Interconnected: Spliced Souls

Cassidy’s shop seemed so quiet and empty as she teleported into a place she once called home. She reached her fingers in her pockets and brushed against a still-warm teleportation ring and two vials of specialty-made toxins.    

And as if it was foretold in prophecy written long ago…  

The earth quaked, sending powerful tremors throughout town.   

Screaming was a natural outcome, but that wouldn’t account for much when the civil unrest began. Cassidy didn’t care about the chances of her house collapsing as she walked to her room. She stood on the balcony and stared at the frightening pillar of green haze that erupted skyward from hours away.  

It was so easily seen from a great distance.   

And not even a few minutes later?  

It became a mighty cloud and barreled towards Arcton at a breakneck pace.    

The beginning of the end…was about to happen. The Canary Duchy and the Kingdom of Lando—no, all of Inith was about to be forever changed. 

A mighty torrential downfall would occur in a few minutes, achieving the first phase of the necromancers’ dastardly plan.    

Those thinking they could hide inside buildings were about to be sorely mistaken. The liquid wasn’t the dangerous part—it was what the green-tinted raindrops turned into that was terrifying.   

Cassidy descended to the entry hall and observed the various herbs and remedies she had sold for a fraction of their going price. How odd… She often felt very little other than constant pain that spread throughout her body, but she felt numb, cold, and devoid.   

Right on cue, she heard a boisterous explosion rock the city. The screams came like an orchestra of the dead as the heavy downpour threatened to drown Arcton. With the ground still crying out, it felt like the world's end had arrived.   

Cassidy retrieved a mask from her pocket, put it on, and immediately tried to smoke a cigarette before realizing she couldn’t.    

Muscle memory was a funny thing. It could engrain something so new and foreign into their body as if it were second nature. Before everything had happened, Cassidy had sworn she’d never pick up one of those nasty sticks. Her husband hated them. He despised the smell and often became queasy when near a smoker.   

Cassidy walked to the door and turned around…  

This would be the final time…she would ever be here. Arcton would be totally unrecognizable within a few short hours.   

She noticed a verdant haze creeping through the windowsill and felt indifferent as she turned the knob, letting in the green, thick mist that was the cause of so much commotion.    

She stepped out, and in that short time? The hailing downpour had stopped.    

Just a look around would reveal a litany of corpses—no, you’d be forgiven for thinking that since they were as still as the dead.   

But they were alive—if only barely from the paralysis mist coursing through their veins. The gas was so brutally handcrafted by the two necromancers in Sakdu’s employment for the specific purpose of reaping souls to further grant them strength.   

Either way, with or without Sakdu’s involvement, the chances were high that Arcton would’ve been targeted. His assistance and promise of lending a geomancer to them to further their experiments only accelerated what was already fated to occur. 

Cassidy left her shop—a place where she once felt a modicum shred of love and perused the deathly quiet streets. People she had known and conversed with now lay frozen in place, their eyes wide in shock. Fear of being unable to move had to be scary, not knowing if this was a dream or reality.  

It wouldn’t be wrong to say that dread would’ve been responsible for a few dozen deaths throughout the city. The idea was to keep as many alive as possible for soul harvesting, but no plan was perfect.    

Just what did she feel? Had someone asked her before, she would’ve adamantly vowed she wouldn’t have allowed it.   

But that Cassidy was someone who didn’t exist. That Cassidy was who she used to be before she ventured to hell and only sometimes showed up when things were going okay. The true Cassidy was a monster that would give the vilest criminal nightmares-- who used men, women, and children to accelerate the development of the colorful devils known as monotonia—who would use everyone at her disposal to further her goals.    

All for the sole purpose of making one man’s life a living hell before torturing his family in front of him—the same thing he had done hundreds of times in the past.   

But how ironic that all that work was for nothing. The man who continued to terrorize her memories and taint her feelings long after that fateful night had died.   

And she felt…pure, unfiltered wrath at having it been taken from her. And that said much more about her than it did anyone else.   

Revenge had made her more of a monster than Lando’s self-proclaimed reaper had ever been. The path of vengeance corrupted all who followed its irresistible luster.    

“Maybe this is enough…to make her kill me… After all… Who would willingly let a mass murderer go free? Or a dirty traitor? Or a slaughterer of babies…” she said this as she walked by one of the nurseries. In the brighter past, one couldn’t walk by without hearing the ear-piercing cry of a hungry or fussy child, but the eerie silence told her everything Cassidy needed to know.    

