From The Dead

Me. My land. My people. Are little. In this big world of superhumans, of super technology, lies this "nation" . We are diplomatically recognized as a large village. Not as the real Super power we once were. I stand in the bedroom of the awe inspiring castle, made of black stone. We were promised our revival by the USSR. That vow would never be fulfilled. And when the great red fell, we were left in an even more destitute position. I peer out of my castle, my fingers on the black stone of the wall looking at the large tents. This is what we are now. My fingers curve on the stone, into a fist. We will not suffer this indignity any longer. History is written by the victors. The state of this..."nation" is a clear sign of that.

Many centuries ago, we ruled all of Eastern Europe. We brought order to the chaos that was the Fall of Rome. We were Varcovia, the mightiest nation the world has ever seen. We ruled for years, but with the combined effort of all of Europe, were stripped of our fangs. The odds were in our favor. But Varcovia had underestimated the enemies. And it would fall. Word of might, the sheer power of Varcovia would be outlawed. Varcovia would never be remembered for what it was. It would become something of a whisper, to a myth, the forever forgotten. For history is written by the victors. I stared out the window, my gaze harder. I watched them all, all of the people live out their lives. They have accepted this fate. I have not.

My title here is Archduke. My title to the world is tribe leader. I am the last of the line of Necromancers that rule Varcovia. Before the Great Fall, it was a brilliant dynasty that none dare challenge. The magic that was passed down through teaching, and bloodline would be unrivaled by all other monarchs. The first Necromancer would grow armies. Hordes of undead warriors that may have been as unintelligent as vile animals, but would swarm enemies without relent. As the generations continued, the raw strength of the power would be weakened. Now I am the last of that dynasty. The last of my order. We fell to complacency.

Soon. I will elevate our might to what it once was. I was resurrect our power from the dead. "Vladislav." I turned to see a tall, dark skinned man. He wore a formal suit, a platinum ring, but the most noticeable feature is his skull face paint. I only know him by the Pseudonym "E". I met hie, when I went Haiti, searching for help. "Are you sure about this?"
"Certainly."
"If you don't survive?"
"Than I was never worthy to be heir." I walked down the long hall. At the end, was a large decorated door, made of black granite. Skulls and souls are engraved into the fine piece. I opened it. The granite walls a filled with black carvings, a continuation of the door. It was dark and empty for all but the podium with a large black book on the top of it. I laid down on the floor, arms and legs spread apart. "This is unorthodox. Combining two very different rituals." I said nothing to E. This was the first step to my ambition. E took the book from the podium. He turned the pages, and spread his arms, and started to dance, while chanting what was in the book
He carried a doll in his hand, and moved around with it. His chants turned from pure Latin to French. E suddenly stopped dancing, landing in an awkward pose. Spontaneously, he stabbed a needle deep into the doll. I started to bleed. Blood was visible to my white shirt that was hugged by my suit. Blood dripped from my mouth. I felt nothing. My vision blurred. E moved to the podium. He chanted once again in Latin, this time louder. Dark shadowy figures arose from around me, and sucked into my mouth. This happened for well over an hour. When it was done, I lay body elealvated, and started spinning, my wary limbs and head drooping downward. I fall to the ground, my skeleton and eyes burning.
And then there was nothing.
I finally awoke. E looked at me. "It is done." He gave me a mirror. My skin...gray and translucent enough for my skeleton to be visible. My eyes...glowed a constant, crimson red. It was done. The ritual a success. It was now time to move forward. I got up, and left the room, rather quickly. "Where are you going?"
"To build my Army, of course."
"A graveyard? Morgue?"
"You'll see." I came upon another room. It was an organ. I sat and played a specific song. A trapped door opened from below. We walked down it. The Black Castle was a wonderous place, but it has many dark parts to it, that echos it's past. It was 400 feet downward. After the lengthy stair travel, there is utter darkness. I took out a lighter, and spotted a trail against the wall and floor. I head the fire there, and a stream of flames ran across the trail, revealing a grand mass grave. Alters that had preserved bodies atop of them. They were the ancient people who gave their Ives to service any generation that needed the heir to the Zalkan dynasty. I closed my eyes, and concentrated. I sat on my knees my head down. I took a deep breath. After three hours, I opened my eyes. I spread my arms, my red eyes glowing brighter. Shadowy creatures expelled from my body, and into the corpses.
...I waited.
I hears a bellowing screech. Followed by hundreds. Than thousands. They all jumped up from their alters, a yawned animalisticaly. I backed away uneasy as they all moved towards me. They all looked like they were ready to pounce. And then...they stopped. And thousands of undead husks kneeled before me. E put a hand on my shoulder. "Will you began your strike?"
"No. We must rally the people. The other "tribes" will join us. And the army will grow." I looked into the husks, and looked into the future.