Vigor Mortis

Chapter 126: Sleeping Dragon

I hold three Templar souls in my tendrils as their former bodies fall around me, taking in the feeling of Jelisa’s wide-eyed horror. It’s a bit frustrating to look at. What did she expect? Part of me is fucking furious, but mostly I’m just… tired. The whiplash of it, of finally seeing Penelope and my family again, of finally having a fucking home again… and yet now I’m watching the Valkan army come at me. I want to scream, but I don’t have the energy.

Also annoying is the fact that I don’t really have any beef with the Valkan army; they’ve always left me alone and presumably focused on doing useful things like defending the walls, killing Hiverock soldiers when they used to drop, and kicking the shit out of any monsters that emerge from the forest. But if Penelope is right about how much the Church has their claws in everything (and she’s pretty much always right), the army probably has a beef with me. What else is fucking new.

I sent my horde back into the forest as soon as I corralled the Templars I needed to catch, and hopefully that will make people a bit less aggressive in my general direction, but I know full well I’m already fucked. I’ve been seen; all of Skyhope is going to know about the necromancer in the forest by the end of the day. I could absolutely just turn around and leave, but if I do that I’m retreating, showing weakness. It’d be basically inviting them to come after me. So if I want the advantage I need to deal with this problem now, and I’m going to be as subtle as a hammer to the skull.

But before that, I suppose I have the problem of these Templar souls to deal with. I’m tempted to turn Victoria into a Revenant and make her life miserable for a while, but I’m pretty sure if I put her back into her body now she’ll have to suffer through her own corpse leaking out a slow, excruciating miscarriage. I hate this woman, sure, but she doesn’t fucking deserve that. So I eat her instead, and her two Templar friends for good measure. And I gotta say… holy shit it feels good. I didn’t really have much time to appreciate it back in the prison but Templar souls are pretty damn big. The eye of my core splits open, teeth gnashing from within the pupil as I slurp down my former enemies. Eating just one is a fucking feast, and I flex my tendrils with delight as all three of them get absorbed into me, dissolved into raw power and added to my own.

“No,” Jelisa whispers. “Vita, no.”

I glance down at where she’s on her knees, staring in horror at my soul.

“I told you, the Mistwatcher does this,” I grunt at her. “It smashes people. It eats them. If that’s an act of divinity then stay on your knees and pray to me. If not, come on. I have an army to deal with.”

Predictably, she just gives me a stupid look rather than get up or pray, her soul a complete, chaotic mess. Ugh. I guess I broke her, but I’m kind of struggling to give a damn right now. This is, after all, her fucking fault. Just like Penelope said, I handed her everything she needed to screw me on a silver platter and she took it. But unfortunately, I promised to let her live, and I stand by that, so with a sigh I grab her and start dragging her towards the incoming Valkan army. Damn it, I don’t know how to handle this. What would Penelope do in this situation? Besides make me smell like someone shat all over me with onion-and-capsaicin diarrhea to disguise her involvement, I mean. Hmm… probably something dramatic.

Absentmindedly, I glance around and spot a discarded scythe on the ground, no doubt left by one of the fleeing farm workers when my zombies emerged. I suppose I’d be better off with a weapon, huh? I pick it up, feeling the awkward heft and weight, glowering at the blunt far edge and the odd angle of the blade. This is actually kinda garbage, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose. It’s still a somewhat dangerous stick I can use to parry if needed.

I consider snapping the scythe blade off and just keeping the stick, but the more I think about it the more I like keeping the scythe as-is. Not because it’s a useful polearm, but because it’s symbolic. It’s not a weapon, but a worker’s tool. Something used by slaves to do highly dangerous jobs, risking their lives next to the forest just to fucking feed all the thankless shits that engorge themselves on the results. I have endless respect for reapers of grain in much the same way that I, as a hunter, worked as a reaper of souls.

Plus, any who oppose me will be cut through as easily as wheat. I quickly spin the scythe once, getting a feel for it as I approach the army with Jelisa in my other hand. It’s not elegant, but it’s heavy and sharp and I have strength to spare. It will do.

