Interconnected: Spliced Souls

Victor the Corpsemixer was perhaps the most intriguing of Servi’s undead. He couldn’t win against a group of low-tier skeletons. Nor could he match the weakest magical mid-tier.    

But corpsemixers were strategists. They were planners. They were alchemists who could empower and weaken the undead and enfeeble the living with their toxins, serums, and potions. Victor had orders to reach the towering monstrosity by any means necessary, and that was the task of the skeleton captain and their gang of squires. They moved as one unit, cutting through the army until breaking free, and Victor went on his way. He had traveled around the outside and stuck to the shadows, eventually running while his arms and pouches were filled with concoctions produced by his body.     

But his noble bodyguards met their end. The commanding captain was encircled by the remaining icy ghouls, the pride of undead tigers and lions, and a few giant spiders, and that wasn’t accounting for the remaining 5,500 low-tier that began converging upon them.     

Servi’s low-tiers had all but been wiped out.  The rats were too weak to do anything but be a nuisance. The lions and larger animal-like undead acted upon their hunting instinct, but the mice couldn’t bite bone. They were better suited to spreading festering disease upon mortals.    

Servi had very few mid-tiers left alive.

And [Mass Dominate Undead]? The spell was handy, but the upper limit was 500 low-tier. And it was all but assured their former allies would turn on them once they sensed Nyxaris’s tampering.   

The lesser lich could’ve reused it, but they couldn’t.    

And this plan was why.    

The skeleton captain didn’t fear death. It went down fighting, giving orders to the loyal squires that bravely faced the end—throwing themselves to ensure their valiant leader survived just a second longer.    

And Nyxaris watched it happen. He saw the massive horde swallow the captain—teeth, claw, fang, and sword mercilessly swatting at the armor until it broke.    

Their sacrifices would not be in vain because...the battle was won. Victory was assured. 

Victor telepathically told Nyxaris that he was ready. The corpsemixer was behind the still-regenerating corpse conglomeration and threw his collective alchemical products one after another. The specific blend and mixes forced reason to the unreasonable, granting a psyche that could be dominated.  The corpsemixer immediately retreated to avoid the monster’s trampling while Nyxaris flew to it. The tentacles and tendrils were pathetically easy to avoid.    

They landed and raised their staff, jabbing the shaft deep into the top before casting."[Dominate Undead]!” Unholy magical energy surged from his staff. Black lightning crackled and enveloped the monster as it finally healed…   

And it ran…trampling over its army after being forced by its new master—shouting a thousand different screams from a thousand mouths being individually controlled as one cohesive consciousness. The bulk of the enemy army was still around the fallen captain. Very few had broken off and infiltrated the city. None attacked Albert or the skeletal warlord—an overconfident mistake that foreshadowed the necromancers’ downfall.    

Nyxaris waited…and waited and waited until the time was right—until the massive horde had targeted the anomaly as the next to be destroyed. The lesser lich flew off as the tigers’ and lions’ claws latched deep in tattered fresh and climbed. The spiders rapidly ascended with twitching, elongated legs—fangs oozed with venom. But Nyxaris was already far away as it cast one final spell, eliciting the ringing one last time.    

“[Corpse Detonation]!”   

Ring!    

For a moment…nothing happened. And then everything happened. Every corpse creating that monster erupted spontaneously, crafting a cataclysmic explosion of undeath energy. The ground cried out—as it had done so many times recently, sending shockwaves that rippled through the undead army’s ranks like a scythe. Bodies and parts were flung into the air like confetti, casting a thick, bloody, hazy cloud. Bone fragments acted like fragmentation fragments and swept through the battlefield on a wave of dark magic.    

Destruction and despair were all that was left.    

The very earth groaned in agony. Everything was consumed—all life within the range was decaying at an alarming rate, leaving behind a desolate landscape that needed decades of healing before life could be supported.    

