No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

The void around Damien trembled once more, like fabric stretched too thin. From the mist emerged the distinct silhouette of a figure, stepping carefully, patiently, as though the ground itself might shatter underfoot.

Gradually, the shape coalesced into clarity, a tall, thin old man with stark white hair flowing down past his shoulders, contrasting sharply against dark robes so faded they seemed woven from shadow. He looked perhaps sixty, yet something about him whispered of countless centuries spent in loneliness.

His presence was not strong, but it was profound, filled with the resonance of a soul lingering far beyond the boundaries of life. The aura he emitted was vast yet hollow, unmistakably powerful yet strangely diminished, like a star whose light still traveled through space, even though it had died long ago.

His gaze settled gently upon Damien, calm and filled with a depth of quiet curiosity.

"You've finally come," he said softly, his voice resonant yet weightless, drifting across the empty air as if he spoke from far away. "I had wondered if another suitable inheritor would ever emerge."

Damien studied him cautiously, feeling the subtle fluctuations of death energy woven through every fiber of the old man's being. It became immediately clear.

This was no living man. This was merely a remnant, a soul fragment preserved beyond death.

"You're the Gravewalker," Damien stated, voice steady.

The old man inclined his head slowly. "Once, that title belonged to me. Now it remains only as a whispered echo."

Damien took a moment, then spoke again, calmly. "Why did you build this place here? On Earth, of all planets?"

A faint smile tugged at the Gravewalker's lips, filled with melancholy. "Because Earth is special. It is one of the secret crossroads, hiding a rare entrance to the greatest hidden treasure for any necromancer—the Cosmic Battlefield."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Cosmic Battlefield?"

The old man's eyes brightened slightly, memories igniting briefly like dying embers. "Yes. It is a necromancer's paradise, a battlefield spanning an entire solar system, seventeen worlds forged entirely by conflict, strewn with the corpses of warriors and monsters beyond count.

Dragons, behemoths, demons, angels… all their fallen champions preserved in endless slumber, waiting only for one with power and ambition to command them."

He took a slow breath, more habit than necessity, then continued. "But that entrance is locked. The key was already claimed by my first inheritor centuries ago, and I know not where they are now. If you wish to tread that path, you must find the one who preceded you. Convince them… or overcome them."

Damien's eyes narrowed, interest flickering behind them. "And who are you exactly, Gravewalker? How did you come to leave such legacies?"

The old soul fragment paused for a moment, gathering the threads of his distant memories. When he spoke again, it was quietly, and it carried the sorrowful weight of a life long extinguished but never forgotten.

"My journey began on a distant planet named Drakonia—a world ruled entirely by dragons. Humans born there, like myself, are fated for lives of servitude, tools or playthings beneath the shadow of dragonkind. Powerless, helpless, merely livestock. But I refused to accept that fate."

A ghost of pride appeared in the Gravewalker's dimming eyes. "One day, my chance arrived in the form of a wandering necromancer—a visitor from another star, powerful and mysterious. He saw something in me, perhaps desperation, perhaps genius. He took me in, taught me the art of death, the mysteries of souls, how to command those who had long since passed."

His smile grew colder, sharper. "I learned quickly—my hunger was great, my talent greater still. Within a hundred years, I surpassed my master. And then, I ended him, taking his place."

Damien felt a ripple run down his spine, not fear, but recognition.

"From then on, my growth was unstoppable," the Gravewalker continued softly. "I scoured battlefields, devoured forgotten souls, forged armies from the bones of worlds.

Over centuries, I approached the threshold of true Sovereign power, but that last step eluded me, always just beyond reach. Eventually, time and battle claimed me, as they claim everyone, even those who master death itself."

The old man glanced toward Damien, deep longing flickering behind his faded gaze. "I died without ever truly conquering the ultimate secret of Sovereignty. Yet, before my passing, I left behind inheritances scattered throughout worlds, each a seed of my legacy.

This temple you stand within now is but a minor inheritance site. Yet, here, I placed something special, a guardian beast, the most powerful servant I ever commanded in life, preserved in death, awaiting one worthy enough to claim it."

Damien's pulse quickened slightly. "A guardian beast?"

The Gravewalker nodded gently. "Yes. One of my more powerful creations. Formed from the bones of ancient dragons and celestial creatures, tempered by death energy gathered across millennia. Its power rivals even peak God-Ranked beasts. It was once my companion in countless battles across Drakonia and beyond."

He gestured gently, his transparent hand tracing symbols in the air. "For passing the Trial of Death, for proving yourself beyond merely worthy, for holding the status that allows death itself to kneel… This guardian is now yours."

As he spoke, shadows gathered before Damien, swirling inward to form a colossal form nearly twenty feet tall. Bones armored with pitch-black scales, skeletal wings unfurling wide, glowing crimson eyes opening slowly with a terrible majesty.

Even silent, the beast exuded raw authority, radiating necrotic power stronger than any undead Damien had encountered.

The Gravewalker looked at the guardian, his eyes gentle yet filled with an ancient sorrow. "Take good care of it. It served me loyally until my final breath, and it will serve you now, just as faithfully."

He turned back toward Damien, fading further as he spoke. "Find the inheritor before you. Seek the key they hold. Claim the Cosmic Battlefield, Damien. Do what I could not."

Damien stared solemnly into the fragment's eyes, recognizing the echoes of his own path reflected in the old necromancer's journey. "What's your name?" he asked softly. "Your true name."

The Gravewalker smiled, sadness etched into every line. "My name was long forgotten, even by me. But my title remains. Gravewalker, they called me, because death itself was my road."

His image shimmered, flickering like a candle about to vanish.

"Remember this, Damien: power alone is insufficient. To truly command death, you must become its shepherd, not its master. The difference is subtle, but critical. Death serves best when it chooses to obey."

The Gravewalker bowed his head slowly, his form becoming transparent. "Farewell, Damien. Forge your path wisely. I leave what remains of my dream to you."

And then, with a quiet whisper, the soul fragment faded entirely into shadow, leaving Damien standing alone beside his new guardian beast, in a silent temple filled with echoes of forgotten power and the promise of unimaginable potential.