”Pray tell, esteemed necromancer, why have two machines of stone and metal forced their way into our domain?” Nirmaata asked and tightened its grip on Anastacia’s shoulder. “And further explain why one carries a parasite, divine in nature?”
“Uhhh… Well I only know one, so no idea what that’s about.” The necromancer shrugged. “Did one of them have a broken shoulder and faceplate?” She asked and returned to her work with unforeseen enthusiasm.
The muse moved its hand closer to Anastacia’s neck and buried its claws into her vest. “So they are indeed here for esteemed necromancer…” It whispered.
“Yeah, I’m sort of married to that one. We rule over a bunch of goblins and work together as adventurers. Recently he’s been a massive asshat though. Someone started giving me these small glass balls for whatever reason, and he’s going though a lot of trouble to make sure I don’t get them. Then he disappears at night to do who knows what.” Anastacia ranted and waved her knife around. “But don’t hurt him though, I’ll figure out his bullshit eventually and squeeze the answers out of him, one way or another.”
“…I see.” Nirmaata said, sounding extremely indifferent to the necromancer’s problems. “Focus in your craft, esteemed necromancer, and I shall tend to our guests.”
Thanks to the odd enchantment on her knife, Anastacia had been able to somewhat happily work on a corpse for the first time in her life, though fully aware that the spell Nirmaata had put on her was the only reason for her eagerness to do so. It made the whole situation extremely vexing for the necromancer, on one hand she had long ago vowed not to resurrect anything because it seemed evil and unnatural, but on the other she was eager to see how well she would do if she actually tried. After all, she was supposed to be the strongest there is, and certainly had some degree of pride when it came to making control patterns.
“So, can they beat you?” She asked while suturing shut one of the gashes she had made. There was no real reason to do so, but between the options of having an undead rat with a bunch of holes in it or simply having an undead rat, the choice was simple.
Nirmaata let out a long and deep sigh. “There is naught to beat. A muse comes and goes as it pleases. Esteemed necromancer completes the task given to her and allows dearest Bartholomew and I to be together once more. When this is done, the last of the great muses has chosen to depart.”
Surprised to hear that there was a way to just make Nirmaata leave, Anastacia turned around without thinking and was once more blinded by the pure radiance of the beast. “Wait, so you’ll just go once this is done? Where?” She askes and cursed while rubbing her eyes.
The muse gave a longwinded explanation with a mournful tone. “There are many ways to say it: a flame fades, a bell tolls, but for me, the end is the final curtain falling and the play coming to an end. The age of muses was long and grand, but our part has been played to a close, masterfully so. Through arrogance and selfishness, I have dragged on what should have ended. With my last act of idiocy, one final crime against fate itself, the one to bear its cost with his life was dearest Bartholomew.”
“Pretty sure he was just really old. You can’t really blame old people dying on yourself. Unless he got a heart attack while clapping some muse cheeks, but I have no idea how- “ Anastacia tried to joke to lighten up the mood, though only having a vague idea of the expression she had heard from Xamiliere. Yet when Nirmaata presented what was clearly an egg of some kind, the necromancer was at a loss of words. “Wait, I wasn’t… Did you…? What?!” She struggled to say anything coherent.
“Through ages, the one and only unchanged truth is the vulgar mind of the youth.” The muse said and held out the egg, allowing Anastacia to touch it.
Roughly twenty centimeters tall, the egg was obviously an unparalleled work of craftmanship. Combination of ceramics, wood and gold, fitted together so perfectly that there was no way to tell where one material ended and another began by feeling its surface. The interlocking pieces of different materials created a complex, repeating pattern that seemed like it started moving if one stared at it for too long. Still not quite used to her loaned sight, it took Anastacia a while to notice what was wrong: despite the immense work and awe-inspiring skill required to make such a thing, the egg remained dim and if anything, was somehow sad to look at. While gliding her hand across its cool surface, she came across a crack. Too slight to even really see, but upon touch it was very apparent.
“As I learned of the mortal flaw in all humans, fearing the end of our days together, I foolishly dared to ask for one more favor of dearest Bartholomew. There was but a single way to produce an heir to a muse, rarely considered and never attempted, for our kind has no need for successors. The last muse, without kin and soon to be alone, hopelessly scared and desperate, tricked dearest Bartholomew into making a promise – an egg worthy of a muse.” Nirmaata continued reminiscing with a broken-down voice. “A feat which mercilessly ripped and tore all there was left of its maker, but kept secret, for the muse feared refusal. Moons passed and the egg, the most beautiful piece of creation ever to exist, was shaped through endless incantations and rigorous work. Drained of all that he was, dearest Bartholomew rose to present it to the muse, but alas, it was then that fate saw it fit to end his life. Its mind clouded, the muse rushed to aid dearest Bartholomew and allowed the egg to fall. Cracked and ruined, the egg grew still, and the last muse was left alone.”
