A Lich Reborn

AN: Currently I have ~60k words written, Chapters are ~4k each or so. Disclaimer: There is AI assistance - When I get stuck I will use it to break up writers block. _any and everything _the AI adds is edited and re-worded to make sure it fits my voice as best as possible. Posting the first three to gauge reception. If people like it, I'll put the rest up, or take feedback as such.

What they don’t tell you when you study necromancy with the goal of becoming a Lich is that if you succeed you lose all interest in the things that kept life feeling alive. Tastes become muted, smells dilute, touch fleeting and cold. That was why Markash - the so-called dark father, had spent the last 250 years deep in research of true immortality. His cult of followers waned as his interest in typical tropes of power faded until there were only a few left who believed in him.

Chelsea, incidentally the daughter of nearby Merrit’s Bend’s preacher - was one of the most devout. No doubt her worship of the dark arts started to spite her father, and the girl had a bratty streak was a mile long - but she was reliable and her faith in the mission was beyond question. Her heart beat quickly for both of them as she placed the last bundles of Stamaine and Nightweed at their marks on the ritual circle.

The tower that had been their sanctum for so long was a stark contrast to the vibrant village she’d left behind. It was a relic of a forgotten era, a bastion of imperial might that had been abandoned when the military retreated from the frontier. The harsh, unyielding stones had withstood the test of time and nature’s encroachment better than the wooden structures of her childhood. The once gleaming stones were now a dull gray, mottled with age and lichens. The wooden beams had grown brittle and the floors had begun to bow under the weight of years of neglect, yet it remained steadfast.

Chelsea followed her master’s instructions meticulously, her eyes darting around the shadowy chamber. The candles and torches they’d brought with them threw flickering light that danced on the walls and ceiling, creating an eerie, almost alive atmosphere. The deep, almost cavernous room where they were now gathered was not one of the well-appointed upper chambers. It was a part of the tower that had been sealed off, forgotten by all but the most devoted of the cultists. The air was thick with the smell of burning herbs, the smoke swirling and snaking around them like a living entity. It stung her eyes and made her cough, but she ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on the task at hand.

As Markash took his place in the center of the circle, she felt a mix of awe and fear. He looked so ancient, so powerful in his decay. His eyes, once a vibrant blue, had faded to the color of dusty sapphires. They gleamed with a predatory intensity that sent shivers down her spine. She watched as he began to chant, the language long dead, the words echoing off the stone walls and sending tremors through the very floor beneath them. The runes she’d painted on the floor started to pulse with an unnatural light, a heartbeat of ancient power that seemed to resonate with her very soul.

The rush of energy grew stronger, the air thickening until it was hard to breathe. The candles flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows across the chamber that stretched and contorted as if alive. The wind grew stronger, extinguishing the torches along the wall in a sudden gust that sent their shadows fleeing into the corners. Only the candles remained lit, their flames dancing in a frenetic rhythm that matched the tempo of Markash’s chant.

Chelsea felt a tremor in the floor, a deep vibration that grew louder and more insistent. Her eyes remained glued to Markash, his skeletal form now enveloped in a shimmering aura that grew brighter with each syllable uttered. The air around him began to crackle with power, the smell of ozone sharp and electric. She had to admit, in the quiet moments of doubt, she had wondered if this was all just a mad quest for a myth. But here she was, witnessing the culmination of his obsession.

Her heart raced as the chant grew more intense. The very walls of the chamber seemed to hum in response, the ancient stones vibrating with the power that Markash had coaxed forth from the very fabric of the world.

The vortex of magic grew, swirling around the Lich like a tornado of pure, unbridled energy. It was a cacophony of colors she had never seen, a symphony of forces that seemed to warp the very air around them. She watched, her eyes wide, as the chaotic swirl began to coalesce into a pattern that made her head spin. It was as if she were peering into the very heart of creation itself, a place where the laws of the universe bent to the will of a single being.

The room trembled violently, the once stoic stones of the chamber groaning in protest as the power grew. The candles on the floor around the circle danced like mad flames, their wicks stretching and contorting with each pulse of magic. The heat grew intense, her robes sticking to her skin, the sweat on her forehead sizzling as it fell into the crackling aura that surrounded Markash. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and burning herbs, and the sound of her own pulse drowned out all else.

Her eyes remained locked on her master, her concentration unwavering as she felt the power surging through her own body, trying to break free from her control. Each time the demonic winds brushed against her mind, bringing with them images of carnality and temptation, she pushed back with all her might. Chelsea’s thoughts grew clearer, sharper than they’d ever been before, as she wielded the energy to contain the unstable forces at play. Her hand strayed to the dagger at her waist, the cold metal a comforting reminder of the promise she’d made to herself.

