The Eclipse

50

The Eclipse

· 𝓞𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓲𝓷 :

𝓐𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓮 :

·

Player: @Nihilim

Affiliations

Super Group

The Silent Accord

Rank

Leader

Identity

Real Name

Elijah Morrigan

Aliases

Eclipse, Eclipseborne, Eclipsesworn, Eclipsebound, Eclipsebearer

Birthdate

01/04/1844

Birthplace

London

Citizenship

UK

Residence

This text is redacted.

Headquarters

This text is redacted.

Occupation

Archeologist, Artificer, Magician , Musician

Physical Traits

Species

Cambion (Lich)

Gender

M

Apparent Age

Unknown

Height

1.78

Weight

77

Hair

Gray

Eyes

Black

Skin

Pale White

· Distinguishing Features ·

Ears

Powers & Abilities

· Known Powers ·

Shadow Magic, Necromancy, Blood Magic, Reality Manipulation

· Equipment ·

**********

• Artificer's Eye : Can analyze enchantments, materials, people and souls.

• The Necronomicon : Can sacrifice lifeforce, souls or both in order to unlock knowledge within. It is currently sealed due lack of use.

· Other Abilities ·

Archeology, Artificing, Threat Assesment, Persuasion, Singing

Power Grid
	Statistic	1 2 3 4 5 6 7
	Intelligence
	Strength
	Speed
	Durability
	Energy Projection
	Fighting Skill

• Biography

Elijah Morrigan's life is a chronicle of ambition, loss, and a relentless pursuit of redemption from powers that threatened to consume him utterly. He began as an archaeologist and mage, his keen intellect and innate magical talent undeniable. Yet, an insatiable curiosity for forbidden knowledge, for secrets others wisely left undisturbed, set him on a perilous course. This path led him to an ancient gravesite, and within its depths, to the Necronomicon. The book’s dark power proved an irresistible lure.

The Necronomicon never demanded obedience—it whispered possibilities. Elijah listened. When a child trafficker vanished without a trace, and the local river steamed red for hours, no one thought to connect it to the scholar with ink-stained hands and sleepless eyes. But the book did. He targeted those whose souls were already corrupted, believing he could harness their darkness. But with each soul taken, something shifted—at first imperceptibly. He began hearing whispers before the ritual circles were drawn. The air around him grew heavier. His reflection lagged. Whatever humanity remained was changing, being slowly rewritten by the price of knowledge.

The growing horror of this encroaching demonic nature, the raw terror of losing himself entirely, pushed Elijah to a desperate state. His accelerating corruption became a crisis that his mother, a powerful sorceress, could no longer ignore. With no other recourse, she invoked the oldest rite her bloodline carried—one that had no return clause. That night, Elijah disappeared without ceremony or witness, exiled not to place, but to time itself: the unformed edge of existence, where no clocks ticked and no voices followed.

In that timeless void, adrift for what felt like eons, Elijah grappled with profound remorse. The isolation stripped away his pride, forcing a confrontation with the consequences of his actions. He returned to the world fundamentally changed, his mind sharpened by ages of contemplation, his powers amplified, yet acutely aware that the demonic corruption would resume its advance. Knowing this, he sought redemption, embracing his family's legacy as The Eclipse, a symbol of Death and Rebirth.

Still, the demonic transformation threatened to complete itself. To permanently halt this process while he was still a half demon, Elijah embarked on a final, grim journey into forbidden arts to become a living lich. Through a perilous ritual, he bound his soul to his physical body, encoding his essence into his very cells. This act preserved his sanity and the remnants of his humanity, freezing the corruption. He became an immortal entity, neither wholly alive nor undead, his soul's eternal nature allowing his form to regenerate even from the smallest remaining part should his body be destroyed.

Though he achieved a form of immortality and halted his demonic descent, the weight of his past actions remains. Guilt is an ever-present shadow on his unending existence, a constant reminder of the harrowing path he walked and the steep price of his survival.

• Timeline

• 1844 - The Beginning:

*April 1st, 1844: Elijah Morrigan is born in the sprawling, shadow-laden Morrigan estate in the United Kingdom, the air already thick with the scent of old parchment and incense. His family, prestigious occultists, greet his arrival not just as a birth, but as the forging of a new link in a long chain of arcane practitioners. He is raised not with nursery rhymes, but with the hushed tones of incantations, the intricate genealogies of spirits, and the maps of lost, magic-steeped civilizations. Respect for ancient wisdom and the careful pursuit of forbidden knowledge are lessons instilled before he can fully grasp their weight.

