Chapter 131 - Banished Trust, SC

“Why would you want to save a broken spell-fused?” Trust asked with wonder.

The mage had neglected to heal his broken body again after another attempt and now remained as a head on a chair. Nysandra seemed to derive pleasure from breaking him over and over again, and finally, Trust accepted his fate. Sunday didn’t speak up for him, nor did he admonish Nysandra.

It did seem oddly cruel what she was doing, but who was he to judge? This world and its laws were different and there was no place for his already quite malleable sense of morality.

Getting involved in this conflict was stupid considering he knew nothing of the motivations of both sides too. Trust was not all there in the head, but judging by the propensity for violence of the wight, and how Vesper seemed to corner people and complain to them day and night, his two new protectors were not bastions of sanity either.

That was just fine. Powerful beings were bound to be mentally unstable. It was something in the fine print of rising to such heights. Good, honest, and well-adjusted people didn’t claw their way toward power, leaving corpses in their wake. And oftentimes those born into it were the worst of the bunch.

“She’s a friend. She helped me. I don’t want to feel like I owe her.” Sunday repeated.

They had been going in circles for a while. Sunday had brought two chairs and even some light, just to make the environment of Trust’s cell less depressing. Nysandra didn’t seem willing to let the mage walk out.

“She’s a tool!” Trust said.

“Yes, you called her that a few times.”

“You don’t understand. Her soul is broken, twisted, and unsalvageable. Her destiny is to become one with the world. That is the only sort of freedom spell-fused who have reached the end of their path can hope for. That’s not even taking into consideration the gaping soul wound she’s carrying around, and the power she’s expending at such a rapid pace.”

“You can see all that?”

“Oh please. Do you think I’d leave the court without proper eyes? That’s the great thing about spells,” Trust leaned forward and looked toward the door. “She can’t fully stop them, despite how afraid they are of her. Some are just different.”

Nysandra was not in the room, but she might as well have been. Any talks of her were done in hushed tones and with a lot of looking around as if the wight could jump out of the stone walls and bite off their heads.

Spells are afraid of Nysandra? Because she’s a wight or another reason… A talent most likely. I know very little of the possibilities surrounding them, but somehow I doubt everyone else’s are given by weird beings living in murals.

“Are you afraid of her?” Sunday asked.

Trust laughed. “Do you think me such a fool that I’ll pretend not to fear her of all beings? I’m sure you don’t know the extent of it, but she’s a legend! Sure, if we look at it from the point of view of magi ranks, then she’s barely an early sixth. However—”

Something burst through the door and struck Trust between the eyes, sending the already broken undead head rolling on the ground. Sunday sighed. No privacy then.

It took the mage only a few moments before dark essence pushed the weapon out and healed him. He remained lying on the ground, however. The remains of his cut-up body wiggled nearby, crawling toward the head until a torso and an arm attached themselves to it. Flesh grew before Sunday’s very eyes and connected the parts.

He half expected Nysandra to return and get to carving, but apparently, the insane wight had deemed this much acceptable.

This spell looks stronger than my Omen of Duality, but I doubt it is capable of producing both life and death. It might be the rank as well.

“A spoon,” Trust grumbled, his one now working arm holding the object. Where had she found a spoon? Who among them even used spoons?! “See what I mean? Let’s stick to other things. If the lady doesn’t want us to discuss her, then we shan’t.”

Sunday could only agree to that. How was he supposed to trust her if she didn’t want him to know her though? Vesper had alluded to having suffered quite the journey along with Nysandra. The question was whether they were going to use Sunday as a political tool of sorts or try to turn him into a figure of worship for whatever cult they were running.

There were quite a few possibilities. Those talks of Corpse Kings, and a human Emperor were quite worrying too.

“Look, boy. I saw your weird spell. The summon of both life, death, and soul. It is a rare thing and I can’t help but admit its very existence is enough for me to want to slit your throat and steal the secrets in your soul space. Spells affecting the soul are in the realm of divinity. If there’s hope for that old spell-fused, it lies in that spell.”

“She didn’t want me using it on her,” Sunday frowned. I can’t trust a word out of this guy’s mouth. I can’t trust anyone. Maybe Kallus? He’s innocent enough in his madness. And where’s Riya?

“Of course. Without knowing what you’re doing you might just extinguish the flame holding her tied to her mortal coil. Just conjuring up some essence and smashing it against a problem doesn’t mean the problem will go away. Spells are tools. Yes, yes, don’t give me that look. They do have some peculiar qualities that make one think they’re all that much, but people do too, and they’re the biggest tools.”

“Is everyone just that to you? A means to an end?”

Trust smiled wide. “Now you’re getting it. It’s a mindset that’s been taught for generations. It helps with control. With confidence. ‘But mister, how will the spell feel when I overload it with essence? Will it hurt? Will it die?’” The mage said in a mocking tone. “You won’t believe the fools I’ve taught and seen. This is one of the traps many magi fall into. Attachment. Awe. Fear of the power they hold. I wonder how much time you’ve spent wondering why a spell works a certain way or trying to figure out what it does. Have you been scared by their effects? By their weirdness?”

Sunday didn’t respond. The first thought in his mind was the Visage of the Berserk Moon. Mera had given him the spell as a gift, and it was the most perplexing and strange one of them all. It affected other spells, and it affected people. It turned his newest summon into a rampaging beast from a mournful spirit. Sunday still wondered what was the purpose of the original spell. A sad bear. Without his Berserk Moon, it was as good as useless.

“Are there useless spells out there?” he asked instead.

