My responding laugh broke the silence. “I guess this is pointless now.” I accompanied the words by bursting into flames.

The closest I had come to making soul fire before was an experimental flame no larger than that of a candle. But I had examined memories of Nith doing it plenty of times. Creating a thin layer on the surface of my skin and clothes was no harder than the tiny flame.

I stood without resistance. The spellwork binding me to the chair burned away on contact.

“What is it you want from me, priest.” My demeanor changed completely. A slight distance, tad of amusement and focused interest.

The chair dissolved behind me as its animus was consumed by the chain reaction I began. I had returned my eyes to my natural featureless orbs between one blink and another.

“That chair was very expensive.” Everyone else in the room was looking at me like a barbed acid gecko in their home. But Priest Əfron had eyes only for the vanishing furniture.

I tilted my head. “Than why did you put me in it?” The question revealed sharp glossy black teeth.

“I was going to let you out in a minute. You could have waited before setting millions of kaithsh in tithes up in flames.” A very nervous looking undead scurried up to Priest Əfron.

She had the shape of an alma female. Except her exposed flesh was translucent. It looked as if she was made from red tinted water. Just holding the form of an alma.

The spell did not relay what she told the priest. But a quick essence weaving did.

“It's some kind of self-perpetuating consuming curse. The shield is unlikely to stop it.” The priest did not react to the news.

I surveyed the room. They were terrified. The words unclean spirit had changed a routine level of caution in the workplace to nervous tension and complete unwillingness to meet my gaze. Unless your name was Əfron.

“You put me in a chair. I got out of the chair. Lets call it a net zero and move on.” I was confident everyone else in this room had a better idea what an unclean spirit was.

That was fine. Declaring me one put the burden of proof on them. I did not need to make claims. I only had to play into them.

“Perfect.” Priest Əfron clapped his hands once to punctuate the word. “Let's get this back on track. I’m Priest Əfron, overseer of the Special Situations Branch of the Church. And you are…?” He let the end trail off. An encouraging smile passed the sentence to me.

I let it hang for a moment. “I have been assuming the identity of Rekon in alma lands. I am known as Sheth by my own people.” A few onlookers paled. It was possible more would have if they could.

Priest Əfron coughed a little. “That… is your actual name?” His nonchalant attitude seemed to be disturbed for the first time.

I frowned. “Yes, why do you ask?” I did not expect my name to be what was distressing about my current behavior.

“It’s just that most undead don’t take the names of well known gods. Especially Sheth. Although I suppose someone of your pedigree can get away with it.” I did not try to hide my confusion.

“You have a god named Sheth?” There was no point in pretending to know something like this.

“I wouldn’t say have. But there is certainly a god named Sheth. Even if most people won’t say his name openly.” That was interesting. It partially explained why the room somehow grew more nervous.

“It’s not a name I chose. It is just my name. Would it help if I used another here?” I did not care what they called me. Sheth was simply what the gam knew me by.

“That is quite coincidental. It would help.” I considered that.

“It might not be. Sheth is an archaic word for a guide or leader.” Sheth had started as a title centuries ago. It eventually became my name as generations passed.

“Really? I would be interested to learn what language uses Sheth to mean leader.” I got the impression some of the audience did not believe that explanation. Yet Priest Əfron remained impossible to read.

I shrugged. “Call me Rekon, if that is easier.” That would simplify my identity in alma lands.

“Good, good. Would you mind not damaging the probe? That will be much harder to replace.” The puddle of soul fire was gradually spreading behind my back.

It had not reached the enchantment on the crystals. But it was getting closer.

I choked off the replica animus I was feeding it. The burning animus snuffed out in the absence of fuel.

That would be different if it ignited the spellwork. Soul fire was extremely hard to stop when it had animus to consume.

Nith only used it so freely because he specialized in controlling animus outside his own weavings. A less proficient mage risked catching their own soul alight.

That would end in a death the necromancer could not reverse. And was not a risk for me. You needed a soul to die from soul damage.

I let the flames on my body go out. I technically could not see them. Not how alma did.

