30. Necromancers are all freaks

“You can talk. Crouch and stand up twenty times…”

I smiled annoyedly at my kidnapper as I followed his command.

“Sorry, man, but what is that nonsense for?”

“I’ve already told you: you won’t leave this place until you can resist my orders.”

I glared at his cheerful face, then at the creepy guy with fish-eyes that had stood behind him for hours like some kind of bodyguard. For some reason, their faces looked familiar. Had I seen them somewhere before?

Anyway, my kidnapper was clearly a necromancer. He knew about cores and knew I was an undead. That was good news. It meant that he wasn’t a Death Hunter.

Hours ago, he had led me to a well-lit room without windows and had me wear a weird costume connected to a machine. I didn’t know what it did, but I could feel the impulses sent to my core, then to my whole body. It felt a bit like the Lord’s technique, but it was definitely different. Also, the contraption was used by my kidnapper to send me stupid orders like jumping, crouching, or screaming without having to touch me.

“It’s not working, boss,” said the fish-eyed bodyguard.

“It is, I’m just making him adapt,” the ‘boss’ replied. “Time to have a little chat.”

He stood up from his chair, leaving on a table the light-novel he had been reading, which title was: Battle through the hells.

May he go to the real hell, I thought.

My kidnapper stopped before me just when I had crouched for the twentieth time. I stood up. His hair was white, his eyes had an odd iris—a red and cross-shaped one—but he could see me just fine with them… or could he see things I couldn’t?

“Don’t you remember me?” he asked.

“Should I?”

He smiled at me.

“You should.”

I smiled at him.

“I don’t.”

There was a silence. Then he laughed.

“… You’re funny, man!” He shrugged. “Then let’s proceed. How do I put it… Well. In the world, there are more necromancers than you imagine, and it would be better if your core learns how to resist their orders because… you don’t want to become a mad dog who bites its owner, do you?”

The mere thought disturbed me.

“I don’t. But why would you teach me something like that—?”

“Why? Because it’s Christmas and I want to give Ray a good present. Why do I not tell him? Well, then again, because it’s Christmas, presents are supposed to be a surprise, and also, more seriously… I know him well. He wouldn’t allow me to use those techniques on a person. Actually, the Lord Necromancer is against those practices too.” He grinned. “My uncle is a retro. It’s a shame. Modern necromancy is way funnier and more effective.”

I gaped at him.

“Y-You’re Ray’s cousin?!” They didn’t look alike at all!

“Did you remember me at last?”

Did I ever meet that psycho?

“No.”

“Ow, guess your memory did get damaged during your revival, poor creature—”

“It didn’t, you bastard. If you’re Ray’s cousin, then you shouldn’t steal his familiars. Let me go.”

He smiled.

“Don’t wanna. I told you I’m here to teach you, not to steal you from Ray. Be grateful. I’m doing this for my beloved cousin.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t be rude. Anyway, answer the truth, did the Lord Necromancer begin to teach you flow control?”

“You mean, that troublesome technique when you have to move your deathforce internally following a path? He did. This morning.”

“Oh? Just this morning? Then I guess I made it in time. That machine is designed to create energy circulation paths in your body. That is, it can carve a path for your deathforce to flow through your meridians following a specific circulation method. The meridians are stretches of the global path created by the circulation method and are remodeled by it bit by bit every time your deathforce circulates. That’s why, once the path is carved, it’s no use trying to change it. But do not fret, carving a path usually requires a lot of effort and time: even if you had circulated your qi for the whole day, it’s nothing! So rejoice, Armen. Unlike the traditional technique, electronic carving won’t be troublesome at all for you: you don’t have to act like a cultivator improving your qi for a lifetime and leveling up or the like. The machine does it for you.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

“Not a bit.”

“Mm. You may have been revived with your inner soul, but you don’t know a thing about necromancy, huh? Well… Just listen to this: I’m carving a deathforce path in your body, a path I had been working on for three years now, and I’m pretty sure it will be successful this time, that’s why I’m using you, Ray’s familiar, because I want Ray to realize the greatness of modern necromancy… Look at the screen, Armen. This is the intensity of the flow, those are your first meridians’ activity, this is your core’s deathforce level…”

As he went on with his crazy talking, I gazed at those meaningless numbers. They were changing all the time. I finally said:

“Cut the crap. You’re nuts. Let me go.”

“And I said I don’t want to. I’ll let you go only when the path is carved in your core and when you learn how to resist my orders. So, let’s continue! Maybe we should stir up your emotions a bit.”

I remembered what Uncle Adrian had told me: I could resist a necromancer’s orders with willpower if he didn’t have a bond with me. Technically. However, either my willpower wasn’t enough, either Ray’s cousin was just too powerful of a necromancer, the fact is, as of now, I hadn’t managed to resist his orders even for a moment.

