Vigor Mortis

Chapter 179: Deals with Devils

I guess I’m going to be adding ‘optimize Penelope’s teleportation spell’ to my post-patricide to-do list. How can she use this all the time and not want to vomit? …No, wait, master biomancer. Stupid question on my part.

That’s about all the thinking I get to do before I’m not where I was before, instead staring down Ars with a follow-up teleport at the ready. I don’t have time to look at my surroundings, I have to act immediately. He’s close, well within both mana-field and soul-yoink range. I attempt both immediately, but he teleports. That’s both mildly annoying and entirely expected. I teleport after him and go for the same tactic, the mana channeled in his soul now completely expended. I know it won’t be for more than a second or two, if that, but that’s all the time I need. I reach for him, ignoring the smug look on his face that I don’t really register before my entire world turns into pain.

I scream, my mind blinded by raw agony. Ars is right next to me, he’s right there, but I can’t move, I can’t even think! What is happening!? Fuck, fuck, fuck, no! I refuse to get put at this bastard’s mercy! I pull as much mana as I can up through my connection, and the screaming pain immediately multiplies as I set off a modest explosion inside my own body. I cough, wet and painful, blood spraying out of the breathing vents on my sides. He’s… he’s pumping Watcher mana into my body somehow. No wonder everything hurts so damn much!

“Ooh, that doesn’t look good,” Ars says, wincing as my blood splatters on the floor. “Don’t go killing yourself, now. I don’t think your soul could survive without a vessel in the current environment.”

Oh, you’ve got to be… this literal motherfucker played me! He teleported directly into a trap set for me! I do everything I can to ignore the pain, looking around the room and seeing all the metal, all the insane enchantments which concentrate absurd quantities of Mistwatcher mana right into this spot. It’s forcing its way in, ravaging my soul… I have to hide. I have to get into my mana tunnel. The Watcher mana might try to follow, but I’ll be able to hold it off a lot more easily in such a narrow passageway. Its flow will be the same as mine. It’ll hurt, but I can do it. Assuming I can focus through this pain long enough to do anything.

Taking wet, ragged breaths, I flee deeper inside myself, but the pain isn’t going away. It’s slow, so slow, because I have to retract all the anima threads I’ve grown throughout the inside of my body, feeling them excruciatingly slither around my organs in reverse, sucked into my tunnel as little strings of torment. The mana keeps worming itself deeper inside me, filling my body, the pressure mounting further and further. Ars watches inquisitively as I alternate between screaming and choking on blood, my soul fleeing deeper and deeper into another dimension, the metal around me pushing that awful, horrible, piss-colored mana down the path to follow me, clogging the channel between the physical and the spiritual, getting more and more in the way until suddenly—

—

The pain stops, and I can no longer feel my soul.

—

The pain rages, and I can no longer feel my body.

—

I gasp in shock, though the intake of air quickly turns into another coughing fit thanks to the quickly-healing damage to my lungs. My superior Athanatos biology isn’t going to drown itself just because of a little airway bleeding, though my situation definitely isn’t what I would call ‘favorable.’ I underestimated the most dangerous man on The Plentiful Wood, and I’m paying for it. I have to say, the situation feels familiar.

I start to stand up, not willing to remain on my hands and knees any longer than necessary. My attempt at bravado isn’t all that effective, however, considering the near-panicked shaking in my limbs. Thousands and thousands of souls, gone from my senses in an instant. Every movement of mana is now invisible. I try to move my tendrils, and they don’t respond to me. They aren’t here. I have been rendered impotent on the most fundamental level possible. I have lost access to myself.

Everything is so quiet, so small. I’m used to having a constant, massive stream of information coming from everyone around me for miles, and now all of a sudden… nothing. The silence has the weight of dread behind it, a constant reminder that no matter how much I try to reach out, try to feel the souls around me, I can’t. I’m weak, too, reduced to my baseline strength without anima threads to back me up. Not to mention the fact that, without a soul, I can’t weave the art.

