‘The Burial Grounds were places of worship and mystery long before the Divine walked the world and birthed their abominations. No one can know with certainty what or who has created them, nor who is buried there. Some think they are remnants of another civilization, of a world older than the gods or the lands we know.
There have been attempts to research the burial grounds, but even the strongest of magi fail to return once they step foot there. In olden records found in the fallen lands or the libraries of conquered temples they are called ‘places of rebirth’, and it is said that one can only pass through by wearing the skin of a worthy sacrifice on their shoulders. Such attempts have sadly, all failed as well.
All we know about them, which is next to nothing, is from those who walk out of there – undead, unlike the rest. Almost all, if not all of them are gifted with strange talents and the ability to conquer spells with ease. They have never known life unlike most regular undead and have long been accepted among the highborn. Unfortunately, while they come with knowledge of the world, their memories of their birthplaces are non-existent. Each one of the corpses that have walked out of there, however, refuses to return to their place of origin, no matter what.
Some believe them amalgamations of long departed spirits given form who will go back to where they come from, while others trust it is the will of the world birthing them to help in the eternal crusade against the Divine.’
The truth remains unknown.
Excerpt from ‘The Many Faces of Undeath’
By L. W. Stkirl
******
Sunday closed the book with a sigh. It had taken him an hour to shake off the strange vision and even now the shadows between the bookshelves were making him question his sanity. The yellow eyes were searing in his mind and even now he felt like they were looking at him. Jishu was dead and there were no ghouls around. Corpses don’t suffer from post-traumatic stress, damn it.
At least he had gotten something of an answer – burial grounds were just mysterious places that gave birth to corpses. No one knew more, and that was good enough for Sunday as it gave him a great excuse for being weird, without having to learn a ton of lore to be convincing. Most seemed to conclude that he had come from there on their own anyway which was even better.
The library itself was a spacious hall, shrouded in deep unnatural shadows that seemed to swallow most of the light coming from the weak unevenly spaced lamps. To make matters worse there were locks everywhere, whole rafts of books put in steel cages, and even books wrapped in chains as if the content in them was so dangerous it could leap out of the page and slit someone’s throat just to watch life flee their veins. It was intriguing and worrying at the same time.
He was not given access to books about spells or the arts, but at least he had gotten something out of his silver. The rest of the literature he could read as he wished was not worthy of his attention. Or perhaps any attention. It ranged from the ‘Sexual Habits of Vampires’ – nineteen thick volumes written by a particularly passionate woman – to ‘Learning to Drink Responsibly’, which surprisingly recounted the failures of each of the twenty-seven authors to do just that.
None of it was helpful to him in any way. A part of Sunday desperately wanted to bring the awakening art he had taken from Jishu, and perhaps the books too, and trade them for some access to better information or contribution points, but he knew it would be a mistake. From what he had seen of the Arcanum it was not a place that treated its outer members fairly. He couldn’t speak of those working for it full-time, but exploitation was the word that best described it from what he had seen.
It made Sunday admire the place. His test had been a simple affair, making him think that anyone, as long as they were a mage, could join. However, if he wanted to make use of all the Arcanum offered and he was promised, he would either have to provide sufficient knowledge in the way of arts, books, and information, or do tasks to earn merit. It was an invisible leash that essentially put him to work, without actually paying him with anything but more access… for which he would have to pay additionally.
With a heavier mind and lighter pouch, Sunday headed out of the library, giving a friendly nod to each of the book-wretches he passed. They were one of the uglier undead Sunday had met so far as each seemed to have spent a significant amount of time decomposing before starting life in undeath. He now knew what a ‘wretch’ was and he likened it to mindless zombies from movies. Here, however, it seemed possible for wretches to be instilled with a singular goal that defined their existence. A smart use of resources if he had ever seen one.
His mind was still reeling from the strange vision as he got lost a few times while looking for the Task Hall, where he could check on the available jobs. If those practice rooms were as great as Elora thought, there was no reason to delay getting one. The Black Breath was the only consistent path to strength he had, and any help with it would be amazing.
Sunday was fully planning to make use of Vyn’s desire for growth and have him as a tour guide. The guy was not that bad of a company either.
He walked through the halls, trying not to pay attention to the fact that each light, and each reflective surface, looked as if they held a pair of yellow eyes smeared with red.
I need a break.
******
To be remade from the seed of a spell was not new to Jishu. Crawling out from rot and strange liquids, like a newborn animal, wasn’t either. He didn’t know how long had passed nor did he fully remember the events that had led to his current condition. He trusted it would all come back to him soon, just like it had the other two times.
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His arm broke through the thin remnants of his spell-created cocoon. Strength unlike any he had felt already burned through his stiff muscles, and essence churned inside of him with madness. Even his hurt soul seemed to have significantly healed. It took him a long while to gain control of this new body, but once he did, it felt magnificent.
One thing he remembered very clearly – his bond with his disciple. A fragile, hollow thing built on lies and deceit. And yet it had been enough for his spell to become functional and give him what he had desired all this time. A new glorious form capable of tasting life without succumbing to its treachery.
It was the greatest and strangest spell Jishu had ever laid hands upon and the one that had allowed him to still live after all he had done and all he had suffered.