Children that young were too weak. Being paralyzed for any amount of time was a death sentence, and she let it happen.    

Cassidy wanted to blame it on Servi. If she had only just taken her life in Canary, the aged, sinned apothecary wouldn’t have been alive to witness the final musings of a madman who had lost his sole reason for living. This was Sakdu’s way of punishing the world for allowing Servi to exist— to have stolen the life of a man he most deserved to punish, torture, and kill.    

Yet…  

Deep inside, festering around the monster responsible for crafting a series of pills so vile, was a chained tyrant who still wanted to answer those dark urges. She wanted everything to burn. She wouldn’t have minded if the world fell to some necromantic curse.   

It could go up in flames for all she cared because it wasn’t worth a single care. Because her desire for living had been taken from her by a mere woman who couldn’t have hated that devil in human skin more than her.   

She was not a woman of virtue—not anymore—not since the one person she used to be died that night with her family.    

Saline…  

Cassidy continued walking throughout the districts, observing the growing silence. Those strong enough could endure the gas for a few seconds, but even a single inhale sealed your fate. Only the undead and those who didn’t need to breathe were immune to it.  

Of course, the attack was just a spell sufficiently mixed with fungi and aerated with noxious fumes oozed by a specific necromantic skill.  

But it was a poison at heart.    

A proficiently readied antidote could counteract the toxin before it entered your lungs. Or a barrier of purified air might have granted someone enough time to get away. Or an enchanted mask—like the one she wore—would’ve worked just as well. And the mist needed to be directly breathed in for it to cause damage.   

Merely touching it would be harmless, but that was also why it was so effective at neutralizing or severely weakening a large city. It was denser than air, too, and it seeped low into the ground through cracks or chips. Yet ascending to a higher level wouldn’t help since it lost density as it thinned and became lighter than air.    

Already, it was doing just that. Cassidy didn’t have trouble seeing through the haze, and the green tint was gone in the next forty seconds.   

At that point? She didn’t need the mask anymore.   

But she saw a dozen flaws. It wasn’t perfect. The apothecary inside her cringed at the lackluster crafting process, and she couldn’t rest until she had recreated the toxin with readily made materials that couldn’t be avoided by even an enchanted mask.   

No, the lookalike toxin she held in a vial in her pocket worked by entering the pores on a person’s skin. Skintight clothing didn’t matter because there would always be microscopic openings. The only surefire way to avoid it was by recycling or purifying the air with wind magic or having a specific antidote ready. But the latter would only work if Cassidy had used materials with clear counters.   

And she didn’t.   

The aged woman was a genius. Even her fiercest enemies and most hateful rivals would agree on that. Medicine came to her like breathing. She intrinsically understood it on a level no one could relate to—except perhaps a particular red-eyed girl with a penchant for killing.   

Cassidy’s feet eventually led her to the main street after a few minutes, where she stepped over two dozen or so corpses of those trampled in the expired chaos. About seven or eight had perished from a horse falling over on them.    

It felt…eerie. The city was always loud. You could find cheering and excitement and the hustle and bustle of commerce and backhanded deals almost everywhere at any time of day.   

But standing here… It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop on the other side of town.  

The earthquake had done its damage. Cassidy didn’t know how many were lying helplessly in the destroyed buildings she passed by. That nursery from earlier had been spared a crushing fate, but other buildings hadn’t been so lucky.   

Cassidy soon arrived at the city gate and saw a startling sight. A woman who looked like Momo—her ears and tail looked different—was running into the city. An odd mirror floated behind her, and the apothecary merely watched as the witch and her entourage helplessly tried to subdue Momo.   

Cassidy had to act. She knew necromancers would show up. And yes, this Momo was fighting to kill—and while she would’ve emerged victorious against the witch, ogre, and spearman, Cassidy didn’t want to hedge her bets on her winning against the two forbidden skill wielders.   

Then again…  

Did it matter?  

“It won’t be long… I won’t need to hide anymore… I won’t need much of anything…because I’ll be another stain on this worthless world.” Again, muscle memory made her retrieve and light a cigarette. “Last pack, huh? Better make them count…”  

The sensation of a fresh cigarette always worked wonders in dulling the ever-agonizing discomfort of the device behind her heart.   

