Interconnected: Spliced Souls

The other location—the one with the seemingly copied-and-pasted connected hub rooms, side rooms, and long, wide corridor—was nothing like this new place.   

This reminded me of a genuine base that harbored a necromancer or two. Everything was dark and decayed. Piles and piles of decayed corpses and hanging flesh were in every room. Blood painted every corner.   

And the zombies…and the undead…  

Clearly, they were going for quantity over qualify.   

But what did that mean when I had a weapon that never needed to be reloaded? Or a body that never felt lethargy?  

Someone normal would’ve perished to exhaustion. And using mass numbers was a viable technique…  

…if you weren't me.    

Methodically, I cleared every room, taking a minute or two to look around for anything important.   

Those crimson vials were still present—in and around furniture, behind false walls, and hidden in caches buried below piles of corpses—but they were scarce. 

Suusa slowly twitched from the backpack chair about twenty minutes after we left the first room. He shivered and shook, so I imagined he experienced nightmares. A name-- Annabelle-- kept flowing from his lips in a quiet, meek voice, so I stopped and let him naturally awaken in a little room I had found behind a bookcase.   

He soon awoke in a hazy daze and believed me to be some reaper to drag him to the underworld because he saw my scythe. It could've been the crimson edge was highlighted by the arachnecrosis weaver’s glimmering webs I had used as string lights. I could throw them like a lasso, then yank to retrieve them.   

So, they were vital to our exploration. 

I crouched and waited for Suusa to speak, but a stumbling horde of skeletal archers rushed into the room.   

That was new. A single squire ran from behind and raised its buckler, but the unit still fell to my scythe. I'd used it so much that I began learning how to effectively wield it. It required finesse to actually ‘cut’ your opponent. Raw strength was necessary, but it was a skill-based weapon first and foremost.    

I sighed after dispatching them. But then something alarming occurred. My ghosts suddenly died. All of them perished in an instant. But thanks to their sacrifices, I had a decent map of this place engrained in my head. The place held three large warehouse-type areas filled with low-tier undead roaming around. Past that laid a connecting corridor to another bedroom with two doors, and then a final hallway flanked by verdant torches to a fourth area that I didn’t have a good idea of.    

The ghosts had died there, so something was awaiting me.   

Maybe a necromancer?  

Maybe something else?  

“Why…” Suusa’s voice was akin to that of a child after they had done something wrong.   

“Why what?”  

“Why… everything. Why am I alive? Why did you help me? Why come after me? I don’t get it. You—”  

“I could’ve left you with these monsters? Yeah, maybe. But I’m not that kind of girl. But you seriously put all of us in danger. Just remember that, okay? That honestly pisses me off a little more than I want to let on, so you better start talking.”  

Was I mad?  

Yes.  

I was.  

It was clearly a trap. That much was evident the moment we heard different voices. And we all knew it was a dirty trick.   

“We…fell, right?” Suusa ignored my question. I’d noticed his voice had gone softer than velvet. I nodded and told him I used my scythe to slow our descent. “And…”  

“I shimmied down, made the backpack chair, and started blasting. You’re not injured or wounded. Oh, and the others know we’re okay. They’re trying to find a path to us.”  

“…” Suusa looked at the corpses. Perhaps it was the shock keeping him somewhat calm. Or maybe it was something else. He probably thought his life was ending when the ground imploded.  

The ogre wasn’t in his right mind, or else I’d ask him to make an earth platform elevator or staircase to let up get back up the shaft.    

“Can you stand?”   

Suusa nodded and stood. He confusingly looked at the web hanging on my hip, and I said I had found it in a drawer.   

“Then you can walk? Come on. Follow me. We don’t have time to waste.” I absorbed the backpack chair, retrieved the glowing web, and continued. Luckily, there was really just one path forward.   

“You aren’t scared?” Suusa asked, keeping close.    

“Nope. It takes a lot to frighten me.” I blasted two zombies without a care, and I threw the webbing. While the illumination was passable... I still wanted a flashlight.    