…How am I even alive? Severing the soul-body connection should have killed this body via brain death, but my brain obviously still works. My best guess—just to pull a theory out of my ass, since I really don’t know—is that the Mistwatcher mana is blocking my soul-brain connection, since that would normally use my mana to function, but the actual anima construct which forms the connection itself is undamaged. That’s about the only thing that makes sense, I suppose.

If only understanding the problem meant I could do anything about it.

…I refuse to despair, though. I’m restricted to physicality. The absolute worst situation for a War Queen to be in, sure, but it doesn’t mean I’m completely powerless. We train for this kind of thing. I quickly take stock of my surroundings: I’m in a cramped cell that Ars exited and locked up while I was busy screaming and seizing on the ground. I can see the metal enchantments that concentrate obscene amounts of mana into the cell and forcibly push it into my body, but I can’t reach them. The rest of the room has similar spells, each with what appear to be different custom enchantments. It’s honestly quite impressive; Ars has clearly prepared a lot in the handful of months he’s had, it’s honestly kind of mind-boggling… until I remember he has the resources and manpower of a literal nation at his beck and call.

Still, if I’m right this means he prepared a custom trap room for who even knows how many people. Probably at least me, Penelope, and the High Templars? Hmm… no, probably not Penelope. He wouldn’t have known she was a threat until the last couple weeks or so, during which Penelope knew about and was actively thwarting Ars’ self-propagating talent, and even then I’d be surprised if he knew enough about what she was capable of to prepare a specific set of counters to her. I don’t even know enough about what Penelope is capable of to prepare a specific set of counters to her.

Shame that we double-teleported, so she won’t be able to track us here. I might be fucked.

—

I’m absolutely fucked. The torrent of mana constantly assaulting me is so relentless it has cut off access to my own damn body. I can plug the hole well enough, but I can’t push back, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. I might already be dead, my body killed when my soul lost contact with it and my soul unable to return to the material plane before I eventually run out of me to trade away to stem the tide of Mistwatcher mana. I’m not exactly in danger of that happening any time soon; my mana channel is so thin that I’m basically trying to drink a lake through a straw. Unless I can get back to the meat dimension, though, I’m pretty much completely impotent.

But just ‘pretty much.’ There’s still one thing I can do.

Hey Nawra, I poke my big sister. I could use some advice.

—

“I’m honestly not sure what to say,” Ars muses, rubbing his chin in thought.

He looks a lot better than he did the last time I saw him, I’ll give him that. I mean, his soul doesn’t, not from what I saw of it, but his body sure does. He reminds me a bit of Penelope’s old fiancé, tall and sharp in that serious way older men tend to get when they start thinking about everything in terms of asset and cost. Narrowed eyes stare down at me past a hooked nose, calculations churning behind them. His short black hair isn’t graying yet, though it looks like he’s one bad day away from his first treacherous strand. That or he dyes it. No, wait, of course he doesn’t dye it. He obviously has someone else dye it.

“You could start with hello,” I quip, trying to buy myself time to think.

“Ah, of course, how rude of me,” he smirks, nodding in my direction. “It’s good to see you again after so long, Vita. I always knew the prodigal daughter would return.”

“Malrosa,” I correct, my mouth running somewhat on autopilot as I try to calculate the odds of getting him close enough to reach through the bars and break his neck. Would that even help, though? Without my soul, I can’t kill his soul.

“Pardon?” he asks.

“My name is Malrosa,” I say. “Or… I guess it’s the name I prefer right now. I kinda merged with Vita a little, and… yeah. It’s a bit weird.”

“Oh, interesting!” Ars says, grinning happily. “You know, I generally opt to groom my bodies into perfect loyalty before implanting myself in them. Generally prevents that sort of dissonance when the subject has every desire and intention to let themselves melt away on your behalf.”

