>_< yay
In the beginning the universe was created, this upset many people and is widely regarded as a bad idea.
Dont hate the minty freshness
Gregor flatly refuses to let Martin get into his car. Dont worry, mate. You cant lose him if you try. When we get where were going, hell be there.
Why are you helping me?
Thats a good question, mate. See, MAGIif they knew about youwould want your butt hauled off to the Zig so fast itd make your head spin.
Why? I havent done anything!
Its what you are, mate. Its what you are. Ever seen a heroic Necromancer? Zombies are filthy, disgusting thingsand most blokes are going to see you as being no better than poor old Matthew.
Martin! His name is Martin!
Was Martin, mate. Now hes just your pet zombie.
Hes not my pet! Hes my friend!
No, no he isnt. Thats not your friend anymore mate. Thats whats left. The meat. Everything that made your friend who he washis mind, his soulits all gone. Hes just a big rotting meat puppet now. The sooner you accept that, the better off youll be.
So why are you helping me? Why do you care? I thought you worked for MAGI.
I work with MAGI. Not for them. And you want to know why Im helping you? Ill show you. Gregor pulled the car into a garage and turned off the engine.
Martin came crawling out of the ground as soon as the car came to a stop.
Whathow did he--?
Hes bound to you, mate. Hell follow you no matter where you go. If you go faster than he can move, hell come right out of the grave to be with you. Touching, reallyin a creepy sort of way.
Martin stands swaying as though hes about to fall over. There isnt much left of the man he had been left in that gaunt frame. It was only because Dalton had known him so long that he recognized anything in him now
Come with me to my studio.
Your studio?
Im an artist, mate. I paint. Its my passion. My avocation. Magic is just what I do to earn mbread and cheese.
With Martin stumbling behind them, they go into the spacious art studio of Gregor Richardson. Theres countless paintings on the walls, and a few on easels that are half completed. Most of the paintings are of Paragon Citys greatest heroesStatesman, Maiden Justice, Manticore
Why are there so many paintings of that woman? Dalton thinks that hes seen pictures of her in the papers and in television interviews.
Azuria? Never you mind about that. Gregor seems rather testy about the subject. I painted all these pictures. All but this one. It paints itself. He pulls back a black cloth
And Dalton sees himself in the alley. Martin is rising from the dead behind the Skulls that killed him.
It told me that I had to go after you.
But as Dalton watches, he sees something else form in the painting. Something behind him.
A large dark figure in robes. It has a hand on Daltons shoulder in the painting, and its head is thrown back in a laugh.
I am with you, Dalton Grimm, the voice whispers into his mind. I will be with you always, and we will do great things together
And Dalton feels a cold touch upon his shoulder
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Wonderful story. Keep it up, I is interested. 
Awesome story, and more than a little creepy! More please!!
"Don't go away mad, just go away..." The best line Clint never said.
#406785 - Assisting the PPD
Gregor Richardson doesnt seem to see the image in the painting, so Dalton does not tell him what he sees. He does not tell him about the voice in his head, or the chill hand that seems to touch him just when he starts to relax. It is not the voice that tells him not to do this; it is some inner instinct.
And in a sense, Gregor himself.
Look, mate. I am not your friend. I am not your bloody Yoda. I got you out of a bad spot because the Craft required it.
Thanks a lot. Dalton does not try to hide his anger.
Your welcome. Gregor shrugs. For what its worth, heres a bit of advice: dont go home.
What?
You cant go back to your old life. You cant see your family or friends again. Thats where theyll be looking for you.
They?
The Circle of Thorns. The Banished Pantheon. Theyll want you just to add your magic to their own. The Legacy Chainll hunt you down just because they find your magic evil. Go home, and you dieor wish youre dead.
But I didnt do anything! I didnt want this! I didnt ask for this!
Martin moans suddenly.
Your friend there didnt ask to die, mate. Thats life. We dont always get what we want. You play the cards youre dealt with or you lie down and die.
So what am I supposed to do?