• Childhood (1844-1856):

• Early Curiosity: From his earliest years, Elijah is less a child and more a diminutive scholar. While other children played with toys, he could be found in the cavernous family library, his small fingers tracing glyphs in books far older than himself. He wouldn't just learn languages; he devoured them, ancient Sumerian and cryptic Atlantean dialects falling into his grasp with an ease that startled his tutors. Cryptography was a delightful game, ancient texts a conversation across millennia. Sometimes, as he studied alone, his voice would rise in soft, absent-minded humming—a habit none could trace, but one his governess described as hauntingly precise, almost liturgical in tone.

His inquisitive nature, a relentless seeking, inevitably led him to the chained sections of the library, to the books bound in strange hides that whispered back when opened. These forbidden tomes, filled with the true, often terrifying, histories of the world, didn't frighten him; they sparked a blazing fascination.

• Magical Affinity (Age 10):

The governess had dismissed him an hour early after he'd completed his Latin translations in half the expected time. Again. Elijah knelt on the cold stone floor of the library's alcove, carefully copying the protective ward he'd glimpsed in his mother's grimoire before she'd snapped it shut. His small fingers traced the chalk lines with mathematical precision—each curve exactly as he remembered. The final symbol completed, he sat back on his heels, expecting nothing. The chalk began to smoke. Elijah scrambled backward as cerulean light erupted from the diagram, racing along the lines like liquid fire. The air above the ward shimmered like heat waves, and every book within ten feet fell open to pages covered in similar symbols, their illustrations writhing as if alive. The library door burst open. His mother stood silhouetted against the hallway light, her face a mask of terror and resignation. "Elijah." Her voice carried no surprise, only the weight of inevitability. "We need to talk." The ward continued burning for another full minute before finally fading to ash, leaving the stone floor unmarked save for the faintest outline of what he would later learn was a seal against the things that crawled between worlds.

• The Forbidden Mantle – “The Eclipse” (Age 11):

The vault beneath the estate had no windows, no natural light—only the steady flame of oil lamps that cast dancing shadows on walls lined with books that seemed to absorb rather than reflect illumination. Elijah's breath misted in the cold as his mother led him past shelves of artifacts that hummed with barely contained power. She stopped before an iron-bound codex, its cover bearing a single symbol: a crescent eclipse, black metal inlaid against darker leather. "Touch it," she commanded. The moment his fingertips made contact, images flooded his mind—not his own memories, but inherited ones. A Morrigan ancestor standing in a field of corpses, weeping as she performed a ritual that would end a plague by taking the death into herself. Another, centuries later, binding a demon lord to prevent it from consuming London, knowing the binding would eventually consume him instead. "When power grows unchecked," his mother's voice seemed to come from very far away, "when death outpaces life, when the balance tips toward chaos—we restore it. Not because we want to. Because we must." Elijah tried to pull his hand away and found he couldn't. The book held him fast, showing him vision after vision of Morrigans who had sacrificed everything to preserve the world's equilibrium. "The price," his mother continued, her voice breaking slightly, "is always ourselves." When the visions finally released him, Elijah staggered backward, his hand bearing a mark that hadn't been there before—a small crescent moon, pale against his skin, that would fade by morning but never truly disappear.

• Discovery of Ancient Symbols (Age 12): While exploring the crumbling, ivy-choked ruins bordering the Morrigan estate—a place other children were warned away from—Elijah's hand brushed against a moss-covered headstone, nearly swallowed by the earth. Pushing aside the ancient growth, he uncovered strange, deeply etched symbols unlike any he had seen in the family texts. They resonated with a cold, ancient power, a puzzle that sang to his mind. This discovery wasn't just a finding; it was an ignition point for a lifelong obsession: to unearth the buried narratives of forgotten civilizations and unlock the universe's most guarded secrets.

