Interconnected: Spliced Souls

After a dozen minutes of being brutally carried, I was thrown to the ground and cut my wrist open on a piece of sharp rock. The impact kicked up dust that I pretended had awoken me.   

“I see you've bound my ankles and wrists together.” My vision consisted of just the black bag.   

“Speak only the truth, or you'll be turned into bear excrement.”  

“Sure, whatever. Mind taking this off? Or should I do it?” A hand snatched the bag and ripped it off, revealing my new dirty, filthy surroundings. “The mines?” But the entrance was blocked. No, there was probably a second entrance hidden somewhere nearby. “The room's kinda cramped, though. I don't even get a table? Or a chair? I suppose a single lantern is enough for the mood lighting.” It seemed I was in a break room repurposed as a holding cell. 

“Who are you? How did you discover our location?” Two elves– a male and a female– with mud-like skin tones walked from behind me.  

The woman held a long spear, and the man had a naginata—a polearm with a curved blade on the end, hanging off his back. She wasn’t dressed for combat with how much midriff she showed, and she didn’t have any armor except for a metallic decoration around her thighs.  

Her sleeve is so weird... It doesn’t make sense... Guess they ditched the cloaks. 

The man wasn’t much better. He wore a leafy top and branch-like pants, with a little bit of armor around his shoulders. Neither wore boots, with him wearing footwear held together with twine and sap, and her sandals with three straps around her foot. 

They both had brown eyes and incredibly long brown hair, but the woman had hers in a ponytail. She didn’t share the man’s venomous expression.  

 

“You showed me your face. That pretty much means I'm not getting out of here alive. Thanks for dashing my hopes, by the way. But let's say I'm a friend. Rather, I want to be a friend.” 

“Friend? Keep speaking lies, and maybe I'll kill you here and now.” The male elf drew his weapon and held the tip to my neck. Itarr said she wouldn't do anything until I made the first move.   

“You could try, but I won't die. You're the group wanting to attack the underground slave market, right?” The two elves shared a silent look, and my neck began bleeding once he applied pressure. “Okay, let me try another approach. The strange man with the ability to control golden worms that explode? He knows of the attack. He actually thought I was a member of the group. But I'm not. I don't even know you.”  

“He knows?! How the hell– What did you do?!” The weapon’s edge was about an inch deep, tasting my dark red crimson. The man was angry-- I saw it in his growled expression. 

“I told you! I didn't do anything! I was just minding my business and investigating something else for my summoner when that bastard killed me!”  

“Killed? Explain! Now!”  

“Fine. It'll be easier to show you.” I forced my neck against his sharp weapon until my head was severed, much to their abject horror. But that didn't compare to their unsteady backwards gait when my stump produced fleshy tendrils to hastily regenerate my head.   

“I'm a revenant. Or you can call me a lich. It doesn’t matter. My summoner raised me from the dead and intended for me to have a second chance. But while investigating something called monotonia for them, I ran into that masked, wormy bastard. He's killed me three times. It's annoying losing to him. So, I'm sorry to say that it doesn't matter what you do to me. As long as my summoner is safe in their location, I can't die. Consider it a secret of [Necromancy]. If I recall correctly, that's a member of the [Forbidden Skill System]?”  

Itarr asked if I was giving up too much information, but I really wasn’t. If I had the wrong people, or if I learned something I didn’t like...  

I could just kill them. 

Dead people kept secrets, after all.  

“...Cousin… What the hell do we do? Tell me! I don't know–” cried the woman. She held her arms to her stomach like she was about to piss herself and frightfully shook with dreaded fear. 

“Calm down! This fool obviously lies to save her skin! It must be some trick!”  

“Well, it's not–” My head went flying again.   

And again.   

And again.   

I was just more annoyed than anything else.   

“Why don't you–”  

“Let me help you–”  

“Out with this whole–”  

“Underground–”  

“Slave–”  

“Market–”  

“Raid? Goddamn it, dude. Can you stop that?! It's so fucking annoying!”  

The woman was crying in the corner, holding her head. “This can't be real!!! This can't be real!!!” The man was just as shaken. So much of my blood coated his weapon that it had trouble cleanly slicing through my head, but maybe it was his unsteady technique in the face of unbelievable truth.   