Get out of my house tonight, for one thing.
Dalton clenches his fists.
All right, all right. Dont look at me like that, mate. Why couldnt Azuria have wound up having to deal with you? Gregor rubs his forehead with both hands and looks to heaven as though searching for some answer. All right. Mercedes.
What?
Mercedes Sheldon. A Brit. Bit of a stuck up rhymes with itch, if you wanna know the truth. She joined the Midnight Club not too long ago.
Midnight Club?
A bunch of magicians and sorcerers. Theyre no friends of the BP or the COTs, and theyre not as lily white as the Legacy Chain. Mercedes supposed to be on the side of the angels, but shes got a thing for bad boys and black magic. Gregors smiles knowingly. Shes probably the best chance youre going to have of finding someone who knows something about necromancythat wont plan on feeding you to some kind of demon or dark godling. Ill call her and arrange a meeting for you.
Thanks.
Just disappear and never darken my door again and Ill be thanked enough. Gregor makes a face. Im going to have to fumigate this place to get the zombie stink out of it.
Martin groans and something like a scowl passes his normally blank features.
Kid. One other thing.
Yes?
Youre a necromancer who hasnt studied the art. Thats dangerous.
Dangerous?
Yeah. Normally someone has to spend years of study before he can raise his first zombie. You did it without thinking, without being able to control it. Offhand, I can think of only two ways thats possible.
Im listening.
The first one is that youre a reincarnation of someone who was a necromancer in a past life. You dont know how you know it, but you do. When your life was threatened, instinct brought the power back.
And whats the other way?
Someone gave you the knowledge. Ive heard that some sorcerers try to encode their magic genetically into their family line.
Why would they do that?
If it was something other than necromancy I might suggest some kind of altruistic motive, but people who raise the dead arent known for their benevolence. Gregor stares at him with hard, cold eyes. If someone wants you to be a necromancer, I would expect thats because they want you to raise them from the dead
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Gregor drops him off near the Steel Canyon Paragon University Campus like hes an unwanted kitten. The Magi Representative drives off without looking back. Dalton finds himself both envying and hating Gregor for his ability to leave this nightmare behind.
Martin crawls out of the earth to crouch beside him. There is just enough of Martins face left to recognize the decaying figure for what he is. An occasional groan is the only sound that the zombie makes.
Does he hate me? Dalton wonders. Does he understand that I did this to him?
Fool! The voice of the Other (as he decided to think of it) taunts. He is nothing more than a tool! Your friends, your enemiesall will serve your destiny! Our destiny
He was my friend!
Then you should avenge him. Smooth and slick as a serpent, the words came. When you have learned enough, I will show you how to make his murderers pay. You want that, dont you, Dalton? You wish to make them pay for what they did to your friend
for what they did to you
You must be the man I was supposed to meet.
The woman is surprisingly youthful in appearance. She looks too young to even be a student here. She is pretty, but not soft. Her eyes are wide and soft, but her mouth is thin, perhaps even cruel. The hand that she offers for him to shake is cold, but strong. Im Mercedes Sheldon.
Hi. Hes not used to talking to attractive women. Martin used to laugh at how easily he blushed. Im
Do not tell her your name, fool!
ImIm the one that Richardson told you about.
I rather suspected that was the case. There cant be too many Necromancers lurking around the campus. The smile is frosty. We shouldnt stay here. The Legacy Chain is aware that a Necromancer now walks in Paragon City.
I havent done anything.
Its not what youve done. Its what you are. The Legacy Chain tends to look down on darker magics. Something about her smile suggests that Mercedes finds that concept amusing. While your friend is walking around with you, youre a walking target. You need to dismiss him so that you might move more freely in the city.
Dismiss--?
Yes. Youve seen the way he can travel to you no matter what distance is put between you?
Yes. Hes quite sure the sound of decaying hands slipping their way out of moist earth will haunt him the rest of his life even if he never hears it again.
You can send him away until you need him again.
