Bobby came back to his apartment after hiding the possum in the woods, to find the door wide open and the sounds of a man straining himself coming from inside. Someone broke in, should I call the police?
Bobby wasn’t sure if he should or not, but he decided to have a look first, he could easily run away if it was someone he couldn’t deal with. Holding his breath, he crept into his home, expecting to turn the corner and find some buff man dressed all in black.
“Keith??” Bobby exclaimed in surprise before his expression soured.
I kicked that good for nothing out, how dare he break back in, I’ll make him leave for good this time and maybe change the locks.
Keith looked round, his face was all sweaty and he was panting heavily, eyes darting from side to side. “Wha-?”
Bobby was confused for a moment why the druggy was trying to move the cannon ball, but decided he didn’t care, “Get the fuck out of my house, this is your last warning or I call the cops again!” Bobby withdrew his phone and held it up to show the unwelcome guest.
“No, I can’t go. Bobby, please let me stay.” Keith looked moments away from a panic attack, but Bobby wasn’t having any of this. He started typing the number.
Keith scrambled madly for the phone, but Bobby dodged to the side and kicked him away. The man reeled off obscenities. Then he picked something shiny from the floor. Bobby’s eyes widened when he realised he was holding a knife. Uh oh. At least it’s bent? Maybe bent knives are less stabby? No, these thoughts are stupid, that could definitely kill me.
For a moment neither of them moved, Bobby not wanting to provoke the man, and Keith clearly unsure what to do. Bobby cleared all the anger from his tone and said as calmly as he could. “Come on Keith, you know you don’t want to do this, just put down the knife and we can sort things out peacefully.”
Bobby thought he did a pretty good job of sounding calm, but Keith didn’t seem to agree. The man shook for a second and then roared “NO!” Eyes narrowing, he tightened his grip and ran at Bobby.
The next events seemed to happen in slow motion. Bobby decided to attempt to rugby tackle the man running at him, and so crouched low and dived for his legs. Keith seemingly hadn’t expected Bobby to come towards him, and tried to dodge to the side too late. Bobby ended up catching one leg which sent his opponent careening off balance and with an almighty crack, Keith's head connected with the corner of the coffee table.
No one moved for a moment, then Bobby hesitantly got back to his feet. Keeping his distance he circled round the table and saw the large amounts of blood coming from Keith’s head. He was out cold, and Bobby could tell it was a serious injury.
Oh Shit, Shit, Shit. Bobby felt his legs give out under him as he fell to the floor. What just happened??? He had almost died, but in the process had ended up probably killing someone. I can’t go to jail… He felt the panic slowly increasing in the back of his mind, combining with the shame and repressed emotions from earlier to create what would soon be a panic attack.
As if reacting to his panic, the energy that had been waiting at the edges of his vision, ever present since he had hit that possum suddenly crackled and came to the forefront of his mind, it seemed to be alive, begging him to use it. Unable to think of what else to do he gingerly touched it with his mind.
The overwhelming feeling of power numbed the fear and panic, replacing it with adrenaline and euphoria. Bobby felt the incoming panic attack crumple under the energy and soon all he was left with was a sense of purpose. Almost like an observer in his own body he found himself rising to his feet, going to close the door and then coming back to the prone body.
The knife had fallen on the floor, so Bobby kicked it under the sofa with his foot, then kicked Keith to check the man was unconscious. Not wanting the blood to ruin his sofa or rugs, he started moving the furniture away from the collapsed figure.
Keith had tried to kill him. That was not something you could forget about, he had kicked out this man from his house and for that the man had come back and tried to kill him. The energy that filled his mind pushed an idea into his head. I could turn Keith into a soul puppet, that will ensure he won’t attack me. If I need to take over the world, I will probably have to turn quite a few people into thralls, which means I need practice.
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He summoned his status quickly to ensure his soul wasn’t in danger of going below 80.
Roadkill Necromancer - Human[Bobby]
Magic[95] Soul[95]
Magic Capacity
10
Magic Density
10
Regeneration
10
Perception
11
Dexterity
10
Warning: If soul drops below 80 death will occur
My soul is at 95 so creating a puppet uses up about 5, which means I can only make about 4 right now, I’ll need to check my rate of soul regeneration tomorrow.
The energy crackled again, not accepting his delay and he opened his third eye, first he removed another piece of his soul, feeling the same bizarre deja vu as before. Then he put his hand on Keith’s head and looked at the man's soul.
Keith’s soul looked odd to Bobby, it appeared slightly twisted, like a hurricane. He scanned over the soul, trying to find the ego and realised it was at the centre of the odd twisting. What could have caused this, can drugs somehow affect the soul? Bobby realised he needed to hurry up in case the man gained consciousness again, so he jammed the fragment of his soul into the ego and surrounded the whole thing with a cloud of crackling magic.
[Perception 11 → 12]
[Dexterity 10 → 11]
Does this mean I’ve succeeded? he wondered, looking at the two notifications that had invaded his vision. Withdrawing his perception he sat back and curiously waited. As he waited the magic sank away from the forefront of his mind and the panic and fear returned, although a lot more muted than before.
“What did I just do?” he said as he looked down at his hands, thoughts racing. He had felt like the magic had been controlling him, but he knew that wasn’t true somehow. No those actions were a result of him unencumbered by any bad emotions.
He shivered as he remembered the feeling. In that moment he’d had no empathy or kindness, the magic had made him completely sociopathic, driven only by desire and necessity. Bobby wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. It was entirely possible that the stronger he got, the more present that feeling would be until he became completely inhuman.
Then distracting him from his line of thought, Keith suddenly sat up and got to his feet, almost stumbling before finding his balance. He looked down at Bobby in silence and didn’t say a word. The part that freaked out Bobby the most was not the head wound or the leaking blood, but the fact that Keith's expression was completely neutral and devoid of emotion. Humans always showed emotion on their faces, even when sleeping, but Keith's unresponsiveness made him look like a corpse.
“Hello,” Bobby said timidly. How much human intelligence has he retained, can he still speak?
Keith stared at him unblinkingly before replying slowly. “Hello master, what is my name?”
Bobby blanked for a moment. “Uhh…” I could just call him Keith, but he’s the first human thrall I’ve created, and giving him his old name might make him regain his sense of self. He pondered before remembering what the man had done to him and deciding to give him a ridiculous name. “You shall be called Mcgunkin,” Bobby said, snickering internally.
“Thank you Master, what is my purpose?”
Bobby remembered all the times Keith had refused to help do chores, “You clean and err.. Do my dirty work for me!”
“And lick your shoes clean too?” Keith said in a monotone.
“Is that… humour?”
“Yes”
“Huh, yes then, should I ask it of you.” Bobby replied with a smirk as Keith vanished off into the kitchen and came back with a mop. “Um Kei—no Mcgunkin, you know the blood’s still leaking out of you, so maybe you should clean yourself up before making more of a mess.”
Mcgunkin looked down, “Master is wise” then went into the bathroom and locked the door behind himself. How much of Keith is left in him I wonder, the ego must contain the emotions and personality, but his memories are probably all still there. Also that head wound would have definitely killed him, which means that magic infusion must somehow increase the body's healing ability. I wonder if I’ll need to replenish that energy, or whether he’ll be fine when it runs out.
Bobby shrugged and went into the kitchen, all this necromancing was making him hungry.
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