The Extra's Rise

Chapter 153 Prelude to Tower of Magic Conference (1)

As the End of Year festival loomed closer, the atmosphere in Mythos Academy shifted. The air buzzed with anticipation, students scurrying about like particularly stressed-out ants preparing for winter. The curriculum lightened considerably, leaving us time to focus on three major things: the upcoming festival, the written exams, and our end-of-year projects.

For me, the latter was a matter already resolved.

The Lich.

The culmination of months of effort, planning, and a few near-death experiences—both figuratively and otherwise. It was done, complete, and, if I dared say, a masterpiece. There wasn't much left but to hand it in, so I decided to get it out of the way.

Professor Gravemore's office was tucked into a quiet corner of the necromancy wing. Gravemore himself was hunched over his desk, pen in hand, writing notes on what appeared to be a disturbingly animated diagram of a corpse.

"Arthur," he greeted me without looking up, his deep voice carrying the sort of warmth one might reserve for an exceptionally promising science experiment. "You're here to submit, I assume?"

"Yes, Professor," I said, stepping forward and holding out the neatly bound file. It contained every detail about the Lich's creation process—well, almost every detail. Some secrets, especially the ones tied to the Basilisk Heart, were better kept buried.

Gravemore finally looked up, his dark eyes twinkling with something between pride and incredulity. "Alright then," he said with a chuckle, flipping through the file. "A+. Done."

I blinked. "You're not even going to check it?"

Gravemore leaned back in his chair, waving a hand dismissively. "Arthur, please. Check what? That Lich of yours could qualify as a final project for a sixth-year student. A+ is a foregone conclusion."

I didn't know whether to feel flattered or slightly concerned. I chose the former. "Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me," he said, waving it off. "Thank yourself. And that unnatural knack you have for turning necromancy into an art form."

He closed the file with a decisive snap and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the shift in the room's atmosphere.

"But," he said, "there's something else I wanted to discuss with you."

I straightened up instinctively. "What is it, Professor?"

"The Tower of Magic Conference," he said, his voice carrying the weight of importance. "Have you heard of it?"

I frowned, the name ringing a faint bell. "I think so. Isn't that the event where re

The frustration simmered as I worked late into the night. Finally, unable to resist the urge any longer, I decided to go straight to the source.

Returning to my room, I summoned Erebus.

The air in front of me tore like fragile fabric, a small rift opening into a dark void. Erebus emerged from it, his skeletal frame both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Even in his suppressed state, the sheer weight of his presence—a manifestation of death itself—pressed against me, a reminder of the raw power he held.

He knelt before me, his hollow eyes glowing faintly. "You summoned me, Master?" His voice was a low, resonant hum, like a distant echo in a cavern.

I steadied myself, the sensation of his presence still something I was getting used to. "Erebus, I have a question. When I was assembling you—when I was enticed by the Basilisk Heart—do you remember what happened?"

For a moment, Erebus was silent. Then, he spoke, his words slow and deliberate. "My memory of that time is blank."

I frowned, my frustration mounting. "Blank? You don't remember anything at all?"

"Nothing clear," Erebus admitted. "But... there is one thing."

I leaned forward, my pulse quickening. "What is it?"

Erebus lifted his head, his glowing eyes narrowing. "All I remember... is seeing a skull split in two."

The words landed like a hammer blow, sending a shiver down my spine. A skull split in two. The image was vivid, visceral, and it left me with more questions than answers.

Luna's voice echoed in my mind, uncharacteristically quiet. 'A skull split in two... What does it mean, Arthur?'

"I don't know," I murmured, my thoughts racing. The memory—or whatever fragment of it Erebus retained—felt significant, but its meaning eluded me.