Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

The Crucible held its breath.

Time thickened, and the world leaned into the silence Veyne had carved with his voice. His arrogance still echoed against stone, still hung in the air like smoke after fire.

But even he, chest heaving, eyes gleaming with victory, felt it.

Something was wrong.

Something had changed.

It began at the edge of perception—a crawling pressure beneath the skin, a tightening of the gut, a low pulse that didn’t match the heartbeat of any man alive.

The sun seemed dimmer. The air tasted of ash.

Then came the sound.

Not a fanfare, not the roar of horns or the pound of drums.

But a creak.

A slow, groaning thing.