Anastacia immediately felt a sting in her chest for having lied to the creature, but still feared its fury too much admit it. Not being a terribly good at comforting, she chose to stay quiet and waited for the muse to initiate conversation once it felt like talking again. In her silence, she realized that her plan could now be changed. If Nirmaata merely wanted a moment with Bartholomew instead of years, she could probably control the dried husk for a while and pass it off as being reanimated, just long enough for the muse to be able to pass on. It would without a doubt be the most horrific lie she would or even could tell, but maybe it was the right thing to do. Nirmaata was without a doubt suffering and unhappy, and there was no way its wish would ever be really granted. So maybe a single absolutely enormous white lie would be worth it.
“Is esteemed necromancer done with her piece? Her hands are not moving.” Nirmaata suddenly asked and carefully placed the egg on the workbench to inspect the rodent.
Anastacia swallowed nervously and mentally went through every pattern she had carved, to make sure nothing was missing. “Uhh… Yeah. I’m thinking of calling it Bitey.” Over the time she had worked on it, the rat carcass had gained a slight glimmer in her eyes, but was still nothing compared to anything in the room made by Bartholomew.
“Please, go ahead and prove your skill, esteemed necromancer.” The muse whispered and lowered its head next to Anastacia’s.
The necromancer took a deep breath and tried her best to focus on toning down her powers. Most of the patterns on the rat were specifically made to increase the amount of power the small corpse could withstand without exploding into a puddle of disappointment and viscera. Without daring to open her eyes, Anastacia allowed her power to seep into the rodent and prayed for any god willing to listen.
With a twitch and a squeak, Bitey woke up once more and proceeded to empty the contents of its stomach on the workbench by vomiting. Aimlessly stumbling back and forth over the drafts, the rat left a trail of mead until it stopped to stare at its master. There was no life or thought to be found behind the cloudy eyes of the undead creature, and the sight of it almost made Anastacia throw up when she made the mistake of opening her eyes.
Nirmaata on the other hand, seemed excited. It clapped its hands as the ungodly abomination of a rat limped over the edge of the workbench. “Magnificent!” It exclaimed before placing a new dead rat in front of the necromancer. “Let us continue!”
“Actually, you said that you only need a moment with Bartholomew, right? I was thinking I’d have to prepare his body to work until it literally crumbles to dust, which would probably take years or even decades to achieve and even then, I’d have to stay here forever to keep feeding him power and maintain the patterns. I’d also have to take into account the natural degradation of flesh, any interference from other necromancers and uhh… humidity!” Anastacia lied. Luckily, she wasn’t able to look directly at the muse in the first place, because she would have definitely crumbled trying to lie face to face with the beast. “But if it’s just a moment – say, two minutes or so, I could do that right now! All I’d need to do is prepare his body very slightly to… dig out his memories and such.”
The muse quickly grabbed Anastacia by her waist and dangled the wriggling necromancer in the air, squeezing her with slightly too much force. Even though the beast had no problems holding her up, Anastacia could feel its arm trembling when it stared at her. “I could be together with dearest Bartholomew… now?” It asked quietly, as if trying to hide its excitement.
Anastacia flopped around to get enough room to breathe properly. “Yeah… But only for a moment. This won’t work again.” She wheezed, still avoiding the muse’s gaze like her life depended on it – which it very well may have.
Clearly nothing besides the concept of being able to be with Bartholomew had reached the muse, though it may simply not have cared about the limitations of Anastacia’s suggestion, and instead focused on what mattered to it. The muse released its captive and scrambled to bring forth the corpse it had been guarding.
Late Bartholomew was still wearing the high-end attire he died in, an expensive shirt stained by oils and lacquer and a leather apron that still had a couple of tools hanging from it. The presence of Nirmaata had no doubt kept away all flies, rodents and maggots, allowing the corpse to mummify in peace.
“The skin is nice and leathery, I can just make the patterns on it.” Anastacia pointed out and reached for the corpse’s hand, only to pull back because the muse started to tremble and let out a threatening snarl. “I’m going to need to touch it… him!” The necromancer said and lifted her arms up.
