Jack’s body was not his own.
He could feel it the way one can sense they are in a dream. But this was no dream.
It was something, far, far worse.
I… I can’t move! Jack thought, panic rising in his mind.
He tried to blink, to open his eyes, to scream. Anything.
Nothing worked.
Like a nightmare, he was merely a passenger to what happened next.
His host coughed, and Jack could taste the smoke suffocating the lungs they shared. Their eyes opened, and Jack could see a world set on fire. They were somewhere high up, and he could make out the silhouettes of black pillars to either side of him. The stones that composed them moved and swirled, akin to ink in water.
Ahead, there was a balcony set atop a cliff, and far off in the distance, a familiar black storm rushed across the plains at a breakneck speed. Above the flat expanse was an odd sight. Giant boulders that vaguely resembled islands floated, and Jack could just barely make out homes, people, and bridges connecting them all together. It would’ve been beautiful if not for the encroaching blackness.
What is this place? Why am I seeing the shroud move?! Jack wondered.
Below the balcony, he could hear screaming. So. Much. Screaming.
He looked down, and Jack could see a wound bleeding pearlescent ichor down a set of immaculate robes.
“Please,” Jack’s host body croaked.
The sound was simultaneously powerful and disturbing. It reminded him of speaking while inhaling—you could make out the words, sure, but it always came out hauntingly wrong.
He fell to the ground, clutching at his wound. Now that he focused on it, he could feel the pain his host felt. It was less a searing agony than a hollowing-out. Whatever had inflicted this wound, it was somehow draining this man. Around them, the smoke continued to billow, followed far too swiftly by green flames that devoured the pillars and the marbled floors they were anchored to.
Off in the distance, the shroud reached the floating islands and consumed them without pause or hesitation.
“No!” he screamed, hand raised in vain toward the lost islands.
He turned toward the exit from the balcony, where the green flames were eating away at white and black statues of figures he didn’t recognize. For a moment, he thought a few of the statues turned invisible, but the green flames re-exposed them, only to turn them to ash. Beyond the rows of masterfully carved statues, a crumbling palace lay before them.
Something large and foul shifted in the billowing smoke, and Jack was grateful when his host started to crawl backward. The green flames parted, and a figure emerged. He was easily nine feet tall and impossibly thin. Despite this, every step he took thudded with the power of a sledgehammer against the tiled floor, cratering it with each movement.
The emerald fire licked at his long, regal cape. Jack’s gaze moved from the black leather armor encasing this creature from hell and moved up to its face. There, this nightmare was made manifest, as a skull wreathed in green fire and black smoke stared down at him.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of Jack’s mind, he remembered the word for a monster such as this. Somehow, it felt inadequate to describe the insidious presence before him, but he uttered it in his mind all the same.
Lich.
In the lich’s grip was the scorched corpse of someone in an exotically sewn dress. He threw them at Jack’s feet, and his host wailed, diving for the dead figure but failing to catch their head before it cracked against the floor.
The sound it made when it landed would haunt Jack for the rest of his life.
“I expected more from the god of opposites,” the lich said, his tone disturbingly casual. “Your quaint capital was most diverting, though. What a horrible waste of your throne’s power, but we shall remedy that shortly.
“How could you?!” Jack said, his voice crackling with pain and fury. “She was just a mortal. She had nothing to do with us. You could’ve let her go, and I would’ve given you what you desired without a fight!”
The lich shrugged and inspected his fingernails.
“Why negotiate with cowards such as you? Why talk when I can take?” the lich growled, a sliver of his true menace leeching out from his nonchalant veneer.
Ichor-stained hands tenderly pushed the woman’s hair away, exposing a face that was once undoubtedly beautiful. But flames and cruelty had marred her, even after death.
“I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry,” Jack said between sobs.
Jack’s tearful gaze ripped from the dead woman he cradled. “You will pay for this, Emberbone. I swear it. I swear it on every damned bone in my body. You will pay for taking my Angela from me.”
Emberbone? Jack thought, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. Is that who this is? The owner of the Tuck’s weird marble collection? What does that have to do with this lich?
“Swear all you like, Kethral. It matters not.” Emberbone strode toward Jack, emerald light turning his silhouette into something even more ghoulish. “Your planet is mine. Your throne, laid bare under my will. Soon, your soul, like this backwater you call a home, shall be nothing more than a memory I alone shall bear.”
The lich knelt down, his black boots caving in the tile under his impossible weight. He clicked his tongue. The sound was dry and raspy.
“Enough of these parlor tricks. They weren’t enough when you were at your full strength, and now look at you. Grasping at straws,” Emberbone said, the black pits of his eyes illuminated by tiny beads of green flame.
Slowly—almost intimately—the lich reached forward and grabbed Jack by the throat. A chill swept through his body, and he could feel his host, Kethral, struggle in vain to resist the invading power. Emberbone lifted them as he stood, leaving Angela’s corpse behind.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I said, ENOUGH.” Emberbone squeezed, and there was a horrible snap. Jack felt something inside Kethral shatter, and instantly the pressure shoving against Emberbone vanished.
Had Kethral been manipulating gravity this whole time?! Jack wondered.
His thoughts were banished as the horrible scene continued to play out. Kethral grabbed at Emberbone’s wrist, smearing his own ichor across the lich’s black gauntlet. The air shifted, and Emberbone squeezed harder. Outside, the shroud was rushing toward them. It would be here any second.
He finally understood what the coldness spreading through him was. It wasn’t the invasion of some ice spell. It was simply the result of heat—life—escaping his body. Emberbone was siphoning something from Kethral. And however he was managing, it left a hollowness more absolute and final than death in its wake.
He’s not killing him, Jack realized. He’s ending him.