Now then, let’s see… the army itself doesn’t really seem particularly dangerous. There are… what, maybe a couple hundred people total coming for me, right now? All of them feel weak compared to the Templars I’ve been dealing with lately, which makes sense; Templars often poach powerful people out of the army to fill their ranks. There are a few impressive people I sense, a couple even at the lower end of the High Templar power scale, but after engorging myself on a number of extremely powerful souls in the prison I think I can still yank them. The question will be ‘can I get close’ and the answer is… well, we’ll see. If I’m lucky this won’t even be a fight. I don’t expect to be lucky, but even I sometimes catch a break. At least I don’t feel Galdra coming after me yet.

The Valkan army is trained to fight with spears and shields, armored in thick-quilted gambesons with chitin breastplates, faulds, and greaves. Lighter and cheaper than Templar full-plate, it still probably does the trick against normal weapons but I don’t really know and don’t really need to know. I pull out an old friend, giving her a thankful squeeze as I lodge her inside my new scythe.

“Hey, Norah,” I whisper to her, and her soul hums with love. “I’m going to try to talk my way out of this one. But I’m counting on you if I fuck up again, okay?”

I feel Jelisa hear our conversation, one I didn’t really intend for her ears. She snaps back to herself and struggles to get to her feet as I continue to tug her along. I yank her upwards and let go when she catches her balance, curling a tentacle around her soul like a hook to guide her instead. She quickly learns to match my pace.

Eventually, we stop and I let the army march their formation the rest of the way to me. I don’t want to get too far from the forest in case I need to beat a hasty retreat, though I amusingly note some of the souls in the army seem to think I’m making a power move by forcing them to come to me. About fifty yards out, one of them finally has a danger sense long enough to feel me, and immediately advises an emergency halt. The officers listen, and the army stops.

I grin. They aren’t totally incompetent, at least.

“Identify yourself!” someone from the army calls at me, their voice amplified with kynamancy. “Are you controlling the swarm of undead witnessed from the walls?”

“I am,” I call back, twisting my tendrils into a spell to amplify my voice as well. Shit, I didn’t really think about what to say here. “…Sorry for the scare?”

They’re not quite sure what to make of that, which I guess is kind of a win. What did Penelope say? Putting people off-balance is a good way to start challenging preconceptions?

“Necromancy is illegal on Valkan soil!” the guy speaking for the army eventually shouts back.

“Oh, my bad!” I respond. “Is it okay if I just leave, then?”

Silence. Not even the local wildlife makes a peep, though that’s increasingly normal around me and my zombie army.

“I mean it, I’ll just go,” I repeat. “I have no qualms with Valka or its army.”

“You murdered three people, and you practice forbidden soul magic,” the army guy states. “We cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave.”

“Ah, well, that’s going to be a problem for you then,” I answer. “Because you can’t stop me from leaving. Inquisitor, if you would?”

I turn to Jelisaveta, who is giving me almost as mortified a look as she gave me after I murdered all her co-workers at the prospect of speaking publicly on my behalf. I extend my sound-amplification spell over her anyway, which causes her to immediately cover her ears. I’m sure she can hear regardless.

“Inquisitor Jelisaveta, in your experience being my warden and subsequently my prisoner, what will happen if this detachment of the Valkan army fights me?”

She glances to the army, then back to me. Then she clears her throat and winces at the sound of it.

“I… believe it would be a mistake,” Jelisa says, and I make sure her voice carries far, very far. Enough to make sure the army hears and more. “I know the military protocol for necromancers ties your hands here, officers. But I urge you, do not treat this woman as a dangerous learned mage. Treat her as you would a sated dragon, and leave her be.”

“Now I’m releasing her to you,” I announce, to Jelisa’s immediate surprise. “I’m not a fucking cognimancer and I haven’t messed with her head. Do whatever you need to do to prove it, then listen to her advice.”

I push Jelisa forward, since she seems a bit too confused to do it on her own. What, does she think I want to keep her after that stunt? Fuck no, I don’t want to see her face again. Because I know exactly what’s going to happen now, don’t I? If they’re smart they’re going to send Galdra after me, and if they’re dumb I’m about to make a whole lot of corpses. There’s no fucking way they agree to this.