But she didn’t feel the same relief. Cassidy didn’t experience much of anything, really. The aching throb didn’t vanish. So…what was she to do?  

Rather, what could she do?  

Before she knew it, she began walking.   

And Momo—or the girl who looked like her—turned around and saw her…   

---

“Where did you leave the lich?” asked Sissy. She finally gathered an ounce of resolve and coldly looked at the current situation. Momo’s illusory state was unexpected. It shamed her that something so powerful had gone right under her nose. Her team’s perfect record was almost ruined by a wild card no one in any known or unknown realities could’ve guessed.    

“Right where I left her? Don’t be an idiot and ask shitty questions. Why didn’t you use [Sanctified Bolt] on the boy?”  

“A woman like you should know. Aren’t you the one who just said not to ask shitty questions?” Sissy’s tone slightly deepened. It was rougher, like the uneven tracks of a crude wheelbarrow. “A revenant of his status won’t die until he’s suffered dozens of deaths. His soul must burn to its last flames. Holy magic wasn't needed when Gerld’s spearmanship was enough to end his life. I need to save my strength for the lich.”  

“It’s like using fire magic on plants,” added the Rhinokin. He grabbed a chunk of rope Suusa made and tied Momo’s arms and legs. He ensured the restraints were tight and wouldn’t come undone until they clasped an anti-magic guillotine collar around her neck.   

“But answer my question, apothecary. Where did you leave the lich?”  

“You won’t call her by her real name?”  

“Real name?” Sissy scoffed and made a disgusting grimace. “There is nothing real about an abomination that defies the rule of life. The dead should stay dead. That—”  

“That’s the tenant of the Wytchguard Covenant, huh? You were excommunicated, so why follow the commandants? Shouldn’t you be focused on evading their headhunters? Or are you relying on Sakdu’s protection to delay their axes? You’re his little pet. He says to kill, and you merely ask who.”   

“You wouldn’t understand, cretin.”  

“No, I don’t.” Cassidy’s reply was brunt as she ashed her cigarette. She took a long draw and savored the smoke constricting her lungs. “But I know you’re working with your greatest enemy.”  

“I hate the undead. I despise and detest them… But humans… They're a plague… The world would be better without them.”  

“Says the human.”  

It happened in a flash. Sissy bared her fangs, drew a wand, and launched a powerful stream of water towards Cassidy’s face. She moved by a hair and avoided certain demise as the destroyed building behind her exploded. Suusa grabbed Sissy's wrists and turned the wands away from their target. But her clenched hands never let go. She shook from severe anger and bit her lips hard enough to bleed. “You’re still just a brat at heart.”  

Cassidy said that, but she knew the truth. Sissy wasn’t human. She looked like one, but she was born as a Butterflykin. Her majestic wings, however, were ripped off when she was captured after being forcefully enrolled in the Wytchguard Covenant.   

She didn’t want to bring the moment up.  

She hated it when her mind teetered near the most traumatic moment of her life. But it wasn’t just her wings. It was the other torture she endured at the hands of dirty, rotten humans that made her stray from a goal that would seem noble if viewed in a vacuum without bias.   

Especially when corruption was involved…   

“Consider it a test. You can’t explode like that. And you…” Cassidy pointed at Suusa as the device behind her heart failed. It was an instant, but her true form was revealed before it restarted and cladded her in that illusion spell. The onlookers’ lacking surprise hinted they knew the truth. “Anything to say?” The ogre refrained from speaking. He had too much to think about and preferred the silence of his mind. “… Anyway, Servi knows [Heart Clutch]. Do what you will with that information. Oh, and be ready. The two necromancers are making their move.”  

“That’s the first useful tidbit you’ve shared with us in days.” Sissy took a deep breath and felt the holy magic course through her veins. “By the grace of light, we stand—our shield—our hand. Against the darkness we defend… With holy power, our spirits ascend. Protect us now, in radiant might, [Elysian Ward], our guiding light!” A holy light flowed from her outstretched hands and spread to everyone, including Momo’s unconscious body.    

This power granted a barrier over their hearts, granting additional protective barriers to defend against necromancy spells with instant-kill properties.   

“Even me, huh?”  

“Yes, Cassidy. Even you. Suusa, can you get Momo ready?” Gerld asked. He finished securing the target and hefted her over his shoulder like luggage. 

