I am in legacies

"Dude, no one knows Who. You. Are.... No one! Why are you so obsessed about your identity?, I mean, as far as we know, you're just another monster. Nothing more, nothing less!!"

"How DARE you. You.... you insolent little speck! I am not just another monster. I am THE Almighty Necromancer, The Necromancer, The Necromancer!!!, harbinger of death, master of the dark arts, and commander of legions of the undead! My power is unparalleled, my very name strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it!"

He takes a dramatic breath, then sneers.

"You... you insignificant fool, could never comprehend the magnitude of my greatness. So, no, I shall not be reduced to 'just another monster.' You will show me the respect I deserve... or suffer the consequences!"

"Here we go again." Jacob rolled his eyes

"Oh, you think this is a joke, do you? Rolling your eyes at me like some petulant child?"

He raises his arms dramatically, a dark mist swirling around him as he speaks, but was nullified by the chains.

"You mock what you cannot fathom, warlord boy! But, I could turn your very soul to ashes with but a whisper, or summon horrors beyond your wildest nightmares to feast upon your fear! I am not to be trifled with!"

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss.

"And trust me, boy, if you keep up this insolence, you'll find out exactly what I'm capable of... the hard way."

"I need a break from this madness," Jacob muttered, storming out of the room, leaving the Necromancer with a twisted smirk—or at least as close to a smirk as his ghastly face could manage.

This week had been nothing short of a nightmare, Fucking Hell. Dead relatives popping up left and right, like there was some kind of "Welcome Back" holiday for the departed. The gates between the living and the dead seemed wide open, turning the school into a twisted version of The Walking Dead. And not just close relatives or dear friends, either—everyone from a guy's old dog to a furious granny, even childhood crushes and bitter rivals, were making appearances.

It was pure chaos, fucken Pandemonium. If you weren't caught up in some bizarre ghostly drama, you were probably just waiting for the next scandal to drop. Everyone was on edge, eyes darting around, wondering whose past was about to come back and bite them next.

And then it happened. "Cassie?!" Raf's voice echoed through the hallway, filled with shock and disbelief.

Jacob glanced over, seeing Rafael embracing a girl who looked just as stunned as he did.

"Well, here we go," he sighed under his breath. "Let the scandal begin." With that, he turned on his heel and headed off to find Hope.

On the other side, in the principal office, Dr. Saltzman sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he leaned back in his office chair, his expression a mix of frustration and fatigue. Hope stood by the window, arms crossed, while Dorian paced in the background while holding a bunch of books, his face etched with concern.

"Days of questioning, and still nothing," Dr. Saltzman muttered. "I've tried every interrogation method I know—spells, truth serums, even some old-fashioned threats. The Necromancer is stubborn. Keeps talking in riddles or going off on some self-absorbed monologue about how important he is."

Hope turned away from the window, her brow furrowed. "So we're no closer to figuring out why he's after the knife or what he has planned?"

"Nothing solid," Alaric replied, frustration slipping into his voice. "All we know is that he wants the knife back, but he won't say why. Just keeps rambling about 'darkness' and 'unimaginable power.' I'm starting to think he enjoys the attention."

Dorian stopped pacing, glancing between Hope and Dr. Saltzman. "And we're sure he's not just stalling for time? Maybe waiting for something?"

Hope's eyes narrowed. "What if he's counting on us keeping him alive? Using it as a distraction while something else is happening?"

"That's mostly likely what is happening" Jacob's voice was heard before he came in.

"But I also think he really thinks we're pretending not to know him." Jacob added

Hope tilted her head thoughtfully, then turned to face Jacob. "I've got an idea. Jacob, come with me."

They made their way back to the Necromancer's holding cell, where he was bound and looking more irritated than usual. As they entered, his pale eyes glinted with a mix of frustration and bitterness. He must have known they were coming.

"Well, well, if it isn't the young Mikaelson and her trusty sidekick," the Necromancer sneered. "Come to torment me some more? Or are you finally ready to admit you remember me?"

Hope crossed her arms, her gaze steady and unyielding. "We've been doing some research, and it looks like you've been erased from existence. Nobody knows who you are, not even supernatural records."

The Necromancer's smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of anger and annoyance. "Erased from existence?" he scoffed, but his voice faltered slightly. "That's impossible. I am the Necromancer! I am—"

"Forgotten," Hope cut him off, her tone cold and deliberate. "Every spell, every bit of dark magic that has your name tied to it… it's like it was wiped away. You're nothing but a ghost story now, and not even a good one."

The Necromancer's expression twisted into one of pure horror as the weight of her words sank in. "No... no, that can't be! I am eternal! I am feared by witches and necromancers alike!"

Hope leaned forward, lowering her voice to a near whisper as she edged closer to the Necromancer. "Don't believe me?" She tossed a couple of old books in front of him, each one containing detailed histories of magic, the supernatural, and significant events in the mystical world. "Here, read up," she said coldly, her eyes daring him to find a trace of himself in the pages.

The Necromancer snatched the first book and flipped through it rapidly, his bony fingers trembling as they turned the pages. The room was filled with the sound of rustling paper and his shallow breaths, which grew increasingly panicked the further he read. Book after book revealed nothing—not a single mention of his once-feared title, not even a vague reference. It was as if he had been entirely erased from history.

"This... this is impossible," he murmured, his voice a mixture of disbelief and desperation. "There must be some mistake. I was once powerful, revered! There were legions of the dead at my command! And now..." His voice trailed off, and he looked up at Hope, his eyes filled with a kind of emptiness that hadn't been there before. "Now I am nothing?"

Hope's expression didn't soften. "That's right. You're nothing. No legacy, no memory—just an afterthought. So, whatever you're planning, you better come clean, because as it stands, you don't have a lot of bargaining power."

The Necromancer's face contorted with rage as he slammed the book shut and threw it aside. "This has to be a trick! A spell! Someone is doing this to me!" His voice was a shrill cry, breaking the tense silence.

Jacob, who had been standing just behind Hope, took a step forward, his gaze locked on the desperate figure. "Or maybe it's karma catching up with you," he said with a hint of dark humor. "After all, how many people did you wipe from existence to get what you wanted? How many memories did you erase?"

The Necromancer's glare shifted to Jacob, but there was no witty retort this time, no smug comeback. He simply slumped back against the wall, his anger deflating into something that looked like fear. For the first time, it seemed like he was truly considering the possibility that his entire existence had been stripped away, and that he was no longer the master of life and death—but rather, just another forgotten soul.

"Forgotten soul?!" The Necromancer's eyes suddenly lit up, realization sparking within him. Hope noticed the shift and leaned in closer, her heart racing

"What?! What is it?!" she urged, urgency threading through her voice.

"Ahaa haha," the Necromancer chuckled darkly, the sound echoing off the walls. "So that's why…" His voice trailed off, as if he had stumbled upon a revelation that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Permanent death," he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like a curse, hanging in the air between them.