Well. That’s… good to know. And also horrifying.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer, glad I don’t have to fake a facial expression around the crazy human. I would not succeed.

“See that you do!” he chuckles. “Now then, onto business. You wouldn’t happen to know where your soul has gone, would you?”

So he doesn’t know? Did he predict the debilitating pain but not the separation?

“Feel free to come closer and find out,” I taunt, not because there’s anything I can do if he does, but because I want him to think there is.

“Oh, no thank you,” he declines politely. “I can perform all the investigations I require from a distance.”

Well, fuck. I hope my soul is doing better than I am, because I have no idea what I should do next.

—

So basically, I don’t really know what to do next, I admit. I’ve never really played around much on this side of things. Can we even cast spells in this universe?

Oh, certainly, Nawra confirms. They just can’t really affect the other universe. Well… I suppose there’s likely some way to cast a spell here and have it affect the world over there, but it would likely be prohibitively expensive. Establishing mana channels is work enough.

What if I cast a spell inside a mana channel? I ask.

Is your tunnel thick enough to fit a complete spell formation? Nawra asks.

Well, no, I admit.

There’s your answer, then. Generally speaking though, it still doesn’t work. But your situation is… a bit strange, I’ll admit.At the very least, I am confident that your body is still alive.

Why’s that? I ask.

Well, you said your soul is inside your mana channel, yes? she asks. If that’s the case, what is your mana channel connected to on the other end?

Oh, duh, it has to be my brain. The tunnel needs an anchor, and since it can’t anchor to my soul while my soul is inside it…

Exactly, Nawra confirms. That brain of yours might even still be conscious, working to solve the problem over on its end. I don’t envy the experience, I can tell you that much.

Ugh, it’d be like back before I hatched, I grumble. Awful. Anyway, though, any advice on how to get out of this mess?

Mmm. Well. Whatever you do, don’t let big brother get its mana any deeper into your channel, Nawra insists. If he notices what’s going on, we’re both dead.

I will do everything in my power to prevent that,I assure her.

Good. For obvious reasons, I wouldn’t be able to allow such a situation. Now in terms of reconnecting with your body, there are a few things I can do to help out, but honestly that’s not all that important of a problem right now anyway.

Uh, it isn’t? I ask. Why not?

Because you’ve been disconnected from your brain, Vita, Nawra answers patiently. Your soul probably isn’t set up to handle that for very long, so chances are you’ll rapidly degrade to a feral state within a few minutes.

Oh. Yeah. That sounds important.

What should I do?

Give me access to your soul, dearest, Nawra writes. I’ll take care of everything for you.

…Uh. Well. If that’s not the most obvious red flag I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is.

—

“So I take it that your plan involves mind controlling me, then,” I comment, ignoring my urge to pace since I don’t want to put any unneeded strain on my wounds.

“What?” Ars asks, blinking owlishly at me as if he’d forgotten I was here. The dude just started casting something, and without my mana sight I’m not really confident I can figure out what it is. “Oh. No. Well, if necessary, I suppose. I don’t actually have any idea how to influence your mind with animancy, and while I intend to rectify that gap of knowledge it isn’t because I wish to influence your soul. You’re a unique and valuable specimen, after all.”

“Forgive my skepticism, but I have a little difficulty believing that since you clearly intend to mind control everyone else on the entire island.”

“Everyone else on the island is a largely unmodified human being, which has long since ceased to be a relevant resource,” Ars explains, somewhat tiredly. “You, on the other hand, are the result of years of tireless research and irreplaceable materials. Or at least irreplaceable until I finish my studies on you, hopefully.”

“I’m flattered,” I answer tonelessly, which Ars responds to with a chuckle. “What materials are those, exactly?”

