In this research paper I will revolutionise how we view the soul, and by extension modern necromancy. By page four, I’ll prove souls are condensed mana structures capable of self-replication. On page twelve there’s a diagram detailing how a soul leaves a body, including measurements of the precise magical force required to prevent it from dissipating back to the cosmos. Pages fourteen and onward detail my experiments into soul refinement and transplantation (see Mark One through Five).
* Page 1, paragraph one of ‘On the Soul’ by Magus Jindosh
Tuesday morning, just under an hour after Vreem’s capture. Vreem (Soul) POV.
My body is no longer mine: I can see the foreign mana flowing through its brain, probably puppeteering it around. If I’d just stayed intertwined, the spell would never have gotten a foothold, and now there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve been keeping away from the brain, resting in the gut; but without access to the bodily senses, all I can tell is that the mage is no longer nearby, although the other four souls still move around occasionally. They remind me of Mark, with souls so faint they look more like spells.
The body won’t be able to figure out what’s happened to it; brains are designed as a place to house memory and automate simple tasks, not actually make decisions. I’d been reconnecting to it periodically to give it instructions on where to walk, what sounds to avoid, and what sounds to follow; that kind of thing. Actually, why did I separate from my body? Ashtrunk told me to. Why did I listen? I could have killed them! It would have cost too much of my reserves. The purpose of reserves is to spend them. I spent them to escape from Deepvein. All it took to escape was an unguarded sewer grate; and why would I bother escaping in the first place? It’s not as if Hoplix’s surveillance would be hindered by distance. That’s why we tore the hooks out, even though it hurt.
I can’t think straight; ripping the hooks out must have left me more tired than I thought. I can’t let it stop me, I need to use this opportunity to get my body back while the mage isn’t here to reapply it. I can’t risk getting myself infected, I need to rest and repair myself. But why would I need to touch it? I just need to destroy it. I need the body intact. Why would I? It’s just a vessel. Flesh, bone and blood like any other, while I am mana and mind. Magic is nothing more than mana, shaped and charged with precision and intent. So I start taking an unacceptable risk by ‘leaning’ out of the body, gathering mana from the air into the only spellform I’ve seen, a memory important enough to hold both in soul and brain. A memory from when I first met Jenson.
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Tuesday morning, an hour after Vreem’s capture. Vreem (Body) POV.
My friend was telling the truth when they said they had plenty of food; not that they would lie. Annoyingly they’ll only give me one platefull at a time, and it’s all laced with some kind of sedative, which must be an accident. Still, five rats worth of meat fills my reserves, even though they were… already full? I must have misjudged back in the tunnels. Well, if I don’t need to stock up the reserves I’m free to start fixing this body. Harder bones, stronger muscles, backups for critical systems. Weirdly, or rather as usual, it’s much slower without using mana. Why can’t I use my soul to speed this up? Because my soul’s still healing, obviously. Extend the ribcage, broaden the shoulders, make some room. Make a secondary heart, brain, why another brain, extra lungs… something feels wrong. I’m being wasteful. Resources exist to be spent, and it’s almost finished anyway. Why am I arguing with myself? I’m probably just-
Tuesday morning, slightly over an hour after Vreem’s capture. Jindosh POV.
My sleep was disrupted rather abruptly by the shockwave that ripped through my laboratory, shattering my magically sterile, and thus unenchanted test tubes and flasks. Yawning and grabbing my notebook from my desk, I at least feel vindicated for taking the time to install privacy wards into the building- even if someone was walking along the street out front, they wouldn’t have felt a thing. Following the sounds of metal tearing to the specimen holding cells, I stretch my arms and begin leisurely walking as Mark Six and Seven escort me. By the time I’m halfway up the stairs from the cellar I feel I’ve given myself enough of a break, and reapply my mana sight spells- and not the watered down version. A migraine immediately sets in as the world becomes awash in imaginary colors, currents flowing around the slowly writhing souls of Mark Six and Seven. I’ve learned better than to look at my own soul.
Reaching the top of the stairs as Mark Six kicks open the door to the holding cell, I’m just in time to see something with claws, chitin, and too many limbs squirm through a fresh hole in the cobblestone wall that I spent all day enchanting! And what a waste- I can’t even see a soul in it, meaning it’s just some common beast. Even more wastefulyl, the ground is littered with metal shrapnel, likely the remains of Mark Four, and the bone shards firmly embedded in the roof, combined with the blood stains, indicate that Vreem fared no better. Although in truth, right now I couldn’t care less about one more monster roaming the city streets- a much more interesting specimen has presented itself. After all, where there’s physical corpses there are deteriorating souls, and I have such a wonderful view as something impossible happens.
A hideously scarred soul so thoroughly worn out that it’s practically, or perhaps literally, a revenant cuts open the ethereal remains of Mark Four and starts hollowing it out. I suppose I could stop it; and I suppose I should hunt down that nuisance of a creature. But I’ve sacrificed far greater things for far less knowledge; and given that this is the first time I’ve seen a soul move without even a token corporeal body, swimming through the ambient mana like… a fish I suppose; the ocean is hardly my area of expertise. No, I’m already taking notes on my expertise: the study of souls.