• 1857 - 1865: Formative Years and the Path to Archaeology
• Age 13-15: Subtle Use of Magic: Elijah’s command over the unseen arts solidified. His growing power wasn't brandished but woven subtly into the fabric of his young life. A whispered phrase before an exam might clear his mind, allowing facts to surface with perfect clarity; a focused gaze might gently nudge a reluctant acquaintance towards agreeability. These were, to him, mere practical applications of his studies. Only in music did he indulge something closer to joy. He would hum softly while copying glyphs or solving ritual permutations, his voice untrained but resonant, filling the study with something dangerously close to peace.

• Family Concerns: This casual wielding of influence, however minor, did not go unnoticed. Whispers followed him through the draughty halls of their home. His mother, in particular, saw not youthful experimentation, but the potential for a darker path, her gaze often troubled when she observed his quiet manipulations.

Age 16: Boarding School: He was enrolled at the prestigious Blackwood Academy, a gothic edifice known for its rigorous classical education. Elijah excelled, particularly in archaeology, linguistics, and ancient history, his mind a sponge for the narratives of bygone eras. The school's extensive, restricted library became his true sanctuary. While his peers pursued sport or societal niceties, Elijah spent lamp-lit hours devouring texts his family had deemed too volatile, his obsession with ancient, power-infused artifacts deepening into a fervent quest.

• Academic Brilliance & Alienation: His intellect was a beacon, acknowledged by masters and students alike, yet it also cast long shadows. Known for his academic prowess, he was equally known for his aloof demeanor and the unnerving secrecy that clung to him like a second skin, alienating most of his peers.

Age 18: Strained Family Relations: Visits home became exercises in carefully navigated conversations. His father, a man more grounded in the tangible relics of the past, encouraged his son’s passion for archaeology, seeing in it a respectable, scholarly pursuit. His mother, however, saw the glint of something far older and more dangerous in Elijah's eyes. Her concern over his deepening entanglement with the occult, and the nascent darkness she sensed stirring within him, became a palpable tension between them.

Ritual Failure: The unspoken conflict culminated one stormy night. Convinced he was ready, Elijah secretly prepared a complex summoning ritual in a disused wing of the estate, aiming to contact a long-forgotten chthonic entity whose name he’d pieced together from fragmented manuscripts. The ritual spiraled out of control. The air crackled, shadows writhed with malevolent intent, and a presence, ancient and vast, brushed against the veil, nearly tearing it asunder. Only his mother's desperate intervention, a torrent of counter-magic that left her visibly drained, prevented a catastrophe that could have consumed them all. The event seared into Elijah a profound understanding of the razor-thin line he walked, the true destructive potential of the forces he courted. Yet, perversely, the terrifying glimpse of power also solidified his resolve to master what others feared.

• 1860
• 1860: University of Birmingham

Elijah’s fervent fascination with the silent narratives of ancient civilizations naturally guided him to formal archaeological studies at the University of Birmingham. Here, within the hallowed halls of academia, his career blossomed. His theories were incisive, his fieldwork meticulous, earning him the genuine respect of world-weary professors and the envious admiration of his peers.

• Dark Obsession: Yet, beneath the sheen of academic success, his true obsession pulsed like a fever. The university’s archives were not just repositories of history, but hunting grounds. He sought more than pottery shards and faded maps; he hunted for the whispers of the supernatural, the echoes of dark forces that he believed had not merely influenced, but actively shaped ancient societies.

• 1862-1863:

• 1862-1863: Reputation for Brilliance and the Lure of the Necronomicon

At Birmingham, Elijah cultivated a reputation as a scholar of dazzling brilliance, yet one whose intensity often unsettled those around him; he was the "eccentric Morrigan." He'd spend days immured in the deepest sections of the university's archives, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and forgotten lore. He wasn't just reading; he was interrogating the ancient texts, deciphering marginalia in forgotten tongues, his fingers tracing diagrams that hinted at magic too potent, too dangerous, for any sane mind to covet.

• Necronomicon Discovery: It was during one such late-night immersion, a flickering gas lamp casting dancing shadows on stacks of vellum, that he found it: a small, unassuming codex bound in faded calfskin. This manuscript, almost overlooked, spoke not of dynasties or trade routes, but of a singular, apocryphal artifact—a book of ultimate blasphemy and power: the Necronomicon. The text described it as holding the keys to cosmic understanding, to immortality, to a power that could transcend the fragile limitations of humanity. A cold thrill traced its way down Elijah’s spine. His interest wasn't merely piqued; it was seized. The Necronomicon became the new focal point of his relentless quest.