“Where…does that courage come from?”  

“I can’t really say. It just does. Here, hold this.” I gave him a torch. The additional light was something. I thought about giving him Duskgun as ranged protection, but he wasn’t in the right mindset to wield it. 

We made haste slowly, using the torches and glowing webs to light our path.    

“I didn’t think I’d see this side of you,” I confessed, entering another hub area. We investigated the branching, discovered another red vial, and proceeded down the hidden exit.    

“I’m not…as stoic as I led myself to believe. I’m…truly frightened. I don’t know how I’m even moving.”  

“And Annabelle?”  

“She…” Suusa clamped up and told me a little about his life before he met Sissy and Gerld. “She was my first friend. The desert was hot and unforgiving. Water was as scarce as light in this cave.” He said his village was constantly warring with other tribes for water-- a cycle that had been repeating for decades.   

“We were always on the move and never stayed in one spot for longer than a few months.”  

“Nomads, then?” Suusa nodded and said his village was a village of earthen monks. They worshipped the desert, ground, and mud.   

“Children born within our covenant were blessed by divines of the earth. Annie wasn’t different. We acquired ours at nearly the same time.” Suusa said they were children playing under the frigid moonlight. He still felt the chilling wind that brushed against his skin when the tablets materialized for the first time.   

He said it was always a momentous occasion. Everyone held a deeply rooted fear that they would be different—that they would never acquire the sole object that made obtaining power, spells, skills, and abilities possible. 

Without one…  

What could you do? Raw physical strength only got you so far. And Srassa… She was two decades old, but her tablet wasn’t anywhere in sight. And I knew it frightened her. An unnerving shadow was creeping behind her—the potential mark of failure. Even if Srassa was rescinded to the gilded cage, a woman of her birthright must’ve believed it would be the epitome of shame if she couldn’t grasp her Skill Tablet.  

“Those that couldn’t do it were exiled by their 13th birthday. They were seen as pariahs of the village. Conversing or merely acknowledging one would earn you punishment. And it was a cruel… So, so cruel… Truthfully? We despised the desert.”  

Suusa and Annie were thrust into training by the earthen monks, where they developed a growing dislike of their surroundings.   

“The heat was blistering in the day. The nights were colder than a blizzard. Dehydration was an all too real fear we were tired of.” One night, Suusa and Annie vowed to work harder to make them a life away from the blistering desert. They dreamt of a place filled with grass. Annie wished to see the sea and ocean and feel the waves clash beneath her feet. “But dreams are dreams. They’re fleeting fragments of a future we desperately want…but they’re aspirations that I… That we couldn’t grasp.”  

Suusa became quiet. He didn’t want to reminisce on the past…  

…or so I thought.   

“Our life came crashing down weeks before we were to run away. Sissy and Gerld came across our village and stayed there during a lull in the tribal conflict. The head monk chose me as their guide, and we ventured into the desert that night to complete their quest.”  

“Things went bad?” Suusa shook his head and said it went fine. They returned without a problem. “What happened?”  

“Everything… Everything happened. The village was visited by wealthy slavers who needed to quench their thirst. The head monk had grown fat from greed and sold more than just water.” Under the guise of being a guide, Annie was ‘sold' to the slavers. She was a beautiful ogre. Suusa said she had thin, fragile tusks that accented her dusty brown eyes. Her laugh could light up a room, and her stern, intense gaze could ignite a stillborn flame.  

“The desert was safe. That time of year… The antlions and scorpions were hibernating. Even the other tribes had ceased warring for the season. But Annie never returned. And neither did the caravan. A week passed, and…”  

Now, it's making more sense. 

The head monk had forbade Suusa from leaving, but he defied the orders and immediately set out once he realized the truth. Sissy and Gerld had grown fond of him around this time and followed him.   