Those aftereffects originated from the dark magic that crafted that unholy beast. Festering poison instilled every corpse with toxins potent enough to cripple a city. How ironic that it was useless on the undead. Nyxaris wondered if the necromancers planned to go from city to town and hold them hostage? Or perhaps try and gather an army of these disgusting creatures?   

“It doesn’t matter… For the bells toll…and toll they will…” There were survivors, of course, but all low-tier. Nyxaris waved their staff, dominated their mind, ordered them to die, and then returned to the revenant near the destroyed gates. There, he saw a predictable sight.    

Merka stood near his ebonwing carrier with staff raised high. The remaining mid-tier avian undead lay in pieces near him. The raven knew about the shockwave from Nyxaris’s commands, so it adapted using alternating gusts of icy pressure to stabilize itself. Its enemies didn’t. And they had tumbled, crash landing hard, where Merka’s magic met them with skewers that curled over and pinned the birds to the ground.    

Unable to escape, they endured a vicious beating by the ebonwing carrier, who used fang and claw to shred its foes dead.    

Meanwhile, Albert stared at a barely alive corpse. His rapier dripped with the still-warm flesh of the knight’s son, who remained motionless. Six holes oozed blood from his head, and six leaked from his chest. Only about 30% of the injuries received from the warlord had regenerated before Albert ended his life.     

And his mother had lost it. Merka’s magic was annoying, and she soon fell for another trap. Her right arm wasn’t even nearby. And her left leg was forty feet away. And the warlord stared the knight down, begging her to move.    

Ring!   

“The bell has tolled, o’ necromancer. For all who are equal shall face their death at the end. Go now, necromancer—met your demise. Complete the Journey of Life and return that which all mortal beings originate from.” Nyxaris’s staff rung once more…and the warlord became the knight's executioner.  It lifted the rune-etched blade and cleaved down the middle, cutting her apart like a chunk of meat. The two halves sickeningly split…   

And she died. Then and there—without any final words. The armor slowly vanished, revealing an elderly woman who had lived far past her expected life. She was all wrinkles and bones with a few dark feathers here and there.    

“The suit prolonged death,” said Nyxaris. “But the catalyst of undeath cannot stave off the almighty toll that signifies the end.”   

Ring!   

Albert watched as Nyxaris held out a skeletal hand. The lich willed the two necromantic souls and safely stored them in their staff to give to their creator.    

“And the battle is won, yes?” Albert observed his sword and its decrepit state. Then acknowledged the chaos. The city looked like the remnants of a mighty war—primarily because that was what had happened.    

A war.    

One that very few would know about.    

How would Duchess Ashford handle this? Or the king?   

Would it be covered up? How? 

“Oh? That look upon thine eyes, revenant… Why must the bell ring upon your state?”   

“A victory isn’t a victory like this. It's pyrrhic. No—that’s not it. It’s… Gods, why am I thinking like a child?” He held his head and sighed, scratching the base of his horns. “We did the best we could. Losses were inevitable. But something’s wrong.”  

“Clarify, o’revenant. Let the bell hear your deduction.”  

“It’s their actions. They kept comparing Servi to a lich. She’s not one. The only one who has called her that...is Golden Reliquary. So, those two must’ve been in contact with him. They’re in league with Keywater, then. But we were hasty in killing them...” Albert then slowly shook his head. “No, judging from their wounds, they were in no condition to speak. Even if they could, they would’ve lied. A truth serum would’ve put too much strain on them. If we were stronger... No, but that’s thinking in hypotheticals. I suppose it’s good to know Keywater's influence is most likely behind this."

“Then it seems thou hath acquired all you desired from deduction alone, o’revenant. Abandon thy forlorn expression.”  

