Silhouette

The undead was outright shaking as it stepped toward the now-open door, its eldritch green flames dancing across its bony fingers. Its half a head twitched left and right as it stared at the group outside despite its lack of eyes. Its mummified skin cracked with the extreme movements, audible even over the shuffling of its oversized decrepit robes. It screeched in rage and despair as it raised its arms, an undeniably skull-shaped inferno ready to fly out of its hands.

"GO BACK TO SLEEP! I CAN FIX THIS!"

Right before it could lob the putrid magic at the pair of men guarding the door, James sent his own bolt of magic, darkness sharp as a blade that dug into the lich's arm and forced it back down, ensuring the green flames made contact with the floor rather than the flesh of any of his companions. Bo still swept his leg, channeling holy powers to spread a golden glow over the ground that erased any leftover eldritch embers from the misfire.

For his part, Pierre had a more mundane response ready, taking out a baton and whacking it up the undead's chin, sending it back as it screamed again. There were no words this time, at least none James could understand. What he could understand, though, was the anger and hate in the noise.

Somehow, despite the large lion man's blow, the lich kept standing. Yes, it had to take a few steps back, but it looked frighteningly unaffected beyond that for something that looked this old and frail. Thankfully, it appeared to be focused on the two visible threats in front of it rather than trying to locate where the sneak attack had come from earlier. If anything, despite Pierre being the one who actually attacked the lich, what was left of its head was turned solely toward Bo. It even hissed as small orbs of the monk's glow gently sparkled its way.

"DON'T WAKE THEM UP!"

More flames flew, though these behaved closer to serpents of smoke as they left the undead's hands. Bo's light grew brighter as he began to fight them off with his bare hands, his only weapon being the holy aura surrounding him. Those weren't the wild flailing of a panicked man either, but the precise movements of an experienced fighter. Pierre joined in, not by fighting the magic but by taking out a gun and shooting the lich, silver flashes appearing with each shot.

James, for his part, had shadows slither and coil around the undead's feet, making sure not to make contact yet, as it appeared oblivious to his participation. Better take advantage of its lack of perception to prepare as many surprises as he could. He already had more pieces of him across the room, readying spells to counter the lich's own. Its magical abilities seemed lacking for the moment, but James doubted it would stay that way for long. Sure, maybe having its head blown off diminished what it could do, but he doubted someone who became the leader of an apparently magical community would be so basic.

And yet, it proved to be exactly that. Basic. Predictable. It would launch curses and dark magic at Bo, the elf would counter or dispel it with his holiness, Pierre would briefly distract it with his modern weaponry of questionable efficacy, all the while James prepared more and more traps for when their opponent would finally try something new, something different, anything to end the stalemate. Evidently, it failed to consider this idea.

To its credit, the lich did end up using more powerful sorcery. Its spells grew more and more complex and impressive, taking various shapes and growing bigger and flashier, but ultimately they all could be summed up as mere projectiles. Bo had to start dodging and redirecting them at some point, no longer capable of fully nullifying them, and it took James' discreet intervention to save the monk a couple of times, adjusting the undead's aim or pulling the holy man to the side with sneaky tentacles, but the end result was the same.

By the time the undead finally tried something new, namely unleashing waves of whatever necromantic curse it wielded rather than just keep throwing stuff at the same target over and over, its fate was sealed. Tendrils of shadows snapped together, binding it as darkness snuffed out the flames. Black ice encased the body and kept it still as James leaned on the more ephemeral parts of his powers to feel at its soul.

Was it weird to think of it this way? Perhaps, but he knew that this was what he was doing. He had been mostly going by instinct when he did it to Polisson back in the day, but he had had plenty of time to experiment and... Well, much as he loathed to dehumanize them like that, there had been plenty of idiots who tried to go after him or his people to test things on.

When handling his own soul, James did it through what he had come to call his Soulspace. It was a void filled with nothing but a large yarn ball formed from his various connections to items he had infused, directly or indirectly, which also served as an anchor for his true soul. The specifics of how it all worked were still unclear to him, such as how attacks on the soul left scars on the Soulspace rather than what he considered his true soul in there, but he had a vastly superior understanding now compared to his early days.