• 1864

• 1864: Increased Obsession

The Necronomicon legend consumed him. Elijah withdrew further, his rooms becoming a den of arcane charts, translated passages, and the ever-present aroma of exotic herbs burned for clarity or vision. His academic pursuits, once a passion, now felt like a pale shadow, a means to an end. Sleep became a luxury he rarely afforded himself, his nights filled with feverish study. It was then the visions began: fleeting images of cyclopean cities beneath dying stars, of dark, tentacled entities whispering promises of power through the very ink of the ancient texts he pored over.

• Visionary Influence: These were not mere dreams. The visions were potent, seductive, pushing him across the threshold from a dedicated, if unorthodox, academic into a true acolyte of forbidden knowledge, a future master of arts that could unmake worlds.

• 1865

• 1865: Graduation and a Dark Trajectory

Elijah graduated from the University of Birmingham with first-class honours, his name lauded as one of the most promising minds in archaeology. His dissertation on pre-Sumerian ritual sites was deemed revolutionary. Yet, a subtle disquiet followed him. Whispers among the faculty and a few perceptive students spoke of his unhealthy pallor, his increasingly withdrawn nature, and the unsettling aura that sometimes clung to him – a mark, they unknowingly surmised, of someone who had peered too deeply into shadows best left undisturbed.

As he packed his bags, leaving the structured world of academia for the unpredictable allure of fieldwork, his mind was not on ancient ruins in the conventional sense. His sights were firmly, irrevocably set on finding the actual Necronomicon, and he was chillingly aware of the dark, perilous path it would lead him down – a path he now felt destined to walk.

• 1866 - The Music Revelation
• 1866 - The Music Revelation

The year following his graduation found Elijah immersed in dusty digs and deciphering forgotten scripts, yet a peculiar hollowness echoed within him. His archaeological and arcane achievements, while intellectually rigorous, began to feel mechanical—an endless algorithm of dust and glyphs, devoid of joy.

One evening, drawn by the distant hum of brass and strings, he stepped into a London music hall on impulse. The space was warm, flickering with gaslight and laughter—human noise. The audience, a patchwork of laborers and scholars alike, sat in rare harmony as the orchestra tuned. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard music performed not for ceremony or ritual, but simply to be heard.

He remained at the back, alone, arms crossed. But as the performance unfolded—violin trembling against piano, crescendos clashing with silence—something in him shifted. It wasn’t magic. Not even memory. Just resonance. He felt, for the first time in years, something stir beneath the layers of calculation and control.

Elijah said nothing when he left. But that night, and many nights after, he found himself humming—not the melodies, but their shape, their geometry. He realized music had always been with him. Not as spellwork, but as structure. A private logic in a world otherwise ruled by chaos.

• 1867 - Discovery of the Necromonicon

1867 - Discovery of the Necronomicon and Beginning of Corruption

1867: After pursuing cryptic clues across forgotten maps and through the shadowed alleys of antiquarian book dealers, Elijah finally stood before his prize. In a hidden vault beneath a crumbling Mesopotamian ziggurat, amidst offerings left for forgotten gods, lay the Necronomicon. It wasn't a grand, imposing tome, but a deceptively plain book bound in what felt disturbingly like human skin, its pages filled with ink that seemed to shift and crawl. The moment his fingers brushed its cover, an overwhelming torrent of knowledge and a chilling, exhilarating power flooded his senses, a dark magnetism that promised everything he had ever sought.

He began to experiment, the book's contents drawing him into a dangerous, intoxicating spiral. The rituals demanded a terrible price: souls. Yet, Elijah, clinging to a sliver of his former morality, established a grim calculus. He would not prey on the innocent. His targets became the dregs of humanity, those whose souls were already blackened by their own heinous deeds: a notorious slaver whose cruelty was legendary, a cabal of corrupt politicians who bled their people dry, a betrayer who had sold comrades to their deaths. He hunted them, learning their wicked secrets, judging them by a code only he now adhered to. He reasoned that these souls, already marinated in greed, malice, and deception, were fitting fuel for his ascent, a way to harness the very essence of corruption for his own ends.

However, the Necronomicon was a treacherous chalice. With each soul he fed into its abyss, with each terrible secret it whispered back to him, the demonic corruption, the price of its knowledge, took root deeper within him. The transformation was not sudden, but a creeping, insidious decay of his humanity, a slow burn that began to remake him from the inside out.