The incubus’ whispers grew more insistent, painting vivid images of a life she’d never dared dream of - power beyond measure, riches beyond counting, and desires so profound they seemed to pulse in time with the very essence of her being. She could feel the seductive warmth of its voice, a siren’s call promising to fulfill every dark fantasy that had ever flitted through her imagination. Her resolve was tested, her body aching to give in, but she clenched her fists and tightened her grip on the dagger, focusing solely on the task at hand.

Markash’s chant grew louder, more fervent, as the swirling maelstrom of power around him grew in intensity. Chelsea could see the veins in his skeletal hands bulging, the magic coursing through him like molten steel. His eyes, once the faded blue of an ancient artifact, had turned a brilliant, fiery gold, piercing through the swirling colors of the ritual like two gleaming suns. The air crackled with the energy of a thousand lightning strikes, and she knew that the moment of truth was upon them.

The scream that tore from the center of the vortex was unlike anything Chelsea had ever heard before. It began as a dry, dusty rasp, echoing the ancient tombs that had been Markash’s prison for centuries. The sound grew, morphing into a primal roar that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of her bones. The vibrations grew stronger, and she felt a strange warmth spread through her, igniting a fire deep in her core that she had never felt before. It was a mixture of terror and arousal, a sensation so intense and confusing that she could hardly stand it.

Her body trembled uncontrollably as the heat grew, and she watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the shadows grew darker, the very essence of desire made manifest. The incubus was close, she could feel it. Its presence was a palpable ****, a seductive whisper in her ear that grew louder with each passing second. The walls of the chamber seemed to close in around her, the air thick with the scent of sex and power, a heady cocktail that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

And then it was done. The swirling chaos of energy coalesced into a form that stood before her, no longer the decayed Lich she had devoted herself to, but an Adonis with skin the color of cooling lava. The transformation was so sudden, so shocking, that she could hardly believe her eyes. Gone was the fragile paper-thin creature she had known, replaced by a being of unbridled power and passion.

Her heart raced as she took in the new Markash. The incubus had honored its part of the deal, it seemed, and she could feel the rage and desire that simmered just beneath the surface of his new, vibrant form. His eyes, now a fiery gold, blazed with a hunger that sent a thrill through her. He was alive again, in a way that surpassed even the most feverish dreams of her girlhood. She had done it. She had restored her master to his true power.

Markash collapsed. He was left exhausted and rent in the center of the ritual circle.The pain was a welcome feeling. After two hundred years of nothing but ash, learning, and apathy towards the living, the sensations of exhaustion, soreness, and hunger were a welcome reminder of what it truly meant to be alive. Gasping for breath, the cold air rushed into his now full and deep lungs, his new form vital, and alive.

Chelsea knelt beside him, her eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear. She had not anticipated this transformation, but her loyalty remained unshaken. Her gaze lingered over his new form, taking in the sinewy muscles and the unmistakable aura of vitality that surrounded him. He looked up at her, his eyes now the vibrant gold of molten ore, and she could see the fiery intensity within them. The incubus had not just restored his life - it had also bestowed upon him the seductive allure of its kind.

The heat grew between them, a silent dance of desire that seemed to set the very air alight. Markash’s gaze lingered over her, and she felt a blush creep up her neck as she realized he was not just assessing her, but also feeling a long-forgotten hunger. Her hand hovered over his, and she watched as his fingers twitched, as if reaching out to touch her. The energy that had surged through her during the ritual now focused on this new connection, her own body responding with a fervor she had never experienced before.

Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing in his newfound ears. He could hear the pulsing of her lifeblood, the rush of her breath, and the siren’s song of her desires. The incubus’s influence was strong, a symphony of need that played in time with the rhythm of their hearts. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh, and the dampness that betrayed her arousal. Her eyes, once so focused and clear, had glazed over with a lustful haze, and she bit her bottom lip, her pupils dilating.

In a swift, predatory motion, Markash reached out and grabbed Chelsea’s wrist, pulling her towards him. She gasped, a sound that was half-fear, half-ecstasy, as she found herself on her back on the cold stone floor. His new body, so alive and vibrant, pressed down onto hers, his heat searing through her robes. The weight of him was surprising, a stark contrast to his former skeletal form, and she felt her body responding to the pressure, arching up to meet him.

“Master, what have you become?” she managed to murmur, her voice shaking with the intensity of the emotions roiling through her.

“I am reborn and so much more,” Markash replied, his voice a deep, resonant bass that seemed to rumble through the very stones of the chamber. He leaned in, capturing Chelsea’s mouth in a kiss that was at once fiery and gentle. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of passion long denied, and of the promise of an eternity of sensation.

