Chapter 130 - Time to Grow Up, SC

Old Man Jishu being alive as he was had left Sunday quite astonished even if he didn’t show it. He found it surprising that there was no hate in his heart for the high ghoul. No resentment or anything of the sort. There had been a short period of time where fear of the swamp had followed after him, and the strange vision had certainly come as a surprise. Maybe it was burnout. Maybe it was just numbness for all the things thrown at him.

After some prodding almost everything was out in the open. What Jishu had used certainly sounded like a spell unlike any other. What did it make them? Relatives? Brothers? Had it stolen from Sunday, or used him as inspiration for what Jishu had become? It was no spell Sunday wanted to obtain, and since it was bonded there were not many ways he could use to do so. Certainly, none he knew of.

The connection was undeniable, and Sunday knew that if he, as the target of the spell had received a bit of Jishu’s skills and knowledge, then the bastard had gotten even more. The interesting part was what? It was difficult to broach the subject without revealing the details of his talents, and Sunday decided against it for now. However, if Jishu had any of them or even a fraction… his experiences would be invaluable. Any information was welcome, and while Sunday had somewhat advanced in his understanding of what he was and who he was to become, he still had a long way to walk.

Vesper had already offered to kill the high ghoul, almost as if it was as simple as plucking a leaf from a tree, but Sunday had refused. He doubted it was the connection they shared obstructing him from making the decision. It was mostly a twisted desire to pluck the secrets the old bastard still held close to his heart. The Omen of Duality was Sunday’s most important spell, and perhaps… perhaps there was more. It was a selfish feeling, very fitting for someone like Jishu. But it was all about survival, and knowing what he knew now, Sunday wanted to live for a bit longer.

There would be time to deal with old man Jishu. He was helpless in the hands of Sunday’s two new friends. Frankly, they scared him more than Jishu ever had. It was difficult to remain fully calm in the face of power that was so far out of reach. They were interesting and friendly enough, but even Mera was careful in their presence despite this being her home and despite her strange power.

The fight against the Divine’s incarnation had been enough to showcase the strength of Nysandra, and Sunday doubted it was all she had to offer. She was strange. Different than Kallus, despite both of them being wights.

It was also apparent that there were a bunch of spell-fused roaming about--villagers who were turned into tools by Jishu himself. One reason to kill him, but usefulness outweighed his sins. Mera volunteered to round them up. Arten was one of them, which somewhat enraged Sunday. He had spent a short amount of time with the man, but he had been more than helpful during that and he loved little Pearl.

Sunday loathed to think what had happened to the rest of the people. All changed by the blood of the one they protected. From what he knew of the process of becoming a spell fused, it was not a good experience.

“What now?” Nysandra asked from the side. She observed him a lot in quiet contemplation, and Sunday wondered if he was meeting her standards.

He had spoken with almost everyone, apart from Trust. Jishu was held in a room surrounded by bars of Mesmer Steel. Being only a rank two—the same as Sunday—and lacking spells apart from the one that had given him life, the high ghoul had no chance of escaping or winning against someone of the present.

The game was just getting interesting.

“Now, I want to speak with Trust,” he said.

“That bastard won’t give you much. He’s a puppet seeking ways to please the Corpse Kings. I doubt he would’ve fought off death for as long if not to try and sway you.”

“Are you afraid of that?” Sunday asked, turning toward the terrifying wight. “I don’t know you, nor do I know him. All I have are your words and what we went through. Sure, he tried to kill me a few times, but… what can guarantee that you won’t do the same if I willingly come wherever it is you want to bring me? My little life is suddenly precious to me, and trust is not as cheap as I thought in this world.”

He expected her to react with anger or to argue with him, but all Nysandra did was raise an eyebrow. Her very presence was an unnerving darkness that promised untold horrors. A strange feeling. A very familiar feeling. Sunday couldn’t quite place it but the more time he spent in the wight’s company the more he noticed how much he felt like he knew her.

It was different than the connection with Jishu that was forced on him. This was not about Nysandra as a person or even a being, but her as a symbol of something very, very familiar.

“What are you?” he asked after the silence became almost unbearable.

For the first time, she gave him a wide, natural smile.

“Now we’re asking the right questions,” she said. “Unfortunately, you’ve done little to earn the answers. Come now, Trust is still here. Mera has been quite welcoming, undoubtedly wondering what she may gain from this. Not surprising for a dying spell-fused, so I think you should use this opportunity to help her if you value her friendship. Who knows, one day she might just be what you need.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes. “She’s dying?”

“Of course. Each time she uses her strength she becomes less herself and more a spell. One day she will become a part of the world, dispersing toward wherever dead spells go, before reforming again as one. There will be no Mera then, but a natural force of the world.”

This… this is not what she told me. This sounds terrifying!

“You think I can help her? Can I really?”

“Can you? I won’t coddle you, nor will I offer all I have. My presence is enough of a boon for you to achieve all your goals and more. It’s time to grow up, Sunday.”

Alright… letting me play on my own so I can learn while protecting me closely, as if I’m a child. Let’s see where this takes me.