My presence showed me where soul fire was as easily as it showed me souls. But it was invisible to my naked eye.

Alma saw it as a color otherwise not present in the world. Even Nith felt an innate dread when seeing that color. I assumed it was related to having a soul.

“You still have not answered.” The tension in the room was barely dented. Those behind glass remained anxious. Those on the same side as me were trying not to be noticed.

“Why am I here?” I continued to pretend the imposing figures avoiding my attention were of no relevance.

“Yes. You might call this a kind of courtesy call. One to check on a presumed undead entering the region placed in my charge. Entering in a rather high profile way, to top it off.” The minor disruption of me sharing a name with one of their gods reverted to Priest Əfron’s usual upbeat attitude.

“You do seem quite concerned with undead in your lands.” I smirked slightly.

“Very true. There are no undead in Rillan proper.” There was nothing slight about his grin.

“It is easy to tell there are no undead here. It would be the apocalypse. There would be packs of ghouls eating the elderly in the streets. Vampires swooping down to carry off the sexually inexperienced. All that end of the world stuff.” A few of the less nervous people behind him showed stifled amusement.

“Is this similar to how Jarimy knows there are no unclean spirits? Seeing as that would end the world automatically.” Priest Əfron looked to the nervous Jarimy beside him.

“Does he now?” His focus returned. “Well, I’m sure Jarimy was agreeing with the most respected theologians of our day.” There was no ambiguity in how much he respected those theologians.

“It is exactly as Jarimy says. The Creator’s design is far too flimsy to survive something like that. You even breathe wrong, or in your case exist, and it would all come toppling down.” The subtext was far from hidden.

Priest Əfron looked around his cordoned off section of the room. Then back to me. “You know? I bet you can kill me from there.” He spun and started towards the blackened metal door connecting to my half of the room.

The translucent woman and a few others obviously wanted to stop him. But no one spoke up.

Heavy clunks and shifting spellwork preceded the priest joining me. I casually walked over to him. No one tried to stop me either.

“This is better.” The grayish alma slapped my shoulder. “Walk with me.” We started towards the door we entered through.

Priest Əfron was the first alma I had seen with a skin tone similar to a gam. There was a blue tint gam lacked. But it was far closer.

We were almost to the exit when Priest Əfron turned with a pensive look. “Zor’matta’z, I promised you could maul Rekon here.” The werewolf who was apparently Zor’matta’z appeared to be choking.

They tried to speak. Then cleared their throat. “I’m fine.” They got out.

“You sure? They will definitely survive it?” The welcoming smile was not well received.

“I’d like to rescind my request.” Priest Əfron shrugged.

“If your sure.” He lightly slapped my upper arm with the back of his hand. “I guess she is just a big softy after all.”

We stepped into the hallway outside. The door closed heavily behind us.

“Let’s walk and talk.” He began down the corridor. I followed.

“I’ve only heard Jarimy mention the term unclean spirit once. It is not a name my people know.” It was pointless pretending to know what they thought I was.

Claiming I was an unclean spirit via my own knowledge left me open to mistakes or inaccuracies. Admitting it was unfamiliar and alma specific information prevented me from being caught in deceit.

“And who are your people?” He failed to answer my implicit question.

“The gam.” He nodded with recognition.

“The swamp pygmies of the Dark Moors.” I had never heard someone call us that. But context suggested he was right.

“You’re familiar?” He shrugged in response.

“Only because I researched the Dark Moors before you arrived. The gam are not known outside of travel logs and the few guide books that technically exist. You have never been seen beyond the swamps.” That was unsurprising.

The gam had only existed as long as I had. And traversing the Moors in a straight line was challenging. Finding a way out would be pure chance.

“Are all of you true immortals?” I decided to ignore the question.

“What is an unclean spirit? And how do you know I am one?” This time I asked directly.

“We know you’re an unclean spirit, or a true immortal to be less colloquial, because you don’t have any permanent tethers between your body and soul. There was plenty of abnormal stuff in there. But only one thing has an unbound soul.” I resisted the urge to smack myself. I forgot to anchor my soul.