“Your anima structure, obviously,” he answers. “I’m skilled, certainly, but not skilled enough to craft you from scratch. Your soul is a mix between functions I designed for testing purposes and pre-existing soul strata far beyond my level of expertise. It took quite a few tries to get you functional, you know. I think it was… I don’t know. A dozen attempts before you’d stop killing your vessel the moment I integrated you?”

I grimace.

“…Are you implying that you caused a dozen human children to be stillborn while trying to create me?” I ask.

Ars raises an eyebrow at me.

“What should I have used? Rats? Would you have rather been an animal?”

I don’t really have a response to that. Come on, Malrosa! You need to stop being freaked out by all these man-made horrors unfortunately within your comprehension and plot a way to escape this cage already!

“I was High Inquisitor, you know,” Ars comments idly as he returns to his spellcraft. “I’m fully cognizant of the amount of sin I get up to on a daily basis. I’ve chosen this path in spite of that, but I’m certainly aware. I do what I do for a reason.”

“And what reason might that be?” I ask, judging myself healed enough to step forwards and test the bars of the cage. There’s no way a human would be able to budge them, but I am an Athanatos, one enhanced beyond our usual baseline of strength at that. He’d know I have enhanced strength from our escape of Site 4, but there’s no way he’d know how enhanced.

If I can keep him talking and get him distracted enough, I might have a chance. The moment I’m out of this damn cell, the instant I’m no longer being glutted with Watcher mana, he’s mine.

“Knowledge, of course,” Ars answers. “Surely you’ve noticed that the nature of our world is that of a slaughterhouse. The teachings of the Church of the Mistwatcher are nothing but ancient superstition that was allowed to fester and evolve into dogma, one that strangles people into ignorance and weakness.”

“Well, we can certainly agree that the Church is bullshit,” I allow. “I just get a little lost during the steps between that revelation and the ‘therefore we should mind control everyone in the world’ bit.”

“Do you now? That’s interesting, coming from a member of your current species. Malrosa, you said your name was now? Don’t you have an entire mind-controlled working class? Can you honestly say that’s any different?”

“Yes!” I insist.

—

Uh, no, I message Nawra. Sorry, I don’t mean any offense, but… I don’t know you that well, and I’m not comfortable letting you play around with my… me.

She sends me a mix of amusement and impatience.

Under any other circumstances, I’d call that quite a sensible philosophy, Nawra assures me. But I promise you, sister, that I am not attempting to take advantage of your weakness, I am trying to save you from it. And not in that… euphemistic sort of way in which one saves someone from the weakness of free will or somesuch. Although that is a fun little trick.

Okay, you were starting to convince me until that last sentence there, I hedge.

Her amusement becomes exasperation.

Vita. I’m serious. You are most likely dying. Please let me help, you are important to me both personally and as an asset to my plans.

Well now you sound like my girlfriend, I grumble. Are you sure I’m dying? I feel normal, and as best I can tell I’m still normal. Plus, my soul has all this structure in it I use to create long-lasting sapient undead that degrade really, really slowly. It doesn’t really make sense that I’d degrade faster than that.

Now she’s sending curiosity, and her concern has somewhat abated. Huh.

That’s very interesting, Nawra admits. I don’t have anything like that. Have you ever been undead before?

Yeah, I confirm.

Did you start to lose yourself at all during that experience?

Oh, shoot. I did, didn’t I? I went all feral on everyone after Lark chopped my head in half.

…Okay, yeah, I did, I admit. But that’s so weird!

Get over here and we’ll figure it out together, Nawra insists. Your soul is already in your mana tunnel, so you may as well bring it all the way into this dimension.

Okay, okay, I acquiesce. I’m gonna be mad if you try to mind control me, though.

Well, that’s the neat part about mind control: you actually won’t be!

Oh, ha ha.