“Oh?” An unknown voice broke through the quiet stillness. Sissy turned to the shattered gates and saw a pair of warriors. One was a sickeningly thin Crowkin with a sunken chest. His ribs were visible from a mile away. They pressed against his emancipated skin. But the ruby-like greatsword he carried on his back seemed too heavy for someone who appeared so frail.  

The other was a knight of undisclosed gender.  From head to tie, they were protected by a ruby-red set of thick armor seemingly crafted from the same material as the Crowkin’s greatsword.    

“I knew we would meet, but seeing our kind’s greatest enemy... The oddity is something I do not like.”   

“…” Sissy remained quiet. Necromancers and the undead clashed like water being thrown on an oil fire when it came to the Wytchguard Covenant. Working with one was the most severe crime a member could commit. The punishment was nothing less than torture at the hands of the covenant’s headhunter and execution squad.   

“Nothing to say? You know, we aren’t—”  

“Cease your rambling, son. We are not here to quarrel,” said the armored one. Their voice was raspy, burnt, and androgynous. “We are not being paid to create hostilities with the witch.” They turned to Suusa. “Your golem shells were most impressive. We’ve learned much and have progressed through our research. It felt like we comprehended more of the soul the longer we collaborated.”  

“…”  

“Even praise cannot get you to talk? But I must reward you… Cassidy, the toxin you used was—”  

“It was a copy of yours. I didn’t have access to the same raw materials, so it’s not potent. And I’m not a necromancer. The girl’ll wake up within the hour.”  

“There are even things the great—”  

“Just shut up. I’m tired of hearing you speak. It’s giving me a headache.” Cassidy almost puffed her cigarette, but she crushed it between her hands and looked in the direction Servi should've been coming from.  

“You scum should’ve told us about the skeleton captain and arachnecrosis weaver you left in your base.”  

“Mother, what is this witch talking about?” asked the frail, thin Crowkin.  

“Indeed… I wonder… We haven’t summoned those.”  

“Don’t lie to me. You said you had mid-tier undead roaming around your base.”  

“No,” corrected the armored one. “I said to expect the mid-tiers—not that we would summon any. We would’ve if we could’ve spared the resources, but it took longer than necessary to make the final preparations.”  

“Then… The lich is responsible?”  

“Perhaps. There weren’t enough corpses or souls to use as fuel to create them. And the expired souls we abandoned had no more necrotic strength left to give. Nor did they provide any power. I surmise it must have prepared with its creator.”   

Sissy… She felt something off. Something didn’t make sense. She tried to rack her brain and deduce the oddities from the time she spent with the lich and its allies, but she couldn’t connect the final piece.   

Just…what was she missing?  

Why have them? Why risk creating those two undead? Why did she specifically choose a spider and skeleton captain?  

She had already asked Suusa how he ‘survived’ the fall—a trap they had organized to test the lich’s mettle—but he said it used their scythe to slow their descent. And the skeleton captain, according to the lich, was already there while he pretended to be unconscious to gather more data.  

Sissy’s outward personality was like an opaque cloak. Her true identity was that of a cold, calculating witch who often used every bit of information to carry out her missions. That was why she and her team were so successful. Because they didn’t care about cozying with their enemies to learn their biggest weakness. They had all suffered so much that the world didn’t harbor any light left for them. Nothing about it was worth living in.   

It wouldn’t be wrong to say that the Sissy, Suusa, and Gerld that had presented themselves to Momo and the others didn’t exist. Perhaps some facets remained—Maybe some truths could be shared between the real and fake—but much of it was artificial—as seen in Gerld’s clashing forwardness and Sissy’s abruptness.    

“But enough of that,” Cassidy interjected and pointed to Momo. “You’re wasting time. If she wakes up… It won’t be pretty. I’ve never seen a singi like that. There’s no telling what she’ll do to us.”  

“The old bat’s right,” said Gerld. “Hey, why don’t you do us a favor?”  

“A request from us? Even while the witch is there? Have you no shame, boy?” asked the armored necromancer.  

“Just shut up. Make an undead bird. Use it to ferry the target to the boss.”  