• 1868-1872 - Descent into Darkness
• 1868-1872 - Descent into Darkness

The following years saw Elijah plunge deeper into the Necronomicon's abyss. His obsession became a living entity, guiding his every waking moment. Transformation, once a subtle taint, now accelerated with each foray into shadow magic and the forbidden arts of soul manipulation. He wasn't just seeking power anymore; he was desperately seeking immortality, a way to control life and death itself, to escape the mortal coil he now felt was a fragile prison.

With each sacrifice, another sliver of his empathy, his human connection, eroded, replaced by a cold, calculating pragmatism. Yet, in return, new, terrifying powers bloomed: the ability to command the very blood in a man’s veins, to twist the shadows into sentient weapons, and to subtly bend the fabric of reality to his will, making the improbable probable. His physical form began to betray his infernal bargain. Sometimes, in the reflection of a darkened window, his eyes would gleam with an unnatural, crimson light. The skin on his hands would momentarily seem too pale, the nails too sharp. He became adept at concealing these subtle but horrifying shifts. A Mind Transformed: The burgeoning magical power was not just an external force; it was reshaping his intellect. He started to perceive the world not as a collection of disparate objects and events, but as an intricate tapestry of interconnected energies, a complex equation he could learn to solve. He saw patterns in the flight of birds, in the fall of rain, in the chaotic babble of a marketplace, patterns that hinted at future outcomes, at leverage points invisible to ordinary men. His thinking became razor-sharp, strategic, always several steps ahead.

1875: The corruption was now a raging fire, threatening to consume the last vestiges of Elijah's soul. His mother, her heart breaking but her will iron, enacted the most desperate of measures. Invoking a magic that drew upon the very lifeforce of their ancestral lands, she cast him out, not to some distant corner of the earth, but to a place before place, a time before time: the dawn of creation itself. This was not a void of nothingness, but a roiling, primordial chaos, a canvas where reality had yet to be painted, where the laws of physics were mere suggestions.

Here, physical aging ceased, but his mind, untethered from the linear progression of earthly time, began to expand at an unimaginable rate. What felt like mere decades to the oblivious world, stretched into subjective millennia for Elijah. He witnessed the birth of concepts, the first flickers of cosmic laws coalescing from the infinite potential.

Mental Growth in the Void: In this timeless, formless expanse, there were no books, no artifacts, no external stimuli. Yet, his intellect, far from stagnating, ignited. He turned inward, meditating upon the fundamental structures of magic, reality, and existence itself, dissecting them with a mind unburdened by physical distraction. He learned to internalize knowledge directly from the raw stuff of becoming, to understand the universe not by observation, but by being part of its unfurling. At times, when thought dissolved into light and silence, a shape would reemerge—iron-bound, crescent-marked. The codex. Not literal, but imprinted on his psyche. He couldn’t read it here, yet he always knew it was watching. Waiting.

Mental Ascension: Elijah's mind transcended mere academic brilliance. He began to navigate conceptual realms, grasping the underlying algorithms that would eventually govern all magic and existence. His calculations became flawless, his foresight extending through myriad possibilities with breathtaking precision. He saw the patterns in the primordial chaos, discerning the framework of the nascent universe as an architect might see a cathedral in a block of stone. His problem-solving evolved into an art form, making him a silent, unseen master of strategic foresight.

Understanding the Abyss of Self & Magic: This infinite isolation was also an unsparing mirror. For centuries, he confronted the specter of his past deeds, unraveling his flaws, his guilt, his ambitions with a brutal honesty only such profound solitude could compel. He came to understand the subtle energies that connect all souls, the hidden pathways of will and emotion. This introspection gifted him an unparalleled mastery over his shadow magic, now able to sculpt darkness into extensions of his will; his bloodbending became an art of exquisite control over the very essence of life; and his soul magic, once a tool of sacrifice, transformed into a deeper understanding of spiritual mechanics. He learned to command the soul-bound shadows, remnants of his past sins now forged into loyal, potent servitors. He didn't just understand the Shadow Realm; he could weave its fabric, bending shadows into tangible blades, protective shrouds, or conduits for his power.