I swim down my infinite tunnel, getting to my destination in no time at all. It’s a tight squeeze to fit my soul in here in the first place, so when I emerge from the other side and finally have room to stretch my tentacles again, it’s quite the relief. I get a strange and thankfully brief self-cannibalistic urge as my soul enters my mana sea, but I ignore it. I do feel weirdly naked, though. On a whim, I craft a faux body out of mana—it’s not really a body in any sense of the word, it’s just my old human form sculpted from mana, still as intangible as an illusion. Still, it’s comfier than just floating around without anything to act as protection, even if that protection is literally just an act.

I quickly relocate myself to the edge of my mana sea, where my border with Nawra rests. She emotes a bit of surprise and interest when she sees me and my faux body, so I give her a little wave and she absolutely erupts with delight.

Well aren’t you a cute little thing! she coos. Oh my goodness gracious, is that what you look like? Such a small little human? If we had flesh in here I’d pinch your adorable cheeks so hard!

It’s what I used to look like, I tell her. My body’s pretty different right now, but this one was my body for most of my life, so… I guess it’s what came to mind?

Well Vita, we absolutely have to meet in person soon, I’d love to see you however you look. But let’s see about helping you survive until then, yes? Hmm… you’re right. You do have parts of your soul dedicated towards preventing disembodied anima degeneration. Are they just… not hooked up? Oh goodness, they aren’t! Why are… ah. Because they’re inexorably linked to a control system. Well darling, that’s an easy enough fix. May I do the honors, or would you prefer I show you the constructs so you can craft them yourself?

Well… that’s a difficult question. I’m not honestly sure I have the animancy knowledge to know what she’s doing to me either way. She could be tricking me and I’d have no idea. She probably is. Can I take the risk? Why should I take the risk? Is there even anything wrong with me?

It’s already starting, Vita, Nawra says. Please decide quickly.

She forms a small, imperfect replica-diagram of my soul with her own mana, pointing to and emphasizing various parts of it.

This is the part that’s currently degrading, she points out. It’s right next to the part that’s supposed to connect with your brain, but that bit is already gone so it’s spreading from there. This is an emotional center, I think. If I’m right you’ll start feeling more and more aggressive, until eventually you lose the capacity for rational thought, consume your own soul, and die.

I bristle at that. It’s plausible, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t bullshit. I’m already feeling aggressive, but why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been torn in two by the bastard to end all bastards, and now I’m being coerced into letting a powerful animancer I barely know get access to my soul. She probably just said that because she can feel that I’m getting angrier and more suspicious, and is trying to make me get suspicious of my suspicion. All so she can twist me into something else, someone else. She’s probably the only person in the world who can. She’s probably way more dangerous than Ars. I shouldn’t be asking her for help, I should be figuring out a way to kill her, too!

I am starting to feel as though you’re not listening to me, Nawra muses.

Fuck you, I write furiously.

Ah, that would explain it, she answers. Alright, well, I suppose your consent was optional the moment you got this close. Sorry, but you’ll thank me later!

—

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” Ars muses.

“You’re mind controlling hundreds of thousands of people without their consent!” I protest.

“Whereas you mind control hundreds of thousands of people that aren’t capable of giving consent,” Ars scoffs. “This is generally considered to be comparatively egregious.”

“There is a huge difference between mind controlling someone and simply creating a person. Twisting an already established individual into something else is morally wrong, but workers and soldiers aren’t being twisted. They’re born that way, their manufactured souls are what they are from the start. Why would designed soul conception be more evil than randomized soul conception? The implication is absurd. The randomization process results in far more misfortune, suffering, and evil than designed individuals.”

“What a remarkably twisted outlook,” Ars muses. “The lengths people go to deliver their minds from the idea that they might be doing evil has always been an interest of mine. It’s fascinating.”

“I’m not speaking in terms of theory,” I sneer at him. “My society is demonstrably better than yours, asshole.”

“And so you stand as the righteous hero, incapable of fault, and I lay low as the foul villain, incapable of righteousness. I know how it goes. I was just hoping for a bit more self-awareness from my own daughter.”