Nirmaata seemed to be having some kind of internal struggle over letting Anastacia so much as touch Bartholomew’s dried husk. Without a doubt, it knew that there was no other way, but it needed a moment to accept the idea. After staring the corpse for what seemed like an eternity to Anastacia, the muse nodded and allowed her to begin. It followed the necromancer’s every movement as closely as it could without getting in the way and made sure she feared for her life the entire time.
Anastacia sweated profusely despite the relatively low temperature of the room and had to constantly wipe her face with a sleeve and take breaks to calm her shaking hands. Despite this, she managed to slowly but surely inscribe the patterns she needed to not immediately explode the corpse. After what were probably the three most nerve cracking hours of her life, the exhausted necromancer collapsed on the floor and tossed aside her tools.
“Is it finished? Is esteemed necromancer done?” The muse inquired, demanding an immediate answer.
Still breathing heavily, the necromancer rolled on her stomach and pressed her face against the cool floor. “Yes, but can I rest for a min-“ She muttered, but was interrupted.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Then do it! NOW!” Nirmaata commanded as the candles in the workshop all went out at once and the room darkened ominously.
Understanding that there was no other way out, Anastacia forced herself to cast aside all hesitation and regrets over lying to the muse and pretended to reanimate Bartholomew. Instead of allowing the body to act on its own, like she had done with Bitey earlier, she took control of the entire cadaver and manually operated even the slightest of its movements. “Sorry, but his vocal cords have dried out so he can’t talk.” She said and mentally dug her trench of lies a bit deeper.
Nirmaata probably couldn’t even hear her as it helped the shaking body of old Bartholomew sit up and with a trembling hand, ran its fingers over his cheek.
The lifeless body of the mansion’s owner looked around for a while until it noticed the muse. With a smile that caused the skin on its face to crack, the body reached for Nirmaata’s mask and touched it. Without so much as a word, the muse buried its face into the corpse’s chest and squeezed it, making Bartholomew’s brittle bones snap and crack. Copying what King always did to her when she was feeling down, Anastacia made the body pat Nirmaata’s head and run its fingers through the feathers on its neck.
Writhing on the floor next to them in mental agony over the macabre stunt she was pulling, Anastacia pressed her knees against her chest and curled up to a ball to wait. Suddenly she could hear a loud clank, as if someone had dropped a plate on the floor. Worried something had gone wrong, she glanced at the couple, only to find the corpse of Bartholomew caressing thin air with Nirmaata’s porcelain mask on the floor next to it. “Nirmaata? Where are you?” She asked, hoping to not get an answer.
Gilbert woke up feeling almost as crappy as he had felt going to sleep. The sun had already risen a while ago, and the adventurer concluded that he must have been amazingly exhausted to not wake up to it. He looked around at the misty forest road he had made his camp next to and the woods surrounding him. From the start, Gilbert felt like something was off, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Still more than slightly groggy, he dug through Anastacia’s backpack to find any food the necromancer had stashed away – not like she needed them anyway and they could restock in the village if need be. All he found was a tiny piece of jerky, some bread that had been hollowed out with only the crust remaining and a copious number of socks. While munching on the hardened breadcrust, he happened to glance at the frozen surface of the road and noticed two sets of tracks on it. One large and heavy and the other small, deep and round, like someone had poked the road with a cane. Both of the tracks led in the direction of the mansion and through its gates.
“Wait. Shit!” He exclaimed upon realizing what had happened and tossed aside the breadcrust to begin strapping on his still slightly damp equipment. Still only halfway done with one of his bracers, Gilbert rushed through the mansion’s gates into the frosty, overgrown garden.
The first change Gilbert noted about the building itself was a large gaping hole that had been torn into the wall of the foyer, presumably by a very angry simulacrum and possibly by throwing a second simulacrum through it, judging by its size at least. Unfortunately, the hole was slightly too high up for Gilbert to be able to pull himself in.
While rifling through the pouches on his belt for his lockpicks, the adventurer happened upon the key he had taken from Anastacia’s helmet. “Nah, I don’t get that lucky.” He scoffed and tried the key on the door anyway, which opened without so much as a tug. “She must have picked it up inside, I suppose.” Gilbert shrugged and stepped in – though only after making sure to place a stone in front of the door so it wouldn’t close on its own.