“Look, I didn't mean to scare you. That wasn't my intention. If you want to know how I found you… I didn't. You found me. When thinking about it, I knew you couldn't be in Canary because the ones who run the market must have all the blueprints. They know where every hidden passage is and all that jazz. They gotta be powerful.” I told them my reasoning and said I was about to leave the mines when they defensively reacted. “I figured you might want to dig into the city. It's a long shot, but something I'd do.”  

The man looked at me, not knowing whether to laugh or cry from the odd situation. A second or two later, he smacked his cheeks and tried to confidently speak. “How do we know we can trust you?”  

“You can't. It's just my word versus your experience. Do you–” Suddenly, both stomachs rumbled and growled. “What if I make you some food?”  

“Oh, now the monster wants to cook?!?!?! I'm dreaming… Haaaahaaaahaaa!!! Cousin, wake me up!!!!”  

“A little bit dramatic, don't you think?” I asked the woman.   

“SHUT IT, MONSTER!” snapped the woman, shrieking at me with water lining the reddened corners of her eyes.   

“If you have a cooking pot and some water, I can make soup. I have the ingredients in my ring.” To answer their unasked question, I pulled out the stuff I bought with Albert and floated them around the room, causing their stomachs to growl even harder.   

I wonder how he's doing? I hope he isn't too disappointed in me ghosting him. I have to apologize to him, Momo, and Srassa, but it's understandable if they're going to be pissed. I know I would.  

When I stashed the food, the man visibly swallowed and cursed. His cousin protested when he used his weapons to cut my restraints, but the elf said he didn't know what else to do. I obviously couldn't die. “Keeping her bound may anger the necromancer. We cannot allow that. We don't need any trouble,” he said. He turned to me. “But I do not trust you. Not one bit. You may not die by our hands, but we can make you wish your next death will be permanent.”  

“Point taken. Now, care to introduce yourselves?” The man was called Llamare, an Earth Elf. Liealia was his cousin, and she remained a slightly hysterical mess.   

The two came from Elviria, a country on the western continent, with two goals.   

“Recently, ships owned by a certain man were found docked on the coast. He sent scores of slavers to capture our kin– the man with the golden worms commanded the group. But first, he poisoned our rivers and drinking water with the colorful pills. Anyone who swallows or bathes in liquid contaminated with them turns into shells of their former self, which makes it easier to launch raids. No one can fight back in their sickened condition.”  

“The pills are called monotonia. If you saw the smoke pillars a few days ago, that was me destroying the dens in the slums. And what's the name?”  

“I must thank you for that, undead. I've grown to harbor an extreme hatred of those dastardly devils. The man we search for is known far and wide in many circles as the 'Patron,' yet he identifies as Duke Parrel Biggins, caretaker of the Canary Duchy.”  

“Are you shitting me?! Goddamn! This night's getting even better!”  

“Familiar with him?”  

“Definitely,” I gritted my teeth. “But now it's starting to come together… Do you know how he’s getting the pills?”  

Llamare shook his head. “We do not, and we do not care. We only wish to see an end to his life and return home with our kin and proof of victory.”  

“Are there more than just you two?”  

“Yes. We did not come unprepared. We've been preparing for this day for months.” Llamare opened the door and walked through it. I followed and emerged in the mine's central chamber, which held probably 20 people. Most were Earth Elves, but some were singi, Cowkin, Goatkin, and koena. There were a few hardy dwarves in there. We were standing at the top, overlooking everything else.   

An earthquake was said to have collapsed the mines, but it looked anything but. I'd bet everything Parrel Biggins just wanted to save money, so he lied about the rescue attempts being dangerous. Either that, or he paid an expert to make those claims and used threats to prevent anyone from getting close. 

Liealia, who recovered enough to speak, said the plan was to dig underneath the city and emerge into the underground slave market to launch a surprise attack. In the chaos, she and her cousin would rush through the panic and head to the duke's dressing room. It held a passage that connected it to the duke’s mansion. 

Meanwhile, the others would focus on freeing the slaves from their restrictive holding cells. Allies already inside the city had plans to set off smoke bombs to divide their opponent's force. They were even prepared to battle if it meant diverting enough of the enemy's might.   

“That man said he knew of the impending attack. I'm really only here because he thought I was with you.”  

“That is concerning, I must admit. It bothers me that our carefully laid plan has been exposed, but I believe our opponent does not know the means by which we will attack. Only a fool would choose our path.”  