I dont know how
Magic is all about belief, Necromancer. The gestures. The magic words. The wands or staffs. Those things are tools, props. They allow the spellcaster to get into the proper frame of mind to work his magicyou have to know that the magic will work. You can speak or gesture or do nothing but will it, but you must believe your magic will work. You have to find the key to your magic.
Listen to her, boy. This is important. There are things this woman can teach you
Martin.
The zombie sways on unsteady legs. There is something like a question in his yellowed eyes.
You can go, Martin. Rest. Sleep. Go!
Martin stares at him.
Go!
The zombie falls to his knees. Goodbye.
For an instant, he lies prone on the ground
then he seems to decay into nothing. The only thing that remains is a scrap of Martins blue shirt
Dalton falls to his knees and touches the earth where his friend had been. He picks up the piece of cloth and clutches it in his hands. Martin, he whispers. Martin
Well done, Necromancer. Well done
You need a name, Mercedes said softly.
I wont tell you my name. Hes angry at the woman for what shes told him, what shes made him do. He feels like hes killed Martin again.
Then I will give you a name. She frowns for a moment, and then gives him a frosty smile as she looks at the cloth in his hands. Reaper. Ill call you Reaper Blue
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Mercedes takes him to a rundown apartment in King’s Row. It stinks. The building moves in strong winds. It leaks in the rain.
“But they don’t ask questions here,” Mercedes tells him. “You’ll be safe here while you pursue your studies.”
“My studies?”
“Do you want to die?”
He ponders that question for a moment.
Mercedes does not appear perturbed by his silence. She stands and waits for him to come to his conclusion. There is a faint trace of amusement on her face.
“No,” he says finally. “I do not want to die.”
“Then you have no choice. You have to develop your powers to the utmost. Nearly every mystic in Paragon City will want to either kill you or enslave you.”
“Except you, of course.” He smiles ironically.
“Oh, I will get my pound of flesh out of you, Reaper Blue. I have not had many opportunities to study a true necromancer. I will learn a great deal from helping you—and if there should come a time when you DO master your powers, you will owe me a great deal.” She tilts her head slightly. “I always collect on my debts, Reaper Blue.”
“That’s good to know.” He sits down in a chair that looks reasonably sturdy enough to support his weight. “So where do we begin?”
“You need to bring your friend back.”
“No.” He will not violate Martin again. His friend will finally get the rest that he deserves.
“You will either learn to bring him back voluntarily or you will bring him back inadvertently in a moment of rage or fear … as you did the first time. Is that what you want? Is that what your friend would want?”
“No.” He’s already breaking a promise he made to himself. That is not a good sign. This woman is dangerous to him.
To his soul, if not his body.
“All right, then. Call him up.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes you do. Somewhere inside you, you know how. Bring him back, Reaper. Bring back your friend.”
“Martin,” he says uncertainly, “come.”
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the floor seems to smoke near his feet, and there’s a foul stench that’s worse than anything he’s ever smelled before, and he sees a bony hand reach out of the smoke. First one, then another.
A face that is little more than a skull bobs on a neck that is little more than bone. Wisps of hair that had once been a vibrant red are faded like old copper wire. Around that neck, dangling on a tarnished chain, is a ring … a girl’s school ring.
Tonya’s ring.
“What’s wrong?” Mercedes asks him, and he suddenly hates her. Hates the fact there is nothing of sympathy in her voice. That she looks at him with the cold curiousity of a vivisectionist while he is staring at the animated corpse of his best friend who’s wearing the promise ring of a girl who will (hopefully) never know how he died, or what he has become.
He hates her with a ferocity that frightens him.
Martin moans and suddenly looks at Mercedes.
“Reaper, call him off.”
Martin takes a shambling step towards her.
“Reaper!”
Is that fear in her voice? It pleases him now. To see that icy exterior crack as the shuffling horror that had been a living man less than twenty fours ago glares at her with something like hatred in its wormy eyes.
Martin takes another step.