Intertwined Rebirth, it had been called by his betters – a mythical spell of unparalleled uniqueness that took the form of a monstrous two-headed caterpillar turning into a butterfly and back. A somewhat fitting name, although he would’ve called it something else. It was limitless growth and metamorphosis contained in a single spell – power that could change the understanding of the world and the species in it.
It gave life – better life – to its wielder upon his death. A life improved by one he shared a bond with. Furthermore, it combined the traits of both and created something more. To some, it was a travesty, a mockery of nature, a twisted joke. To Jishu, it was the most wonderful thing.
And it was finite. The two stripes on the caterpillar’s back had become one, signifying that its time was running out. The spell was bonded with his very soul, but that didn’t seem to help it.
Jishu had seen many spells in his time. He had hunted far and wide and he had fought in wars for spells since the moment of his birth. The strangest and the weirdest and those that still brought terror at the very thought of their existence lived forever in his memory. He shuddered when he envisioned the power and carnage they could bring and his desire to finally own them only grew.
What a wonderful world it was.
Many of the high-level spells he knew of came with strange conditions and qualities. Spells were wondrous like that. They changed like living beings, like ideas and concepts given life. They morphed and many remained undiscovered because magi didn’t know how to look or what to offer in return for the power hidden deep inside.
Some said spells could tell their names, that they had spirits inside of them, and that earning their approval was the only way to unlock their true power.
To Jishu, spells were tools first and foremost – wondrous and magnificent tools given by the world as a measure against the accursed Divine, not that he cared about the pitiful war everyone waged.
It didn’t matter. Intertwined Rebirth was fused with his soul and no one would take it away from him. He had no clue how many uses it had held initially. There would be time to figure out a way to feed it and let it recover. This life was special, unlike the others. He could feel it as he sat and reminisced, while his flesh slowly hardened and finished shaping itself – the final touches of a masterpiece.
The first time he had used it had been against his brother. It was shortly before they had ripped each other apart and the result had been unsatisfactory as he had just become more of the same – a high-ghoul with strengthened talent to control his lesser and nothing more.
The second he had picked a human with the desire to combine life and death, and the result had given him false hope. It had lasted days before the new body had started degrading, stripping him of eternity and strength and forcing him to rot in the swamp. The disease created to torture him seemed to affect even the environment.
For a brief moment Jishu had known life, but then undeath had washed that away without remorse and even it had been fractured and lesser.
The inferni girl would have been his last hope. Even now she remained a viable option for Jishu’s last attempt if this one didn’t work.
The girl was a beautiful creature who hid many things in her mysterious blood, and she would be instrumental in his rise either way. Jishu’s ghouls had expended a lot of effort to protect the stupid villagers from their own folly throughout the short time they had nested in the swamp. And all had been just to keep the girl safe.
Then, Sunday came along. An undead as strange as Jishu’s spells who didn’t act like he belonged and who could use life as if it was not poison to him.
All Jishu had ever wanted was to step with both feet between the chasm of life and death and conquer both, and the opportunity had presented itself to him when his hope was all but gone. To think he had almost given up on achieving his dream. Life and death as one, forever his.
Even if he died again.
Jishu licked his lips.
He rose, sensing the completion of his body. He let the liquids slide freely from his skin and broke the remains of his cocoon. He could feel the strength of his newly cleansed soul, which seemed to have been affected for the first time since his first rebirth. His talent was intact and brimming with power. It felt stronger… changed. Talents were a peculiar thing and for one as strong as his to grow further... The feeling was intoxicating, wonderful, euphoric.
Jishu laughed and stretched his new power, sensing each of the ghouls he had marked, each that belonged to him. Fragmented images flashed through his mind plucked straight from the puny brains of his lessers and Jishu grinned as he witnessed his own death and the actions of the boy through the memories of the monsters.
No. Not ‘the boy’. His disciple. Their bond was only a superficial thing, but Jishu had taught him many things and Sunday had agreed to it in the end, even if he had never intended to do so.
Jishu’s soul space was overflowing with essence, but there was much left to be desired. Reaching rank four again would be a long and arduous journey, and he had no spells to assist him, but lesser ranks would be of no issue.
He stretched his new limbs and took his first steps, feeling the earth beneath and grinning madly.
Finally, after so long, it was his time to rise. And who better than his favorite disciple to join him? He would do that, or die and help Jishu by contributing his wondrous body to science. It was possible Sunday’s death would only lead to further improvements to the new body. The spell had shown signs of being able to make that possible before, but Jishu hadn’t been able to properly control the process.
The boy would need convincing either way, but now they were connected as one. Jishu laughed as he exited from the depths of the cave where he had left the spell seed.
First came the inferni girl and the villagers. That was not an issue. There was nothing in this weak region that could stop a newly born Ghoul King, much less some puny mortals, wretches, and half a mage.
His will stretched further than ever, covering most of the swamp and hills surrounding it, and each of the ghouls roaming its dark depths felt its call and rushed to follow his orders, lest he extinguish their minds.
There were fewer than he remembered, and they were all terrified before his touch took it all away. Ghouls were creatures of great intuition.
Jishu took but a moment to marvel at their obedience and basked in the feeling of the complete sense of control gave him.
He had life, and he had death, and he would have an army, and with it, everything he desired.