“Maybe. But being a fool is what's required. From my brief encounter, the bastard seems to be a man who doesn't stray from the rigid rules he's set for himself. Call it stubbornness, I guess. But do me a solid.”  

“A…solid?”  

“A favor. Don't tell anyone about my situation. It'll be a pain in my ass to explain it all over. If your cousin’s anything to go by, I don't think I can handle much more than her.” 

---

When we walked to the center of the room, almost everyone demanded to know about me. Llamare handled it as a leader and quelled their worries by explaining that I was an ally of someone who wished to see Parrel Biggins perish as much as them. They all looked to him for guidance on this dangerous mission and chose to put their trust in him.   

Guess the Patron has more enemies than I thought. Killing his guards will definitely grant me more power.  

Meanwhile, Liealia walked with me to the large, imposing tunnel they were mining to get to the market. The crew leader was a short, stubby, beardless dwarf named Rakred. He had an underbite and four large pickaxes on his back, shoulders, and hips. 

Then she took me to the sleeping quarters on the opposite side of the cavern, where there wasn't much of anything other than an attempt to keep the general area dust free. The mess hall– more like a mess square– was five pots hanging over a fire. The contents didn't look the best, if I was being honest. Liealia said it was hard to get food for this many people without arousing suspicion, so what they ate was low in nutrients and not very fulfilling. The rock and soil were tougher than they thought, which slowed them down behind schedule. I guess you could say morale was kinda low.   

Well, I could probably help with that. But first, I decided to act on my word and prepared the soup. I instructed Itarr to cut and dice the veggies while I took a pot and left to get some water. Liealia gasped when it vanished.   

Luckily, there was a river not too far away, so after being escorted out via a hidden tunnel with a false door, I went and got it, then came back and sat it over the fire. The onions, tomatoes, cabbage, celery, carrots, and other veggies were ready by then, so into the pot they went. Without a ladle to stir it, I used [Telekinesis] as Liealia remained near me. She seemed confused until I told her I was making the pot’s content move with a spell.   

“By the way, it’s awfully dangerous to light fires inside a mine, isn’t it? Aren’t you worried about CO2?” 

“CO2? I dunno what that is, but we use wind magic to bring in fresh air and expel the smoke every hour. It isn’t the best option, I agree, but it’s the most we can do. Hmm... I’m surprised you care. You’re awfully human. With human mannerisms, human behavior, and human reactions. It's…”  

“Unsettling?  

“Hey, you said it, not me.”  

“Think of me as whatever you want. It doesn't bother me. Either accept my help with humility or accept it with standoffishness.”  

Liealia frowned and pouted. “You don't have to put it like that…”  

“Eh, it's whatever.” Liealia frowned again and walked away to return four minutes later with a clean stick.

She handed it to me and told me to use it, but I told the elf to stir the pot. “I can make a hell of a lot more progress on the tunnel. I can help make up for lost time. Come get me in about forty minutes. Oh, I got to do this.” I'd almost forgotten about Albert’s spices. I used his favorite one and used a big helping of it, enjoying the savory scents wafting to my nose.   

This probably won't taste the best. Proper soup needs to simmer for hours… 

Liealia didn't like to be ordered, but she remained at the pot with another pout while I walked to Rakred. Llamare was over here, grunting and straining as he struggled to drag a wooden cart full of rocks away to the designated dump pile. About 80% percent of the group solely focused on the tunnel effort.   

Leave it to me, Servi.

Itarr absorbed the cart’s content, causing me to explain a lie about my power. Honestly, that was getting pretty tiring. But the display fast-tracked them to ask me for help, so I was on clean-up duty, which took about an hour. It was just walking to and from the tunnel to absorb the stuff that needed to be moved. The soup wasn't enough to feed all twenty to fully sate their bellies, but everyone ate half a serving.   

I made sure to save some for Albert to try when we next encountered him. Itarr promised to take good care of it when the bowl left my hand. But… With Parrel being the patron... Did that mean Albert knew of his behavior? He was his chief steward and head butler, so logic dictated he did. If so… Albert was going to die by my hand. Especially if he knew of Monotonia and readily let that damn pill into the city.   

“You're not going to eat? It's incredible! What did you put in it?” Liealia asked, her eyes partly sparkling in the damp, dim cavern as we sat around the cooking pots. She was to my left, and her cousin to my right. The lanterns did some work illuminating the place, but it wasn't enough for me. A human's eyes paled to what an elf or singi could see. It was fine for them but not for me.   