I had built a replica capable of fooling soul-analysis magic. I even added the links for maintaining and controlling my physical body.

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Yet somehow I did not make a single fixed connection. I did not even build the framework for them. My fake soul was holding onto my body because it recognized the target material and nothing else.

“Unclean spirits are any souls that can exist stably without a body of any kind. That is the only real requirement.” The priest continued.

“Souls die and break down when the connection to the body is gone. I’m told it is a sort of self-destruct. Or something like system shock.” He leaned over and cupped his mouth with a hand.

“I think our animancers are just guessing so they can sound smart.” He confided in a whisper.

It was plausible. The spark vanished once the last anchor point broke. You could mimic those anchors with a soul trapping spell. But it would still disappear once that spell ran out.

I had always assumed the body was providing something a soul needed to retain a spark. Nith certainly could not return a spark without tethering the soul to a body or animus weaving first.

It would make sense if the soul was designed to self-destruct upon the body's death. The idea of damage from the tethers breaking fit as well. Yet that would not explain why the soul needed a body to be restored.

“You can completely destroy a true immortal’s body or rip their soul out, but they will latch onto a corpse or unborn fetus or just create a new body from scratch. There are all sorts of ways.” I nodded along.

“Couldn’t you attack the soul directly.” I was curious. And that method would do nothing to me.

“On paper, sure. Most documented immortals have abnormally resistant souls or their souls regenerate too fast. It may be related to how they survive dying in the first place.” Now that was intriguing.

“They’re just people who survive dying?” I still avoided including myself when referring to unclean spirits. It would be strange to identify with an unfamiliar term so quickly.

“Sometimes. It’s usually an accident or experiment gone inexplicably right. A necromancer goes messing with someone’s soul or tries something on themselves and they somehow don’t unravel when they die.” I had to admit my origin and properties contained some overlap.

“Sometimes it is a normal person with no clear cause. We recorded a farmer three hundred years back who kept walking and talking after bleeding out from a severed artery.” That would have seemed normal a year ago. But I now knew how little blood an alma could safely lose.

“Burning her didn’t do any good. She just floated to another corpse. She could inhabit and heal any dead body. We still have no idea why.” Priest Əfron sounded a bit distant.

“What happened to her?” The answer might tell me something about the group theoretically holding me captive. I was also curious.

“We fabricated an identity and relocated her to somewhere her new body wouldn’t be recognized. I’m told she was understandably disenchanted with her kinfolk.” That brought us to the crux of the issue.

“Is that what you do, hide the undead from alma?” He laughed. It sounded sincere.

“That is most of it. Special Situations officially exists to ensure the peaceful operation of society against abnormal species or events.” He said the last part as if quoting from memory.

“It’s mostly managing infrastructure to help undead citizens live comfortably and avoid detection. Smuggling away perfectly edible bodies, supplying illusion charms, putting employers in contact with those very willing to work night shifts.” I considered the image he was creating.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to provide those things openly? Why pretend certain species don’t live here?” It felt irrational for the alma to openly cohabitate with tige and qasko while pretending the others were not present.

I had seen reptilian hybrids a few times and the occasional gam sized alma that was apparently a tige. There was clearly some willingness to tolerate non-alma.

“That is a simple question with a sociopolitical mess of an answer. How much do you know about the discord?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Should I know anything?” The bemusement in my tone was evident.

The priest sighed. “You genuinely don’t know?” I laughed at that.

“How would I know I don’t know if I don’t know it?” That spiral of a sentence seemed to cheer him up.

“Yeah, yeah. Iznana can explain this stuff better. I’d take you to the library, but I doubt it will be satisfying for me. Their office is closer anyway.” We had been turning down corridors with what I assumed was purpose.

The tunnels curved and slanted without obvious cause. It was almost organic. Except the sizing was perfectly even and we never faced a challenging slope.

We occasionally came across church employees. The ratio remained primarily undead with a few life animus souls mixed in.

Most of them looked a little curious then continued past. I doubted my misidentification as something feared for still ambiguous reasons had disseminated.

