“Death, life, soul. The three cores. The tree pillars of living”

Necromancy, biomancy, soulmancy. The magic that is the very essence of our world. The magic to control life, biomancy. Yes, it can be used for healing and helping, but that doesn’t disguise what it really is.

Control of the living. Bodies of the living can turn into undying prisons under the right care, they can become instruments of torture or pleasure. In the end, for biomances a body is what a plot of land is to archichet.

Free to build upon, to change and modify, but there are some limitations that would see your project collapse and become dust.

That is in the hands of the living, in the hands of the living dead it is even worse if you can believe that. Your body becomes theirs to command, theirs to order, to do as they wish. You fade to the background, not being able to talk, not being able to think. TO THINK.

All you have is thought of your ‘bodymate’ and all that awaits you is death. Death as you slowly fade away into nothing, while your body slowly starts to reject the invader, but doing so also kills you. If you are lucky. If you are not and survive, far worse fate awaits you.

Necromancy. The rule of the dead. High enough practitioner can control the living dead, make a stop and change sides. High enough practitioners can confuse the undead enemies, making them attack their allies. Some can even experiment with creating new living dead.

The living dead grow into this ability slowly as they age, mature and master themselves. The aura they call it, with its higher undead become like beacons for lower ones. The living, for them, is not so easy, not so given. Still it can be accomplished, mastered and used for creation of undead.

Neither side uses the more nefarious methods on each other anymore, there are whispers in the wind of it being conducted. Where secret groups experiment on each other, being both the recipient and giver of ‘care’, for scientific purposes only they say.

“My sacrifice isn’t like that, it isn’t for science. It is only for me. For my greed..”

Soulmancy.

Mastery of the core of living, be they the living dead or .. just living. The metaphorical heart of living beings. Soul.

Mansueto wasn’t even sure it existed. It is considered a myth, a thing that is there, but not understood.

The three cores of living are life, death and soul. If there is power of life and power of death, why wouldn’t there power of soul? If there is biomancy and necromancy why wouldn’t there be soulmancy?

Why wouldn’t there be the power of the soul? Of the very essence all living things hold.

‘I have dabbled in this. Observed it. At moments I could find. People dying and their soul, where does it go when the body is cold? Conception of children and how they grow, where does the soul come from? Birth, new life taking the first breath of life.’

What he has been doing can’t be excused. Can’t be forgiven.

‘These 3, are key points. 3 moments of life. So? Answers?’

What he did, it is sickening. To everybody, even him.

‘There are none. Soul escapes my sight. But, not my ear. Except ..’

He is not doing this for the good, to defend the world. But, so he could rise, so he could survive.

‘Except at the moment when the umbilical cord is cut. At the moment when mother separates from a child, a moment when a child takes a first breath. At the moment it wails it’s first cry, I can hear it then.’

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That’s his sacrifice. His crime. His sin. His .. way to the top.

‘My regret. But, not my stopping point. The spell is harmless anyway. I used it countless times, on countless people and they are all fine. I use it on myself and I am fine. Everything is going to be fine. ‘

I will present my study and be moved to the elites, I will advance and study magic. I will repay ever- this family, this child that is about to be born. I will shower them in riches and comforts, I will make sure they live comfortably.

Heh, they won’t even know why. They will never find out why, because nothing is going to happen to them. I hope.

…………………

It is done. Everything is prepared. Everything has been ready for a long time, every single thing. Everything but, Mansueto. And who is Mansueto but a main villain of this whole affair. The one wielding the metaphorical blade, one spilling the blood and calling doom.

Who, but him?

One can not predict the exact moment the birth would occur, but one can expect it. Yes, someone can be born earlier or later, but there is a time period when the birth is expected.

So he waited.

……………………..

And waited

…………………….

As he waited for the moment of birth to finally come, he faced the truth. He was still unnerved by it, not the magical side of things, the voodoo hoodoo things, but the natural biological thing. The blood, the pain, the screaming and the babies first cry.

The birth itself was horrific to him. He has seen it so much, it still affects him. It still made him want to run away, to hide and close his eyes from the truth. It wasn’t only the birth of the new that did this to him. It was also the dying of the old.

The first time he noticed it was when he found himself witnessing a pig being slaughtered. It was surreal. The fire was ready and burning, the water was hot and close to boiling, the women were still inside drinking their morning drinks while the men relaxed and prepared things outside.

They seemed so relaxed. Like they had done it so many times, like it was nothing

Then the first one entered into the cop with the pigs. The others almost didn’t even notice, they continued as they were, but moving closer to the door. Leaning on it, shouting advice. Then the screaming began, from the one pig, the one chosen. But, all the others.

Did you know that a pig is considered a different animal, a different beast depending where and how it lived? If it was domesticated, it was a farm animal. Kids could play with it, you could ride on it or wrestle with it. It was still dangerous, it still had teeth. But, it was kind.

There is sheere size and mass to pigs you can’t understand until you get close to them, until you have to hold them down, until they bleed. And that’s only the farm ones. The wild ones are a wholly different story. The wild runs in their blood, the savageness of the forest, the fight.

Hoarser fur, thicker skin, stronger muscles. And those are only the things he overheard them saying while men complained how wild it is. How it fights, how it is not easy to hold it down. To kill it.

He expected more blood to be honest, from such a monster. When you see how huge it is, a massive boar, a true champion of its species weighing 300 kg. You would think it would be a river of blood, but it wasn’t. At least, it didn’t seem so.

Yet, when it was somehow taken by it’s snout. The real screaming began. Then the men of the farm entered the coop. To me, a child at that point they seem like wolves.

They brought the pig out. Oh, how it screamed. It was a piercing cry of a soul fighting for life. How its brothers and sister made noise and clamor in the coop. Cheering, begging, asking.

They weren’t heard. Three were pulling it forward, one by snnout and one for each ear. One was pulling it up by the tail to make it easier for them to drag it. Then the screaming pig turned to me. He couldn’t see it’s eyes, he didn’t see it try to toss the men- all he could do is to listen.

He heard its scream, and it became soul crushing when the pig faced him. He had to turn to the side, close my eyes and cringe away. He wanted to run away.

When he turned back he saw a bleeding pig and not a whole lot of blood. Weirdly that’s the part that stuck with me. Blood, death, soul piercing cry. That’s the part that made him the man he is now.

That’s when I became averse to death, that’s when I realized that souls must exist. There wasn’t if, could, or should. They exist. And I will tame them.

That’s the first and last time he felt it when someone died. Was that pig special somehow? Now he heard it only at births, and he made sure to stay away. It wasn’t pleasant.

When he woke up the next day a skill that would shape his life was there.

[Skill gained: Cry of the soul]