“She's right,” said a singi called Scratch, nicknamed that after a scar he had on his face. He kept shoving the soup into his mouth without pause, even if it complained that it burned him with every bite. “It's… It's so goddamn good! Marry me, please! I'd die if I could eat this every day!” He had tears leaking from his yellow eyes. And his praise wasn't the only positive comment I got.   

“Then you wouldn't have a chance to eat it again. But I'm not hungry. I'll tell my culinary teacher of your praise the next time I see him.” 

Who am I kidding? There probably won't be a chance for that. Please don't be involved in this, Albert. I don’t want to kill you. 

They asked where I was going after I stood, and I pointed to the tunnel. “Do you even know what to do? We can't risk having a collapse at this point,” Rakred said, putting his empty bowl between his boots. He pointed to the support beams lined every 100 feet for about 8 miles. From here, I couldn't even see the tunnel’s ends. That was how long it was. And they couldn't afford the additional lighting to illuminate it.  

“It seems you're finished eating, so why not teach me?”  

“Aye, I can do that.”  

“Then let's go.”  

Liealia finished her dinner and skipped to catch up with us as the dwarf explained the finer points of safety mechanisms when digging a cave or tunnel. The longer a cavern was, the more stress it would have. Without proper support, it could collapse, causing a cave-in. And it was a domino effect. Once one broke, it was highly likely the others would befall the same fate shortly. Since the tunnels needed to be used to escape, it stands to reason that they would spend extra time securing the support beams. I couldn’t really help construct them, but I could gather the wood they needed far faster than they could.   

And that was what I did. The following two hours consisted of me absorbing enough trees, which I could easily do after chopping them down to separate them from the root with a couple of overcharged [Shadow Shot]. The central cavern was mostly empty, but that changed when fallen lumber quickly filled the area after taking the wood from my ring. The freedom fighters hooted and hollered, renewed and poised to get to work after that home-cooked meal.   

As for the tunnel digging, I couldn't use any destructive skills to accelerate the process, but I could use [Telekinesis] to control multiple pickaxes. Well, Itarr could. After teaching me the basics, Rakred stood back as the twenty tools near me floated. Rhythmically, they all pounded against the hard rock, chipping off material at a breakneck pace.   

Jaws dropped to the floor, and in just twenty minutes, I'd made more progress than they had in a day.   

The original ETA to commence the attack was two weeks, not including the time to rest and rejuvenate their weary bodies from the non-stop preparation.   

How ironic that the wormy bastard's undoing would be because he spilled the beans on what was having behind the scenes? If he hadn't said anything, I wouldn't be here. And when I faced him again, I had to thank him for introducing me to someone who knew [Necromancy]. The running theory was that I would unlock the skill after absorbing that short man’s soul.   

As I– mainly Itarr– worked and toiled away, Llamare walked from behind and whistled. Sweat dripped down his shirtless body while he wiped a soaked cloth across his forehead.   

“Look, maybe we got off on the wrong start. I'd like to personally apologize to your summoner once this is–”  

“Sorry, no can do. I don't even know where they're at. They gave me an order, and I'm here to complete it.” It was a lie, but one he readily accepted. Llamare asked how and when I would meet them to report my success or failure. “They appear before me. Perhaps you'll be lucky and be allowed to grace their presence. But I wouldn't count on it. But let me pick your brain.”  

“Pick…my brain?”  

“It means to talk. To bounce ideas off of the other.” While it was a far-fetched stray thought, [Chronomancy] came to mind. I knew it dealt with time, hence the first part of the word. Llamare didn't know much about it other than some old stories he heard from his grandmother about a man with a pocket watch that could go back in time.   

“If this masked man can do that, he would've killed us,” argued the Earth Elf, who picked up a pickaxe to join in. “Why keep us alive? Wouldn't that ask for problems?" 

“That’s true. But what if [Chronomancy] isn't that powerful?”  

“Haha! The power of time is not almighty? Are you mad? Ah, don't answer that,” Llamare chuckled.   

“But what if he's unable to use the more powerful skills? Manipulating time is worthy of a goddess’s power. I don't know. It's just hard to explain my thoughts. But I'm proof that the [Forbidden Skill System] is real. And just to let you know, that wormy bastard has a necromancer with them.”  

