The Glitched Mage-Chapter 94: Necromancy Temple

At the break of dawn, before the Academy stirred to life, Riven rose and set off toward the Necromancy Temple.

The halls were silent, the sky still bathed in pre-dawn darkness as he moved with purpose. Nyx had already melted into his shadow, her presence a quiet, unseen force at his side.

Reaching Elara's office, he pressed his pendant against the cold stone wall. The runes embedded within the surface flickered to life, responding to his touch.

Without hesitation, Riven stepped forward—vanishing through the teleportation gate as the shadows swallowed him whole.

Darkness folded around Riven, twisting and warping as the teleportation gate pulled him through the abyss. In the span of a single breath, the sensation of weightlessness ended, and solid ground met his boots once more.

He stepped forward into the Necromancy Temple.

The air was thick with mana—ancient, pulsing, alive. Torches lined the towering walls, casting flickering blue light across the intricate abyssal engravings etched into the stone. The vast halls stretched in every direction, their darkened corridors leading deeper into the temple's sanctum.

Nyx stirred in his shadow. "Still hard to believe this place exists," she murmured, her voice brushing against his mind. "Right under the Solis Kingdom's nose."

Riven didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let his gaze sweep over the whispering necromancers moving throughout the temple even at this time in the morning. Cloaked figures drifted past him—some carrying ancient tomes, others chanting softly as spectral energy coiled around their fingertips.

This place wasn't just preserving necromancy.

It was evolving it.

He had seen the Grand Hall of Records and the Codex of the Fallen, but now it was time to see what else the temple had to offer.

Elara was waiting for him ahead, arms folded, her violet eyes sharp with curiosity. "You came early," she noted, a small smile playing at her lips.

"I wanted to see more of the temple," Riven said smoothly. "I've seen your records. I want to see your people."

Elara's smile widened slightly. "Then let's begin." She turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow. "There's a lot to show you."

—x—

They walked through the temple's corridors, passing by countless training chambers and study halls.

The first chamber Riven stepped into was filled with necromancers weaving spectral energy into intricate formations. One was creating a skeletal construct, its bones forming and reshaping as the spellcaster directed its growth with precise movements. Another was binding a shadowy wraith into a vessel, forcing it into the shape of a blade.

Elara gestured toward them. "We refine necromantic arts here—binding spirits, forging constructs, enhancing undead with abyssal mana."

Riven watched in silence, analyzing their techniques. Some were skilled, their control fluid and precise. Others… were weaker. Sloppy.

His gaze flicked toward a young man at the far side of the chamber, struggling to maintain his grip over a spirit. The wraith thrashed violently, slipping through his mana tethers, resisting his control.

The spirit snapped free.

With a piercing wail, it lunged.

Riven moved before Elara could react.

Shadows lashed from his fingertips, wrapping around the wraith like chains. The spectral entity screeched, writhing against the sudden, crushing force of his mana.

Then—silence.

The wraith collapsed into itself, dissolving into harmless mist.

The young necromancer—pale and breathless—stared at Riven in shock.

Riven arched a brow. "If you can't handle your own summon, you have no right to call yourself a necromancer."

The student's face twisted in frustration, but he looked away, saying nothing.

Elara gave Riven an amused glance. "Not one for patience, are you?"

Riven smirked. "Not when incompetence is wasting my time."

They moved on.

—x—

The next chamber was dedicated to abyssal constructs.

Unlike the previous room, the necromancers here weren't binding spirits—they were forging creatures entirely out of raw abyssal mana. The chamber pulsed with energy, the flickering forms of darkened beasts writhing and shifting as their creators refined their shapes.

Elara gestured toward a particularly large construct—a towering, multi-limbed creature that shimmered with abyssal sigils along its form. "Abyssal constructs are a step beyond standard necromantic summons. They are not bound spirits, but entirely new entities, molded from pure energy. They do not retain the memories of the dead—they are tools. Weapons."

Riven hummed in approval. This was useful.

Necromancy had always relied on corpses, on spirits. But this—this was something that did not require the remnants of the past.

It was creation.

As he observed, a voice cut through the air—a sharp, dismissive tone.

"You seem interested," someone sneered. "But do you even understand what you're looking at?"

