Stephan’s throat felt dry as he studied her. The same face that had once smiled mockingly while she tore his ribs apart now looked up at him with absolute submission. It unsettled him more than her monstrous power ever had.
Her voice still echoed in his head, the cold laugh, the cruel taunts. Now that same voice, soft and spectral, swore service.
He tightened his grip on his sword without realizing it. "You nearly killed me," he said at last, the words heavier than he intended. "More than once."
The revenant tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "I did what I was... before. That shell is gone." She placed a pale hand over her chest, where the faint glow of the forged soul still pulsed beneath layers of shadow. "Now I am bound. All that I am is yours."
Stephan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand across his face. "This feels wrong," he muttered under his breath. "You’re supposed to be a weapon, not... this."
Her gaze never wavered. "A weapon I am. But weapons are wielded. Aim me, and I will cut. Order me, and I will obey."
The certainty in her voice rattled him more than defiance ever could.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Dust still drifted from the collapsed ruins around them, the silence broken only by his own unsteady breathing. Then, almost testing himself, he asked:
"Would you strike me down, if I told you to?"
Without hesitation, she bowed her head. "If it is your will, my liege. My blade is yours, even if the edge must turn inward."
Stephan’s stomach tightened. No flicker of hesitation, no spark of rebellion. She meant it.
He looked away, jaw clenched, heart pounding against his ribs. Power ... came at a cost. A cost he wasn’t sure he understood yet.
But for now, she was his.
Stephan’s mind ticked as the dust settled around them, his sword lowering just slightly as he studied the two flickering soul auras bound to him now. Numbers. Rank. Power.
On his own, he was already at the threshold of D rank, his foundation solidifying with every soul consumed and every technique sharpened. Some might even argue he had already crossed into low C rank after what he had survived against Asriel.
But survival wasn’t just about him anymore.
Grief,the first revenant he had forged, was no longer the timid shadow she had once been. Her aura burned steadier now, sharp with purpose, a high-E rank soul ready to break into D with just a nudge. She was his loyal blade, a wraith who had tasted battle beside him and grown sharper for it.
And now there was Asriel, or rather, the Witch reborn in human form. A revenant forged from something far stronger, her essence still brimming with rage and grief that Stephan had bent into obedience. Her soul pulsed like a furnace, high D rank, already grazing the edges of C.
Together, the three of them were no longer stragglers clawing for scraps of survival in the Tournament. Combined, their power rivaled B rank combatants, enough to hold their ground against the threats that prowled the Soul Desert. Enough to force even A-ranks to take them seriously.
But S-ranks... Stephan’s jaw tightened at the thought. Those were monsters of another order. Gods in mortal shells. To clash with them now would be suicide. He would need more, more souls, more servants, more time.
Still, for the first time since entering this cursed realm, he felt something dangerous stirring in his chest. Not fear but Hope.
With Grief at one side and Asriel at the other, he could carve a path deeper into the Tournament. Through the Soul Maw itself if he had to.
And for the first time, he wasn’t just a survivor. He was building an army.
Stephan’s chest still rose and fell in ragged breaths. The battlefield around him was rubble, shattered stone, smoking earth, and the faint traces of violet soul energy fading into the air like ash caught on the wind. His body ached, his reserves were dangerously low, but his mind was sharper than ever.
Yennefer. Anna Mary. Their faces pushed through the haze of exhaustion. He had grown closer to them than he ever wanted to admit. Closer than he dared. They weren’t just allies in this death game, they were people he couldn’t lose. If he failed, if he died here, others would tear through them like wolves through sheep. No. He had to become strong enough to protect them, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.
And now... he wasn’t walking that path alone.
"A name, my Lord," Asriel’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. Her new form stood before him, pale and beautiful, bound in drifting shadow. Eyes of shimmering blue-violet watched him unblinking, calm yet oddly human. "Will you give me a name?"
Stephan blinked, the words stirring memory. After harvesting Grief’s soul, he had learned the truth of forging: to bind a revenant fully, to make them truly his, he had to name them. A name was ownership. A name was finality. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on ɴovelfire.net
Grief had once been nothing but the Warden of the Abyssal Realm, a faceless servant of death. But when he gave her a name, she became something more. Something his.
And now Asriel waited, silent and expectant, the faintest shimmer of curiosity burning behind her submissive gaze.
