SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

The Midas Empire burned in a blinding sea of golden light as Neron marched through its streets.

Every step he took echoed with the cries of despair, the disintegration of lives, and the crackling hum of Aether being ripped from the world. His Original Magic, fueled by an unrelenting rage, surged through the land like a tempest.

Men, women, children—none were spared.

Neron's fit of wrath allowed no exceptions, his cold gaze cutting through the crowds as they turned to dust with a mere thought. Entire districts crumbled, ornate buildings reduced to rubble, and the once-thriving empire fell silent under the weight of his fury.

Every swing of his blade was an execution.

Every gesture erased entire families.

He was thorough, leaving no corner untouched and no soul alive.

The Empire's famed beauty, its golden streets, its towering spires—all faded into desolation as his Magic carved through it like a scythe through wheat.

By the time his rage subsided, Neron stood at the center of the ruined capital.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed amidst the ashes of an empire that no longer existed. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faint wind carrying away the last remnants of the Midas people.

He looked down at his trembling hands, hands that had just extinguished an entire civilization.

"What have I done?" His voice cracked, barely audible over the weight of his guilt.

Memories of the Demon Massacre surfaced, flashing through his mind like haunting specters. He remembered the destruction, the bodies, and the void that followed his rampage.

He had called himself a monster then, and now, there was no denying it.

"I'm no different," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm worse. I'm… everything I've sworn to destroy."

The realization crushed him, his head bowing as he pressed his hands into the ashen ground. The weight of his actions bore down on him, threatening to suffocate him. For all his power, he couldn't undo what he had done.

He couldn't bring them back.

Suddenly, a ripple in the air disturbed the stillness. The sensation of energy—dark, familiar, and overwhelming—washed over him.

He looked up weakly to see several figures stepping through the remains of the empire.

Karlia was at the forefront, her violet eyes locked onto him with an expression that flickered between relief and concern. Behind her, members of the Nether Cult emerged, their dark robes flowing as they surveyed the destruction.

"Neron," Karlia called out, her voice steady but tinged with unease. "We felt the surge of energy. It was unlike anything we've sensed before."

She approached him carefully, kneeling beside him as he remained motionless. Her hand rested on his shoulder, her touch grounding yet piercing.

"This was you, wasn't it?" she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

Neron nodded weakly, unable to meet her gaze.

Karlia's expression softened, and she motioned to the others.

"He's done enough. Let's take him back."

The Cult members stepped forward, their presence a stark contrast to the lifeless ruins around them. Two of them lifted Neron gently, his body limp and unresisting. He felt his consciousness slipping away, the exhaustion from his rampage finally catching up to him.

Before the darkness claimed him, Karlia leaned in close, her voice a whisper meant only for him.

"You did what you had to do, Neron."

Her words lingered in his mind as his world faded to black, his body carried away from the ashes of the Midas Empire and back into the embrace of the Nether Cult.

*********

"Hmm…"

Neron awoke to the sound of a low hum, the faint reverberation of energy coursing through the air. His body felt heavy, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the soft surface beneath him.

His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim, crimson light illuminating the room.

He recognized the Nether Cult's sanctum—the place where its leader often resided, shrouded in an aura of power and secrecy.

Sitting at a grand obsidian table was the Cult Leader himself, a tall, imposing figure whose face remained obscured by a shadowy veil. His presence exuded authority, a commanding force that made even Neron feel small in comparison.

"You've done well," the leader spoke, his voice deep and resonant, cutting through the silence like a blade. "The destruction of the Midas Empire was a task long overdue. And you… you've exceeded expectations with two more Arcanas in our possession."

Neron sat up slowly, his muscles stiff from the aftermath of his rampage. He looked at the Cult Leader, his expression blank.

"What do you want, Neron?" the leader asked, leaning forward slightly. "You've earned a reward for what you've accomplished. Tell me, and it shall be yours."

For a moment, Neron remained silent, his thoughts drifting to the faces of his friends—their laughter, their camaraderie, and the void left behind by their deaths. His chest tightened as he thought of Legris, the man who had fought beside him, who had believed in him.

"There's nothing you can give me," Neron finally said, his voice hollow. "What I want… isn't possible."

The Cult Leader's head tilted, his shadowed visage unreadable. "And what is it you want?"

Neron hesitated before speaking. "Legris. I want him alive again."

The room grew still, the air heavy with unspoken tension. The Cult Leader leaned back in his chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips.

"I suspected as much," he said. "You are not the first to ask for such a thing. I, too, desired their return. But the magic that the Midas used to execute them… it interferes with even the Arcana."

Neron's gaze hardened. "What about [The Hanged Man] Arcana? It's supposed to manipulate the balance of life and death."

The leader nodded slowly.

"I tried. I used [The Hanged Man] myself, hoping to undo the damage, but the execution magic was absolute. It severed their souls completely, scattering them beyond the reach of any Arcana. They are lost, Neron. Truly lost."

The words hit Neron like a hammer. He had suspected as much but hearing it confirmed left a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as frustration boiled within him.

"I see," he said coldly, forcing himself to remain composed.

The Cult Leader studied him for a moment before speaking again. "You've accomplished something extraordinary, Neron. But I sense you are not yet satisfied. Tell me, what will you do now?"

Neron's eyes glinted with a resolve that burned despite the emptiness he felt.

"When's the next mission?"

The Cult Leader raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the question. "You're eager to continue?"

"I want to finish all of it," Neron said firmly. "Every task, every mission, every goal of the Cult. I want it all done."

"And why the sudden urgency?"

'Because when it's over, I'll make my wish: the end of Magic.' Neron's gaze darkened.

Of course, he didn't say it out loud.

The Cult Leader's shadowed face remained unreadable, but there was a pause before he finally spoke.

"Very well," he said, his tone neutral. "Rest for now. The next mission will be revealed soon enough."

As the Cult Leader rose and left the room, Neron sat in the crimson glow of the sanctum, his mind swirling with thoughts of what he had lost and what he still sought to achieve.

The path he had chosen was steeped in blood and sacrifice, but it was the only path he could see. And as he sat alone in the silence, his determination only grew stronger.

'I'll do it, Legris… I'll finish what we started!'