When it came to others, the matter was even more nebulous. It was closer to handling a ball of gas that somehow found a way to stay together. There surely were proper names for these sorts of spiritual matters, perhaps even a map of a soul, but this kind of information would never be freely available. Even in the introductory book on magic he had gotten a while ago, where he had been first introduced to the concept of a Soulspace, the information was greatly simplified. Thinking back, James was fairly certain the book itself had mentioned that more advanced materials would be exclusive to tight-lipped orders and schools.

All that mattered was that James had to carefully move his most ephemeral parts of himself as thin tendrils to survey what he could perceive of the undead's soul, trying to identify the connection to the mortal plane his contractors for this job had told him about. The act was made harder by the strange state of the soul. Rather than the usual mysterious orbs he was used to, the thing had grown into an entire nervous system running through the entirety of the living mummy. James couldn't risk cutting off something that couldn't be fixed and would permanently damage the soul.

The fact that the lich continued to struggle during the procedure didn't make things any easier. None of its attempts did it any good, James' corruptive shadows smothering out any eldritch flame it tried to conjure, but the wiggling and screeching did make it harder to focus and observe. Sure, the screaming was inaudible to the others since darkness bound its mouth, but his connection to shadows meant he still heard it. Lucky for him, he wasn't alone this time.

"I have successfully apprehended our friend, but I'm having some issues with the exorcism itself."

Pierre nodded as he stepped closer, though he kept his weapons ready. Not that they would do much, given how ineffective they had been during the fight, but to the lion man's credit, he hadn't gotten harmed either, and he did distract the lich with his efforts.

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"Think you'll be able to keep it down for now?"

"Unless it suddenly regrows the parts of its brain it lacks, yes. I think you'll agree its fighting prowess made quite the argument for how diminished its mental capacities have become."

"Good for us, but what a shame. I wasn't hoping for much, undead over a century old rarely stay sane, but to see it this lost hurts."

"A century, you say?"

"They don't become murderously crazy, but they're still unhinged."

"I've lived with quite a few, and they seemed stable enough."

"Right, the orphanage. Well, there's a group of them there, all of whom died at the same time. They had a support network. And despite that, from our reports from before you set up there, they still aren't fully present. Stable is a good term for them. They're not mad, but they're distinctly disconnected from what they used to be."

"Death tends to do that."

"I'm not familiar enough with the experience myself. Regardless, there's a clear distinction between an undead who has merely existed for a decade and one who has been around for centuries. Well, it also depends on the original species' lifespan, but the trend is common to all of them."

"As fascinating and enriching as this conversation is, I'd rather we focus on putting our rotten friend to rest."

"More troublesome than planned?"

"No, but I have places to be. I am not yet another mercenary, I have my own matters to tend to."

"Fair enough. Bo, come here. Help Silhouette free the lich's soul. I'll be joining back with Doctor Bones and Sabile."

The monk, who had been silently waiting in a corner, spoke up.

"They're barely a room away from us. They likely heard everything that went down here."

"Maybe, but I'd like to do a proper report. Besides, it's not like there's much I can do in matters of the soul."

"You just want to leave me alone with Silhouette, don't you?"

"You're the only two who can handle this. The fact that this also serves as a test of your patience is merely a bonus."

"Not a great test when, again, you will be barely out of hearing distance."

"But a test nonetheless."

The elf frowned as he watched the taller feline man leave, heading back up the dirt-made stairs. His head then snapped to James' own, a proper Silhouette avatar having taken shape over the bound and encased form of the mummy now that the fighting was over. He took a deep breath before stepping closer, his holy glow a little brighter than strictly necessary. It didn't hurt James, thankfully. From the test he had done a while ago, he knew his new body featured ancestry from most, if not all, known major magical groups, and while that included those vulnerable to such displays, it also included those very holy entities themselves. Apart from his darkness theme, his affinities cancelled each other's weaknesses. A welcome boon, considering how chaotic Zalcien had proven to be.

"What appears to be the issue, then, shadow?"

"Its soul is unlike any I've studied before. They're generally closer to simple orbs, this is a complex system."

