“In the arcane study of necromancy, one might assu that among the six elents, the elent of Necros—believed to be the essence of decay and death—would be the cornerstone of this dark art. However, such an assumption would be fundantally flawed. While necromancy initially erged from the study of Necros, the black magic practiced today has evolved far beyond its elental roots. In a paradoxical twist, the elent of Necros has beco the antithesis of modern necromantic spells.
“Instead, the elent of Necros causes necromantic spells to destabilize and break down. Undead creatures exposed to sufficiently high concentrations of Necros energy will revert to their inert state, undoing the necromantic forces animating them. While many mistakenly associate Necros with the essence of death, this is a misconception. Necros is better understood as an inverting elent, one that disrupts and reverses natural and unnatural processes rather than embodying death itself.
“When life is inverted, its opposite is death, a principle that holds true when it cos to the inversion of undeath as well. This fundantal idea is why the elent of Necros has long been mistaken for a death elent.
“Thus, while Necros may symbolize death, its true function in the mystical spectrum is far removed from the macabre craft it is so often associated with. True necromancers have long abandoned Necros as a practical tool, instead delving into forbidden practices that defy the natural order and the very principles of the elent itself. Necros is not a direct representation of death, but rather a force that seeks to put things into a stable state of existence, and death is considered a very stable state of high taphysical sciences.
“This divergence is crucial to understand: Necros cannot be harnessed to animate the dead. Its nature resists the reanimation process, as its energies promote the dissolution and decay of organic matter, not its restoration or manipulation. The necromantic spells of today instead rely on other elental energies.
“The elents most commonly harnessed to reanimate the dead are water, earth, and vitos—three forces that, when mastered by a mage attuned to them, would ironically make for an excellent healing practitioner as well. Water, with its fluidity and adaptability, can shape the form of the undead, imbuing them with a semblance of vitality. Earth’s grounding nature provides structure and stability, anchoring the reanimated bodies to the material world. Vitos, often associated with life itself, can be manipulated in necromantic rituals to preserve and maintain the animation of the dead.
“Wind, while useful in other arcane practices, ranks as the second most employed elent for necromancy, typically serving as a substitute when the other three elents are not available. Its utility is limited, as it lacks the direct connection to the sustainable animating forces of water, earth, and vitos provide.
“Fire and Necros stand as the least compatible elents with necromancy. Fire, with its destructive and purging nature, is wholly unsuited for the delicate balance required to animate the undead form. Necros, as discussed, is a destabilizing force that disrupts the reanimation process altogether, actively undoing the very spells intended to raise the dead.
“When animating the undead using elental forces, one can often discern the specific elent at work by the distinct glow emitted by the reanimated bodies. The eyes, often the most expressive part of an undead creature, tend to be the focal point of these glows, but other areas of the body—such as veins, skeletal fractures, or the skin itself—may also carry the color. Earth-infused undead often radiate a deep green glow. Water, with its fluid and adaptable nature, manifests as a cool blue glow. Vitos casts a soft yellow glow, hinting at the lingering traces of life within the body. Wind-animated undead, though rarer, emit a faint white glow, the ethereal essence of air itself.
“And, both Necros and Fire-infused undead remain devoid of any glow. As these elents cannot reanimate the dead.”
—“Defense Against the Dark Arts: Necromancy Edition” By Tev Landen
After receiving the grim news about the attack on the Arcanium Archives, Joe and his team wasted no ti, leaving Father Crowley behind. The urgency in the air was palpable as they sped through the city streets, their thoughts racing. By the ti they arrived, the scene before them was one of chaos and despair.
The periter of the Arcanium Archives was crowded with flashing police lights and the wail of sirens. Dozens of police cars were parked haphazardly, and ambulances lined the street with their back doors wide open. The once-quiet institution of knowledge now resembled a disaster zone.
Near the main entrance, a large gathering of people—staff mbers, scholars, and unlucky visitors—were being carried out on stretchers. Their faces were pale, their bodies limp as paradics carefully laid them down on the soft grass lining the sidewalk. Many of the victims appeared unconscious, their expressions eerily calm, as if trapped in a dream they couldn’t escape from.
Paradics dashed back and forth, so rushing into the archive to retrieve more victims while others knelt by the stretchers, checking vitals and administering ergency care. A few people had managed to stagger out on their own, but they looked dazed and disoriented, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. It was clear sothing terrible had unfolded within those walls.
Joe clenched his fists as he took it all in, his jaw tightening. Mike glanced at Joe, his face grim.
Mike: "You think this is connected to Sorin? Or maybe Jixi?"
