Aunt Julia looks up from her glossY when I reenter the main room. “Feeling better?”

I grunt noncommittally and sit on the edge of my bed.

“What were you doing earlier, when I walked in?” Aunt Julia asks, her voice soft, uncharacteristically cautious.

“Venting.”

“What were you doing to the vessel?” she persists.

“...venting.”

“Julian.”

I tug at the towel draped around my neck. “I was seeing if I could try and repurpose the vessel to use against the necromancer.”

“Just wanted to confirm. You realize that you can never do something like this in the real world, right?”

“Of course.”

“And how do you intend to control it?”

The vessel currently lies on the floor like a de-stringed marionette. Whatever energy I pumped into it earlier hasn’t fully dissipated, but neither does it seem to have produced any effect.

“I have a few hours to figure it out. I think this method holds the most promise to locate and defeat the necromancer.”

Aunt Julia’s gaze is difficult to parse, her expression aloof and calculating. “Fine. I’ll check back with you in a few hours. I feel my relevance will largely disappear once the wedding commences; it’ll be up to you whether you can handle the necromancer in a one-on-one confrontation.”

“Where are you going?” I ask, confused by her sudden departure.

She chuckles dryly. “I’m late for the planning breakfast. Members of the main wedding party do more than just show up to the main event, nephew.”

“So you’re leaving, just like that?”

She gives me a tired look. “What am I supposed to do, at this point? We have no leads, other than the vessel, if you can count that.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Aunt Julia gives me a small smile. “I might not remember this, but I’m glad I got to spend more time with you these past few days.”

I feel a sudden tightening sensation in my throat. “Me too.”

—

“I didn’t think you were going to open,” Aunt Julia sighs in relief. She’s standing in the doorway dressed in an elegant blue dress, her heels putting the two of us at around the same height.

“How long were you knocking?”

“Over twenty seconds. At least you had the foresight to lock the door–we wouldn’t want a maid finding her way in.”

I rub my nose. “Sorry; I was a bit absorbed.”

“I figured you might be, which is why I came to check on you before heading to Gosophal Orchard. I’ll be going with the immediate family; can you find your way there alone?”

I nod. “Shouldn’t be a problem; I’ll see you there.”

“Best of luck, nephew. I’ll support you in any way I can.”

“Thanks.”

She shuts the door.

I close my eyes and stretch, yawning.

“Just us, now,” I murmur. I flex my fingers and the vessel sits up, its movements limber and graceful. I sense a sort of tacit understanding from it. It’s similar to the kind of recognition I sense in my bone constructs socketed with soul gems, but subtly different: I have the impression that if the vessel wanted to rebel against me, it could.

“But you won’t, will you?”

After spending the past five or six hours infusing the vessel with my energy, I stripped something away that felt conceptually like a pair of shackles to which I lacked a key. After yanking off this veneer, the soulstone has felt significantly more present, but never once has it fought against me. The only explanation I can think of is that it understands–and supports–my intentions. Which is good, considering I have no idea (and no interest in learning) how to dominate and suppress a soul in the style of the necromancer.

I consider how to keep the vessel hidden en route and at the wedding. The obfuscation array primarily serves the role of masking the vessel’s vitality signature, doing relatively little to hide the vessel to mundane sight. If anything, the obfuscation spell makes the vessel stick out in broad daylight, thick, oily wisps of energy coiling over its surface.

I dress the vessel in the same clothes it was originally wearing. The draping black robes should downplay the visual effects of the obfuscation array on the way over. From afar, it should look like I’m traveling with a human companion rather than a necromantic construct.

After cleaning myself up and donning a suit to look presentable for the wedding, I walk over to the glass door and head onto the balcony. The vessel follows behind, its movements inhumanly lithe. Seeing nobody around, I leap from the balcony, hoisting myself into the air and landing lightly on the ground. The vessel follows after me, the two of us adroitly fast-walking through the city until we reach the beach.

The vessel and I disappear behind some rocks, then fly into the air. To maximize the obfuscation effect, I bear-hug the vessel from behind, keeping both arms wrapped around its neck and shoulders.

While I’ve never been to Gosophal Orchard before, I have been to a nearby landmark: a small sepulchre on the banks of the Zimbadi river. Pulling up a compass on my glossY, I navigate myself in its general direction. Eventually, I spot what looks to be a wedding party off in the far distance. In the vicinity are a few silos and a farmhouse, along with countless rows of fruit trees.