He wasn’t sure how he knew. Perhaps, all people could tell when their very souls were being unmade. Regardless, Jack knew with utter certainty that should this procedure finish, Kethral would be no more. No true death to let his soul find the afterlife, to find his Angela.
No. This would lead to inexorable oblivion.
“You…” The power was gone from Kethral’s voice. “You won’t win. I… I…”
Emberbone squeezed harder, a cruel grin forming on his undead features.
“You what?” the lich demanded.
“I… damn… you.”
With his final vestige of power, Jack could feel Kethral manipulate the power inside himself. Turning it inward. Changing something. Transforming something. But with this final push, his soul was snuffed out.
The shroud reached them, casting this once-beautiful world of sky-islands and lush fields into ashen darkness. Jack could feel whatever force was animating this dream begin to curl inward at the edges. But just before he exited this nightmare, he saw through Kethral’s lifeless eyes. He watched as Emberbone sighed in exultation as he was imbued with Kethral’s strength.
“At last!” the lich declared, discarding the god’s corpse.
Still, Jack was able to watch. Emberbone strode to the edge of the balcony and raised both of his skeletal hands at the endless expanse of the shroud. Prismatic power exploded from his hands and into the shroud.
And the shroud changed.
It seemed to take on a corrupted aspect of Kethral’s strange power, strengthening it even as its very nature mutated over and over again.
“I finally have enough,” he said to himself, staring at his open palms as divine energies swirled around them in pearlescent eddies.
Then, just as the vision ended, Jack heard Emberbone’s voice, cruel and soft. “Six down. One to go.”
***
Jack awoke on the rooftop of Guntila’s house, gasping and coughing. He could still taste it. Taste the ash. The smoke. The horrible scent of burnt flesh and the shroud invading his lungs. Jack rubbed his neck, some primal part of him expecting to find Emberbone’s hand there, clutching at him from beyond that nightmarish vision.
“What?” Jack groaned. “How?”
His hand burned.
He peered down to see that he no longer held the marble. But in its place was a glowing mark on the back of his hands, its color the same otherworldly mixture as Kethral’s blood.
Jack got a slew of notifications, but he was in too much pain and shock to read them.
“Awaken, champion.”
Jack froze where he sat on the rooftop. He knew this voice. It was Kethral, somehow projecting the words into his mind.
“Use my rage. Use my power. Do what I could not. End the Blight King.”
The power giving rise to the voice dissipated as the glowing mark on his hand faded into a new tattoo. It was still nighttime, though at a cursory glance, it was much later into the evening than when he’d cast his skill.
Is this going to happen every time I use Soul Fusion? he wondered darkly.
No wonder Steward had called it a terrible skill. If he had to endure that each time, he was going to have to be a lot more careful.
Pulling the new tattoo closer, he could see that it was a geometric symbol of some kind. It was akin to an hourglass, but there was a long diagonal line bisecting the two halves of the otherwise symmetrical image.
He waited until he was sure no one or anything would mess with his head. Minutes passed, and he slowly caught his breath. And, like dipping one’s toes into hot water, he eventually went over all that he’d seen. And what he remembered wasn’t only vivid, but if he was correct, it had been real.
That must’ve been Kethral’s final moments. He did something to his bones.
Jack remembered the description of the black pouch. One of the bones had come from a dead god. If he was honest with himself, he was incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of other gods, much less whole other planets out there.
Though there are six fewer than before, he thought morosely.
Sighing, he pulled his knees up to his chest and continued to stare numbly at his new tattoo. If he caught just the right light, he could barely see that pearlescent energy sliding viscously through the marking.
Maybe they aren’t real gods. Not like the one I know from Earth. Maybe these are just super-powerful individuals, like level 99 or something equally insane. Besides, if Kethral were a god, that means these types of gods can die.
For some reason, the thought was oddly comforting. It helped him retain just a bit of his remaining sanity.
Gods can die.
He thought about Emberbone. Kethral’s power had flooded him, building up both the shroud and himself. And apparently, he’d made a habit of killing gods.
But if he’s functionally a god like them, that means he can die, too.
Jack smiled grimly and cracked his knuckles. His green eyes roamed the black horizon of the shroud.
“You can die,” he said, enjoying the promise behind the words. “And I’m coming for you.”
He rose to his feet and shook out his cold limbs. Taking in a deep breath, he finally checked his new notifications.
[Soul Fusion Successful. Bestowing Skill. Skill quality: Unknown…]
[Error…]
[Error…]
[Error…]
[Skill Quality reassessed. Assigning New Designation.]
New designation? Jack wondered, his pulse quickening. He continued to read.
[Skill Quality: Divine]
[New Skill Learned: Law of Inversion]
[Law of Inversion: Level 1. Rank: Novice (Divine)]
Jack’s breath caught as he read the next few notifications.
[Congratulations! Through effort, your skill, Soul Fusion, has leveled up!]
[Soul Fusion: Level 0?9. Rank: Novice]
NINE WHOLE LEVELS?! WITH ONE CAST?!
Jack whooped into the night, fists raised to the heavens. There was a commotion below him, and he immediately winced. He cursed and rushed to the side of the roof. Below, Wren and the others were scurrying out to see who was on their roof. Jack ducked back and glanced around. After a split second, he spotted another rooftop close enough to jump to.
He stepped back a few steps, then leapt into the night air. He felt so alive. So powerful. His enchanted boots landed with a soft crunch against the tiled platform, and he raced along the tops of Thistlebrush for a few minutes, letting his adrenaline finally have an outlet. When he was sure no one would chase after him, he came to a halt at the edge of a roof and sat down along its rim.
“Okay, let’s see what you can do, new skill of mine. Please be awesome,” Jack said, pulling up his skill sheet.
He was not disappointed.