Riven turned, his gaze locking onto a necromancer draped in finely embroidered black robes, his posture exuding arrogance. His icy silver eyes gleamed with superiority as he crossed his arms.

Elara's expression flattened. "This is Vael," she said, sounding distinctly unamused. "One of our more… confident members."

Vael smirked. "Confidence is just competence recognized." His gaze flickered over Riven, assessing him with open disdain. "Elara tells me you're talented, but I don't see anything special."

Nyx practically growled in his shadow. "Oh, please let me kill him."

Riven held back a smirk. This was almost too easy.

He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his abyssal eyes. "You think you're special, then?"

Vael scoffed. "I've trained here for years. I've mastered techniques that most necromancers only dream of. Abyssal constructs, soul infusion, spectral transmutation—you name it, I can do it."

Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Vael—"

But Riven cut her off, his grin widening. "Then prove it."

Silence fell across the chamber.

Vael's expression darkened. "What?"

Riven stepped forward, his presence pressing down like an unseen force. "You say you're better than me. Fine. Show me."

The challenge was set.

The necromancers around them stopped their work, turning to watch.

Elara sighed. "Oh, for—" She paused, then exhaled. "Fine. But keep it controlled."

Vael's arrogance didn't waver. He stepped forward, raising a hand. Abyssal mana surged around him, condensing into a shifting mass of energy.

He smirked. "I'll summon a construct. Try to keep up."

Dark tendrils coiled together, forming the skeletal frame of a beast, its body reinforced by pure abyssal energy. It took shape in an instant—a towering creature with jagged limbs, its abyssal core pulsing like a heartbeat.

The surrounding necromancers murmured in appreciation.

Vael turned, smug. "Let's see you—"

Riven didn't wait.

He raised his hand—and his abyssal flames roared to life.

Darkness surged outward, swallowing the space around him in an instant. His abyssal mana tore into the void, shaping, twisting, and bending the energy with effortless precision.

A second construct formed.

But unlike Vael's—it wasn't just a mass of energy.

It had presence.

Its shape was solid—an obsidian beast with glowing blue veins pulsing through its frame. Its abyssal core radiated a controlled, terrifying pressure, its sheer existence overwhelming the room with crushing intensity.

Vael staggered back, disbelief flickering across his face.

Riven let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. "Wow… and that was only my first try."

The chamber erupted into murmurs, shock rippling through the gathered necromancers.

Of course it was his first try. His power was passed down from the previous Shadow King. Even if he had never attempted this before, it was his birthright.

Vael's smug expression shattered.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

The weight of what had just happened pressed down on the chamber like a leaden shroud. The gathered necromancers whispered among themselves, some in awe, others in stunned disbelief. The sheer difference between Vael's creation and Riven's was undeniable.

One was a construct. The other was a force of nature.

Riven tilted his head slightly, studying Vael's frozen stance with quiet amusement. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice smooth, casual. "You looked so confident a moment ago."

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Vael's hands clenched into fists. His abyssal construct trembled slightly, the form already unraveling as his concentration wavered. "You—" His jaw tightened. "You've done this before."

Riven raised a brow. "What gave you that idea?"

Elara, who had remained silent until now, exhaled a slow breath. "Enough," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Vael, I believe you have your answer."

Vael's expression twisted, but he said nothing.

Riven flicked his fingers, and the abyssal energy forming his construct pulsed—then shattered. The beast dissolved into nothingness, fading like smoke into the void.

Vael dismissed his own construct a second later, his pride clearly wounded. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

The other necromancers parted for him, whispering.

Riven smirked slightly, turning to Elara. "I thought your best would be… more impressive."

Elara sighed, though there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze. "You do realize you just humiliated one of the most arrogant necromancers here, right?"

"Trust me, that was the fun part."

Elara shook her head but didn't argue. Instead, she glanced at the remaining necromancers, some of whom were still staring at Riven with thinly veiled shock. "Well," she said, voice lighter, "I suppose you've made an impression."

Riven stretched his fingers, feeling the lingering pulse of abyssal energy in his veins. "It seems so."

One of the necromancers—a woman with silver-threaded hair and sharp, keen eyes—stepped forward hesitantly. "That technique… That wasn't just an abyssal construct," she murmured, watching him carefully. "That was something else."