• ???? - 1900 - The Return of The Eclipse
• 1900: When the conditions of his exile finally waned, Elijah Morrigan returned to a world that had marched on for a quarter-century without him. He reappeared not in a blast of arcane energy, but as a subtle shift in the shadows of his ancestral home, the air growing colder, the silence more profound. He was fundamentally, irrevocably changed. His mind, honed by eons of contemplation, was a weapon of unimaginable sharpness, his magical abilities amplified to godlike proportions. He was no longer just Elijah Morrigan, the fallen archaeologist. He returned as The Eclipse, a name he chose to signify his unique position between utter darkness and the potential for a new beginning, a living symbol of death and the painful, ongoing process of rebirth. He sought not forgiveness, which he felt he could never earn, but a functional redemption through action, wielding his immense powers with a precision and purpose forged in the crucible of timeless exile.

Master of Reality-Bending: His exile had granted him an intimate understanding of reality's foundational laws, and now he could subtly, or profoundly, rewrite them. He could weave illusions so perfect they were indistinguishable from truth, crafting entire sensory worlds in the minds of others, or alter their perceptions of time and space to his strategic advantage. His mastery over bloodbending was absolute; with a mere gesture, he could animate constructs of solidified blood, quell a raging heart, or trace the vital essence of a hidden foe.

Strategic Manipulator: His intellect, already formidable, now processed information with terrifying speed, allowing him to perceive countless future pathways branching from the smallest decision. He became a grandmaster of the long game, his actions often appearing inscrutable to others, yet each was a meticulously calculated move in a strategy that spanned decades, even centuries. His goals were never born of rash impulse, but executed with the patient, unerring precision of a cosmic clock.

The Shadow King: Elijah was now a sovereign of the penumbra, able to step through shadows as easily as a man might step through a doorway, traversing vast distances or even slipping between the veils of different realities. His command over shadow magic was so profound he could seemingly alter the very balance of light and darkness in a localized area, bending the natural laws to create zones of absolute protection or suffocating manipulation. His soul magic had also evolved; while he no longer sought to sacrifice souls, he could, if necessary, draw upon the ambient spiritual energies of a place or even siphon the power from particularly malevolent entities to fuel his most demanding spells.

• 1905 - Living Lich: Halting the Demonic Corruption

1905: The shadow of his demonic corruption, though held in abeyance by his exile, began to stir anew with his return to the mortal plane. Elijah knew its acceleration was inevitable. He would not allow himself to become the monster he had fought so desperately to escape. The ritual chamber beneath his estate had taken three years to prepare. Every stone had been carved with protective sigils, every measurement calculated to precise astronomical alignments. The air itself seemed heavy with accumulated power, thick enough to taste—copper and ozone and something that made his teeth ache.

Elijah knelt naked at the chamber's center, surrounded by concentric circles of ingredients that had cost him fortunes both financial and moral to acquire. Mercury infused with starlight. Salt crystallized from the tears of the genuinely penitent. His own blood, freely given every dawn for a full year, now blackened with corruption but still pulsing with life.

The Necronomicon lay open like an open wound, its pages fluttering despite the still air. This would be the final time he fed from its well—if he succeeded, it would become irrelevant. If he failed, irrelevant would be all that remained of him.

The codex lay closed at the edge of the circle, untouched since his return. He had taken it from the vault when the house stood silent, the ritual chamber still unfinished, unsure why he kept it. Now he opened it—not to read, but to place it at his side, its crescent eclipse sigil aligned with the ritual’s heart. The mantle had chosen him once. Now he chose it back.

"I bind my soul to flesh," he whispered, the incantation burning his throat as he spoke. "I anchor eternity to mortality. I choose stasis over change, preservation over transformation."

The ritual began simply—a few spoken words, a drop of blood on silver. Then the pain started.

It felt as though every cell in his body was being rewritten with white-hot needles. His nervous system mapped itself in fire, each nerve ending screaming as his soul carved channels into his flesh. The demonic corruption writhed like a living thing, fighting against the binding, trying to complete its work before the ritual could lock it in place.

Through vision blurred with tears of agony, Elijah saw his reflection in the polished obsidian walls—his form flickering between human and demon, caught in a eternal moment of transformation that would now never complete. The Cambion state, half-damned and half-mortal, crystalized into permanence.