“I have good reasons to disagree with you,” I protest. “You can’t just say that I lack self-awareness because you think I’m wrong. I know I’m no hero. When I turn people into Revenants, that’s exactly what I’m calling you out for. And frankly, I’ve been planning to keep doing that anyway.”

He smiles at that, nodding.

“Ah! Well, do forgive me, then. I suppose we’re not as different as I feared. Which is fortunate, because the current state of affairs is… rather frustrating.”

He taps his chin, seeming to look at something that I can’t see. The results of a spell, maybe.

“I still can’t find you,” he admits. “You seem to be completely soulless, and yet your brain-soul pathway is still intact. It just… leads nowhere.”

“It’s all this Watcher mana in the air,” I tell him frankly, since he’s probably already guessed that. “It’s stifling me.”

“And yet, I suspect it’s also what is preventing you from assassinating me,” Ars sighs. “It’s quite a pickle. Is there any way I could convince you to simply… not assassinate me? I need to continue my studies, and your cooperation would be beneficial.”

Hmm. That’s… intriguing. An offer of truce, is it? I feel like I’m pretty terrible in terms of negotiating but… actually, you know what? No! I’m not terrible at negotiating! I’m not terrible at talking! Vita is, the Lich is, but I don’t even have a soul right now! I’m not a Lich, though I’m arguably not even an Athanatos either. I can’t sense his emotions or read his mind. I’m just Malrosa. And I can figure this out.

“Well, the whole reason we came after you is because of your infectious talent,” I tell him. “It was pretty directly interfering with my own conquest plans.”

“Your conquest plans, you say?” Ars smiles. “Making a nation of your own, are you?”

“One without the Church in power,” I confirm, “and without the ban on Pn—on animancy.”

Ars takes a step—just a single step—towards the cell.

“I’m listening.”

—

I’m not listening to this shit. I project raw fury, an instinct to roar and hiss smothered by my lack of body to do so with. She thinks she can just push me around!? Me!?

Nawra calmly shapes a larger mass of mana than I’ve ever been able to bring into the world at one time before and turns it all into a single spell. It smashes through all the mana surrounding my soul and my magic resistance with all the subtlety of a hammer, burning and twisting me with excruciating force. I feel her start to change me, to fiddle around inside me, to alter the real me, the true me, into something else. She could be doing anything, and I can’t stop her, she—

Alright, done, Nawra writes. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

…What?

I’m done, Nawra repeats. I just had to decouple the Revenant loyalty system from the Revenant integrity system and hook the latter up to you. Congratulations! Your soul is now fully independent from the need for a body, at least up until the point big brother notices you hanging around and eats you.

Oh, I write back, feeling more than a little flummoxed. Just like that? I’m not mind controlled or whatever?

Well, are you angry at me for doing that without your permission?

A little, yeah, I admit.

Then probably not, I would wager, Nawra answers, projecting the emotional equivalent of an eye-roll. I’m not so insecure as to need a slave more than I want a family, hmm? It’s enough for me to see you healthy, dear sister.

Huh. Okay. I’m really not sure how to feel about this. Why are so many mass-murdering monsters in my life so nice?

I’m not used to this sort of thing working out for me, I admit.

Well if it makes you feel any better, you’re still in mortal danger.

Ah. Right.

Any ideas on getting me back to my body? I ask.

A few, though none of them are ideal, Nawra admits. The obvious answer is to simply increase the throughput of your mana channel until you can overcome whatever pressure is forcing you to retreat into it, but that’s not something you can reasonably accomplish in the short term. Though am I right to assume your current predicament is due to that man you said you were hunting? I did come up with a few interesting permutations on that dreadful cascading loyalty anima construct that I think you’ll find amusing.

Oh? I ask.

I’m tempted to replace the love and loyalty with hate and aggression, Nawra admits. It would be delightfully fitting for a man like that to be torn apart by his former devotees. What do you think?