“Eventually…” His voice turned low. “We encountered them. A fight broke out, and… Annie passed away in the chaos. Our clash had summoned a horde of antlions and scorpions from under the deep sand. The battle was chaotic. I was…inches away. If I had been faster… Or if I had longer arms… Or if I had used a different spell… Or a different technique… Annie would still be here… We’d have been on a tropical beach, experiencing the ocean. Seeing fields of endless green instead of a sea of brown dust.”  

He said the head monk was to blame. Vengeance became the heat powering his soul, and his covenant was destroyed overnight after he flew into a rampage. The villagers exiled him. They looked at him like a monster who would choose a single girl over the wellbeing of others. 

Why didn't they kill him? Or fight back? Unless they couldn't? Maybe it was better to cast him out than make him face his punishment? 

“I hope they’re dead,” he suddenly said. It was faint, but I saw a green flame reflect in those salty tears. “All of them. Annie was a good woman. She deserved more. I know I’m a fool. I know she’s gone. I…saw her die in front of me. But… I wasn’t there…when she needed me. We had many promises, and… they’ll never come true. But it’s been so long since I heard her voice. I'm sorry, Servi, for heralding your death."  

"I think it’s too soon to write me off like that,” I said, blasting another zombie. We had made it to the first warehouse-like area during his story. The green flames of the undead menaces’ irises approached like a horde of slowly advancing fireflies.    

The acidic projectiles of my shotgun mercilessly gunned them down, destroying flesh and skull in an explosion of gore. 

“I will never understand how you’re so calm…”  

“One of us has to be. Panicking's the worst thing you could do in an emergency.”  

“Then what about fear?” Suusa forced the words out. “I’m not…”   

“You’re trying to be something you’re not by pretending to act like who you want to be?”  

“I guess you’re right. I feel like a stranger in my own body. A part of me died when Annie was taken from this world. I…try to be brave. I try to be this sturdy rock my friends can lean on. It’s difficult to acknowledge my mistakes. My failures bring back…unpleasant memories.”  

“Being sorry isn’t a weakness. Growing and realizing you could be a better you is the best form of maturation someone could ask for. And if it helps your wary heart, then I forgive you. I would’ve acted the same if our positions were reversed. But I hope you find peace. I really do. Don’t worry. We won’t die here. I refuse to allow it.”  

“…” The ogre was quiet. The poor guy had definitely suffered, and I felt sorry for him. He needed a good therapist to help him work through his issues, and I didn’t think I was the right person for it.    

The sound of battle and groaning had alerted the undead in the other rooms, and they funneled through the narrow opening. But it wasn’t anything extra. Killing these forty or so meant the path ahead would be devoid of enemies.    

Momo and the others had encountered zombies, but they were doing well. Albert fought on the front lines and had the rest stay back, with Gerld using magic on his spear to enchant it with fire. He could launch blades of fire—an ability that was enchanted into his spear from a passing witch they met a while ago. Momo’s wrist-mounted crossbow tripped the enemies, and Sissy’s wands delivered powerful spells.   

And my spider was still observing. It was always giving me updates.    

“I doubt you can see them,” Suusa whimpered as we stepped over the dissolved corpses. He pointed up and nervously swallowed. “They’re hanging from hooks like meat. Are they dead?” Trepidation filled his voice.    

“They would’ve attacked the second they heard us,” I said, aiming my shotgun up to soothe my friend’s frantic mind. I fired a few shells and stopped when Suusa said they weren’t moving. I heard body parts slam into the ground.   

We continued, eventually passing through the corridor to the next warehouse.    

Suusa said he saw shipping crates and hundreds of broken, rusted weaponry.   

“How old do you think this place is?   

“I dunno. Maybe a few decades?” We still made steady progress— as one could make with someone too frightened to have a regular stride. “It’s difficult to tell.”  

Itarr and I thought it was more recent. By how much? We didn’t know. Created undead continued to ‘live’ until their necromancer dismissed them or they perished. They were immune to time if the conditions were right.    

“Why…” Suusa altered his question as we progressed. “Do you think we’re the first to find this place?  