The door we stopped before was at the lowest point of a gradual slope. The floor inclined up as the tunnel went on.

Priest Əfron pushed the door open without declaring our presence. The room beyond was finely furnished.

Wood paneling hid the stone walls. My shoes sunk into thick carpet. And soft candle light contrasted with the harsh white enchantments that illuminated the corridors.

Inbuilt bookshelves lined the walls. The only exception was a fireplace taking up one. The flames inside were a magical construct. Neither consuming the half burnt logs they pretended to rise from or emitting smoke up the likely fake chimney.

A low table sat at the center of five padded chairs. They formed a semi-circle facing the hearth.

An aged alma woman slumped in the furthest chair. Her pale pink skin was papery. The floral pattern on her long tunic melded into that of her chair.

The bulk of my attention and suspicion was focused on the empty chairs. “As a courtesy, I’m warning you this whole place is going up if I stick to one of these.” Priest Əfron laughed off my threat and dropped into the chair second furthest from the woman.

I took the last chair. It appeared to only have minor repair enchantments. I still remained cautious.

The woman stayed motionless. Her animus was interesting. She had no soul. But she did have a rough framework in the place of a true soul.

It was to a soul what a stick figure sketched in mud was to the gam it represented. But I was reminded of the spell Nith used to keep soulless bodies alive.

I had not studied those spells well enough to be confident. Yet the concept felt the same.

There was also a tether connecting the body to something elsewhere. All I knew was that thing was beyond my presence.

Priest Əfron seemed to be waiting for something. If he was willing to wait with an alma’s limited lifespan, the least I could do was be patient.

The soul substitute inside her grew more active a few minutes later. The body stirred and lifted its head.

Whatever was controlling it blinked a few times. “Əfron. You brought me a new visitor.” The voice was raspy. The puppet coughed.

“And this old thing needs better stasis magic. I feel like a piece of dried meat some little shit left as a bookmark.” The body rolled its neck to audible cracking.

“A new proxy is still in the queue. Better to enchant one from scratch than fix up this one.” The twisting and popping of joins progressed to the spine and arms.

“Fine. I’m hoping the new one is not this geriatric. I want to at least have some nice tits in this thing. Or a working dick. Or eyes that don’t need an enhancement spell every time I want to read anything.” The controller finished by vigorously shaking the frail body.

“Who’s this? You need me to look up one of the weird vampire varieties again?” Whatever was behind the yellowed eyes inspected me.

“Not so mundane today. And hopefully much faster. This is Rekon, the unclean spirit I found this morning.” The controller raised the puppet’s brows.

“Really? Someone is getting employee of the month.” Priest Əfron sighed.

“Unfortunately I’m a council member. No superiors, no employee of the month. It is very unfair.” He shook his head in remorse.

“You poor thing. You’ll have to settle for making it into the history books your church doesn’t let anyone read.” They turned their attention to me.

“Hello Rekon. I’m Iznana, the fine librarian of this humble organization. I assume Əfron has been trying to tempt and/or threaten you into his employ.” I laughed lightly.

“He is going to lengths to talk around that idea and avoid all clarity in my purpose here. But yes, he seems to be working towards it.” The priest had dodged my question about why I was here.

“That is a lot of self-control. Has he conveniently mentioned all the ways he has to indefinitely trap a true immortal in ominously vague ways yet? Or referenced The Hammer somehow?” The priest in question looked offended.

“I’m not some unsophisticated brute. I act with the refinement and grace of the ruling class. I let those things be apparent by context.” The last sentence was added under his breath.

“Than can you please lower yourself to the peasantry and lay out your demands before whatever you want me to look up for you?” It was hard to tell if Iznana was really annoyed or simply enjoying poking him. I suspected some of both.

“Fine, fine.” Priest Əfron turned to face me.

“As the person no one can stop from making these decisions, I am formally requesting a mutual aid agreement, based on your potential influence in the undead community and our ability to facilitate an easier and safer stay in Rillan territories.” I parsed the request.

“I’ll need to know what that influence is and how you would want me to use it. And what aid you are offering, of course.” I had no illusions that my assumed identity was solid.

