Lv.1 Lich
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Chapter 1: Death
I awoke in the dark to screaming. Metal rang on stone and ceramic shattered.
I got up with a start, or tried to. I was pinned to my bed by my chest.
Flailing my arms, I strained to untangle myself from the covers. Except… there were no covers, there was no bed. Beneath me was a hard, marble-slab floor; whose cold touch was only diminished by the hot, sticky liquid which surrounded me.
Icy hands gripped my heart, banishing the last of my sleep. By the light of a dying candle, I looked down at myself. A knife handle stuck straight up from my chest, right above my heart. Panicking, I reached for the thing, trying to pull it out.
– Two hundred years ago I discovered a magical pendant, which could heal someone from any injury - so long as it consumed aurum. I had attached a spatial enchantment to it, containing several tons of pure gold. It should be able to save me; if I can only get this damn knife out.
Wiggling the weapon back and forth rapidly, I was able to dislodge it from the mortar and yank it free.
I expected pain - but there was none. I was in shock, I must have been. Something I had read about, but never experienced in over a thousand years of life.
I let out a breath; trying to calm myself. Now that the blade was out, I would heal. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t already dead! Something to think about later, right now I was too frazzled.
Where am I?
This was not my room; my floor was not marble, my drapes were not velvet, I had no four-poster bed. I hadn’t used such opulent furniture in over eight hundred years, the other magi had thought me an arrogant arse. A shudder of embarrassment ran down my spine.
Stop! I was mentally rambling.
Taking another breath, I returned to the question at hand. Where was I?
Images came to me in a rush, I was in a guest room at the palace. The king had asked for my aid. I could have ignored him and remained in my Tower: the last time I had done so, one of his predecessors increased the price of all my magical supplies. Although, that might have been because of the civil war he was so worried about. Being an Archmagus, I hardly concerned myself with worldly affairs. I was in need of spell components, so I thought I’d drop by.
I was regretting that now!
I should be healed, so I climbed to my feet. My movements, jerky and imprecise.
What could one expect after such a rude awakening? The light was flickering. I looked toward its source: a candle on its side; surrounded by the remains of a teapot, the tea slowly encroaching on the flame.
I lurched over to the door, cursing whomever ruined my cotton pyjamas as I fumbled with the candle. Eventually, I managed to put it back in the holder, on the side table.
Now that the panic had fully subsided, faster than I would have expected - but no matter, I was able to turn my analytical eye to the scene I found myself in.
Looking at the bed - it was ruffled and blankets were pulled in the direction of the puddle - nay, veritable lake, of blood. I blanched at that.
This was an assassination, clearly. I had cast a protective ward around my bed, it remained undisturbed, but the lesser ward about my person had been completely dispelled. That took quite some doing, looking at the knife in my hand, I could see how: a ward breaking enchantment was placed on it. Not only was it powerful but it was keyed to my exact ward. I had tweaked the spell over the years, making many improvements. The power of the weapon implied only another Archmagus could have created it, or, perhaps, a master enchanter - but they wouldn’t have been able to key it to my spell. This was someone I knew, perhaps the Archmagus of The Black Tower? He seemed overly interested in my componentless magic research.
No, this must have been done by someone with close ties to the kingdom as it was still the middle of the night and a maid had brought tea! Either she was in on it or was sent to discover the body.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Luckily for me, I had told no one about my pendant. I reached around my neck for comfort. Nothing was there, my neck was bare.
Before I could think much on it, through the open door I heard the jingle of armour followed by the pounding of feet.
Finally, someone is here.
I stuck my head out the door. At the end of the hall, I could see torchlight rounding the corner.
An armoured man with a plumed helm locked eyes with me. I called out to him, trying to say, “everything is fine,” but all that came forth was a low groan, the call of death.
The sergeant's face went white as he drew his sword.
“Zombie!” he called before rushing toward me, the other half-dozen men following suit.
I wrenched myself back into the room.
What the hell is happening? I thought, struggling with the latch, my fingers thick and heavy. I locked it just in time. A moment later the wood cracked under the charge of a stampeding officer. Drawing a diamond from my storage ring, then doing so twice more before my rigoured hands could hold it, I cast a hardening spell.
That will only buy me a little time, I have to get out of here!
Remaining in a logical frame of mind, I squashed down any sliver of emotion. Reaching, again, for my neck, I still found no pendant. My hand fumbled lower; to the wound in the centre of my chest. I was dead… dead.
Despite my best efforts, I turned catatonic - this time truly in shock. Only drawn out of myself by the banging and shouting which continued on the other side of the door.
Shit! I thought, it was all I could think.
The undead were a plague on this world, the enemy of all life. Even Archmagi, who were banned from participating in wars between the six civilised kingdoms, were expected to act if undead were in their territory. No, it was worse than that. I could still use magic, I could still think. That made me a Lich.
– Whenever a powerful magic user dies there is a near infinitesimal chance that they can become a Natural Lich. A Synthetic Lich, usually a witch or wizard without the power to use the Archmagi’s life-extending spells, would leave this world if their SoulJar were destroyed. A Natural Lich was much worse, they would be hunted by all the magi. They... we… didn't die when our phylactery, or body in my case, was destroyed. Having taken control of my soul after death, even though not consciously, I would do so again. I couldn't pass on unless my soul was destroyed, then there would be nothing left of me.
Shit!
I needed to return to my Tower and disappear before the others found out. I was not going to let a little death part me from my research.
Ignoring the splintering door-frame, I summoned the ingredients for a teleportation spell. I only needed to hold the spell’s foci in my hand, so I let the rest of the components fall to the tiled floor:
1. An onyx: to represent the aspect of space.
2. A marked candle: to represent the distortion of time.
3. The hair of a spatial owl: to increase the cast speed.
4. The eyes of a mirage mole: to see the target location.
5. The bark of an everlasting oak: to protect the living from dissipation.
6. Finally, a piece of my Tower’s carpet
7. (no, I dropped it),
8. a chunk of brick,
9. (nope, that one too),
10. a lion’s head knocker: to represent my Tower
11. (not quite, but I could make it work... probably).
Internally chanting the arcane words and focusing the weave around a point two feet in front of me, I cast the spell.
A flickering portal grew before me, starting from the size of a pea and growing to that of a man in seconds.
Something was wrong however, the edges fluctuated in and out of reality. The image of my room, superimposed with that of a dungeon - static filled the view.
This wouldn’t do, I needed a better foci. Teleportation may be the most difficult spell yet discovered, and I was working with less than half the proper ingredients - and no inscription - but this was just embarrassing. Before I could so much as think of cancelling the spell, the door flew off its hinges under another charge and the hardened projectile sent me tumbling toward the portal.
In the blink of an eye, I was able to do two things: first, I dropped the foci, the portal would shatter if it went through. Then, I screamed.
As soon as I entered the tear in reality, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.
It wasn’t because: instead of my Tower, I found myself in a pitch black void; the only light coming from a still-open portal.
It wasn’t because: the look of triumph on the guards’ faces was swiftly replaced by fear, as shapeless forms streamed past me and into the material plane.
It wasn’t even because: of the popping sound the portal made as it snapped shut, less than a second later.
No, the only thing that occupied my mind was pain! Soul scraping, world ending, Pain!
I would have convulsed, if the nothingness which surrounded me didn't hold me tight; devouring me piece, by tiny, piece. My pallid skin dissolved before my eyes. Thankfully, I couldn’t see the rest of the process - my eyes melting shortly thereafter, leaving me with nothing but agony before, that too, evaporated; all I knew was darkness.