Ike thought for a minute, looking at the doll body. There were three large gaps. One at the neck, where its head wasn’t. One at the stomach. One on the side of the body. Of the three gaps, he could fit his hand in her neck or stomach, whereas the gap on the side of her body was long and narrow. The stomach was closer to the fluid than the neck, but he’d have to stick his hand into the gap. The arms could easily reach him the whole time. Plus, the gap wasn’t much larger than his hand. She can only react if she feels me, but I don’t know if I can scoop out the liquid without ever touching her body.

He eyed her neck. Rather than sticking my hand in, couldn’t I use that as a pouring spout? All I need to do is tip her over. He grinned, eyeing the space around them. And I think I know what to do.

Moving as quickly as his injured body could handle, Ike picked up his gear and gathered the wolf parts he’d spread around earlier. Some of the meat was a little trampled, but most of the jerky was fine. The wolf pelt was dried now, so he yanked it off the little frame he’d built with one hand. Strangely, some electricity crackled in the fur. Ike frowned. He tucked the pelt over his shoulder. I’ll figure that out later.

When he’d gathered everything he could, he walked up to the body. He reached out and tapped it on the shoulder.

The body lunged, immediately reaching for him. Ike backstepped, waiting. It flailed for a while, lurching left and right, then slowed to a halt and stood numbly again.

Ike tapped its shoulder.

“Get back here, you little—” Rosamund broke off to a frustrated scream. The body jumped at him, reaching its arms wide in a sweeping bear hug. Ike swayed his body backward, barely dodging the reach. His heels hit the edge of the boulder.

Almost there.

The body stumbled toward him. For a moment, Ike almost thought it would tumble off on its own, but at the last second, it slowed to a halt. Standing there, it swayed gently, almost as if in the wind.

Ike checked behind him. Nodding one last time, he tapped the body again, then jumped backward, off the rock.

The body whirled and grabbed for him. Its second step landed on air. It tipped forward and fell. Ike held his breath. Come on…come on!

CLUNK. The body lodged in between two rocks. One shoulder fell into a contour in the rock’s surface, while the other side stuck on its torso. The neck pitched down, toward the ground. The black, tarlike fluid slowly rolled toward the body’s neck.

Ike grinned. He ran back to the center of the boulder and grabbed his pan. It had been flattened on one side sometime during the fight. He grabbed it and adjusted its edges, then ran back to the body.

“What are you doing? Let me go! Release me!” Rosamund demanded.

Ignoring her, he slotted the pan under the body just as the first glob of black goo rolled out. He left it there to collect the sludge and headed back out into the scrublands. He came upon a scraggly bush and knelt, yanking it out of the ground with his Rank 1 strength. In a blast of dust and pebbles, the bush jerked free of the ground. Ike tucked it under his arm and kept going, collecting little bits of wood and plant. It was slow going with one hand, but he eventually gathered up a bundle of small wood.

Ike returned to the pan. He set the wood underneath the pan and stared at it for a second. I need two hands to start a fire. What do I do now?

He lifted his good hand and activated Lightning Grasp. As usual, lightning flickered around his hand. He pinched his finger and thumb together. Lightning flickered between them, intensifying as they drew closer together.

Lightning starts fire. Let’s see if I can, too. He lowered his hand to the scrubs, catching a particularly thin scrap of wood between his fingers. The wood crackled, then caught on fire. He quickly fed it bits of leaf and thin branch until the fire grew to consume the entire pile of scrub. Sitting down opposite the fire with an exhausted sigh, Ike propped his head on his hand and waited.

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In the distance, Rosamund cursed up a storm, using the kind of high-bred curses Ike rarely heard. Every fifth or so word, she broke off to scream or laugh madly, or simply fell silent for a span before shouting again. The body thrashed in time with her fits, legs kicking and one free arm slashing at the nothing she could reach.

Ike ignored her. He watched the dark fluid ploop into the pan. Occasionally, he stirred it with a bit of wolf bone. It loosened, from treacle to thin caramel, then began to boil. Thick black smoke emanated from the pan.