Riven met her gaze. "And?"

She hesitated, but then a small smile touched her lips. "And… I'd like to see more."

A murmur of agreement passed through a few others in the chamber.

Riven could see it now—the shift. The quiet change in their expressions. The way their interest sharpened. He had come here to observe, to see what the temple could offer him.

But now?

Now, he had their attention.

Now, they wanted to see more of him.

And that, more than anything, was exactly what he needed.

Elara studied him for a long moment before chuckling softly. "Looks like you're already making a name for yourself here."

Riven's smirk widened. "Well, then." He clasped his hands behind his back, his abyssal flames flickering briefly at his fingertips. "Let's see what else this temple has to offer."

Elara led Riven deeper into the temple, past corridors lined with darkened runes that pulsed with latent abyssal energy. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the presence of necromantic magic. The murmurs of the gathered necromancers still lingered in the halls behind them, but Riven paid them little mind.

They reached another chamber, its entrance marked by twin obsidian pillars wrapped in spiraling abyssal sigils. The moment they crossed the threshold, a shift in the air signaled the immense energy contained within.

Riven's eyes flickered with interest.

Inside, necromancers were gathered in structured formations, their bodies surrounded by shifting, spectral energy. Some were manipulating spirits, forging them into weapons or armor. Others were experimenting with hybrid spells—mixing abyssal mana with necromantic constructs in ways that blurred the lines between creation and destruction.

At the far end, an elder necromancer stood before a grand, circular platform. His voice was low, steady, commanding as he guided a group of students through an advanced soul-binding technique.

"This is the Hall of Mastery," Elara explained. "Only those who have proven themselves are allowed to train here. We refine the highest forms of necromantic magic—soulforging, abyssal reinforcement, spectral augmentation. Everything that was lost with the fall of the Shadow Kingdom."

Riven scanned the chamber, noting the precision with which these necromancers wielded their magic. They weren't struggling students fumbling with the basics. These were the temple's elite.

"I see potential," he admitted, his gaze sweeping over the necromancers honing their craft. The thought lingered—if these people helped train his soldiers back in the Shadow Kingdom, how quickly would his forces rise?

Elara folded her arms, studying him with a knowing look. "Shall we test your skills again?"

Riven raised a brow. "Again? I thought putting Vael in his place was enough entertainment for one morning."

She smirked. "Think of that as the warm-up. If you truly want to see what this temple is capable of, you'll have to prove you're worthy of it."

She gestured toward the center of the chamber, where a circular dueling platform was embedded with layered abyssal runes. A few necromancers had already taken notice, pausing their training to glance in their direction.

"Elara…" A deep, measured voice cut through the air. The elder necromancer at the far end of the chamber turned toward them, his gaze settling on Riven with unreadable weight. His robes were layered in dark silver embroidery, and his presence alone commanded respect.

"Elara, who have you brought to our Hall?" the elder asked.

Elara inclined her head slightly. "Master Aldric, this is Riven. A gifted necromancer who has taken an interest in our teachings."

Master Aldric's gaze flickered over him, assessing. "Gifted, you say?"

Riven met his gaze evenly. "You could say that."

Aldric's expression remained impassive. Then he turned toward the necromancers around him. "One of you," he called, his voice carrying an air of finality, "test him."

The gathered necromancers shifted, exchanging glances. After a moment, a tall, lean figure stepped forward. Unlike Vael, there was no arrogance in his expression—only quiet confidence. His piercing dark eyes locked onto Riven as he descended onto the dueling platform.

Elara exhaled softly. "Of course it had to be him…"

Riven glanced at her. "Who is he?"

"Kieran," she murmured. "One of the strongest necromancers here. He doesn't waste time with theatrics—he fights to win."

Riven's smirk widened slightly. "Good."

He stepped onto the platform, facing Kieran as the abyssal runes ignited beneath their feet. The watching necromancers formed a loose circle around them, anticipation thick in the air.

Kieran's voice was calm as he studied Riven. "No restrictions. We fight until one of us yields or can no longer continue."

Riven rolled his shoulders, stretching his fingers. "Works for me."

A moment of silence.

Then the runes flared.

Kieran moved first.

