So this is what it feels like. So this is the sad death of a necromerchant. This is what my requiem will be, not a song or a funeral held in my honor, but in the honor of everything and everyone that I could have saved. The requiem of a Necromerchant is never for the Necromerchant in question. It is always for all the people that that Necromerchant never saved. Oh, when they came crying out for me, they weren't crying for me, they were crying to me. As I passed on from this life into the next, they all came to weep and mourn, begging that I stay with them for just a little longer. No. That's not true. They didn't come to beg for me at all, they came to beg for my powers. And they didn't beg me to stay, they begged for all the people I brought back to stay.
In my dying throes, in my death knells, they did not come to me to comfort me, but for me to comfort them. As I was passing away, finally succumbing to my own powers and becoming a victim of the thing that I had tamed for so many years, they all flocked to my gates to see me sitting upon my throne one last time. It was a marvelous magnitude that you could not have ever imagined. The shining multitudes filled every hall of my home, everyone coming to see me one last time.
No. That's not true. They didn't come to see me. They came to see my powers. They came to beg, not for me to live, but for my powers to live. When they came crying, they weren't mourning me, they were mourning themselves. Even though it was I who was on death's doorstep, even though it was I who was so close to perishing, it was not me that the crowds cried out for. They cheered and honored my actions and they lauded my deeds. They promised to keep my legacy alive, but not a single one of them knew my name. Instead, they only cried out titles, and praises. But I didn't want any of that. I wanted my name! I wanted to hear my name. I wanted at least one single person in all of that sea of warm bodies to come to me and SAY. MY. NAME. But none of them did.
Instead, my powers continued to wane. I continued to fade out of existence. They knelt before my throne, but they weren't here to worship me. They were here to worship my powers, and to request one last boon of me, even as I was dying. With tear eyes and sobbing mouths, they clutched at me as I continued to die. I gave them a sad smile, but told them no more. I could not keep on forever. Even Necromancers can die. We may control death for a while but, in the end, it is always death who controls us. I told them that, but they didn't want to listen. Instead, the continued to weep and beg, shouting out names, asking me to reconsider and to try to fight for all those whom I had yet to save.
Mother, father, sister, brother, lover, child, grandchild, niece, nephew and cousin. Names, titles and familial relationships. So much noise. They all continued to scream and beg. But I was too weak. I ignored them all. I didn't want to hear their names, I wanted to hear my own. I wanted to hear at least one single person in that entire sea of people to simply just SAY. MY. NAME. But still none of them did. Instead, they asked me to fight on, to survive for the very people whom I brought back. They asked me to stay strong not for my sake, but for others. They didn't want me to live, they wanted my powers to live. They didn't want me for me, they wanted me for what I could give to them. In truth, I know that they did not care if I lived or died. I know they weren't even sure if I deserved such a luxury. But I do know that they continued to support me and comfort me, offering everything they could to help me survive.
No. That's not true. They didn't come to help me survive. They came to help their loved ones to survive. They did not save me for me, they saved me for what I could do for them. I heard all of them crying out for me, but not a single one ever said my name. Thus was the Necromerchant's death, the sad and tragic passing of one who traded their life for the good of others and received nothing in return. My requiem song was not for me, but for all the people I didn't save before I died. It was never about my funeral, it was about everyone else's. They didn't mourn me, they mourned all the ways they could no longer exploit me or bring back the people that they loved more than me. No one mourns the people like me. But I wish they would. I wanted nothing more than to hear someone, anyone, say my name. But no one ever did. So I suppose it's even, then. They do not get what they want. I do not get what I want. And the world falls silent once again.
AN: Just a sad outlook on a Necromancer who made a living (LOL) off of resurrecting people's loved ones only to then be forgotten when they finally died.
All those mourners and not a single one thought to weep for the Necromancer who made their reunion with their lost loved one possible. All those mourners and the Necromerchant was the only one who died alone.
Also, the chapter title is a reference to a stage play that would eventually become the rock opera horror film called "Repo the Genetic Opera". If you know what that is, I love you! If you don't, well, I'm not surprised. It's not very popular. But I ADORE it!