Joe: “I don’t know,” Joe replied. “But we won’t know for sure until we get inside.”
Alan, anwhile, scanned the crowd anxiously, his eyes searching for any sign of his friend.
Alan: “Jafar has to be in there sowhere. He wouldn’t just vanish.”
Joe nodded but kept his focus sharp.
Joe: “Let’s move. We’re not going to get answers standing out here.”
The team pushed forward, weaving through the controlled chaos, determined to uncover the truth behind the attack.
They approached the bustling front entrance of the Archive, where the large double doors lood ominously. Red glowing runes shimred across their surface, a clear indication that sothing was wrong with the enchantnts. The usual calming glow of protective wards had turned into an unsettling, pulsing warning. People moved in and out of the entrance in a frantic hurry, adding to the chaos.
As they stepped inside the reception hall, the scene grew even more dire. The floor was lined with simple cotton stretchers, each occupied by unconscious individuals—both staff and visitors. Paradics moved swiftly between the rows, administering aid wherever they could, while even the police officers who had arrived on the scene were pitching in, carrying people outside to awaiting ambulances. The air slled faintly of burnt paper and sothing acrid.
Joe's eyes moved to the wide-open door leading deeper into the Archive. Beyond it, a stream of hazmat-suited personnel was erging, carrying more unconscious bodies from the restricted sections.
Scanning the reception hall, Joe spotted a familiar face—Victoria, one of the librarians he’d spoken to during his earlier visits to access Sorin’s docunts. She was seated in an office chair near the desk, her posture slumped slightly, her normally sharp gaze dulled. Her weekly nodding, answering questions posed by an officer who stood beside her, dutifully taking her account.
Joe made his way toward her, his expression firm but concerned. The officer interviewing her noticed his approach and, recognizing his intent, stepped aside to let him speak with her. Victoria looked up at Joe as he drew closer, her eyes montarily focusing as if pulling herself out of a fog.
Joe: "Victoria," Joe said softly, crouching slightly to et her gaze. "Are you alright? What happened here?"
Victoria: “Oh… It is you. Um, sorry… just give a minute…” she said, clearly struggling to get her thoughts together.
Joe: “What happened to her?” he asked, turning towards the nearby officer.
Officer: “It was a chemical attack. So sort of sleeping agent was released into the ventilation. Everyone that was in the archive was affected. Currently Victoria was the only one not completely out cold because she was near the door when it happened. And, didn’t get exposed to the brunt of the chemical. But, it is still affecting her.”
Joe: “A sleeping agent? Are you sure?”
Officer: “Yes, that’s what the hazmat team said. They were ninety percent sure it was a sleeping agent of so kind and a very strong one at that. It is why we’re rushing people out of the Archive. The dics are worried over exposure to this chemical would be harmful.”
Joe: “Is the source contained?”
Officer: “Yes. The hazmat team found a canister that was placed into one of the main ventilation ducts in a utility room. They’ve also reversed the ventilation to try suck the fus out of the archive. But, it is still not safe to go beyond here without protection.”
Joe: “What about the people in the restricted section? Are they okay?” Joe asked, his tone a mix of urgency and concern.
Victoria nodded faintly, her voice still shaky but steady enough to respond.
Victoria: “The restricted section… has its own separate ventilation system. It’s isolated from the rest of the Archive’s airways, so the people in there should be fine. But…” She hesitated, her eyes flickering with unease. “The lockdown asures were triggered. That ans no one can enter or exit for the next twenty-four hours unless… it’s overridden by at least five head librarians. And… they’re all unconscious right now.”
Joe’s brow furrowed.
Joe: “But nothing was taken from the restricted section, right? So of the books in there could cause serious devastation if they fell into the wrong hands.”
The officer shook his head.
Officer: “As of now, there’s no evidence that anything has been removed from the restricted section. The lockdown is still holding, and the inventory seals on the section’s door remain intact.”
Joe exhaled, a slight relief evident in his expression.
Joe: “Okay. That’s at least one good thing. But who would do this?”
Victoria: “T-That’s the thing…” Victoria stamred, her voice trembling. “There was… a note. Left by soone claiming to be behind this. And it seems to be connected to the Jixi investigation.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed, his tone firm. “Can I see this note?”
Victoria turned her head toward the officer standing nearby. The officer gave a quick nod, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Joe, who carefully unfolded it. The note’s contents were typed in neat, chanical letters, giving it a cold, detached feel. Joe began reading aloud:
“Dear detective of the Jixi investigation,
I must say, I am most displeased. You have ended the fun too soon. Too soon, I say. I had expected to drag this out for weeks—watching the last of Sorin’s associates die one by one, consud by the fascinating purser sli. Isn’t it marvelous how even the remnants of long-dead cults can enact their purpose, continuing their work from beyond the grave?