Chelsea’s initial hesitation melted away as she tasted him, her mind swirling with doubt and confusion. Was this truly her master, the ancient Lich she had sworn to serve? Or was she succumbing to the seductive whispers of the incubus that now shared his form? She stared into his eyes, those pools of molten gold, and felt the abyss of his soul beckoning to hers. It was a terrifying and exhilarating feeling, to be so close to something so powerful and alien.

With a snarl that was more a growl of need than of anger, Markash pinned her beneath his newfound strength, his body a sculpture of lean muscles and sinew that gleamed in the flickering candlelight. He ripped away the barriers of fabric that separated them, revealing the soft, supple flesh that had been hidden beneath her robes. Her thighs parted instinctively, her body responding to the primal call of his touch. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt, a blend of terror and ecstasy that coiled in her belly like a serpent.

Chelsea’s eyes went wide with shock as Markash’s new form loomed over her, his fiery eyes burning with desire. His cock, a thick and imposing member that seemed to pulse with the same power that had fueled the ritual, brushed against her sex, teasing and taunting. She had known the feel of lust before, had given in to it in the quiet confines of her own chamber, but this was something else entirely. This was the raw, unbridled desire of an incubus, a creature born of the darkest recesses of the Abyss, and it filled her with a mix of fear and uncontained excitement.

Her body responded to his touch with a need that was almost painful in its intensity. Every nerve ending felt alive with fire as Markash played across her body. The tip of his cock, slick with pre-cum, traced patterns across her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her that made her back arch off the cold stone floor. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his new flesh as she sought purchase, her body trembling with the effort to hold back the scream that threatened to rip from her throat.

He leaned in again, his teeth grazing her lower lip before biting down hard. She screamed into his mouth, the pain a sweet agony that melded with the pleasure as he thrust into her. The sensation was overwhelming, a confluence of pain and ecstasy that she had never before experienced. Her walls stretched to accommodate his new, powerful form, the fullness of him a revelation that left her panting and writhing beneath him. The incubus’ influence was clear in the way he moved, his hips a blur as he claimed her in a brutal, almost savage rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart.

Her screams were muffled by his mouth, his tongue dancing with hers in a passionate duel as their bodies became one. The stone floor was cold and unforgiving, yet it was all she could feel as he filled her completely, his every movement sending waves of pleasure through her. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he held her in place, guiding her to match his tempo. The room swam around them, the shadows seeming to come alive as the power of their union resonated through the very fabric of the chamber.

Her eyes locked onto his, and she saw the hunger there, the insatiable need that burned in the heart of every incubus. Yet, it was tempered by something more, something that spoke of the man who had once been Markash. The love she had for her master was still there, twisted and changed by the ritual, but not destroyed. It was a love born of loyalty, of shared beliefs, and now it was a love that was being transformed into something primal, something that surpassed mere human understanding.

With a growl, Markash laid back on the stone floor, his cock standing proud and demanding. He pulled Chelsea onto him, her legs straddling his powerful hips. She gasped as she took his length in her hands, feeling the heat and power that pulsed through him. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, her eyes never leaving his as she impaled herself on his shaft. The initial pain was intense, but it melded with a pleasure so profound it stole her breath away. She took him in inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate his newfound size and vitality.

Her movements grew bolder with each thrust, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. The cold stone beneath them was forgotten as their bodies generated a heat that could have melted the very stones. Sweat beaded on their skin, the scent of their arousal mingling with the lingering aroma of the ritual herbs. Chelsea’s breasts bounced with each impact, the nipples hard and sensitive, yearning for his touch. Markash’s hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts, his fingers pinching and teasing as she rode him.

The room was alive with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wet, guttural noises of their passion echoing off the walls. Her thighs gripped his hips tightly, her nails leaving half-moons on his skin as she drove herself down onto him. The pleasure grew, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to build without end, the intensity of it threatening to consume her. Each time she took him in fully, her muscles clamped down, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. The incubus’ whispers grew louder, urging them both onward, feeding the fire that burned between them.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth forming silent words of ecstasy as Markash’s hands found her breasts. He kneaded them roughly, his thumbs flicking her nipples with a fervor that had her crying out, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could feel the heat building within her, the coil of pleasure tightening with each stroke until she was certain she would shatter beneath him. Yet she didn’t pull away, didn’t fight the rising tide. Instead, she embraced it, her body moving in perfect harmony with his, driven by the dark power that surged through them both.