She didn’t wait any longer and marched down to another of the many doors littering the large common hall. Almost all of the furniture was made of Mesmer Steel masked as stone. If Mera’s strength was limited, why was she wasting it so?

Trust was behind the door. There was no chair or bed for him. Just a hole in which he was left to rot. His body was broken in many different ways than Sunday remembered, and he briefly wondered if he should take the spells of the mage. Trust’s voice came immediately, but it was tired and hoarse. Broken, as if something was obstructing the words—one of the many mortal wounds most likely.

“Oh, my dear friend. My dear outsider. Come to mock me, or make friends? I see Lady Deathb—”

“Shut it, lich. You’ll not speak of that monicker, or in the name of Death, I’ll end your soul.”

A strong chill followed the words, making Sunday shudder despite being undead. He didn’t understand why Trust’s words infuriated Nysandra so, but asking seemed like a bad idea considering she was like a dark storm waiting for a cause to unleash thunder and lightning.

“Why did you try to throw me in the cauldron? Is that what you called those things? What did you want to achieve?”

Trust sighed. A surge of dark essence appeared around his broken skull and reclaimed the missing flesh. Bone met bone and became one, and suddenly the mage’s voice was many times more pleasant.

“This is better. Look, man. It’s nothing personal, really. We do what we do from boredom and desire to find the limits of the world. I just got lost in all the ingredients we gathered. It was a lapse of judgment. You’re a rare thing. A slayer of gods? An actual living outsider? You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Trust’s hollow eyes suddenly lit up with mischievous light and Sunday felt Nysandra shuffle next to him. She moved slowly and leaned against one of the walls, one of her sleek blades playing in the palm of her hand. The weapons were scary too. This was no normal material.

The mage paid her no heed. He kept staring at Sunday and Sunday returned the gaze.

“You have it, don’t you?” he said with a grunt. “You probably know its name. Tell me, is it alive? I always thought a spell made of five different beings, including a generous helping of divinity, would be alive. Not like those pale imitations the Arcanum makes from the spell-fused. Fireballs? Shields? Bah! Boring stuff. Unimaginative. But our work is bound to be peerless. Please. Tell me.”

Sunday knelt on the ground, getting closer to Trust. He could almost feel the essence burning inside the mage for some reason. It was so very similar to his own at this moment. Was it the mage trying to get closer? Another manipulative dance?

“Why?” Sunday asked.

“Why? Because I did so much! Because I can reward you! By the grace of the Corpse Kings—”

“I don’t know who you truly are. I don’t know who your kings are. Their name means nothing to me.” Sunday said dismissively, interrupting the mage. “You helped me a lot in the library, then you tried to turn me into an experiment. Now, as far as I understand, you can leave any time you want. The death of this body won’t be permanent, huh? Funny how you guys keep finding ways to avoid death.”

Trust seemed confused for a few moments. “You’ve met more like me?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, even if you’ve had the Arcanum in the palm of your hand. Listen. I don’t know who to trust. For all I know Nysandra here might just cup me into pieces and give me as an offering to one of the Divine the moment I agree to go with her. And I know she’ll ask. I can’t do anything against her or that crazy vampire.”

Sunday did his best not to look toward the wight, but to her credit, she remained silent. Just a dark observer holding the power to end everyone and everything in this city. It was quite the thrill, if Sunday had to be honest, but gambling had always been a bit of a weakness to him.

“I also know that I have the means of escaping her or anyone for that matter. I’m still here only because I need allies and an understanding of this world and the situation I’m in. It’s not peachy from what I can tell so far, you see. I have the Divine coming for me. I’ve every bastard in this city looking for ways to turn me into a tool. I’ll have to deal with my brethren at some point too! So… I need help, and I need it fast.” Sunday sighed heavily and ran his one hand’s fingers through his scalp. “You’re a mage of great renown. You can help me. I belong to no faction, and I plan to stay that way. Some goodwill from the Corpse Kings whom you claim to represent will be priceless.”

Trust remained silent for a while, his eyes playing between Nysandra and Sunday. The essence burst out of his wounds and a few minutes later his body was whole and functional even if it looked like a four-thousand-year-old mummy.

“I can’t say I’m not open to it. I saw the chaos in you. I don’t know how you do it, and I won’t ask,” Trust said slowly. Gone was the mocking tone in his voice. “That’s enough to know that you’re not fully lying to me. You can escape even her if you so want. Not for long, but…” he looked toward Nysandra and smiled at her. “However, I’ll need more than your promises. I’ll need the name of the spell you obtained, its effects, and all the details you can spare. I won’t ask you to give it to me, as that will probably be impossible, but my demands will also depend on your wants. This will be a transaction.”

Sunday stood up and offered his hand.

“Great, then. I hope this is not an elaborate way to kill yourself. My new friends don’t seem to like you all that much.”

“Oh, trust me. The feeling is mutual,” Trust replied and stood up.

Nysandra moved like a dark whirling and the mage’s head rolled on the ground, enacting a tired groan from him. She shrugged at Sunday before leaving through the door.

This will be tougher than I thought…