The foyer wasn’t in the shape he remembered leaving it in either. What had mostly changed was the grotesque fleshy horror with countless eyes that now covered much of the room. It reminded Gilbert of the thing they had fought in Ebonywatch, along with the weird cult surrounding it. He readied his weapon when the eyes noticed him, but the creature made no threatening movements in the slightest, it merely wriggled about and even moved its extremities out of his way.
All over the floor, were the smashed remains of countless mannequins and toys, likely put in that condition by King. When inspected more closely, Gilbert found them to be completely inanimate. After he had broken the mannequins earlier, they had kept moving, but these were well and truly dead. Perhaps the simulacra had really defeated the muse?
The carnage continued through the doors directly opposite to the front door, and the fleshy mass of eyes had grown in that direction as well. Behind the broken-down doors was a massive ballroom that had once no doubt housed grand parties for the richer folk of the world, but was now covered in more flesh and torn bits of toys and furniture. However, what was interesting about the room was its height: it reached all the way to the third floor, and in fact, had a small third floor balcony, where the hosts of the balls could greet their guests from.
The simulacra had realized this as well, and without any concern over the structural integrity of the building, had tipped over one of the supporting pillars against the balcony and used it to climb up. The spot in the ceiling where the pillar was broken off from had already drooped slightly and would no doubt collapse within a few days.
Using the pillar, Gilbert inched his way up to the top floor of the mansion and was greeted with a completely scorched room, covered in soot from floor to the ceiling and smelled like the aftermath of a forest fire. “Hmh, they found the fire one as well.” The adventurer shrugged and kicked a burned up, severed, long-fingered arm on the floor, making it crumble into dust. With them being notoriously fireproof, the muse’s creation must have not stood much of a chance against the simulacra, though it had successfully cooked some of the flesh creature.
Next hole in the wall led to a long, dark corridor, much like the one Gilbert and Anastacia had been trapped in, but luckily it appeared to have an end in sight. Surprisingly enough, the corridor was completely intact and had no signs of fighting in it. Just as he was about to reach the end of the corridor, he suddenly had a feeling of being watched. Wizened from the meeting with the cloaked simulacrum, Gilbert glanced up and found the same pair of glowing eyes staring at him. “So King didn’t kill you? Good, I suppose. I take it that you’re not allowed anywhere near Anna though?” He asked.
The pair of eyes nodded and something small but hard hit the floor in front of Gilbert. Already able to guess what the cloaked simulacrum had dropped, the adventurer picked up the glass orb and continued through the door at the end of the corridor into what seemed to be a large workshop of some kind.
“Gil!” Anastacia yelled and tackled the old adventurer.
“Good to see you too. Did these guys beat the muse somehow?” Gilbert wondered and looked at the porcelain mask on the floor.
Anastacia groaned. “No… I… I’ll explain it later.” She muttered and went on to pick up what was left of her weapons. “Can you please put the mask on the workbench, next to the egg? I think I might have a mental breakdown if I have to look at it.”
King, somehow looking rejected despite not really being able to look any different than usual, was carrying a corpse wrapped in a curtain. No doubt the bitter necromancer had rejected his aid and made him carry the mansion’s owner’s corpse instead.
“Can we maybe just leave? I… I have to get some fresh air and maybe donate some gold to orphans or something to get my good person points back.” Anastacia said while already walking out of the door.
With the adventurers gone and the sun once more lowering itself over the horizon, a simulacrum covered by a green cloak stared out of the window and waited for a full day to make sure the adventurers weren’t going to return. As the last ray of sunlight hit the wall of the mansion, the simulacrum touched a wall with its hand, spreading a lump of fleshy matter on it. The pulsating mass of muscle, fat and eyes spread to cover most of the wall until it suddenly split in two from the middle, revealing a doorway that flooded the entire workshop with pure white light. Soon enough, through it walked a strange amalgamation of flesh, metal and stone; a simulacrum much like King, but partly covered with muscle tissue, including a skinless hand that appeared completely human and a leg to match it. The lines in this simulacrum’s armor glowed blood red and pulsated in rhythm, mimicking blood flow through a mortal body.
The cloaked simulacrum quickly bowed and dashed out of the room to leave the mansion and resume its task of following Anastacia.
Not long after, a crack appeared in the ceiling of the workshop, leaking light just as pure as the flesh portal did. Once it had spread enough, its creator tore it wide open from the other side and the goddess of everything unwanted and purposeless flopped through. As Vilja hit the floor, it shattered like glass under her and created another gap, which she then fell into – only to emerge from the first one again. This loop continued and the goddess screamed as she picked up speed, becoming nothing more than a blur between the two cracks.