“Probably. Anyone else would’ve reported it to the city, right?”  

I stashed everything that looked decent. Most of it was probably trash, and Suusa asked why I took it.   

I didn’t have an answer that satisfied him, so I said something about potentially restoring the weapons to sell them.   

We passed through the next area, walked down a corridor, and stopped for a break in the room after. The area past this was where my ghosts had died.   

The bed was caked in thick dust, but it seemed fine. Suusa ignored it and sat in the corner. He hugged his knees and spoke softly to himself.    

I crouched and gave him food and water, and he cried a few tears. “I wish I wasn’t stubborn to have refused your first offer,” he whispered, biting into a stuffed shell. “Albert’s cooking is delicious. Annie… She loved to cook, too. She wasn’t good, but I always ate everything she made as if it was the most delicious thing in the world. She wanted to learn, though. When…”  

Suusa trailed off as his eyes gently closed. The poor guy was probably emotionally and physically pushed to his limit.   

I placed a blanket over him and left him to his slumber before checking out a room on the left.  

There were more red vials, and I was already back to over 1,000 souls. I wanted to save for [Create High-Tier Undead], but the skill required needed 10,000 SP. And maybe 1,000 blood crystals peruse? I instead purchased [Create Bone Weapon], [Create Bone Armor], [Skeletal Wall], and [Skull Bomb] from [Bone Conjuration]. Itarr sacrificed blood crystals and told me how they worked.   

For the first, you were given a list of weapons, like a sword or an axe, and one of white bone appeared. It was the same with the armor. I used both to deck myself in bone-inspired armor that reminded me of a medieval knight. The pauldrons were spiny and oozed green mist, and the bony sword almost pulsed. The jagged edge was awfully sharp—sharper than my scythe. There had to be ways to make my catalyst stronger.    

I mean, there had to be more sub-categories waiting to be unlocked. Catalyst improvement could be one. Or maybe I needed more souls... 

[Skull Bomb] works like that grenade thingy you told me about. And [Skeletal Wall] is self-explanatory. It makes a wall filled with moving skeletons.   

They needed a few blood crystals to activate, which made me wonder why the mid-tiers required a few hundred? Was it so I couldn’t spam them?  

Or was it because that was the default value? I asked Itarr if she could make any changes to the skill itself, and she said it was like looking at something that didn’t make sense.   

The phone is one thing. And the skills under [Primordial Goddess] are another. But I can’t make heads or tails of anything within [Necromancy]. [Lover’s Blossom] is the same. It just feels overwhelming that my mind cannot comprehend it.    

Altering [Create Mid-Tier Undead] to only need 1 blood crystal would make it overwhelmingly powerful. But without [Voiceless Incantation (Prototype)] and [Skill Stacking (Prototype)], I’d have to sit and verbally cast the spell over and over.   

Those two abilities were our most powerful assets. I could only imagine how powerful we’d be once we reacquired them.  

After canceling the bone armaments, I returned to Suusa and moved into the other room, eyeing the only other path forward.   

Just what was waiting for me?   

Itarr pointed out the numerous decayed desks and bookshelves, and after absorbing them, I found a hidden passage behind a thick glob of spiderwebs.    

“Go and watch Suusa. Don’t let him notice you,” I said, creating a ghost. “Let me know when he wakes.”  

The ghost blankly stared and hovered away, fulfilling the order it was given.   

---

I crouched and entered the passage before emerging in a research laboratory.   

But…  

“Why are there so many golems?” I whispered, astonished by the sight of rows and rows of those rocky beasts of all shapes and sizes impaled on the wall. Some hung from the ceiling like laundry. More than half looked like those sculptures—the humanoid and realistic ones—we encountered when we reunited with Sissy’s group.    

They weren’t moving, though, so maybe they were already dead. Slowly, I advanced, retrieving my shotgun. Itarr kept an eye alert as I approached a pristine and undamaged desk. Empty vials and books cluttered its surface.    