No, you fool! The Voice of the Other. You cannot allow him to kill her. We will lose this opportunity, and the Midnight Club will set loose their hounds upon you! Stop him!
He’s tempted to refuse. Mercedes is stepping back, but she cannot escape. Martin is blocking the door.
“Reaper!” Mercedes does not beg. He has to grant her that.
For a moment, he stares at the two of them, weighing his options.
“Martin, stop. Leave her alone.”
Martin groans.
“Martin, stop.”
As though bound by invisible chains, the zombie halts. He glares balefully at Mercedes, but he makes no move to attack her.
“Martin, step away from the door.”
Reluctantly, the dead man shuffles away from the door to stand beside Dalton.
Mercedes closes her eyes and takes a slight breath. When she opens them, her voice is steady and she looks at Dalton as though nothing had happened. “I’ll be back tomorrow with some books about necromancy. With luck, no one will miss them for days.”
“All right.”
“Do you need food? Are you hungry?”
He has not eaten for almost a day. Gregor had not offered him food, cryptically saying that he would have to learn to feed himself now. “I’m fine.”
He is hungrry. Ravenous, in fact. But the thought of food nauseates him. He does not know what he needs, but he knows that his sustenance will no longer be conventional.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. They may not ask questions here, but be careful and don’t go out unless you have to. It won’t be long before someone reports your disappearance, and then things will get complicated …”
“Good night, Mercedes.”
“Good night, Reaper.” She smiles, but there is no humor to it. “Sweet dreams.”
Dalton almost laughs at that. His life has become the stuff of nightmares, and he does not expect to ever dream again …
Soon, the Other tells him.
“Soon?”
Yes. Once night has fully fallen, we will go out … and you will FEED …
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Night comes early to Kings Row.
There are lights under a few of the doors, but none of them react when his door opens. If any of them detect the stench of rotting flesh as Martin shambles behind him into the night, they do not make their reaction public.
Dalton is starving. Theres a burning emptiness in his gut that he cant get rid of. There was no food in the apartment, but he had drunk as much water as he could stomachbut it seemed to have no effect on the ravenous hunger that tears at his stomach.
What do we do now?
Martin groans in response, but there seems to be the glow of foxfire in his eyes. He shuffles in place, keening like a lost soul.
Let the zombie hunt.
[i]I cant do this,[i] he thinks. Martin was my friend. I cant let him be a monster. I cant let him kill someone. But in a voice that he doesnt recognize as his own, he says, Martin, find what we need.
Martin groans in response and begins shuffling down the street. He moves down one alley, and then a next. Somehow, he seems to know that they cant stay on the street because he keeps to the shadows, letting people pass by before they cross another street.
Martin looks at each person as they pass. His foxfire eyes shine, dim, and shimmer again.
Hes looking for something, Dalton realizes. Hes hunting.
Yes, the Voice purrs. He knows what he needs. What you need.
The streets become dingier, the alleys darker. Rats, cats, and stray dogs see them, and back away in fear.
Strangely, Dalton feels no fear in the darkness. He feels
at home.
And then Martin stops.
man, that was crazy! I never saw anything like that! That was freaky!
Chill, man! It was just like the Vahz. We beat up Vahz all the time.
I never saw a dead guy stand up before, Eddie!
Martin moans. Loudly.
Eddie! You hear that?
Chill, Teddy! Someone out there? You better go unless youre tired of breathing!
brains
Martin moans and shuffles forward.
One of the Skulls screams.
Kill it, Teddy! Kill it! Eddie draws his pistol and starts firing.
The bullets make an ugly sound as they strike Martins dead flesh, and gore and black blood splatter out of the zombie.
Martin slaps the gun out of Eddies hand and grabs him by the throat.
Teddy! Help me! Help me!
Teddy backs up against the wall. His desperate eyes see Dalton standing in the shadows. No! Dont man! I didnt do it! Eddie killed him! Not me! Eddie! Let me go! Let me go!
Dalton points a hand at Teddy, and makes a grabbing motion with both fists.
