undeath.

Raising the dead is a precarious task, each time requiring more of your dwindling soul to give life to those devoid of any. I can remember how I felt the first time I was involved in the necromantic arts. That initial rush of excitement intertwined with ephemeral fear; wondering if this was a sin against God himself; to revert his divine work and dabble with the balance of order.

However, then you see it with your own eyes. Sickly green streams of light race around the corpses frame; through the nostrils and ejecting from the crooked open mouth; a dull hummed tone resonating so close and and deep it feels as if it were born in your very mind. Intense crackles of energy sparkle in the midnight air; connecting with the moisture to showcase a myriad of illuminating flashes and colours.

After what seems like an age has passed the damp earth under the corpse begins to unsettle and rumble; piece by piece the skeleton flickers into ‘life’ - undeath being no life at all, more a half-life. Those resurrected regain none of their former constitution and free will; existing only as a subservient being controllable only by those whom offer a piece of their own soul in the ritual.

This soul link and ultimate affinity are often what scholars down the age have believed to be the main incentive to raise the dead but they couldn’t be further from the truth. By undoing His work, we as men have elevated ourselves to a status far beyond just mere mortals. We defy our creator and in doing so question His very existence. The ultimate question unravelling in our fingertips.