“Your insolent behavior—”  

“Calm yourself, my son.” The armored knight's stern voice silenced her child. “Very well. I can spare the energy. What I’ll use will be returned to us and then some.” They raised their arm. “[Create Mid-Tier Undead – Ebonwing Carrier]!” The gauntlets violently trembled before suddenly creating a dozen sharp spikes that punctured the wearer’s skin. It drained their blood and life and slowly caused a faint etching of a skull on the breastplate to fill. Energy collected around her hand, and she threw it at the ground. A moment later, a raven-like bird with icy wings and oozing green eyes clawed itself from a most unholy place.   

Seeing the creation of an undead and not doing anything about it went against a strict code of honor that had been hammered into Sissy for over a decade. Even now? The abuse she suffered at those awful hands eclipsed her total hatred of the church’s most secret and corrupt organization.   

Gerld tossed Momo on the raven’s back and used extra rope to secure her to it. “Our task will be complete after killing the lich. Let that damn thing know it was its actions that led to this outcome.”  

“And you think a lich will worry? I told you. The undead pretends to have feelings. They aren’t capable of understanding what it means to love. But I don’t care. It’s masquerading as a human. I will not rest until it’s burning from my purifying magic.”  

Suusa remained quiet.   

“No. There’s been a change of plans,” suddenly said Cassidy. Something in her changed as the bell of reckoning came within inches of being rung.  

“Uhh? What the hell are you talking about?” Gerld was annoyed.   

“Return with Momo. Tell Sakdu that—"  

“And leave the lich alive?” interrupted Sissy.    

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that slight against us, you failure of a witch. You dare think we would lose against a single lich? Even after learning about our preparation? The undead army we stashed nearby is already on the move under the forest’s cover-- opposite of the lich’s direction—assuming she’s arriving from the failed ambush. You aren’t the only one who’s meticulous about the details.  

“…”  

“Oh? The undead cat has thy tongue? Be mindful of your words. It sounds like you’re praising your enemy more than you should. But committing hearsay is normal for an excommunicated whelp like yourself.”  

The snide comments infuriated Sissy. She couldn’t trust an undead to do a job that required a soldier from the Wytchguard Covenant.   

But…  

“You will return,” Cassidy repeated herself. “Or I’ll convince Sakdu that you aren’t worth his protection. It’ll require a letter, and the hunt will begin anew. You won’t ever have a moment’s rest.”  

“Fine. You win. It’s not fun being constantly on the run.” Gerld shrugged his shoulders. “But know that we consider our role finished. You prevented us from this.” The Rhinokin jumped on the ebonwing carrier and grabbed a fistful of black feathers.   

Suusa crafted a rocky staircase with his forbidden magic, and he and the witch used it to get on the bird’s back. She harbored a scowl ferocious enough to kill the undead twice over without holy magic. She hadn’t felt this infuriated in a long time. And being forced to touch a stinking undead made her stomach crawl. Sissy wanted to vomit away the unpleasantness and sever her hand. The feeling was exacerbated when it involved that damned lich pretending to be human.

The bird didn’t wait for verbal orders. Its creator sent a telepathic command, and the raven flapped those darkened wings, taking off for a spot nestled between the Arcton Mountain Range’s two tallest peaks.   

In seconds, they were a blur. The ebonwing carrier wasn’t the strongest, but the bird was fast and reliable.  

“So, is it time to begin, Mother? I do not want to delay the harvesting…”  

“It is, my son. Oh… The city is at our beck and call… The power… Just think of the souls… We shall become even closer to Death—the Almighty—once we leave here. And we shall set our sights on the next town… And the next… And the next until we understand the complex intricacies of the soul.”  

“The soul, huh? That’s what this is about? Not power?”  

“It is both. But you will never understand our thought process. Necromancers think differently than non-necromancers. Remain on your path, apothecary, and we shall stick to ours.”  

“Hmm? Mother, we have company.” The Crowkin pointed to a black blur speeding towards them.   

“And the reaper is here…” Cassidy muttered as the raven neared. “What will you do when faced with a fate you cannot avoid?”  

“Surely, you’re not referring to us? A fate may be unavoidable, but it will not be ours. Be ready, my son. And follow the plan.”  

“Of course, dearest Mother,” replied her darling boy as a mighty set of bone-like armor transfixed over his body.    

“But let’s not fight here. These sacrifices shan’t go to waste. Cassidy, will you follow? Do you want to see the true power a manipulator of the dead wields over the world’s largest naturalistic energy source? Throughout history, there have always been more dead than alive.”  

Cassidy remained silent. But she followed the two necromancers outside the city and waited for their target to arrive.