The fleshy simulacrum watched quietly as the goddess began bouncing from the edges of the cracks and quickly spun out of control. Finally, it saw fit to interfere and caught Vilja meaty tendrils sprouting from its arm.
“Thanks. Let’s not mention this to Sylvia, okay? I’m too used to having two hands, so having a bit of balance issues right now.” Vilja laughed and pointed at her left arm, which was missing, along with almost the entire left half of her torso. She also had multiple fractures spreading all over her body, all of which she had sealed by tightening her silvery hair around them, though some of the black ooze gushing from her injuries still leaked though. Despite looking grave, none of the injuries seemed to bother the goddess herself. “Everything going well on your end? I know that those two can be stubborn.”
The simulacrum shook its head. “Difficulties…” It whispered from a mouth that quickly formed on its shoulder and dissolved back into a lump of unsorted meat.
“Well, keep on trying. I lost like eleven shoes bargaining with obuwielings to give that idiot a literal key that would have allowed them to go in and out as they pleased but nooo… she chucks spears at the door.” Vilja encouraged the simulacrum and laughed. “But we’re here for a reason, so let’s not dally – Sylvia gets lonely pretty quick these days.” The goddess pointed out and fastened few of her makeshift bandages. “Nirmaata! Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know dying isn’t that easy!” She yelled and looked around, perhaps a little nervously.
Suddenly something grabbed onto the goddess from behind and threw her into the pile of scrap wood in the corner of the room. In a blink of an eye, Nirmaata materialized, grabbed its mask and moved on to tear the fleshy growth off the workshop’s wall, closing the path made by the simulacrum. “WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?! DO THE DIVINE KNOW NO MERCY?!” It screamed, absolutely furious at its sudden guests. After swatting the simulacrum through a wall like the divine creature was a mere fly, Nirmaata turned its attention back to Vilja, who had barely gotten back on her feet. It picked up the small goddess and slammed her against the floor. “Sacrificing everything meaningful in this world, I accepted my fate, played along with esteemed necromancer’s ruse and laid down to await the void. Yet, instead of relieving me from my anguish, my duty, fate sees it fit to send an overgrown goblin and a broken doll pretending to be something holy. Is this what is granted for falling in line?!” The muse asked and dangled Vilja by her head, threatening to crush it like a grape.
“Ow ow ow! You knew she was tricking you?” Vilja said, sounding genuinely surprised.
“The muse were not born yesterday, and esteemed necromancer is a poor liar. Yet, her trickery allowed for some reflection. Though what was granted was no more than a cruel puppet act of my wish, does the final muse deserve more than that? No. I lied to the one I call dearest, I took everything from him and even in his final days, I tricked dearest Bartholomew into giving his life for my own selfish needs.” Nirmaata lamented as it calmed down. Looking defeated, it released Vilja and shuffled into the corner it used to keep Bartholomew’s body in. “Now, leave me. There’s naught you can do here, nor do I wish to add two more gods on my newfound conscience.”
Vilja punched the air with her remaining arm and pouted. “Don’t act like you can just off me like that. You just got the jump on me earlier. We’re not here to fight though, he just kind of happened to come by while trying to figure out some other stuff and I’m here with a job offer.” She explained and sat down on the floor.
Nirmaata sighed. “Go. Unless you have the prowess to bring back the only thing I truly desire in this world, your offer stands worthless.” It muttered and laid down to await death, which was unlikely to come any time soon.
“Well, to be honest, I can’t. Even my friends couldn’t pull that one off anymore, it has simply been too long, and stuff has spread out too much… or something.” Vilja admitted. “But the thing is, we’re in need of doers, and my friend thinks you’d make decent addition to our cabal.”
“Why are you still here? You have nothing to offer me. Please… Just leave.” The muse pleaded quietly.
Vilja grinned. “Oh! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Vilja, goddess of the unwanted and useless. Typically, things that fall under my domain are simply consumed; but on a very rare occasion, when I’m feeling particularly merciful and kind, I might be persuaded to only take what’s rightfully mine and leave the rest untouched.” She said, snatched the muse’s egg from the workbench with her hair and rubbed it until she found the almost invisible crack on is otherwise perfect surface. The goddess then stuck out her tongue and dragged it along the fracture. “Hmm… What a smooth, smoky flavor that really lingers in your mouth. Such a shame to give this one up… Anyway, maybe I have your attention now?” She asked, grinning even wider, and presented Nirmaata the egg, now free of its defect.