They do, at least, allow Jelisa to cross the distance between us, then immediately cuff and gag her in case she’s not actually a prisoner, which I guess is pretty sensible considering I’m a known animancer. Still no Templar response either, which is weird. Galdra must be on the other side of the city, but what about all the other Templars that should be mobilizing at the report of a hostile necromancer? Not that I’m hostile, per se, but… you know.

Anyway, it looks like their tactical officers are going to come after me now that the ‘hostage’ is safe. Fucking called it. I sigh, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that they’re only sending the elites and pulling back the normal troops. Should I just rush over to them and start killing people to make a point? On one hand, I don’t want to because I don’t want to kill anyone that’s not a threat. On the other hand, I have a very shitty record with mercy and it might be time to just let loose on some bitches.

But again, I’m just… tired. I struggle to give much of a fuck as the three strongest tactical officers start moving to surround me. I raise an eyebrow at the closest one, since I’m pretty sure I recognize him.

“Remus?” I drawl. “Is that you?”

“…Wait,” he mutters, finally placing my voice. “Vita?”

“Yep,” I grunt. “How have you been, boss?”

The other two tactical officers seem to get a bit nervous about this casual banter as they somewhat uselessly move in a wide circle around me. One of them starts creeping closer, which… is going to be amusing, I guess.

“I… have been well enough, I suppose,” Remus answers hesitantly, the air growing thick with mana as he draws his sword. “After Litia I was sentenced to serve as a slave in the army for three years, but it’s mostly just the same work as before. I follow orders and kill monsters, so it’s rather my forte.”

“Cool. I see they gave you that sword back.”

“I suppose I’m still considered its most skilled wielder, even after all these years,” he shrugs.

“Mmm,” I acknowledge. “You know, I was promised a reward for the whole mess at Litia and I never fucking got it. So I think I’ll take the sword.”

His face falls at that, immediately getting serious.

“I’m afraid I can’t part with it. You were such a promising hunter, Vita. When and why did you turn to animancy?”

“I was always a necromancer,” I answer blandly. “Just never by choice. I’m some kind of human experiment or Watcher-kin or some shit. I just had a talent I needed to use, and found the best place for it: protecting the city. And you know, I can still do that.”

“I’m afraid that’s not my call to make,” my former teacher answers noncommittally.

“But you wouldn’t make the call even if you could,” I say for him, and it’s not a question. “Well then, you can thank my daughter, because a promise to let her meet you again is the only reason you’re going to walk away alive.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You have a daughter?”

“Adoption runs in the family,” I say simply, and immediately get attacked by his allies.

Well, for a generous interpretation of ‘attacked,’ anyway. One of the tactical officers tries to cast something on me rather than at me, which is an important distinction because my magic resistance is absolutely bonkers. With what is now a pretty basic churning of mana in my body, I can obliterate any foreign spells that try to manifest inside me.

That’s got nothing on the other guy, though. He dashes forward to fight me in melee, so I just yoink him and step out of the way as his corpse faceplants, skidding to a stop at my feet.

“She’s excited to see you,” I continue, “so I hope we can meet up again sometime.”

Remus doesn’t continue the banter, responding only with a slash to the air that sends a blade of destructive aeromancy my way. I’ve seen this before, a lifetime ago when we fought the burrow hounds. That attack isn’t just a cutting technique; it exploded on impact and annihilated countless numbers of the little monsters. I’m not going to take my chances with it; I dodge to the side, letting the attack scream past me and explode into the forest. I grit my teeth as I feel a number of zombies shatter, despite being behind a few lines of trees. I don’t have time to be frustrated, though, as before my first dodge is even finished another wind blade is flying at my head. Shit, I don’t have time to dodge! I cover my face and the impact smashes into me, Norah’s talent meeting the magical cutting edge with a furious roar. My Revenant and friend is stronger, but the projectile still detonates with a brutal amount of force, sending me flying through the air—an easy target for follow-ups.

