The Genesis Of A Necromancer

Chapter 58 releasing the inner demon

Hay stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his boots echoing softly against the polished stone floor. The room carried a somber weight, the only source of light emanating from a dull, enchanted orb suspended in the center of the ceiling. Shadows danced along the walls, mirroring the grim expressions of those seated around the round table. Four chairs were placed at the cardinal points, each occupied by one of the academy's key instructors.

Luther stood at the head, his expression heavy with unspoken tension. His weathered hands rested on the table, knuckles whitening as he began to speak.

"I've received disturbing news from the third plane," Luther began, his deep voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "The angels have withdrawn their forces, abandoning their posts. As a result, our front lines are being torn apart by the howlers. We can't afford to proceed with this training as planned. Time is against us."

Gasps rippled through the room, though no one dared speak immediately. The gravity of the situation was undeniable; leaving the planes unchecked risked a catastrophic rift opening—one that could unleash an unstoppable flood of demons into their world.

Ivan leaned back, his imposing figure still as stone. The faint gleam of his blade, resting across his lap, caught the dim light. His voice was calm but resolute. "The planes must remain secure at all costs. With the demons swelling in number, the consequences of neglect would be... disastrous."

Lilith, her serpentine eyes narrowing with unease, tapped her slender fingers on the table in rhythmic thought. "Why would the angels retreat so suddenly?" she mused aloud, her voice a smooth, chilling whisper. "We deliberated this matter before deploying. Their actions defy reason... unless they're planning something."

"Strange or not, we don't have the luxury to dwell on their motives," Luther interrupted, his tone carrying a note of finality. "The current situation demands swift action. This training will have to be shortened. Prepare the students as best as you can within the next few days. If worst comes to worst, they'll be joining us in the planes—ready or not."

The room fell into a heavy silence, each instructor digesting the harsh reality of their mission.

---

Jack squared off against the five holy acolytes, his arms relaxed but his gaze sharp and predatory. A slow, persuasive smile crept across his face—a silent invitation for trouble.

The acolytes hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. They had witnessed Jack's brutal defeat of James firsthand. His movements had been swift, calculated, and utterly merciless. While none of them believed they could match him in single combat, they harbored a desperate hope that, together, they might have a chance.

"Let's take him!" barked the dagger-wielding acolyte, a lean man with sharp features and a feral grin. His dual blades gleamed with holy light as he lunged at Jack, the others following close behind.

Jack's movements were fluid, almost dismissive. He sidestepped one blade with ease, pivoting to dodge the second with a graceful twist. With a sudden burst of speed, he launched a bone-shattering kick into the dagger wielder's jaw.

CRACK!

The sound echoed through the training hall, eliciting a collective wince from the onlookers.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt," muttered the red-scaled beastman from Kurt's side, his lip curling in sympathy as he watched the acolyte crumple to the ground, clutching his shattered jaw.

Jack remained unbothered, his sharp eyes already tracking the next attacker. "Is this all you've got?" he mocked, his voice laced with disdain.

The downed acolyte spat blood and teeth onto the floor, his mangled jaw barely allowing him to speak. "Y-you lunatic! You'll die here today!" he croaked, his words garbled but venomous.

Jack chuckled softly, the sound low and menacing. "Me? Die?" he repeated, as though tasting the word.

'Death,' Jack thought. It was a word that had haunted him since his dark powers had first manifested. He had been there—on the edge of the abyss—and survived. The idea of submitting to death again filled him with both fear and defiance.

"I can't die twice," Jack said aloud, his voice carrying a deadly certainty. In a blink, he closed the gap between himself and the acolyte, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Do you want to know what death tastes like?"

The acolyte froze, his daggers trembling in his hands. He wanted to move—to strike—but his limbs refused to obey. His breath hitched, and cold terror spread through his body like venom. Jack's piercing azure eyes locked onto his, radiating an aura of sheer domination.

"Y-you… demon!" the acolyte stammered, his voice breaking as he stumbled backward and fell onto his rear.

From behind, another acolyte charged, sword raised high for a decisive strike. But before he could bring the blade down, Jack turned his head slightly, his gaze slicing through the air like a dagger.

"I dare you," Jack said softly.

The charging acolyte faltered, his hands trembling as the sword froze mid-swing. His body felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible force. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his feet were rooted in place.

'What… what is this?!' he thought, panic setting in.

Before he could recover, an arrow whistled through the air, piercing his shoulder. The acolyte yelped in pain, his sword clattering to the ground as blood seeped from the wound. Kurt lowered his bow, a satisfied smirk on his face.

The injured acolyte remained motionless, his gaze darting between Jack and the others. Every fiber of his being urged him to retreat, but something in Jack's eyes held him captive—a primal, unrelenting fear that consumed him.

Jack's grin widened, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked mockingly. "Weren't you going to kill me?"

The acolyte fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "Please… please don't send my soul to the realm of torment!" he begged, his voice trembling.

Jack tilted his head, genuinely amused. 'He mistook my grin?' Jack thought, barely suppressing a laugh.

The truth was simpler. His system had just confirmed a new skill:

[Lord Aura: Level 5]

Jack had infused his killing intent with this aura, amplifying its effects through his mastery of aura manipulation. The result? Utter domination.

'Interesting,' Jack mused. 'This little experiment turned out better than expected.'

Leaning closer to the sobbing acolyte, Jack whispered coldly, "Torment? No… that's too kind. I'll strip your soul, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but pain."

The acolyte's wails grew louder, his terror infecting the remaining three, who hesitated in their advance. Their weapons trembled in their hands, their resolve cracking under the weight of Jack's presence.

"You church rats are pathetic," Jack sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned his gaze toward the others. "Who's next?"

The remaining acolytes exchanged nervous glances, their courage fading fast. The aura Jack exuded wasn't just fear—it was absolute authority, a crushing force that made them feel like insects under his gaze.

"Enough!" Kurt's voice rang out, breaking the tension. He stepped forward, his bow slung across his back. "If you idiots are done wetting yourselves, how about we finish this and move on?"

The acolytes glared at him but didn't dare make a move. The fight was over before it truly began, and everyone in the hall knew it.

Jack chuckled, the sound echoing ominously. "Next time," he said, his tone playful but laced with menace. "Bring a better challenge."