A Living Will, Part 21: The Darkness Waits Below

With a distinct crunch, I crushed the skull of the ghoul with my gloved hand. Its body fell to the ground twitching, before beginning to dissolve into a fine black mist. The gore on my glove similarly evaporated, leaving my hands clean. I smiled happily to myself, although it was just in my mind.

Pulling a notepad out of my coat, I began to add the current location to my rough map. Behind me, several gunshots rang out, but I completely ignored them, as well as the disturbing hiss of more ghouls dissolving. As far as I could tell from my map, taking the left path from this junction would lead us back toward the entrance, while turning right would lead us further in. Naturally, I turned toward the right hand passage, and started moving forward.

-This way.-

“H, hey. Can we… can we take a break?” spoke a breathless voice behind me. I turned around to look at Irene Bellvaunt, who was currently leaning against the rough tunnel wall and panting slightly.

A Living Will, Part 19: A Deal is Struck

-What are you writing?- I asked the young woman.

Irene Bellvaunt jumped a bit, and quickly twisted her head to glare at me. She had been sitting at a table in her kitchen, scribbling away in a small book, when I entered. Apparently, she hadn’t heard me come in. I chose to be impressed with her resilience — I often encountered humans who simply ran away when I suddenly appeared behind them. Not that I blamed them, of course.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered angrily. “I’m just writing in my journal.”

-Is that so,- I said, pretending to be disinterested. Well, given my lack of an actual voice, I always sound disinterested, so it wasn’t too hard to pretend. I was actually a bit intrigued about what she might be writing, but sadly, her handwriting was too atrocious to quickly interpret.

Or the written language had shifted again. That happened sometimes. The printed pages that Metria had provided me were legible, though, so she probably was just a terrible writer.

A Living Will, Part 14: Irene’s Diary (2)

Mother and Father had taken me to meet Miss Metria before. I remembered her, slightly, as a pretty woman who had something wrong with her eyes. Twenty years later, she still looks exactly the same. Only, I can tell what’s wrong with her eyes now. They’re dead.

It was a little off-putting at first, meeting her again. For one thing, she’s a lot prettier than me, even though she’s an undead. I’m actually not sure what kind of undead she is. I almost asked her if she was a vampire. From what I’ve read, vampires are either extremely beautiful, or extremely ugly. But they are also supposed to have especially pointed teeth, and Miss Metria’s teeth look normal. Well, beautifully white and even, so kinda better than normal. I’m pretty sure my teeth don’t look that nice. Damn it.

I’ve only read one book about undead, actually, and it was mostly focused on how to kill them. As far as I could tell, most strategies amount to hitting them with whatever holy magics you have on hand, calling on every god you know to slow them down, and then hitting them with everything you’ve got. The book was a little out of date, according to my shooting instructor. They make bullets now that can kill most undead really easily. I’m carrying a bunch of them right now, in fact. I might need them.

A Living Will, Part 12: Not A Man To Cross

Behind me, the door of the office clicked shut. Captain Jack Cross, who had been staring at a “screen” and poking away at a button-covered board in front of him, looked up at the faint noise. His eyes widened as he saw me standing in the doorway, still holding my glass of water. I sensed his fear, which was quickly replaced by a strong anger. “Mr. Zagadactulus.”

-I understand you wished to ask me some questions, Captain.-

“Where is Robert?” he asked calmly. Really, his control over his emotions was quite good; I doubt many people would have noticed the undercurrent of rage in his voice. I wouldn’t have, if I wasn’t using my little trick.

-I don’t know a ‘Robert’ in this era.-

A look of impatience crossed Cross’ face — or possibly just his mind. It was hard for me to tell the difference. “Robert Brown. The officer who was with me when we ‘collected’ you. As I’m sure you could guess.”

-I do not bother to guess. The man you refer to, along with his companions, were excessively hostile. In order to expedite my own investigation, it was necessary to delay them.-

A Living Will, Part 11: The Dangers of a Lack of Respect

As I contemplated Metricarisenikai’s prevarications, the water in the glass by my foot suddenly rippled.

Needless to say, it wasn’t anything to do with my flipping through Metria’s report, nor was it due to a sudden draft, or minor earthquake. I had once more made use of my Lord’s gift, and dissolved a bit of necrotic energy in the water. I had then influenced the cursed water to disperse itself a bit, and sent it drifting through the corridors leading to my comfortable cell.

Something had disturbed that unseen mist and, through the connection maintained by my magic, stirred the water in the glass. In other words, someone was coming towards my cell. I would have to prepare myself to receive them.