“The rumors are true, then?” During the attacks on the villages, Llamare said there was word of someone digging up the bodies of those that fell in the battles. Later, those same corpses were at the site of another battle but with different wounds and a sickly, pale complexion. Someone started a murmur of the dead returning to life because they didn't have a chance to follow the proper burial rituals to lay their comrades and kin to rest.   

But to me, it sure sounded like the workings of a crazy man who liked to stab himself with a dagger.   

Llamare then went quiet. He was in thought while I was pretty much on autopilot. “What about you?” he whispered.   

“What about me? You mean my situation?” The Earth Elf nodded. I didn't have a reason to lie about my memories, so I told him I didn't have any before I woke up. Which wasn't a lie when you thought about it. I didn't know why I was so liberal in telling people about my lacking past. He asked if I was curious to know. I honestly told him what I said to Itarr– about potentially not liking who I used to be. He then wondered if my summoner knew, and I shrugged my shoulders.   

He saw my expression of annoyance and bitterness at speaking what was probably sensitive information, so he altered the topic about what it was like being a member of the undead.   

Which wasn't a lie when you thought about it. I died– many times, mind you– yet I was still trucking along. That was about as close as you could get to being undead. 

“It has its advantages, I mean. For one, I don't get hungry or thirsty. I can't get tired. And I don't need sleep,” I told Llamare. “You sweat, but I don't. And my heart still beats, I can still breathe, but it isn't necessary.”  

“...”  

“Of course,” I continued. “I am dead. You've seen me die about a dozen times. And seriously, I hope that shit didn't scar you or your cousin. That was a first for me, you know. Dying so many times right after the other.”  

“You are an enigma, Servi-- one that embodies strangeness.”  

“I could say the same. Who the hell gets all buddy-buddy with someone like me?”  

“Someone who desperately wishes to succeed in his mission. You know not the terror that foul man inflicted on us...nor of the nightmares he has instilled in the minds of our youths. It was a bloody war that saw us fight for our bitter survival until their quota was met. Many allies died getting us this information. And come brimstone or hellfire, I will do what is required to see to it that Duke Parrel Biggins will no longer taste the teat of life.”  

If nothing else, Llamare was headstrong in his conviction. I felt it from his gritty words and heartfelt tone. He was a man who believed what he said– a natural leader, too, for being able to inspire so many to the cause. I asked him about their stories, and Scratch and the others were some of whom they managed to rescue in Elviria– before the slavers left to return with their ‘haul.’ 

Ugh, that just sickens me– saying it like that.  

Llamare said he wanted more people, but these twenty-odd fighters volunteered for the operation, which was put together by the surviving elders of the affected villages. He and his cousin were gifted fighters, blessed by a god and goddess--cousins-- who granted them the ability to empower their speed and toughness with wind and dirt. 

I asked how he knew they were cousins, and he said some guild branches had a library. If you joined, you could look through their records, find a book about gods and goddesses, learn their relations, what skills they could impart, and more.  

Does the branch here have a library? 

I don't know. I texted Itarr. But we'll have to find out. If you're written down in it, it could spread light on some mysteries surrounding you. 

Llamare and Liealia ascended through the guild, acquired many Skill Paths, spells, and abilities, and trained incredibly hard from birth, which put them to be a hair over 80 years old. In short, they weren't slouches when it came to fighting. 

Experience. The cousins had it in spades. But my inability to die? Llamare even said it felt like his whole life was a lie the moment I didn't perish. “It feels morbid to speak of that,” he said, taking a breather. Meanwhile, Itarr's controlled pickaxes toiled away.   

“Perhaps. But I've come to terms with it. But even I have my limitations. I can't die, but if I can't kill my opponent? I have a stalemate on my hands. Well, no, I shouldn't say that. I guess you could compare it to a drop of water and a mountain.”  

“After a year, the drop of water will have made no progress splitting a stone in half. But give it a hundred years? Five hundred? That structure will be split into two, detailing the effect reinforced perseverance could have. I suppose you embody that saying more than most others.”  

“Suppose I do.”  

After joking about how quickly he seemed to have accepted me, we focused on our work until Rakred and the others, who ferried the completed support beams, reached us.   

It was only then that I could increase my pace.   

The quicker this is done, the sooner I can return to Srassa and Momo. Will they even take me back? I…hope so. I miss them a lot.