Rebirth: Necromancer's Ascenscion

Mark stepped onto the wooden platform, his chains rattling with each step, the sound slicing through the heavy silence of the square.

Ian watched from the line, his stomach twisted in a tangle of dread and resentment.

Mark's face was pale but set with determination, his eyes locked onto the rune-etched stone atop the table.

The test conductor gestured impatiently.

"Place your hand on it."

Mark hesitated, fingers hovering above the stone. Then, with a steady breath, he pressed his palm against its cool surface.

For a moment, nothing happened. The crowd held its breath, the silence stretching thin, taut like a wire about to snap.

Then—

A glow.

Faint at first, barely a flicker.

Then stronger.

Brighter.

The stone pulsed, its radiance swelling until the light became almost blinding. The runes burned with intensity, golden arcs of energy swirling across the surface.

A collective gasp rippled through the square.

Ian's breath caught in his throat.

'No… no, this can't be happening.'

The test conductor took an involuntary step back, his voice unsteady.

"How could a slave have such high affinity?"

He turned sharply to a nearby guard.

"Release his chains. Now."

The guard fumbled with the keys, hands trembling as he unlocked the heavy manacles around Mark's wrists. The chains fell away, crashing to the platform with a sound that rang sharp and final.

Mark rubbed his wrists, rolling his shoulders as if savoring the newfound freedom. Then his gaze flicked to Ian.

And he smirked.

Ian's blood boiled.

Why him? Why Mark, of all people? How was this fair?

But it wasn't just Mark.

One by one, the others were called forward.

Ron stepped up, his face taut with anxiety. He placed his hand on the stone, and again, the glow flared—slightly weaker than Mark's, but still high.

Ian clenched his fists, memories flashing in his mind—Ron spreading rumors about him, sabotaging his work, ensuring his humiliation.

Derek followed, his usual smugness intact. He barely hesitated before pressing his palm against the stone.

The response was immediate—another strong glow. Ian's jaw tightened, recalling the moment Derek had stolen credit for his work, basking in praise that should have been Ian's.

And then—

Emily.

Ian's breath hitched as she stepped onto the platform.

She moved with quiet confidence, her expression unreadable. As expected, the moment her hand met the stone, the glow ignited, surging with undeniable power.

Ian swallowed hard.

The memory of her betrayal cut deeper than the rest.

She had shattered his personal life, tormented him in the workplace, and now—just like before—she was being rewarded for it.

A mix of emotions churned inside him—anger, disappointment, something he couldn't quite name.

But then, a flicker of hope.

They all had high affinity. Every one of them who had been transmigrated had it. Which meant—

'I must have it too.'

Ian took a slow breath, gripping onto that thought. It would be his ticket out of these chains. If he had magic, if he was free, he could still make them pay.

He just had to be patient.

At long last, Ian reached the front of the line. His heart pounded, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The test conductor barely glanced at him, already disinterested.

"Place your hand on the stone."

Ian hesitated, his breath shallow. Then, bracing himself, he pressed his palm against the rune-etched surface.

And waited.

The seconds crawled by.

Nothing happened.

The stone remained dark, cold, lifeless.

A heavy silence settled over the square.

More seconds passed. Then more.

Ian's chest tightened. He pressed harder against the stone, willing it to react, to ignite like it had for the others.

Nothing.

A sharp scoff broke the silence. The test conductor clicked his tongue in irritation and shoved Ian aside.

"No affinity at all… I suppose that's a rarity in itself."

Ian's world tilted.

No.

No, this had to be a mistake.

Desperation surged through him. He stumbled forward, grabbing at the stone.

"Wait—give it a second! It'll glow! This can't be right!" His voice trembled, edged with panic.

A guard stepped forward and shoved him back.

"Behave," the man sneered. "Or I'll have you cut up and sold for beast bait. At least then, you'd be useful."

The crowd murmured, some snickering, some whispering. Ian barely heard them.

Why?

Why him?

He couldn't even look at the others—couldn't bear to see their expressions. Mocking? Smug? Pitying?

They had won again.

And he—just like before—was the loser.

His mind spiraled, drowning in thoughts, so much so that he barely noticed when the evaluation ended. It wasn't until the guards began escorting the newly freed high-affinity captives away that a voice pulled him back.

Mark.

"What's going to happen to him?"

The test conductor shrugged.

"Him? Why, is he an acquaintance of yours? We could free him—let you take him with you."

Ian's breath caught.

Mark… would he?

For a fleeting moment, hope flickered. Despite everything, they had been friends once. Maybe—

Mark turned to him, their eyes locking.

Ian swallowed.

Maybe Mark wasn't a total betraying basta—

Pain exploded across his jaw.

Blood burst in his mouth as he crashed to the ground.

Ian barely had time to process before Mark's foot slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Then Mark was on top of him, fists raining down, each blow a brutal, merciless strike.

Ian tried to defend himself, tried to push him away, but the punches kept coming—his body weakening, strength fading.

His consciousness slipped.

He barely registered the sickening thuds of Mark's fists against his flesh, the way blood spattered with each impact.

By the time Mark stopped, Ian lay in a crumpled, unmoving heap.

Mark stood over him, breathing hard. Then, with chilling finality, he turned to the test conductor.

"We won't take him. Just do me a favor and make sure he suffers."

The conductor chuckled darkly.

"No affinity? He'll end up in the pits. Rest assured, his end will be slow and miserable."

As the guards prepared to lead the others away, Ian's weak, broken voice rasped through the air.

"Kill me."

No one reacted.

His breath shuddered. Then—his voice cracked, raw with fury and something deeper, something ancient—

"Kill me now, or I swear by my blood… by the gods that have cursed me… I will make you regret you hadn't!" His vision blurred. "KILL ME, MARK! KILL ME NOW—OR YOU WILL CURSE THIS DAY YOU LET ME LIVE!"

Mark glanced back.

His expression unreadable.

"Goodbye, Ian."

He turned away.

Ian weakly reached forward, whispering,

"Come back… come back, you bastard—"

Then—darkness.

But in that void, something stirred.

A light.

Lines of glowing text burned into the abyss of his fading mind.

[ Bloodline Essence Awakened ]

[ Rank: Ancient ]

[ Rarity: Extinct ]

[ Title Obtained: Whisperer of Death ]

[ Calibrating base abilities… ]

And then—

Everything changed.

He just didn't know it yet.