I thrust mana into my tendrils and rapidly weave the most basic spell I know, pumping it with range and power. A retina-scalding flash of light burns in front of Remus’ face for a fraction of a second, forcing him on the defensive long enough for me to safely land and rush forward to make up lost ground. Norah’s reinforcement talent protects me from cuts and stabs, but absorbing the shock of landing after being flung thirty feet through the air is all me. Normally, when people talk about the soul empowering the body, they apparently are talking about instinctive use of enhancer abilities. Something about flesh-anima saturation that the body needs to adapt to in order to not injure itself. What they don’t mean is having a strong soul physically alters the structure of your body to be superhuman, but that’s what I thought they meant and that’s what’s been happening to me. I’m apparently just a well of natural biomancy in the same way that I’m a well of natural necromancy. The problem is that I can’t control any of it, so I get stupid shit like thigh-eyes. But I guess it’s not like I know what I’d want to use it for beyond ‘being stronger’ in the first place.

Another wind-strike smashes me in the face and I remember that combat probably isn’t the best time to muse about this. The blade of air cuts me to the bone, gets blocked by my skull and then literally explodes in my face, sending a layer of my skin, blood, and muscle showering in every direction as I’m blasted heels-over-head through the air once more. Branches of soul snake up through my face to stymie the blood flow, holding together the side of my head that’s now little more than a dripping, gore-covered skull. I’m down one eye, and unfortunately it’s not the one in my temple. Ugh, my depth perception is all sideways now. I detonate shockwaves of kynamancy behind me to try and arrest my momentum in the air, but I still slam into the ground and bounce before I manage to get to my feet, barely jumping out of the way of another attack.

“Ow,” I grunt.

Ever the professional, Remus doesn’t respond or hesitate as he continues to send more slashes my way, though at this point I’m far enough away from him that they’re relatively easy to dodge. Which… isn’t actually good, since I need to be close in order to do any real damage to him. I prep some of the projectile-shards I used back in the prison and toss them his way. Lacking soul sight he can’t see them, but he does seem to feel them with his danger sense despite the blaring alarm that is me ringing in his metaphorical ears. He dodges blind, which surprisingly works, but still forces him to slow down his offense a little. I’ll need a bit more than this, though. Fortunately, I’ve collected a new kind of projectile.

“Katzels and Flier Squad B, attack my target!”

Risen explode from the forest at my command, one group sleek and low to the ground while the other ascends high to attack from above. These undead might be fast enough to dodge an air strike or two, but in the more likely event that they don’t they’re still at least taking a few attacks in my place. Unfortunately, Remus just continues to focus on me while the other tactical officer—the one I had been ignoring because his talent doesn’t work on me—swaps focus to slaughtering my undead, and he’s good at it.

The man is as dangerous as Altrix: one look at his target and it just implodes, crushed into a tiny, wet ball of dead flesh in the blink of an eye. Both of my squads are going to be destroyed long before they reach Remus. With a resigned sigh, I start throwing more gnashing shards at my old teacher to distract him (‘gnashing shards’ are the name I decided for the hungry little buggers) as I alter course towards Mr. Implodey.

It’s much easier to avoid Remus’ projectiles when I’m not trying to run towards him, so I start making ground a lot faster. Tossing a bunch of shards his way helps as well, but I hate doing it. It feels like such a waste to toss bits of my own soul at him as nothing more than a distraction. I can’t even retrieve them if they miss; they’ll probably just keep flying until the Mistwatcher nabs them. Once I’m almost in range to attack Mr. Implodey, though, Remus decides to start taking hits in order to keep me back.

And I am entirely okay with that.

Remus winces in pain as a pair of my gnashing shards latch onto his soul and start slowly trying to chew their way through him. We trade a few more projectiles this way, and I come out on top, barely getting close enough to grab and yank out the soul of Mr. Implodey. Then, sensing opportunity, I quickly shard his soul and put it back in.

“If Remus doesn’t put down his sword and surrender in the next ten seconds,” I order, making sure I’m loud enough for everyone to hear, “kill everyone you see.”

Then my brand new Revenant explodes, Remus having tossed a wind strike our way before I even finished talking. Man, what a dick. His ally’s soul is irrevocably shattered, rapidly disintegrating into dust as Norah was apparently too busy protecting me to make the corpse invulnerable.

“Hey, so fun fact!” I shout at him. “The Mistwatcher can’t collect the souls from destroyed Revenants!”