A pulse of abyssal energy surged around him as his shadows twisted into spectral chains, lashing toward Riven like hungry serpents.

Riven sidestepped, his form flickering as he phased through the attack with Phantom Step. The moment he reappeared, he countered—dark tendrils surging from his palm, aimed to strike.

But Kieran was fast.

He snapped his fingers, and the chains around him solidified into barriers, deflecting Riven's assault with ease. Without hesitation, he retaliated—his mana condensing into three wraith-like figures, their hollow eyes burning as they lunged toward Riven.

Riven's smirk didn't waver.

Abyssal flames erupted around him, devouring the wraiths before they could make contact. Their spectral forms twisted and shattered, dissolving into nothingness.

Kieran's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He adjusted instantly, shifting his approach.

He wove his fingers through the air, tracing intricate sigils—summoning something larger.

The ground trembled.

A massive abyssal construct erupted from the shadows—a beast twice Riven's height, its claws glinting with unnatural sharpness.

The watching necromancers murmured, recognizing the advanced technique.

But Riven remained unimpressed.

Without missing a beat, he raised a single hand.

Darkness coiled at his fingertips.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, his abyssal energy surged outward.

The massive construct that Kieran had summoned—one that should have taken minutes to break through—collapsed in an instant.

Its form shattered.

Its core was consumed.

Silence.

Of course, his flames could consume anything forged from the abyss. He was the Shadow King, the ruler of darkness itself—its power was his to command, its essence his to devour.

Kieran took a slow step back, his lips parting slightly as his summon dissolved into nothingness. His abyssal energy flickered unsteadily, as if something had just unraveled within him.

He didn't understand.

He had summoned a fully formed abyssal construct. A technique that took years to perfect.

And yet, Riven had dismissed it with a mere flick of his wrist.

Riven let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You're good," he admitted, amusement laced in his tone. "But you're missing something."

Kieran clenched his jaw. "And what would that be?"

Riven's abyssal energy pulsed, surging around him in controlled waves. The power that coursed through his veins—the legacy of the Shadow King—was undeniable.

"You're missing purpose," he said simply.

Kieran frowned.

Riven continued. "You're summoning constructs as weapons, as tools. But you're still holding back—still thinking like a student. When I summon something, it isn't just a construct."

He raised his hand again.

This time, the air around him trembled.

Abyssal shadows twisted into something tangible, something alive. It wasn't just a summoned entity—it was an extension of himself.

The runes beneath them dimmed.

For the briefest moment, the temple itself seemed to still.

Then, just as quickly as it had formed, Riven dismissed it.

Kieran's hands twitched at his sides.

The watching necromancers didn't speak.

Elara inhaled sharply, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is…"

"… beyond anything I've ever seen."

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The gathered necromancers stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something else—something closer to reverence.

Riven lowered his hand, watching Kieran closely. The other necromancer was still processing what had just happened, his breathing uneven. His summon had been destroyed so effortlessly, so completely, that he looked as though he was questioning reality itself.

Master Aldric finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying the weight of undeniable recognition. "This… is not the work of an ordinary necromancer."

Elara swallowed, glancing at Riven with something unreadable in her violet eyes. "No," she murmured. "It isn't."

Kieran exhaled, steadying himself. He wasn't humiliated, not in the way Vael had been. He was simply… shaken.

"I yield," he said quietly, stepping back from the dueling platform. His gaze met Riven's, and for the first time since the match began, he nodded. "That was beyond anything I've ever faced."

Riven inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. He could respect Kieran's composure, his ability to recognize the difference in power without clinging to pride. That alone set him apart from most of the necromancers here.

Master Aldric stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Riven with newfound interest. "You've proven yourself," he said. "More than that—you've demonstrated an understanding of abyssal magic that exceeds even our highest teachings."

Elara let out a slow breath, "I expected you to be skilled, Riven, but this… this is something else entirely."

Riven blue eyes flickered with amusement. "I aim to exceed expectations."

A few necromancers exchanged hushed whispers, their gazes flickering between Riven and the space where his abyssal creation had existed. Some looked intrigued, others wary.

Riven didn't miss it.

They were beginning to see him as something more than just an outsider.

Master Aldric gestured toward the deeper corridors of the temple. "Come with me," he said. "There is something you should see."