Teddy shrieks in pain.
Dalton gasps as the stolen strength and life from the panic-stricken Skull flows into him. He raises his fists to strike again
And Teddy shoves his way past him and runs into the night, screaming.
No matter, the Voice whispers. Youve tasted his soul now. We can find him whenever we want him.
Dalton nods numbly, and turn s back to where Martin is strangling the life out of Eddie. The Skull pounds weakly at the zombies wrists and turns pleading eyes to Dalton. No, man! Please! Dont! Dont!
Martins eyes are blazing with foxfire so strongly now that they seem to lit the Skulls face up with hellfire. Dieee..
The Skull makes one more weak cry, and then lies still.
Now! Before its gone! Take it! Take the power!
Dalton reaches out again at the dead Skull, and gathers in the fading life force from the corpse. In a rough voice, he whispers, Rise!
Eddies dead eyes snap open and the new zombie scrambles to his feet. Master
Flush with energy, Dalton tosses a shadowy something at the two zombies.
Their mouths seem to start to bubble with a strange green gas. They sway a bit less than they had before. They look at him expectantly.
Dalton should be afraid. He should be sick to his stomach. The stench of one zombie was an awful thingtwo is almost beyond belief. He should be repulsed.
But he isnt.
Instead, he feels
exhilarated.
Feel your power. Feel the strength. The more of them you command, the stronger weYOUshall become. And when you are strong enough
The Voice trails off into laughter. Dark, hideous laughter.
Its almost an entire minute before Dalton realizes that the laughter is now his own
Necromancer
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Awesome story! I am really impressed!
Please keep writing!
He can feel himself changing, but it no longer bothers him. This is something that has to happen. Whatever life Dalton Grimm had dreamed of is as dead as his best friend. He has another path to follow now.
You look different, Mercedes Sheldon says when she returns to him with a box full of ancient books.
I am different. He glances in a dingy mirror at his reflection: his hair has become midnight black. His skin is unnaturally pale. His eyes are dark, with glints of sapphire in them. Never a large man, he has grown almost painfully thin.
All in a single night.
His fingers brush against hers as he takes one of the books she hands him.
She gasps and yanks her hand back.
Did I burn you? Hes mildly curious, but thats all.
Youre cold. She flexes her fingers.
The chill of the grave. He smiles thinly at her.
What happened to you?
I had a revelation. He thumbs through the book that she had given him.
That bookcan you read it?
Of course. Cant you?
No. Its said that only a necromancer can read another necromancers journal. Anyone else who tries winds up hopelessly mad.
A fine time to tell me. He isnt worried. He knows what he is now. But its good that he remembers what Mercedes Sheldon is; she looks like an innocent schoolgirl, but in her way she is as dangerous as he isperhaps even more so.
Tell me what its like. Theres a hunger in her words that rivals the emptiness that sent him out into the night. Knowledge is her passion, and there is precious little that she will not do in order to sate her desire.
Most likely, she will die because of it someday.
Of course, thats the reason she has given him sanctuary so he is not about to complain about that particular character flaw.
He tells her what he can, what he thinks cannot be used against him. There is a risk in this, but he has to give her something if she is going to continue to help him. He tells her about the hunger that he can feel growing yet again. He tells her about last nights hunt.
He doesnt tell her about the Voice that speaks to him.
So you made another one?
Yes. Martin wanted revenge.
Did he? Or did you?
What do you mean?
I didnt think that zombies had any mind or desires. Why would he want revenge? Its just supposed to be an empty shell.
Who told you that?
Thats what all the lore says
Maybe your lore is wrong.
Mercedes frowns. Its an ugly look on a beautiful girl.
He almost smiles. He rather enjoys the thought of upsetting her. The reason youre helping methe reason that you havent turned me over to the Legacy Chainis because you want to learn the truth about necromancy. You want to know.
For a moment, they stare at each other.
Youre growing up fast, Reaper.
I dont have much choice do I?