Won’t work, I say. As funny as that would be, he won’t die when he’s killed. His soul needs to be smashed directly, and I suspect that if there were any animancers skilled enough to kill him he wouldn’t have been able to infect them with that talent in the first place.

Hmm. That is a valid point. But why wouldn’t there be any… oh brother below, you’re on a human island, aren’t you?Nawra laments. Of course you are, why else would your body be human? I honestly have no idea how humans successfully evolved social structures with such an absurd bias towards individuality. I swear, the only human societies which don’t ban animancy research are the ones that are ruled by animancers.

Humans are pretty lame, I agree.

Well they’re not all bad, Nawra hedges. I’ve certainly met worse species. …But I’ve met better ones, too. I’ve made better ones, for that matter.

I have my fake body make a performative sigh.

I hope to be able to meet them someday, I say. I’d love to just have some peace and quiet with nothing to do for a while, you know? Go exploring other islands, see the world, and just relax.

It’s a good thing to do when you’re young, Nawra agrees. It’s hard to find the time though, isn’t it? Always one crisis after another.

Yeah, I agree.

By the time you’re safe, secure, and stable enough to start exploring other islands, you’re already public enemy number one on most of them! she continues.

…Uh. Yeah, I agree a little less enthusiastically. So, about helping me out of this place?

Yes,about that, Nawra muses. There are things that I can do, but all of them would be substantial investments of resources on my part. And while you are family, and therefore quite worth that sort of investment, it would be wrong of me to spoil you.

So you want something in return, I finish for her.

So I want something in return! she confirms happily. Besides, your reaction to my last bit of charity makes me suspect that you’re the kind of person to be untrusting of charity anyway. Negotiations always go smoother when both sides are aware of what the other person is hoping to gain, don’t you think?

—

“So what are you hoping to gain from this?” I ask Ars. “I know you want to research my soul, but if you’re not intending to modify my soul, I’m actually not inherently opposed to that.”

…Not beyond the fact that it would be Ars doing it, anyway, but he doesn’t have to know that. Vita’s brutal honesty isn’t exactly a good tool for diplomacy.

“I simply wish to continue my research in peace,” Ars answers, and I very much wish I was still a near-perfect lie detector. That, I have to admit, is a very useful tool for diplomacy. “Mind controlling the island isn’t so much a goal for me as it is a means to an end: I need resources, and I need pesky zealots to stop bothering me and getting in my way. Being the sole uncontested ruler of Verdantop was a convenient way to accomplish both objectives.”

I chuckle at that.

“You know, as frightening as that is, you’re quite right,” I admit. “While I’d normally call that somewhat extreme overkill, the truth is that Valka is utterly unprepared for a tactic like that, thanks to the animancy ban. Were Sigulda and Baldone similarly defenseless?”

“I’ve no idea about Sigulda, honestly,” Ars shrugs. “No one there should have any idea who I am, and if they do somehow resist the propagation talent they’re likely to blame Valka rather than me. Baldone was relatively troublesome, however. They don’t use very advanced animancy, but they do use it frequently. It’s part of their culture.”

“Really?” I ask, curious despite myself.

“Indeed,” Ars confirms, on his part seeming rather bored. “The Days of Death, they call it. After one’s death, they are revived as a Revenant and given a short time to fulfill the things they missed out on in life. One final farewell to the world before the Mistwatcher devours them. Naturally this has become an entire industry, ingrained so deeply in culture that even the poorest and lowest are given opportunities to experience a few days of it, but the richer folk get better animancers that can keep their soul stable for longer. Inevitably, of course, people still degrade and die. It’s barely better than Valka’s animancy knowledge, but it did mean I had to personally involve myself with assassinating or modifying the souls of quite a few people before their society as a whole was vulnerable.”

Hmm. I’m vaguely curious about Baldonese culture now, but it’s clear that Ars isn’t, and I want to keep the conversation on track. It’s important to ensure he stays interested.