A Living Will, Part 10: A Dead Man’s Eyes

Metricarisenikai had been selected by Lord Baera to be a collector of information. A spy, you could say. As usual, it was impossible to understand what sort of criterion Baera used to make his selections; Metria had died young, after experiencing literally nothing of the real world, so as an intriguer he initially left something to be desired. I was almost shocked when he walked out of that dead city, all those centuries ago now, and announced that Lord Baera had assigned me to him as his mentor. Not that it showed on my face, of course; even then, I didn’t have a face.

But after centuries of practice, he had reached a point where, no matter how unpromising his beginnings were, he had all but perfected his craft. Were I feeling uncharitable, I would suggest that his craft was actually the art of getting other people to do his work for him, but I suppose that it did make him rather efficient at ferreting out secrets.

A Living Will, Part 9: They Reach For What They Cannot Have

Originally, Civil Station 24 had been a prison, many, many years ago, back when this city was ruled by a duke. The prison itself had actually outlasted the dukedom, and remained open after the following regime, an oligarchy of rich merchant families, took control of the city. It finally closed down after a major incident where most of the prisoners escaped, after which it lay vacant for over a century — mostly due to a fear of the souls of the many people who had died there, said to remain as life-draining ghosts. A notable necromancer had once hidden his army inside, but had the tables turned on him and died at the hands of his own undead horde. Or so the story went; this history was all from before I arrived on this continent, and records from those times are notorious for being mostly fabrications.

Some forty years ago, the masters of this city, currently a council of democratically elected senators, had decided to expand the constabulary — although the language had shifted, and they were calling them “policemen” now, for some reason. Humans can be strange. In any event, they were looking for places to build headquarters for their newly expanded “policeman” force, and some thrifty soul had pointed to the former prison, which had remained city property despite all the civilian development that had grown up around it. Realizing the opportunity to solve their problem and remove an eyesore at the same time, the council quickly had the building renovated, and almost all traces of its former incarnation were removed. With one important exception.

A Living Will, Part 8: These Unknown Streets

Apparently, to many mortals, skulls appear to be grinning all the time. Something about the exposed teeth, perhaps, giving the illusion of mirth. I’ve never seen it, myself; I’ve always felt my permanent expression looked more like a grimace. Nevertheless, I’m sure that anyone who happened to watch me leave Metricarisenikai’s bar would have recognized the expression on my lack of a face as a grin; I had far too much fun tormenting him today. Good thing my high collar hid whatever expression I might have.

In fairness, Metricarisenikai’s fears were not entirely unfounded. I have certainly killed an uncountable number over the years, living and dead alike. It is my duty to remove the Cultivations of the Gods, and those of our brethren that no longer properly serve the Lords. And on occasion, the collateral damage could become quite excessive.

But I had no intention of eliminating Metria at this time. Setting aside his undeniable usefulness, watching his panicked reactions was an amusing pastime of mine. And besides … his longevity was extremely unusual, among those of us who serve the Lords. Especially, those chosen to serve Baera tended to burn out quickly, or sacrifice themselves on a moment’s notice. But Metricarisenkai had lasted over seven centuries. Somewhere, under that nervous, fragile looking exterior, was a strong and stable soul. So as long as he was willing to blame Baera for his own proclivities, I would happily pretend to take his word for it.

A Living Will, Part 7: Modern Concerns

I froze, my left hand outstretched. I had realized my mistake, moments too late; in the past, I had always favored my right hand. Zedda had actually scolded me in the past for what he called “holding on to mortal habits.” But now that I was exclusively using my left hand, of course he was going to notice.

In retrospect, I don’t know how I expected to hide it from him. He certainly would have noticed that I was wearing Serpent’s Grace on my left arm, which would definitely have made him suspicious; and of course, I hadn’t used my right hand once since we met today — or rather, I couldn’t use it. But I don’t like showing weakness in front of Zedda, just in case. It was probably futile, but … I didn’t like it.

A Living Will, Part 6: Ancient Fears

It’s irritating. Even after seven hundred and eighty-seven years on this planet, I still can’t seem to improve at all.

Today, for instance, I stood there in front of him, with Serpent’s Grace around my arm and every sense concentrated on watching his every move — and I didn’t even realize that he was carrying his weapon until he drew it. No, even worse than that, I had specifically noted that he wasn’t carrying it, and wondered why. I knew that Arkesis was powerful, but I had no idea that it could conceal itself from me. Another unpleasant surprise from my old mentor.

At the same time, I can’t say that I was too shocked. He was the most frightening of our select community, before the rest all disappeared. When any of us forgot our duties, and moved against the mortal world in a way that did not conform to the will of the Reaper Lords, he was the one who passed the judgement and carried out the execution. I was certain he had secrets that I would never know, until it was too late.

Zagadactulus Invodotus Gedarasus. Zedda the Inquisitor. From the day I met him, I had always feared him. I was fairly certain that if he realized my current thoughts, he would execute me immediately. And I… I didn’t want to die again.