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Heretic Mage: Rise of the Dark God’s Necromancer

Death. Servitude. Submission. That was all Morne had known for the past eight years. Everything he had known and loved had been taken from him, and it was his fate to be a slave, passed around from master to master like a disgusting disease no one wanted but everyone received. Soon after, a demon with a tantalizing promise appeared. "I’m here to Anoint you," the demon whispered. "My lord, Jiklok, has deemed you a mortal worth keeping an eye on. And I have another offer as well." The demon offered Morne a path to the power he had lacked in life, a way to seize his own destiny. Necromancy. The things he asked for in exchange seemed... small in comparison. Using his newfound necromantic powers, Morne would inflict on those who did him wrong all he had suffered and more. Those who had destroyed his village would be slaughtered beneath waves of undead, those masters who had sold and traded him like cheap wares would be forever bound to Morne's service, just as they had bound him. He would be his own master. Death. Servitude. Submission. ...... No MC harems are to be found here. If you need that kind of stuff in a story, you won't like this. Currently dropped. If you like this book, consider checking out my other ongoing book. It's called "Crown of Nightmares: Banished to Hell For My Bloodline!"

Lolbroman25 · Fantasía
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201 Chs

Plan

Morne extended his shield hand, catching a falling leaf in his palm and eyeing it expectantly.

To his disappointment, the leaf didn't sink into him as it did for the elves around him. Tilting his palm so it could resume its path toward the ground, he raised his head to look at the front lines.

Things weren't going well.

Some small part of him had expected this to be easy once he had seen that there were only four mutants. After all, they outnumbered the monsters seventy-five to one. The last thing he had thought would happen was the Runners bulldozing through their shields and sending blood flying in every direction.

Their claws sheared through the knights' armor with startling ease, needing only one or two strikes to cut through and rend the flesh underneath. Morne thought he saw a blackish liquid fly off of the claws of one of the mutants when they lashed out, and every piece of armor they struck was left blackened and rotten.