“I suspect that has been the downfall of many animancy-limited societies,” I agree. “All the more reason that promoting knowledge of the practice is important.”

“Exactly!” Ars agrees emphatically.

Okay, I’ve got his attention now. If I’m reading him right, Ars isn’t actually interested in ruling the country. He’s letting Baldone waste away because he’s not interested in ruling it, he only wants to exploit it for resources without anyone getting in his way. I can work with that.

“If your goal is simply to further our knowledge of the universe and anima in general, I think that’s quite a noble one,” I continue. “The issue you’re running into is the fact that people disagree with your methods, regardless of whether or not they think animancy should be banned. I need skilled animancers to investigate mysteries of the universe, and I’m quite aware that I am one of those mysteries. There are things I cannot allow you to do, methods I cannot allow you to continue with, but if you are willing to accept a slight reduction in efficiency there’s no reason your research can’t continue regardless.”

“That’s an intriguing offer,” Ars admits. “But why should I limit myself when I am the one in a position of power?”

“Because we both know your position is tenuous at best,” I tell him. “You’ve captured me and put me at your mercy, and you’ve escaped my comrades… but you have not defeated them. They are looking for you and they are looking for me, and when they arrive you will find yourself unprepared for them. I’m sure you could buy yourself plenty of time by running, and perhaps you could even try your hand at fighting them, but why bother? As I said, I want to know the answers to the same questions that you do. If you’re willing to work within certain guidelines, I won’t just allow you to investigate my soul, I’ll hire you to.”

—

Well that begs the question: what do you expect me to pay you with?

What indeed, Nawra writes, radiating coy delight. Would you get suspicious if I say I want a favor to be cashed in later?

Yes, I answer bluntly. Yes I would.

That’s unfortunate, because that’s what I want, Nawra chuckles. The fact that you had to ask means you know why, too: there is nothing you can offer me, is there, Vita?

…I’ll admit that nothing comes to mind, I sigh. I don’t know enough about you to know what to offer, really, and even if I did I doubt there’s much I can offer that you couldn’t get for yourself in a relatively trivial manner.

That’s exactly right, Nawra confirms proudly. You are currently quite worthless, Vita. Beyond your sentimental value, of course.

Gee, thanks, I grunt.

But! You and I are immortal, dear sister! Eternal! Ever-growing, ever-changing, ever-advancing. A favor from beings such as us is a mighty thing indeed, even if I do not have a current reason to cash in on it. Someday, Vita, if you are prudent and wise, you will become my equal. I wish for a favor—and for your favor—in anticipation of that day.

I think I would have called bullshit on that before I merged with Malrosa, but now I know that what she’s talking about is hardly unheard of among the long-lived people of the world. A favor is as valuable as the person who owes it, and immortals all tend to get stronger over time. And it’s not like Nawra has to worry about me refusing to return said favor; if I piss her off enough there’s no end to the amount of horrible things she could put me through, up to and including annihilating me. And yet, is the prospect of giving her a blank check worth it?

I hesitate, my mind immediately going to all the horrible dissections and abuses Ars is probably doing to my body right now. I’m imprisoned and helpless, one of the worst possible situations to be in. Am I going to let myself be a victim again? Who do I trust more, Nawra or Ars? My insane, evil sister or my insane, evil father?

I wish that was a harder question to answer, because it really feels like it should be.

Get my soul back into my body and help my body get free, and I’ll owe you that favor, I tell Nawra. As well as Ars’ emotions when I murder him, of course.

—

“I think we may have a deal,” Ars agrees. “I don’t like using inefficient methods, but I suppose I have all the time in the world.”

—

You’ve made the right decision, dear sister, Nawra coos. Just clear me a path through your territory, and I will scour you a road home.

—

“I’m glad we could come to a peaceful compromise,” I tell the man who created Vita, and then black mana erupts from my body and devours the room.