I lacked the knowledge and abilities to seamlessly integrate as an alma. And this entire debacle confirmed that.

“Where did you say you were from?” Iznana peered at me.

“He’s from the Dark Moors, one of the swamp pygmies.” Priest Əfron answered for me.

“You’re a gam?” They sounded surprised. “We don’t have much on you guys. I was reading a travel journal just last year from someone who managed to sleep with a gam. Is it true you spawn immediately after mating?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “If your partner ejaculates all the way inside, yes.” I confirmed.

“Really. What is that like?” The librarian was clearly more interested now.

“It’s solidly the highpoint of the act. It all feels good, but not on the same level.” I ignored the priest’s obvious irritation at the new tangent. He was likely annoyed at no longer being the most disruptive thing in the room.

“Incentive salience is a remarkable thing…” Iznana shook their puppet’s head in amazement.

“Yes, yes. We all enjoy our respective versions of sex.” Priest Əfron cut back in.

“As you can imagine. He also lacks a full grasp of our culture and history.” I nodded affirmation.

Bony hands clapped. “You need a study plan. An introduction to alma history and culture.” They seemed immediately enthusiastic about the idea.

“I would also like to know why me being an unclean spirit matters so much to the undead here.” I reminded.

“That’s easy. It is because they’ll either be terrified of you or falling over themselves to worship you. A true immortal is the next best thing to a god of the Evolution Pantheon walking amongst them.” Iznana appeared to find my ignorance amusing.

“An unclean spirit is seen as the purest form of undeath. The final goal of necromancy, a being incapable of death. It is the core promise of the dark gods.” The priest elaborated.

“Whenever one shows up and word gets around cultists and undead supremacists start coming out of the woodwork. A big part of the agreement is keeping otherwise harmless disinants from forming a new cult around you.” I frowned at his words.

“Are there no other unclean spirits in Rillan?” I was not the first they encountered. And the only defining quality was an immunity to death.

“We have documented five first-hand since Special Situations was founded, until now. None of them are still living in Rillan.” Priest Əfron explained.

“Or they are better at remaining discreet than you are at identifying them.” The priest waved a dismissive hand at the idea.

“They have no social or political effect either way. They’re not my problem if they are not making problems for me.” It was a reasonable approach.

“You have put yourself in an awkward position for us. Your assumed identity is full of holes and easy to see through, but also too high profile to push under the rug.” He paused. “What did happen to the real Rekon anyway?”

I shrugged. “He was injured and in a convenient time and place, so I killed him and animated his body. Then I switched with it once I could mimic his form well enough.” The librarian covered the puppet’s mouth with its hand. Laughter leaked out.

“I’m sorry. I’ve gotten too used to new recruits trying to paint themselves as the victims in their tragic backstories. The ones where they killed a dozen people to sasiate their thirst or the like. It was funny how casually you admitted to a killing of convenience.”I looked at them quizzically.

“He is the only person I’ve killed since leaving the Moors.” That felt reasonable. Alma clearly killed other sapients when needed.

“So you didn’t kill the courier…” It sounded as if the priest was talking to himself.

“No, I didn’t.” I confirmed anyway.

Ane was alive and running off into the wilderness last my recording spells saw them. The talis cave was a pit of ve on a thick layer of egg shells now.

The data from those spells had given more inside into the conversion process than the memories of Nith or his freed slaves. I still wanted to observe it with my presence directly.

“We’re not worried about what you have done. Especially outside Rillan territory.” The priest dismissed the concern.

“You will need to refrain from unprovoked killing here. Along with similar disruptive actions. We can provide for anomalous dietary needs or ritual behaviors.” He added.

“I enjoy food, especially flesh and blood. But it is not a necessity.” I refrained from mentioning egg laying.

It probably qualified as a needed ritual behavior. If I was inferring the meaning behind that phrase correctly. But destroying my eggs completely negated any repercussions that could qualify it as a disruptive action.

I was still planning to experiment with ve on alma and other sapients. The potential discoveries and power I gained from converting alma was too substantial to ignore.

But I was not going to tell them that.