Riven arched a brow but followed without hesitation. Nyx stirred in his shadow, her voice brushing against his mind.

"You're collecting quite the following," she murmured, amusement laced in her tone.

"They'll be valuable," Riven mused inwardly. "Best to show them just enough to recognize my superiority—without pushing them to the point of fear."

Elara fell into step beside him, her expression thoughtful. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where you learned all of this?"

Riven glanced at her, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Trade secret."

Elara narrowed her eyes but didn't press further.

They descended deeper into the temple and eventually arrived at a grand chamber, one unlike any Riven had seen before.

It was circular, lined with towering obsidian pillars, each one etched with abyssal sigils. At the center stood an ancient altar, its surface carved with intricate markings that seemed to shift and writhe in the dim light.

Master Aldric stopped before it, turning to face Riven. "This is the Sanctum of the Abyss," he said. "A place where only the most powerful necromancers may step."

Riven's gaze swept over the chamber, taking in the towering obsidian pillars and the abyssal sigils pulsing faintly along their surface. The altar at the center radiated a presence unlike anything else in the temple. It wasn't just a relic—it was something alive. Or perhaps, something waiting.

Master Aldric stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he gestured toward the altar. "The Sanctum of the Abyss has existed since the temple's founding," he explained. "This place is a conduit, a connection to the void itself. The runes carved into the altar contain ancient knowledge, secrets long lost to time."

Elara exhaled, arms folded. "The abyssal energy here is different from anywhere else in the temple. We've tried to unlock its full purpose for generations, but…" she shook her head, trailing off.

Riven stepped closer, the weight of the altar's presence pressing against his senses. The carvings weren't just decorative—they shifted, rearranging in subtle, nearly imperceptible ways, as though responding to his presence.

Then, his eyes flickered to something else.

Behind the altar, embedded into the chamber's farthest wall, was something that did not belong.

A gate.

Unlike the teleportation runes used to move through the temple, this structure was massive—twisting metal and abyssal stone fused together, forming a doorway to nowhere. Riven could feel the weight of it pressing against reality itself, the void churning just beyond its threshold.

But it was dormant. Incomplete.

Nyx's voice slithered into his mind, quieter than before. "It's one of those gates..."

He didn't react outwardly, but his mind sharpened. "You recognize it?"

"I do," she admitted. "Not just from old records, but from memory."

That caught his full attention. "Explain."

Nyx's presence coiled deeper in his shadow. "In the Abyss, there are many gates—passages between realms, linking different layers of existence. Most are broken or sealed, remnants of something ancient even before my time."

"And this one?"

"This…" Her voice held a strange weight. "It's not just a gate. It's a threshold. A bridge meant to connect this world to the Abyss itself. A path that shouldn't exist."

Riven's gaze flickered back to the swirling void within the archway. "Then why is it still closed?"

"Because it requires something." Nyx's voice was firm. "A key."

Riven's fingers curled slightly. "Do you know what it is?"

A pause.

"…I have an idea," she admitted. "But I need time to study the runes. This isn't something to rush."

Her hesitation wasn't like her. Nyx had always been decisive, cunning—sure. For her to tread carefully meant the gate was more than just an artifact.

It was a risk.

Riven exhaled slowly, keeping his expression unreadable. "Take your time," he told her silently. "But find me answers."

"Of course," she murmured.

Meanwhile, Master Aldric studied Riven closely. "You're drawn to it," the elder necromancer noted.

Riven gave him an unreadable look. "Anyone with abyssal magic would be."

Aldric hummed, as if weighing that response. "Perhaps."

Elara, watching them both, finally spoke. "What do you think, Riven?"

He turned back to the gate, gaze steady. I think I could open it. But that wasn't something they needed to know.

Not yet.

Instead, he let his lips curve slightly. "I think it's waiting for the right hands."

Aldric and Elara exchanged glances.

"And you believe those hands could be yours?" Aldric mused.

Riven chuckled, turning away from the gate as if the matter wasn't important. "Time will tell."

With that, he strode away, leaving the elder necromancers to their speculations.

But in his mind, Nyx's voice whispered one last warning.

"Be careful, my King. Some gates are meant to stay closed."