not in the
hopes of expanding their society.
But IT was the worst kind of ruler.
The Abyssal Corpus had not been founded to overturn the order in the
continent's center. They had no business being counted as pawns as part of
their pact.
They needed a new deterrent. That was a belief held by all in the inner
circle, those who regularly met with IT.
Ordinarily, the more people who were involved, the more likely
someone would betray them or leak information. The fact that no one here
had considered doing so proved how little loyalty IT commanded.
Banejieli could say with confidence that no one had betrayed them yet.
The fact that they still lived proved it.
If anyone had leaked their plans, they'd have long since been
annihilated. IT controlled the society, stole their research, and made itself
stronger. IT was little more than a parasite. But it would never deem its
gains were worth allowing a little scheming.
They knew for a fact that IT would act swiftly and mercilessly.
IT had neither the tolerance nor the generosity a ruler should have.
Perhaps it was just overly cautious.
Either way, their continued survival meant IT had not yet noticed.
Perhaps they were lucky that IT had no means to control undead. Given
ITs raw strength advantage, if IT had honed such skills, they would've been
helpless to resist.
We're not going to let you feed off us forever!
Banejieli pictured the creature's bulk and swore under his breath.