But now, since you’ve ruined my plans, you’ve found Jixi’s corpse too quickly. I’ll have to change the rules of the ga.
I have taken one of your own, along with the head librarian, Sandra. The rules are simple: find them before they expire.
You have three days.
Your clue is: ‘where things rot.’
Tick-tock.
Sincerely,
V. Neeves”
As the last word left Joe’s lips, a tense silence hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and his grip on the paper tightened, wrinkling its edges.
Alan: "One of our own? Wait... Is that note talking about Jafar?" Alan shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
Joe turned sharply to the nearest officer, his jaw tight.
Joe: "The room we were using—where my team was working. Was anyone there?"
The officer shook his head.
Officer: "No, sir. It was completely empty. Just papers and docunts scattered all over."
Joe's brow furrowed.
Joe: "This building is packed with security caras. Did you check the footage?"
The officer’s expression darkened.
Officer: "The room where all the security cara feeds are monitored was destroyed. Wires ripped out, screens smashed. The guard that was stationed in that room is missing. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing."
Joe: "Shit," Joe muttered under his breath, his frustration barely contained.
Alan stepped forward, his desperation overflowing.
Alan: "Joe, please! You’ve got to help Jafar!"
Rell: "Calm down, Alan," he interjected, his voice firm but asured. "Yelling won’t do anything."
Alan turned on him, his eyes blazing with fury.
Alan: "Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything! Jafar is my friend! He’s been through it— and him almost died because of people like you! And now…" His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists, trembling with emotion.
Rell took a step back, clearly unprepared for the outburst. For the first ti since anyone had t him, the stoic mask he always wore slipped, and a flicker of genuine hurt crossed his face. It was brief, but unmistakable.
Joe stepped between them, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Joe: "Enough! Both of you!" He fixed Alan with a steady gaze. "Rell’s right—screaming isn’t going to help Jafar. But listen to , Alan." Joe’s tone softened, resolute but reassuring. "You don’t need to beg. I was going to help him whether you asked or not. He’s part of the team, and we don’t leave our people behind."
Alan’s shoulders sagged, the fire in his eyes dimming as he took a deep, shaky breath.
Alan: "Thank you," he murmured, his voice hoarse.
As Joe worked to calm the growing tension within the group, Mike’s usually composed deanor faltered. His face grew pale, and a heavy frown etched itself into his features. Lost in thought, he muttered under his breath,
Mike: “V. Neeves…” His brow furrowed deeper as the na escaped his lips. “That’s not who I think it is, is it?” The unease in his voice was impossible to miss, sending ripples of dread through the group.
Joe glanced up from the note, his expression unreadable but heavy with understanding.
Joe: “Do you know another person nad V. Neeves?” he asked, already knowing the answer as he also suspected the sa person Mike was thinking of.
Mike exhaled sharply, his fists clenching as he fought to keep his composure.
Mike: “Oh, by all that’s good in this world… why him? Why couldn’t it have been anyone else?” His voice rose slightly, his urgency unmistakable. He turned to Joe, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination. “If this really is who I think it is, we need to move now. Jafar and Sandra don’t have ti for us to hesitate.”
Joe: “I know,” Joe said, his tone calm but firm, slicing through the rising panic. “But don’t lose your cool, Mike. We need clear heads if we’re going to pull this off.”
Mike nodded reluctantly, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his lingering worry. Across from him, Dan studied Mike’s rare display of distress, his own unease growing. Mike was always the calm one, the steady hand that anchored the team. Seeing him shaken like this was unsettling.
Finally, Dan spoke, his voice hesitant but curious.
Dan: “I don’t know if this is a stupid question… but who is V. Neeves?”
The question hung in the air, dragging silence in its wake. Alan and Dan exchanged uncertain glances, their confusion mirrored in their eyes. The others avoided their gaze, their discomfort palpable. It was as if uttering the na would summon sothing unspeakable.
It was Rell who eventually broke the silence, his voice low and serious.
Rell: “V. Neeves is almost certainly Vince Neeves,” he said, each word deliberate. “He’s an infamous Rattle Bone cultist and one of the most dangerous black mages on the continent. He’s on the top ten most wanted list.” Rell hesitated, his expression darkening. “And… he’s rumored to be the leader of the Rattle Bone cult.”
(Author note: Turns out that guy that talked to that spider lady in that intermission chapter was actually quite important in this world 😉)
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