I smirk as I feel that shake him, using the opening to get closer. Thanks to the shards I’ve lodged in his soul he’s starting to slow down, all that power slowly leaking away and facing the limits of the sixty-year-old body it’s trapped in. Soon, I’m in range to soul-yoink, but I don’t want to kill him so I just grab and twist, trying to debilitate from raw pain. It’s not as effective as it sometimes is, but I manage to slip into a range where he can’t use that damn wind blast without catching himself in the explosion. His enchanted sword has more than one trick to it, though.

A sharpness enchantment. An aerodynamics enchantment. A momentum enchantment. Remus’ blade is, to my understanding, a Valkan heirloom wrought from the very meteor that created Skyhope Crater. It was designed explicitly to kill monsters of legend, beasts with scales harder than steel and magic beyond mortal capacity. When the blade strikes, it strikes with the weight of a nation behind it, carving through whatever stands in its way.

Unless, of course, that thing is Norah.

My deceased friend laughs in a melody only I can hear, pride flaring as I use her to parry a legendary royal armament. I redirect as much of the force of the blow as I can, but still stagger under the impact enough for Remus to follow up. He’s fucking fast, still faster than me after all this time. I can follow his movements, but my body still can’t keep up.

My soul can. Tendrils move to intercept the blade, and though they cannot touch it they can pour my mana into the depths of the steel. It happily accepts me, yanking me down into it like I’m falling from a cliff. The Watcher mana inside fights and obliterates me, but I sacrifice more of my essence to temporarily overpower it, the blade singing blue for a beautiful moment. I feel it trying to pull me through its engraved pathways, twist me into spells and use me to bring its carved will onto the world, but I resist. So, for a crucial moment, its enchantments are gone. It’s just a lump of metal.

Remus is startled as, before impact, his sword suddenly feels heavier yet swings weaker. His attack catches me on the exposed cheekbone of my face, still a heavy blow but barely chipping bone. While he’s still surprised, I smash Norah’s handle through his helmet.

The fight is over quickly after that. I knock him to the ground and wrest the blade from his hands, drooling internally over the feast. He tries to keep striking at me, punching and kicking to the limited extent he can manage it from the ground, but it’s mostly just annoying.

“I’m going to break your limbs now,” I inform him, and then I start stomping.

He finally, finally stops moving after I remove the option.

“You’re annoyingly persistent,” I grumble, pulling the gnashing shards from his soul to reabsorb them. They’re quite delicious, having bloated themselves on bits of Remus.

“You don’t stop attacking a monster until the end,” he chokes out. “Didn’t I teach you that?”

I snort.

“Yet what a shitty mentor you turned out to be,” I complain. “You just kicked my ass around for a few weeks, needed to get yourself saved, and then tried and failed to kill me. I should have stuck to being a thief; at least then I could have hung out more with Lyn.”

Well, now that the tac-offs are taken care of, the small group sent out to deal with me is retreating back to the walls while reinforcements muster. Including, I now notice, Galdra and other Templars. That’s my cue to leave, I guess, but I need to decide what to do with this sword.

On one hand, I want to keep it because it’s powerful as fuck and generally really cool. It has a potent ranged attack that I could conceivably use to supplement my distance weakness, assuming I actually learn how to use it well. I don’t have any two-handed sword training at all, but I could certainly get some. On the other hand, though… this is a national treasure. If I just run off with it, people are absolutely going to come after me to get it back. So instead, perhaps I can be a bit more… dramatic.

I plant Norah into the ground, then move her out of the scythe and into one of my gloves so I can safely grip the blade. Pouring my mana back into its depths, I remove its enchantments so they don’t cause any chaos effects while I flex my limbs and start to bend the blade. It actually bends a lot more than I expected; chitin blades tend to snap long before they get the kind of bend I’m putting in this thing. Still, it’s eventually too much for the poor sword, and Remus’ anguish at watching its destruction is almost as loud as the metallic snap as I break it in half.

“I’m leaving,” I announce, projecting the sound as loud as I’m able. “I don’t want to fight. So listen to wisdom and just let sleeping dragons lie.”

I turn away, biting off a chunk of the sword so my soul can lap it up.

“Come after me again,” I promise, “and it’s war.”