Suddenly, I heard a noise. I turned and aimed, seeing movement in the back. I ran and jumped, sliding to get the element of surprise.  

But…  

I didn’t expect to find…the golem mage I thought had died. The wounds of our battle the day before remained fresh across its brown body as it sat against the wall, seemingly waiting for death to take it.    

“How are you alive?” I asked.   

The mage turned and couldn’t answer. But those eyes…  

They were clumps of rocks, but those sandy tears seemed so lifelike.   

Servi, I think… Itarr’s voice was tinged with dread. She said she absorbed the desk and its contents and took a peek.   

These golems… They…aren’t real golems.    

“What do you mean?” I didn't like how she said that. 

This book details a collaboration with a pair of necromancers and a geomancer—someone with the forbidden knowledge of [Earth Manipulation]. In other words…  

“[Elemental Manipulation]?!”  

That’s right. And… Golems—regular ones birthed by natural means— are mindless monsters that run only on the instinct built into them. They carry no sense of self and are more like those machines you told me about. They…don’t typically have souls, but the book’s author says a golem can acquire one if it obtains an individuality or sense of self-consciousness. However, that seems to be a rare occurrence.    

“But I’ve seen the soul! They’re in my ring! But that would mean…” My voice trailed off.    

My heart fell into the pit of my stomach. The realization almost made me vomit when Itarr confirmed a cruel truth.   

The golems we had fought for months…were most likely an unholy combination of [Necromancy] and [Elemental Manipulation]. Souls harvested from the former were placed into shells crafted by the latter and released across the Canary Duchy. The journal’s author was meticulous in their information keeping. They said the quality of the soul and shells was often too low to be of any use. In most cases, the soul would regain a sense of self and be unable to come to terms with their new body, resulting in them dying from shock.   

But they’d still be alive—trapped by a body that didn’t need food, water, or sleep—essentially immortal to everything that eroded a mortal’s coil. They’d be cursed to…forever roam until a passing adventurer ended their misery.    

And this mage… This crying golem…  

According to the journal, his name was…  

“Merka?” I repeated what Itarr told me. “Is that you? When they put your soul into a shell, you somehow acquired a rudimentary understanding of [Elemental Manipulation], so they shaped your body to resemble a mage. The golems you make…contain splinters of your soul. And you can control them.”  

His body quivered like it was freezing before he gave me the subtlest nod.  

That meant he understood me.   

This should’ve been outright incredible, and it was—the author noted as much. But Merka wasn’t strong enough for what the necromancer desired. He threw Merka away like trash, discarding him, but Merka never forgot.   

No.   

He couldn’t forget because he wasn’t alone.   

Merka was about fifteen years old, and he and other children were given to the necromancer and their partner by someone known as the leader of the Kaisaku Syndicate.    

I kneeled and put away my shotgun as Merka looked at me.  

“You don’t deserve this,” I softly whispered. “But I’m not sure what I can do. If you want to die, I can send you to the afterlife. Do you want peace? Or do you desire revenge? That’s what you were doing when we met yesterday, right?”  

Merka nodded again.   

“You were trying to summon an army to come back here to destroy this place?” Another nod.   

Give him this. I want to test something.  

A crimson wafer appeared in front of me. I caught and examined it while Itarr theorized a connection between herself and the [Forbidden Skill System]. She couldn’t outline it, but instinct told her something potentially good was about to happen. But this won’t activate [Ichor’s Blessing]. Remember that Momo can eat with blood crystal silverware. I know the blood must come directly from you in its liquid state.   

“You don’t have reason to trust me but eat this. Let’s say it’s good for you. Give me the signal, and I’ll drop it in your mouth.”  

Merka was obviously wary, but what choice did he have if he wanted revenge? Even a rat could kill him like this. He nodded, and I delicately placed it on his sandy, rocky tongue.   

A soft crimson glow enveloped him, instilling a rejuvenating effect across his body. Those awful wounds were gone.   