Ike leaned forward. He took a deep breath. Sweet, sweet mana poured into his lungs. His wrist tingled. Heat poured into his hand as Salamander Healing patched him up. His mana drained almost as quickly as he absorbed it, but he didn’t mind. As long as my hand heals.

Time passed. The sun crossed the sky. Ike sat beside the fire, absorbing the mana that dripped out of Rosamund’s body. As the day drew to a close, the last of the mana dripped out of her. Ike stood, breaking out of his meditative stance. He looked at his hand.

Red, raw flesh and a dark red scar. Tentatively, he shifted. His fingers twitched. Ike smiled. He shifted his hand again, forcibly releasing his hold on the sword. His hand didn’t move perfectly, but it moved. He could feel it, more than as a mass of pain and prickles. Not perfectly, but he could feel it. I can heal this injury. I need a little more mana. For now, this will have to do.

The sword dropped to the floor. Ike considered abandoning it, then shrugged and put it in his pack. He couldn’t use it as a sword anymore, but he could probably use it for something. He drew the other sword out of the pack. Thank goodness Silver gave me two.

I can’t use the Lightning Calling technique too often. I don’t have enough swords. He looked at his scarred hand and laughed to himself. Or hands.

He set up the tent near his fire. The process took longer with one bad hand, so that it was well and truly dark by the time he was done. He had a bit of wolf jerky—the meat gamy and unpleasant—and a few sips of water, and went to sleep for the night. The pan he left under Rosamund’s body, in case the last few globs of the thick liquid slipped out.

When he woke up in the morning, he found a half-pan’s worth of liquid waiting for him. Ike frowned, lost. There wasn’t that much liquid left in the body. How was there so much in the pan?

The body laid still, Rosamund asleep or tired out from all her thrashing. He leaned in, peering into the neck hole. Black fluid dotted the walls of the body, tiny droplets no bigger than drops of dew. A few of them grew too large to cling to the wall, and ran down the body to drip out the neck.

Ike raised his eyebrows. Dew… I wonder. Is it accumulating the cold energy in this Abyss that I can’t process myself, and processing it into mana? Or rather, the liquid, which I process into mana.

He twisted his lips, thinking. It felt important, but he wasn’t sure why or how. Ordinary hunters can’t process this energy, but the doll-body can. The doll-body that holds Rosamund’s consciousness. Something about this…something…

Unable to come up with it, he drew out Orin’s guide. He lit the fire under the pan and breathed in mana as he searched the guide for information on cold energy. Cold energy I can’t control or absorb. Energy like mana, that isn’t mana.

Somewhere deep in the well-loved pages, he finally found a loose-leaf excerpt tucked into the book. From the ragged edges and the fine penmanship, it had been torn from another book. …depths of the Abyss, a strange ‘cold’ energy can be found. This energy is called lunam navitas due to its association with the moon—it surges when the moon is full, and weakens when the moon is dark. Lunam navitas is also associated with death, and can be found in great quantities around battlegrounds or graveyards.

This lunam navitas, or lunam, for short, should be handled with caution. Most mages cannot readily absorb it. Those who can, must take care not to afflict themselves with cold, as it makes one more susceptible to disease. Additionally, the lunam can weaken the mind. This is one of the chief dangers of the Abyss to higher-ranked mages, as even being around lunam risks one’s sanity.

The excerpt went on, but it held nothing more of interest to Ike. He closed the book and stuck it back in his bag. Lunam. Now I have a name for it. Unfortunate that it’s so dangerous.

There’s nothing I can do about any lasting effects it might have. For now, better to spend my energy surviving day-to-day than quibble around, terrified of what might happen later.

He peered at Rosamund’s body again, yet more curious. It could handle lunam, and not just that, process it into mana. Why bother with such a thing? Why not just use mana?

Could it not use mana? But why not? He eyed it again. Lunam is associated with the moon…and death. Is Rosamund dead? But why was there a second Rosamund…?

A thousand crazy theories ran through his mind, all the wild possibilities swirling around one another. Ike shook his head. Slapping his knees, he pushed up to his feet and set about collecting camp. Let’s get moving. Sitting here won’t help me escape the Abyss, nor will it help me gather more mana.

He turned, looking at the body caught upside-down in the rocks. The only question is, what do I do with that?