Stephan studied her in silence. He remembered her fury, her laughter, the way she had roared with violet fire as she tried to crush him. She had been chaos incarnate. A calamity draped in the shape of a woman. Once, she had destroyed whole cities, erased her own kind from existence. She wasn’t just a witch, not just a dragon, she was ruin given form.
The answer came to him like a whisper from the void.
"Death," he said at last, his voice low but carrying across the broken battlefield. His eyes burned crimson as he met hers without flinching. "Your name shall be Death."
The shadows around her rippled as if stirred by an unseen wind. Her head bowed, and when she spoke, her words were an oath carved into stone.
"Then Death I am. Death, at your command."
The air thickened, heavy with finality, as if the Soulforge itself had acknowledged the naming. A pale brand of shadow flared briefly on her chest, then sank into her form, sealing her bond to him.
Stephan exhaled slowly, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Death now bound to his will.
And two lives, Yennefer and Anna Mary, that he swore he would protect no matter the cost.
The dawn was drawing near. The Soul Desert was silent. And waiting beyond its gates, Olath would want to know whether Stephan had succeeded.
But deep in Stephan’s bones, he knew the truth. This was only the beginning.
The Soul Desert was silent now. Not a whisper of violet wind stirred, not a trace of Asriel’s screams remained, only the hollow stillness that followed conquest. Stephan lingered at the mountain’s peak a moment longer, his breath clouding faintly in the cold pre-dawn air. The weight of exhaustion pressed against his bones, but the pulse of triumph in his chest kept him upright.
Beside him, his new servant stood tall and still. Death. The name clung to her like a crown and a curse both. Shadows pooled at her feet, curling lazily around her pale form, her violet hair drifting in an unseen breeze. She did not speak, nor did she falter. She simply waited, eyes lowered, a specter bound to his will.
Stephan glanced at her once, uneasy. Part of him still saw the dragon’s rage, the fire, the hunger that had nearly torn him apart. Yet she walked now with the quiet grace of a knight sworn to his service. It was dissonant, unnerving. And yet... useful.
He gritted his teeth and began the descent.
The mountain path was jagged, a treacherous spine of stone that wound down into the endless wastes below. Each step jarred his weary body. His black tiger form had faded long ago, leaving him only as a man in dark, tattered clothes, a sword dragging faintly at his side. His shadow still flickered unnaturally with each stepevidence of how close he’d come to the abyss.
Death followed soundlessly, her bare feet never once faltering on the broken rock. Where she walked, the shadows themselves seemed to bend aside, clearing her path. Her silence pressed on Stephan’s nerves until he finally muttered, half to her, half to himself, "You’re too quiet."
She tilted her head faintly, the motion slow, deliberate. "Would you have me sing, my Lord?"
Her tone was neither mocking nor warm. Just... honest. Empty, like a blade reflecting moonlight.
Stephan looked away, clenching his jaw. He had no answer.
The descent dragged on. The sky slowly paled above them, streaks of pink and gold bleeding across the horizon. Dawn was close. The air thinned, sharp with the cold bite of the wastes. Far below, Stephan could already see the fractured plateau where Olath had promised to wait. The thought of the gnome’s sharp tongue, his endless muttering about time limits and contracts, almost brought Stephan a sense of relief. Almost.
At last, his boots struck flat ground. Dust rose in faint clouds around his steps as he crossed the plateau. Death followed at his shoulder, her presence chilling the very air. The dawn light caught in her violet hair, making it shimmer like ghost-fire.
But the place was wrong.
The stone ledge where Olath had stood before was bare, not even his satchel or staff left behind. No footprints marked the dust, no scent of smoke from his usual pipe lingered in the air. Just silence.
Stephan’s chest tightened. His crimson eyes swept the plateau again, then the horizon. Nothing. No gnome. No sign of a struggle.
"Olath?" His voice cracked against the stillness.
Only the wind answered.
Death tilted her head, her voice soft, spectral. "The one you seek is gone, my Lord."
Stephan’s heart pounded harder, unease clawing up his spine. The little gnome was supposed to be here. Dawn was breaking, just as agreed. So where....
A sudden chill rippled through the air. The shadows at Stephan’s feet writhed, stretching unnaturally across the stone.
The sun broke over the horizon.
And Olath was nowhere to be found.