No, I suppose you do not. The smile is even uglier than her frown. The Legacy Chain is looking for you, you know. That foolish boythe one you let get away last nighthes been talking to the police. Ive heard hes even confessed to the murder of your friend. He finds prison a much better prospect than death at your hands. She shrugs eloquently. I cant say as I blame him, either.
We all have our fates, Mercedes.
Indeed we do. She rises t her feet. I had best be going. She leans forward suddenly and whispers in his ear. I know all about your friend, you know. Be careful of him.
And you, of course.
She nods, almost shyly. And of me. Rest well, Reaper Blue. Well talk again.
Im sure we will, Mercedes. Im sure we will.
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links
Dalton Grimm is praying that hes gone mad.
Its the only thing that can save him now. He would give anything to be dreaming, but he knows that he is not dreaming. Therefore, either this is real, or he has gone insane
He prays for madness like a dying mans hope of heaven.
But he knows that his prayers will go unanswered. Heaven will never answer HIS prayers. Not now
Three hours ago, the thing that crouches before him had been his best friend, Martin. They had been walking home after seeing a movie, laughing, talking about girls and then two Skulls had come out of the darkness at them.
Gesturing, the Skulls forced them into a dark alley.
Martin had immediately put himself before the Skulls and Dalton. That was Martins way; he had been looking out for Dalton since they were kids. He had told them that they wouldnt fight just so long as the Skulls just took their money and left
The Skulls had shot Martin before he even had a chance to finish.
Martin! Dalton had screamed. Martin!
The Skulls had laughed at him. Laughed at Martin. Make him beg, the one who had killed Martin had said to his companion. Use the knife! Its more fun when you use a knife
Martin!
And Martin stood up!
He was decomposing even as Dalton watched. The stench of rotting flesh almost took his breath away. The eyes there was nothing of Martin left in those dead eyes.
Martinthe thing that had been Martinlurched into the Skulls.
His attacks were feeble. If the Skulls had not been so disgusted and frightened, they could have easily torn him to pieces but they were nearly as horrorstricken as Dalton himself. Shrieking in fear, they had fled for their lives.
And for the last three hours Dalton Grimm has been sitting in the dirt and filth of the alley, staring at the thing that had once been his friend, watching it rot, watching its features decompose until there was absolutely nothing of Martin left to see except the tattered blue shirt it still wore
Watching, and praying that he had gone mad ...
Martin? he asked.
The thing groaned in response.
He cant answer you anymore, mate. Zombies arent exactly sparkling conversationalists.
Zombies? Dalton asked numbly.
Please tell me you know what a zombie is. A man walked into the alley. He was bearded, casually dressed, but something about the way he walked suggested he was not someone to cross.
I know what a zombie is, Dalton snapped. Did you do this?! Did you make Martin into that thing?!
The man barked out a laugh. No, mate. Thats not my gig. I dont make zombies.
Martinthe thing that had been Martinbegan shuffling towards the man.
Call him off, mate. The man didnt seem afraid at all, but he took a step back. Zombies stink so. Dont want to lose my dinner
Call him off?
Just do it. We havent got all night.
Do it, a voice whispered in his head. It was a cold voice it made Dalton shiver just to hear it. He can teach you. Show you what you need to know
Martin, stop!
Martin froze in place.
Good job there, mate. The man offered Dalton his hand.
Dalton took it and rose unsteadily to his feet. Who are you? What happened to Martin?
Im Gregor Richardson, mate. As for your friend there, he died. It happens to all of us.
But how did he become a zombie? If you didnt do it
You know who did it, mate. Youve known since it happened: you did. Now you can spend the rest of your life trying to deny it, or you can accept what you are and move on. Id suggest the latter. Youve got a lot to learn if youre going to stay alive.
Gregor Richardson grinned, but there was no humor in it. Paragon doesnt take kindly to Necromancers.
Necromancer, the voice in his head whispered, and there was a kind of unholy joy in it. At long last, a Necromancer
My COX Fanfiction:
Blue's Assembled Story Links