I continue forward, scoping off an ideal dropoff point on the road close to the entrance. Upon touching down, I condense my energy into soul gems, stringing them together as a bracelet. I’ll be able to pull the energy out of the gems when needed, and they won’t arouse suspicion the same way shrouding myself in raw energy would.

After divesting myself of raw Death energy, I direct the vessel to hide itself. It promptly lopes off into the rows of trees, hiding itself in foliage. I’ve instructed it to proceed carefully around the grounds; if it detects the necromancer, its instructions are to inform me and hone in on his position.

In the meantime, I walk along the path for a moment before reaching a clearing. The wedding has been mostly set up by the time I arrive, garlands of lilies and peonies stretching over rustic country stone. Trimmed hedges, small tables, and bubbling fountains lay scattered over the grounds. I see well-dressed family members walking around and chatting, while staff offer up cooling towels and glasses of ice water.

I succeed in keeping a low profile as I hunt down Aunt Julia, eventually finding her directing staff to set up chairs in front of an ornate stone podium.

“Nephew,” she calls out, noticing my approach from a distance. “Everything has been sorted out?”

“As well as can be hoped. Since I’m currently just waiting around, is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can help them fold booklets,” she chuckles, pointing at four staff members creasing wedding programs.

“Sure.” I won’t refuse a simple, repetitive task when the alternative is stewing in my own thoughts.

Time flows like water; before I know it, it’s time for everyone to be seated. I feel a knot of tension in my stomach: shouldn’t the necromancer have come by now? Perhaps the vessel isn’t working properly, or the necromancer already discovered and disabled it without my knowledge.

As the number of people present exceeds five-hundred individuals, it takes a few minutes for everyone to find their seats. As the last few people trickle in, I sense the vessel accelerate, as though locking in on a target.

Though I don’t exactly understand how, the remorse vessel was able to track us down in the Flower District. Since the obfuscation vessel acknowledged receipt of my command to find the necromancer, and possesses an intimate familiarity with its former master...it should have the man in its crosshairs.

This is it.

The tension in my stomach doesn’t dissipate; but rather than coming from worry, its source is now anticipation. I wonder if the necromancer felt similarly excited when we fell into his trap in the Flower District.

I excuse myself quietly, drawing a few looks. As soon as I’m out of the immediate vicinity, I weave through the trees in the vessel’s direction, waiting for it to come to a stop. After twenty seconds of travel, the vessel’s movement halts, suggesting that it’s successfully located the necromancer.

Steeling my resolve, I push off the ground with a burst of energy and rocket into the sky. I count down the seconds as I approach: one...two...

Seven: I crash to the earth feet-first, my arrival tearing up grass and cracking the ground. We’re still within the orchard, though probably around half a mile from the wedding party. We’re surrounded by fruit trees, their pink flowers hinting at fruit to come later in the year. It’s hot, and the angle of the sun is such that the shadows of the trees are short, barely extending from the soil into the grass.

In short, the orchard doesn’t possess the typical ambiance I’d expect of a necromantic ritual.

While the necromancer successfully ducks out of my way, a tome falling from his hand to the ground, his ritual array has no such luck. The array seems to be mostly complete; it looks similar to the array back at the winery, with foreign sigils and sloping geometric shapes, though with several new cracks running throughout. Two fresh corpses lay face down at the center of the array with burlap bags over their heads; I don’t have time to pay them much attention.

I’m lucky he was still in the middle of inscribing his array when my obfuscation vessel located him and I rushed over. He’s probably unable to suddenly halt such a ritual, forcing him to remain stationary for a few extra seconds; otherwise, he might have already disappeared once he sensed my approach.

The two of us stand still, facing one another, for the briefest of moments, as though we’re both frozen in time. His dark hair is disheveled, while a skintight black shirt and a pair of black trousers are blotted with dust. His right hand is covered in bright crimson; in it, he grips a curved, bloody dagger.

Without warning, we react at a distance: I try to crush and rip out the man’s heart and spine, while he goes directly for my throat. I feel an acute pressure exert itself under my jaw, but grin through the discomfort, narrowing my eyes as I try to increase the intensity of my own attack.

I’ve never met someone who could directly fight back against me before by resisting my intrusion. The necromancer seems equally perplexed at the futility of his own attack.