The pain lasted exactly forty-seven minutes. When it ended, Elijah collapsed on the stone floor, gasping. His heartbeat had slowed to something barely perceptible—not dead, but no longer truly alive. His reflection in the obsidian showed eyes that held depths they hadn't possessed before, as if his soul had become visible through his pupils. But more importantly, he felt no urge to feed the Necronomicon, no whisper of corruption demanding sacrifice.

For the first time in decades, Elijah Morrigan was truly alone in his own mind.

The changes revealed themselves slowly, like dawn breaking over unfamiliar terrain. Three days after the ritual, Elijah realized he hadn't eaten. Not from lack of appetite—hunger itself had become a distant memory, as foreign as a childhood lullaby. He stood before his bathroom mirror, studying a reflection that looked unchanged yet felt fundamentally different. When he pressed a razor to his throat out of curiosity, the blade met resistance his human flesh had never possessed.

The cut healed before the first drop of blood could fall. A week later, the shadows in his study began responding to his moods. When frustration flared over a particularly stubborn translation, darkness pooled at the corners of his vision, reaching toward the offending text like eager fingers. He didn't command it—didn't even notice until his housekeeper mentioned how the library seemed "unnaturally dim" during his working hours.

The first true test came by accident. While examining a Roman burial urn in his collection, his fingers brushed against bone fragments that had crumbled to dust centuries ago. The fragments stirred. Not dramatically—just a subtle tremor, like metal shavings drawn to a magnet. But the dead thing in the urn recognized him now as something between their world and the living one.

The true nature of his transformation became clear six weeks later, during what should have been a fatal accident. Elijah had been examining a collection of cursed artifacts in his vault when an unstable Etruscan death mask released a concentrated burst of necrotic energy. The blast tore through his chest, leaving a cavity where his heart and lungs should have been. He watched, with detached fascination, as his own blood painted the stone walls in arterial sprays.

Death should have been instantaneous. Instead, he remained conscious, observing his body's impossible response. Where droplets of his blood had fallen, new tissue began to form—not healing, but rebuilding from the cellular level. Each individual cell carried the complete blueprint of his existence, his soul encoded into the very structure of his DNA like a living phylactery.

The regeneration was neither swift nor painless. Over the course of three agonizing hours, Elijah watched his ribcage reconstruct itself bone by bone, his organs weaving back into existence from scattered fragments. Even a single cell clinging to the stone wall sprouted into veins that reached toward his reforming heart. The process was grotesque, beautiful, and absolutely complete. When it ended, he was unchanged—and everything had changed.

When the pain ceased, Elijah reached for the codex. The cover was cool, the crescent eclipsed in shadow. He didn’t open it. He simply placed his hand upon it, and it no longer held him fast. It recognized him. The Eclipse had not returned. It had awakened.: neither the fallen archaeologist who had first opened the Necronomicon, nor the demon he had nearly become.

The Eclipse had been born.

The Eclipse—a being caught in eternal transition, forever balanced between light and shadow, life and death, salvation and damnation. Every cell in his body hummed with the permanence of his bound soul, making him effectively immortal through the most fundamental of bonds. And for the first time since his exile, Elijah smiled.

• 1920 - The Seeker of Balance

1920: 1920: Elijah, now an immortal anachronism, had carefully woven himself into the tapestry of the new century. His true nature remained a closely guarded secret, known to few. He operated from the deepest shadows, an unseen hand guiding events. His vast network of contacts, built over years with meticulous care, fed him information, allowing him to gather ancient, dangerous knowledge before it fell into reckless hands, to track and seal artifacts of immense power, and to subtly manipulate geopolitical currents to ensure that no single faction – be it mundane, magical, mundane, or demonic – could achieve unchecked dominance.

Neutral Observer & Silent Guardian: He became a master of strategic non-intervention and precise, minimal intervention. As The Eclipse, he understood the necessity of both light and darkness, creation and destruction. His goal was not to eradicate one for the other, but to maintain a precarious equilibrium. He might subtly thwart a burgeoning cult dedicated to some forgotten, malevolent deity one week, and the next, quietly undermine an overly zealous order of witch-hunters whose fanaticism threatened to ignite widespread chaos. He actively worked to prevent others from stumbling down the same ruinous path of forbidden knowledge that he himself had once trod, knowing intimately the catastrophic price of such power. Though few, if any, knew of his existence or the true extent of his influence, Elijah Morrigan became a silent, eternal guardian, his actions shaping the unseen currents of history.