"It's only logical. Living, mundane species rely on their physical living bodies to anchor themselves in the world. Their life is the link. They die, it is severed."

"Yet undead remain. The soul grows and adapts to anchor itself."

"Close enough. It doesn't anchor itself, rather, it learns to attach itself to a new anchor. Ghosts are formed of magic, for instance, even if not in the same way or to the same degree as pure elementals. When inhabiting a corpse, the soul not only has to form a new link, it also has to find a way to animate it, to keep it active."

"Hence why it's mimicking a nervous system. It's rebuilding what it needs."

"What it thinks it does, at least. The only thing it truly needs is a way to control its new vessel. You say it looks like a nervous system?"

"You can't see it?"

"I see a humanoid blob."

"Aren't you an exorcist?"

"This is a lich, a special and rare case. My vision is enough to deal with my usual fare. You've said it yourself, the form of its soul is particularly complex. What intrigues and worries me is what a nervous system here implies."

"Which is?"

"This lich isn't as accidental as we thought. Uncontrolled and deadly releases of magic can result in large groups of undead, including the rare lich, but its soul would then be closer to a puppet or a skeleton at best. The shape of a nervous system means there was a pre-existing model the soul filled."

"A model prepared while our friend was alive, I presume?"

"Yes. Which means one of three things. Either our friend tried to become a lich and partially failed, dooming the rest of the tower. Or it was already a lich, and it failed an unrelated ritual."

"If it was a lich before it got buried, it's possible that the others were undead already, too. The ritual didn't kill them, it simply disconnected their minds."

"It's a possibility. The third option is the most worrying, in my opinion. The lichdom is truly an accident, and these people's use of magic involved building these sorts of models inside themselves as a normal phenomenon. In which case, any of these people, should they have enough magical strength and under the right circumstances, could awaken as a lich, potentially one as lost and quick to hostilities as this one."

"Doctor Bones mentioned that the ruins turned into a Villain's lair had the last floor turned into a lava pool because the Villain was afraid of something down there, didn't she?"

"Precisely. She may dislike it, but I believe it would be best if no more ruins of this civilization were to be found."

"I think I'll have to agree. Now, how do we put our friend to rest? You mentioned the possibility of rituals previously."

"It won't be necessary. Destruction should help you sever the link."

"I know. The problem is finding it, and making sure it is the only thing destroyed."

"Hmph. Here I thought you wouldn't mind collaterals."

"The last time I was fighting a demon. One actively trying to kill me, and who had plans to do more when it was done with me."

"I know. I think I have a better understanding of you now, Silhouette. I have an idea as to what to do."

"Please, illuminate me."

"Precisely."

The monk raised a palm, light burst through it. At first, James had to admit, he expected it to be a petty retort of some kind. Instead, he realized the holy light made it easier for him to discern the shape of the soul, even seeing glimpses of what it was composed of, memories of a distant past brushing against the surface of his mind. More relevant to the situation, he could finally see the small, barely noticeable translucent threads connecting it to the mummified corpse.

With great care, James readied his tendrils and cut the threads one by one, careful not to cut more when the undead struggled, its body immobile in the ice but its soul still active, still fighting. Each severed link saw the resistance grow weaker and weaker, the glow of the lich's magic dulling before vanishing altogether, all efforts to escape ceasing. When the last connection was destroyed, James saw the soul immediately get whisked away, escaping all his senses. The body, for its part, fell to dust even inside the ice.

James couldn't be sure, but it felt like the atmosphere of the room got a little lighter.

Doctor Bones busted in, a smile on her face that fell away when she noticed the dust-filled cocoon of black ice.

"Argh! Pierre said you had it under control, I could have studied its form!"

Despite his lack of eyes, he and Bo exchanged a look. James was very tempted to sigh, but he knew his body wouldn't do it unless he made it himself, and that would be a poor look. Instead, he resolved himself to spend a little longer in the doctor's company.

"Apologies. I could make a reconstruction? My senses and form allow me to replicate existing objects quite easily."

The woman squealed in joy. Somehow, James had a feeling that what came next would be more exhausting than fighting a millennium-old undead sorcerer.