Nevertheless, by the time the first second of our battle is up, the necromancer leaps backward and clutches at his chest. He makes a gesture with his hand before coughing up blood. In the next second, three new vessels arrive and position themselves around the injured necromancer.

It’s subtle, but now that I know what to look for, I can feel one of the vessels muddling my brain. I pick it out as the vessel on the left.

You’re the one that stole her.

I whip forward between the vessels and land a kick on the necromancer, using the point of contact to send a deluge of energy into his leg. I can feel him resisting against me, but I’m ultimately successful: He gasps in pain and his leg buckles beneath him, forcing him to place most of his weight on his other leg.

I can see surprise on his face at my swift movements. I wonder if he realizes that I’m essentially controlling my own body like I would a decemantic construct.

Meanwhile, I send a stream of bone shards out of my inner jacket pocket, the pieces as sharp as knives. I consider animating the two corpses at the center of the array, but decide against it.

No need.

The vessels come at me from behind, striking with clean, scythe-like movements. At this point, my obfuscation vessel darts out of the undergrowth, engaging one of the other vessels in combat and leaving two for me to deal with on my own.

I turn back to give the necromancer an icy stare. Though his lip is curled in contempt, I can see that his uninjured leg is trembling; and while he managed to neutralize my bone shards, his clothes are covered in weeping lacerations, and his dagger lies broken on the ground.

Just as his vessels are about to land a strike on my shoulder and lower back, respectively, they begin to rapidly shudder in place, as though subject to powerful vibrations.

The necromancer watches as I begin to slowly strip his vessels of energy. While draining them, we exchange a few more tentative blows, neither of us taking any damage despite the vessels continuing their onslaught from behind. His attacks are growing more powerful, though also increasingly frantic.

After a few seconds pass, I throw the two drained vessels to the ground, planting my foot upon the head of the one that took Germaine. Fully draining them will not only prevent the vessels from attacking–or exploding, for that matter–but also empowers myself.

The necromancer kicks off the ground, intending to flee, but I keep pace and toss out more bone shards while throwing a punch at his ribs, pushing even more Death energy into his body. He inhales sharply and coughs awkwardly, as though coughing itself is agonizing.

We both know how the battle will end. While the man may be a powerful necromancer, skilled in setting up arrays and creating puppets, he’s an inferior decemancer, and seems unfamiliar with close combat. That’s not to say he isn’t still powerful, relatively speaking–if Aunt Julia’s ~70% affinity being considered high is anything to go by, he’d likely come out ahead in single combat against most of my practitioner relatives.

I chuckle darkly before planting another punch on the man’s shoulder, sending him reeling forward through the air. I follow behind and send a kick into his back, the necromancer crying out and tumbling to the ground, bouncing unceremoniously from a tree on the way.

He tries to stand, but his body doesn’t seem to listen. Hacking up another mouthful of blood, he forces himself back into the air, controlling a bone girdle now lying partially-exposed beneath torn vestments.

At this point, our battle has lasted around twenty seconds total. I briefly entertain questioning the man about Germaine, but decide against it: it’s probably better not to know.

Before he’s able to return to the air, I once more try to grip his heart at a distance, as I did during the first moment of combat. The Death energy I’ve sent into his body responds, circulating wildly within the man’s organs. He falls back to the ground and props himself up against a tree trunk.

He chuckles, blood spilling over his teeth and dripping down his chin. “Who knew...that your clan was hiding a peak decemancer...”

I step forward, staring down at him with disdain. Yes, who knew indeed?

“Takes a real bastard to advance so far while so young,” the necromancer murmurs, his ragged breath slowing down his speech. “Still, to not even look for your sister...” he tries to laugh, but only manages to wheeze.

“For taking her, I’m going to take pleasure in killing you.”

His brow furrows, as though I’ve misunderstood his point.

I’m not going to dally any more than I need to and risk the necromancer miraculously getting away. I make a squeezing gesture with my hand, and the man topples to the side with a groan, landing face-down on the grass.

Trepidation fills my heart as I stand there, my eyes wide open. What if when I close them, I’m still here?

What if this is the last layer?

Heart racing in my chest, I walk toward the fallen necromancer and stand over him, his death not yet sinking in. It wasn’t anti-climactic, per se. If anything, it was refreshing to feel in control.

I stay there for a few seconds, resisting the urge to blink, my eyes beginning to tear up.

Just get on with it! I think self-deprecatingly.

I take a deep breath, clench my fist, then close my eyes.