“You’re right, Nyxaris. But the mysteries persist. We've witnessed your power, and forgive me for saying this, but you're a lesser lich. They believed Servi to be a step beyond you, yet their overconfidence doesn’t add up. When [Dominate Undead] failed, their reaction seemed contrived. So why maintain the pretense? Why label her a lich if they know she isn't? Was it to conceal that they've identified her as something else? To keep her unaware and lower her guard? Their preparations don’t make sense if they truly, genuinely believed her to be a lich." Albert sighed, feeling a phantom migraine approaching. "It must be like this, then. They know she's not undead. But do they know about Itarr? If so, did that information come from Golden Reliquary or their own discoveries?"

Albert didn’t know the extent of their enemies' knowledge about Servi and Itarr. Perhaps they knew the whole truth, or maybe they only had fragments of the larger puzzle and were trying to piece it together. That mystery was pressing, but solving it could come later-- when things had settled down. Albert regained himself and turned to the golem. "Merka?"

The puzzle was there, but solving it could come later. "Merka.”    

Yes?   

Merka approached with a writing tablet. His ebonwing carrier was oddly attached to him and remained by his side.    

“You did well. You’re a brave man.”   

Thank you… I…don’t know what came over me. I feel so confused. What I want to do and what I did… They don’t make sense… But… I’m…glad I could help. We stopped these people. They won’t make any more golems like… Suddenly, he wrote about Servi and Momo and asked if they were going to the mountains.”    

“That would be appropriate. I’m afraid we can’t do much. No—Victor?”   

“What is it?” The corpsemixer approached and awaited orders.    

“Can you reverse the toxin?”   

“It can be done. The formula is complex. It will take ten minutes to produce one antidote. However, the effect isn’t fatal by itself. The strong will survive until its expiration. But I cannot say the same for the ones unable to endure.”   

“What about you, Nyxaris?”   

“The bell tolls and cast undeath magic fitting to nurse an undead. Alas, using the spell on the living, o’ revenant, tis be a foolhardy choice.”   

“Your best choice is a skeleton priest,” continued Victor.   

“A mid-tier, eh?” Could Albert spare the resources? He didn’t know the situation, so he rang Itarr and explained his circumstances. “I’ve got the go-ahead.”   

And? Are we joining them?   

“No. Not directly.”   

What?!   

“They’re too far ahead. They won’t wait for us to catch up. It’s imperative to ensure the city doesn’t descend into chaos.” Albert then created the skeleton priest. From the ground came a bony figure adorned in dirty white robes. Both hands clutch rosary beads as they pray a declaring vow.    

But what about Momo?! We need to help her!   

“I know, but think about it, Merka. We won’t arrive in time. But that doesn’t mean I won’t lend my power. Itarr can sever my link to the blood crystal vault. And once my time runs out, I’ll reappear within Servi’s ring.”   

Merka didn’t quite understand the explanation, but the boy was clear on one thing. That means you can get there instantly?  

“Yes. Do you see it now?” Merka nodded. Albert turned to the priest.     

“Do what you can. Free the people from their toxins, but predict they’ll be hostile.”    

I can do something about that. Merka made a covering poncho and cloak and handed it to the priest, obscuring its undead features.     

The skeleton solemnly walked alone into the city, casting a hymn that only targeted the undead toxins. The worshipper of the Gods of Death was left alone while Albert thought about what to do next. Truthfully? Even though these undead were undyingly loyal to Servi, Itarr, and Albert, they could’ve had ulterior motives. These carried personalities, likes, and dislikes. And as oxymoronic as it sounded, one could’ve been a turncoat—a deadly agent of betrayal who acted when their creator’s back was turned to further fulfill their dark ambitions.   

Of course, the chances were low.      

Albert readied himself for when he would be needed. Victor, the ebonwing carrier, and the skeletal warlord turned into marbles of necrotic energy—courtesy of Albert’s [Undead Storage]. Merka assumed his crystal form and found a home in the butler’s pockets.     

But Nyxaris had other plans. He summoned those wings of bones and took off towards the mountain… For the bell of death would toll for their creator’s enemy.