“No.” The answer was as confident as they came, and Sunday narrowed his eyes as Trust continued. “There are spells unsuited for their caster, but you shouldn’t have that problem. Your essence is pure, and no matter the technique you practice, you will grow. Such is the advantage of a meddler sent to sow chaos into the world”

Chaos, huh?

“All I’m saying is, try to reign it all in. The spells are yours. You give them the essence that allows them to grow and exist. They need you. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship, and allowing them to triumph over you will only lead to suffering. Trust me on this. First comes a spell, then before you know it one of the Divine will be wiggling inside your mind, turning you into a fallen puppet. Don’t be a weak failure.”

Sunday was still stuck on the previous words of the mage. Had he truly grasped his spells, making them his own? Even Phantasmal Fall had chosen to bond with him of its own volition… somewhat. Perhaps it was just too suitable for him, perhaps it was something else.

“Now,” Trust said. “I answered your question to the best of my ability. Just work on that spell. It’s your best bet. Strengthen the soul of the spell-fused, and prevent it from succumbing to the pressure of the spell inside. What’s the name of the spell we created?” His eyes shone with mad desire, and for a moment Sunday felt as if he was standing before a scientist ready to cut him open. However, he was done with fear.

I don’t feel like I’ve gotten anything, but if he knows something about the weird spell it might not be a lost time. Sunday was quite frustrated with all the explanations that seemed nothing more than ways to skirt the question. There was no straight answer coming out of the mage’s mouth. Gain control, and use the spells you have. How would that happen when there was no one to teach him properly?

“Key of Essence is the name of it.”

Half-truth and half-a-lie. Sunday had considered making up a better name, but it was thin ice he was treading with someone so knowledgeable. Let him think I’ve more to offer. Let’s see who gets the better of who.

“I knew it!” Trust exclaimed loudly and Sunday frowned.

“You know what the spell does?”

“Not the slightest clue, but I knew you outsider meddlers know the true names of spells! You didn’t even hesitate! Ha! Even if you’ve lied, the way you answered is enough proof. No, I need more of you. Another one, then we can compare notes. Yes, I’ll furnish two cells as soon as I’m back at court, and then—”

Did this snake just trick me…? We’ll see.

“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that? I should just lock you up with Jishu, and be done with it.”

Trust grinned. “Come on kid. Ghoul Kings are not that rare, and the one you’re holding as a pet in the other room is nothing short of a fraud. His horde fell apart because of a single noble vampire.”

Ghoul King…

“Honestly, how about you become my student?”

“What do you have to offer?” Sunday asked.

“Spells! Knowledge! I’ll teach you how to tame all of your spells, how to bond with them, and how to become like the magi you can only read of in the library! This tiny city has little to offer, and its magi are failures. Even the Adepts are just stuck brats, who’ve stayed where they can be somebody.”

“So I assume you can deal with Nysandra and Vesper then? Is it due to the strength of the Corpse Kings?”

Trust laughed out loud. “I like you, kid. You’re a project worth investing in, but if you think you’ll squeeze more information out of me, I’ll have to disappoint. Trusting them, however, will be a mistake.”

Oh?

“And trusting you, the person who tried to throw me into a soup of bullshit is better?”

“As I said, it was a moment of passion. How about—”

A wave of invasive energy briefly washed over them and Trust instantly shut up. It was not divinity, but something awfully close to it. Sunday found himself frowning as the essence in his soul space seemed to grow unsteady and turbulent. Only the yew tree with its tiny spark of divinity remained unmoved.

Nysandra was in the corner again, two curved blades held next to her.

“What’s going on?” Sunday asked.

She was no mage, so it couldn’t have been her. It wasn’t Trust either. She didn’t so much as look at him but stared down Trust.

“Who tried to reach you, worm?” she asked coldly.

“The Corpse Kings summon me back, awaiting results of what I promised,” Trust said.

There was worrying somberness in his voice. Sunday didn’t want to let go of such a resource. Their discussion was only beginning, and he had quite a few questions for a mage of such experience. The Arcanum of Blumwin could hardly offer even a fraction of that.

Nysandra grinned and stepped forward.

“Even in this form, their mark shines brightly upon your soul. Do you want me to cut it off?”

“Please, rest assured lady Nysandra. I’ll be fine. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take my leave.”

“And if I don’t allow it?”

“Then I can only die over and over until you do. Surely you wouldn’t want me to detonate the spells in my soul space? While I can’t use them well, unless you allow it, I’m capable enough of doing so much.”

There were a few tense moments of silence.

“Go,” Nysandra said. “Tell them the lost lamb is spoken for now. He won’t be one of their slaves like you are.”

“It was nice meeting you Sunday. I promise next time I won’t kill you. Take care, and be careful of who you trust!” the mage laughed loudly as dark essence poured out and healed his body until it was almost indistinguishable from the first time Sunday had seen him.

“Be careful who you trust, Sunday. We’ll meet again, I promise you that. Until then, listen to the pretty lady. Who knows, she might come around because of—,”

A blade moved toward his head, but Trust was gone as if he hadn’t ever been there. Only the slightest fluctuation of essence allowed Sunday to understand that a spell had been used.

“Did he teleport away?” he asked.

“He banished himself. Others of his kind will drag him out of the trap he’s willingly thrown himself into. It is one of the preferred methods of quick travel for the Corpse Kings, although it’s not very pleasant. Some spells are weird like that. Come now, regardless of how fruitful your talks with the bastard were, we have a lot to decide.”

For some reason Sunday felt he had lost out.