The incubus’ whispers grew louder in her mind, a seductive symphony that urged her to let go, to surrender to the storm of pleasure that was building. She felt Markash’s body tense beneath her, his muscles coiled like a spring about to be released. His movements grew erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he neared his peak. And still, she rode him, her own climax a heartbeat away, the sensations overwhelming her as she gave herself over to the dark embrace of the ritual’s power.

With a sudden, almost violent jerk, Chelsea’s body arched backward, her back bowing like a drawn bow. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and a scream tore from her throat that seemed to shake the very foundations of the chamber. The world around her faded to white as the orgasm claimed her, a maelstrom of sensation that obliterated thought and reason. Her body convulsed around Markash’s cock, her walls clamping down on him in a vice-like grip that seemed to pull the very essence from his soul.

Markash responded to her climax with a feral snarl, his own release following swiftly. He bucked his hips upwards, burying himself as deeply as he could, the warmth of his seed filling her to the brim. The feeling was overwhelming, a sensation that seemed to reach into the very marrow of her bones and redefine her very being. Her cries grew more frantic, her body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, and his seed overflowed from her depths, painting the stone floor beneath them.

The world around them faded as the incubus within Markash fed upon her energy, the room plunging into a darkness so complete it was almost tangible. Chelsea could feel the creature’s hunger, a ravenous maw that consumed everything she had to offer and demanded more. Her body was a vessel, a conduit for the power that surged through them both, and she gave herself over to it willingly, lost in the maelstrom of sensation.

As her tremors subsided, Markash pulled away from her, his new body glistening with sweat and their combined release. The sudden coldness of his departure left her feeling empty and exposed, the aftershocks of pleasure leaving her trembling. She lay there, panting and ****, the incubus’ whispers still echoing in her mind like a siren’s call that had only just begun to fade.

The room was silent except for their ragged breathing, the candles flickering as if in the aftermath of a storm. The air was thick with the scent of their coupling, a musky aroma that seemed to cling to every surface. Chelsea’s eyes closed, her energy completely drained by the union with the incubus.

Markash, his new form still pulsing with the power of life, stared down at her, his fiery eyes filled with a hunger that was not yet sated. He had felt the power of the incubus within him, the insatiable need to claim and dominate. Yet, as he pulled away from her, a cold dread began to seep into his consciousness. The incubus’ whispers grew faint, retreating into the shadows of his mind, and the reality of what he had done hit him like a sledgehammer. He had taken his disciple, claimed her innocence in a moment of primal hunger.

With a trembling hand, he reached out to her, brushing the damp hair from her face. She slept, the contented smile on her face assuaged his guilt some, but still he delicately carried her to his chambers to rest.

———————

Morning’s first light seeped through the narrow windows, casting an eerie glow over the disarrayed room. Chelsea stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find herself in Markash’s room, a place she had never been invited before. The stark reality of the previous night’s events crashed over her like a wave, leaving her naked and trembling. The bed beneath her was soft, the covers a stark contrast to the cold stone floor of the chamber where the ritual had occurred.

Her body ached in places she had never known, the aftermath of a night filled with both terror and ecstasy. She felt the sticky warmth between her thighs, a stark reminder of the incubus’s touch. Gently, she sat up, her eyes searching the room for any sign of her master. He sat at his desk, his eyes studying him intensely.

He was no longer the decayed Lich she had known, but a creature of beauty and terror in equal measure. The room was bathed in the soft light of dawn, and his skin gleamed like molten gold, each contour and sinew a testament to the incubus's influence. He was lost in thought watching her.

“I am myself again. I… did not mean to lose myself in the ritual.” Markash’s voice was thick with a mix of regret and hunger.

Guilt was an emotion that rarely crossed Markash’s face, so when Chelsea saw it, she was momentarily taken aback. But she had felt the power that had surged through her the night before, knew the depths of the incubus’ influence. She knew that despite his new form, he was still the master she had devoted herself to. And if he was to be consumed by the creature within, she would be by his side, guiding him through this tumultuous rebirth.

With surprising strength, she sat up, the sheets slipping away from her body to reveal the marks of their passion from the night before. The sight of him, so alive and vital, brought a fierce determination to her eyes. She leaned into him, her soft, warm skin pressing against his. She kissed his cheek, feeling the stubble that had not been there when she had last seen him. He tensed, his eyes snapping to hers, filled with surprise and something akin to fear.

But Chelsea was not one to be denied. She kissed him again, this time more firmly, pressing her lips to his until he met her with a hunger that matched her own. Markash’s guilt melted away like wax in the face of the heat that surged between them.

"If you feel that guilty, you can make it up to me now." Chelsea said, her voice a sultry whisper as she pulled him onto the bed.

He made it up to her.