And Itarr confirmed he wasn’t placed in either [Pantheon] or [Outer Circle].   

“The crystal you ate… Consider it…something that's an alternative power source for [Necromancy]. If it works for that, it probably works with [Elemental Manipulation] similarly, although we don’t know what that is,” I whispered. “I guess it’s like a potion exclusively for people like you. And yes, that means I’m a… You know…”  

“…” Merka may have had a stoic expression, but I thought he was somewhat happy as he looked at his now-healed body. He knew I was a necromancer, but that fact didn’t bother him? I had no reason to help him if I wanted to kill him.   

And the thought crossed my mind. There was a non-zero chance of obtaining a new forbidden skill by absorbing his soul, but they weren’t high. I had, for example, already absorbed the souls of the golems he had made, which were split from his own. I wasn’t sure how it worked, but maybe I needed a ‘whole’ soul with a forbidden skill etched into it to acquire it.   

But how did it function, exactly? Did Merka’s soul slivers return to him after a created golem died? Back when we fought him, when the golems he had made died, I was surprised by their tiny souls. They had flown into my ring, but I didn’t gain much.   

Especially not something like [Elemental Manipulation].  

But I wasn’t going to kill Merka. He was a victim of something terrible and cruel and undoubtedly suffered. He was probably forced to witness the other children get experimented on. I didn’t know if they were alive or not. Or if I had…killed them.   

But I was going to help him. Those responsible for this were going to suffer and die.    

“Itarr, can you gather those small soul fragments?” She did as I asked and had them on a crimson platter. I retrieved it and showed Merka. “I believe these belong to you.” The golem carefully grabbed the plate, and the collected fragments entered his body.   

I didn’t know if he was whole, but I hoped it helped.    

“That’s all I have.”  

Merka held a hand to the ground and formed a slate. The tablet’s surface was soft enough for his finger to press into, and he used it as paper.  

Why are you being nice? I don’t understand why you didn’t just kill me.    

The grammar wasn’t the best, but Merka knew how to read and write. 

“I’m a…you know, but I’m not a mindless murderer. I see someone who needs help, so why wouldn’t I reach out?”  

But I can’t repay you… I’m a monster.  

“I’m not doing it because I expect a reward. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. What those necromancers are doing… It’s shitty. It’s not right. And…people could consider me a monster, too. Is this where…it happened?”  

No. It was somewhere else. A dark place surrounded by rock. And it was hot. I remember feeling a lot of pain.   

“Do you know the exact place?” Merka didn’t. And I asked him a little bit more.  

He wrote the ‘town’ above was made by the geomancer, who he didn’t know, to use familiar locations to help synchronize the golem shell and the humanoid soul.   

I don’t know what that all means. That's just what I heard. I was told to stay up there since they said I was a success.    

“And you don’t know when they left?”  

I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t.    

“Hey, there’s no need to be formal. You can call me Servi, okay? Is there anything else you can tell me? For example, anything about missing fighters? Or a mysterious delivery?” The golem nodded and explained.   

 The ones who took me here kept talking about shipments from Fortuna, but I don’t know where it is.  

“Fortuna?!” I quietly exclaimed. “Delivered here?”  

No. The other place. For testing or something, and then they were to come here. I’m sorry. I wish I knew more.   

“No. You’ve told me enough. Thank you, Merka.”  

Will you really…stop them?  

“I will. I promise. I even swear my life on it. I’ll save the others.”  

But… What if they’re dead? It’s been weeks since I’ve last seen them. And… I didn't know what to do…  

Merka’s penmanship was erratic and difficult to read. He eventually threw the tablet against the ground.    

What else could I do but give the suffering boy a hug? He cried into my shoulders and covered my clothes with sand, but to hell with that!  

He needed a comforting touch. Becoming a golem didn’t alter his emotions. He was still a person at heart.   

“Just let it all out,” I whispered. “It’s okay. You don’t have to keep it in anymore.”