“Kneel.” I knelt. “Kiss the floor.”

I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. That guy was humiliating me on purpose to make me oppose him. But how should I oppose him? My body was moving on its own!

“Stand up and don’t move.” His eyes pierced me. “Say: I’m trash.”

“I’m trash, you bastard.”

“Say: I’m the worst piece of crap in the world.”

“I’m the worst piece of crap in the world. You’re saying it yourself, you idiot.”

“You’re right,” he laughed. “Now, now, don’t be mad, it’s a test.”

“Your test sucks.”

He chuckled.

“Can I suggest something, boss?” the fish-eyed guy chimed in. “If hurting his pride does not work, how about making orders that contradict themselves?”

The white-haired boss looked at his friend thoughtfully.

“You mean, give him orders he can’t fulfill?”

“That’s right.”

“Mm. We aim for the unprotected parts of the core, so if we mess with the core’s logic, we might be able to locate them, that’s what you think? Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting at all!” I protested. “If I can’t fulfill them, I’ll just keep trying. You’re gonna drive me crazy!”

“Be patient, Armen. Don’t you want to become a better undead? Let’s do it.”

“Screw you!”

He smiled and repeated:

“Let’s do it.”

* * *

It turned out that giving contradictory orders wasn’t that simple, as my core instinctively adapted the order into something I could understand. However, orders completely illogical like “fly” or “raise your hands above your head and scratch your nose with your right hand at the same time” couldn’t be considered fulfilled, which caused stress in my core until Ray’s cousin gave the next order.

Still, more often than not, the necromancer’s orders were lacking information, and I discovered that my mind was incredibly good at finding solutions: for instance, if “your right hand” was not mentioned, I would be able to use my feet; if “at the same time” was not mentioned, I would just fulfill each command separately. Despite my annoyance, I began to find the test quite edifying.

“It’s working, I think!” Ray’s cousin grinned, looking at the screen, then ordered: “Make grow wings on your back.”

My core reacted again, blocking my body, not knowing what to do, as if it had entered a loop.

“You told me to fly, then this,” I groaned. “I’m no bird, y’know. It’d be great to have wings, though.”

“Say, ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers’, twenty times in a row without mistakes. Now.”

A tongue-twister? Good grief. Was he seriously trying to help me? Or was he just toying with me? I so wanted to kick that device of his until nothing was left!

“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers…”

When I finished, the white-haired necromancer was gaping at me, impressed.

“Kiha, did you hear that? We can’t even say it five times in a row, and he said it so fast! He’s a genius!”

“He is,” the fish-eyed guy nodded.

I rolled my eyes, quite flattered.

“I’m not that bad at those things.”

“Then… Can you say, ‘How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?’, twenty times.”

I said it. The necromancer whistled in awe, then blinked, and pointed out, a bit surprised:

“You know, that… wasn’t an order.”

I widened my eyes. What? Then why on the world did I said twenty times “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood”? Maybe I just wanted to show off? I smiled, pretty embarrassed.

“Haha, is that so? … I didn’t realize.”

The necromancer laughed gladly.

“Ray’s good at making friends! It’s really a shame you died, but at the same time, you were the only one who could become his first familiar. If it wasn’t for you, I bet Ray wouldn’t have become a necromancer in his whole life. He hates his dad, that’s why, as much as I hate mine.”

For a moment, I had a feeling of déjà-vu. Then I let out:

“Kaspar!”

It was his name. I had met him when I was fourteen, not much after Ray decided to live on his own in an apartment. Kaspar had arrived with his luggage, saying he had run away from home and asking if he could stay over for a week. I had even played video games with him. He was about twenty years at that time, his hair was black, and his eyes were as dark as Ray’s…

Kaspar smiled.

“Took you long enough, little towhead.”

“I’m surprised I remembered,” I replied. “You just stayed at Ray’s for a week.”

“Still you two grew quite attached to me. I felt like a big bro.”

“Sure. What happened to your hair and your eyes?”

“Eh… You wanna know? I’ve traveled quite a lot. When I returned, I was disappointed to learn Ray had just left to study in Europe.”

He clearly didn’t want to tell what had happened to his eyes.

“Well then,” he added. “What do we do now? I think that the more difficult to interpret the orders, the more you learn the flaws of regular orders. So, what will you do now if I don’t give an indication of time? Armen,” he looked at me. “Kneel.”

My body was about to kneel, but then I told myself: kneel in five minutes. My knees were buckling… Had I been too optimistic? I rectified: kneel in one minute.

A hesitant smile of disbelief stretched my lips as I was standing up. Holy Gods, it worked! Kaspar grinned.

“You’re doing great. Let’s keep going.”

“Yessuh!”