Soramesh, an ancient city whose nobles are said to be the richest men in the world. The walls of the city had layers, and became older the further you went in; some of the newer walls mixed with the old, and artificially created new districts for the people. (Some say that parts of the city have been forsaken; abandoned, and closed off to residents)

Further in and the stone becomes more complex on the older walls, and the one around the throne was the greatest of them all.

All around the center keep was a glossy mural of pottery pieces imbedded in the thick stone slabs; the mural depicts a war of forgotten gods no longer worshipped by modern society.

Outside the city is seas of golden grains that cover the horizon.

The land was rich, and that made its masters wealthy.

‘My Lord! My Lord!’

3 men covered in head to toe with indigo silk robes, and red velvet sashes that connected to a golden ring and rounded the hip came bursting into a throne room.

The throne itself sat within the center keep of Soramesh, and became a cultural epicenter for performers and inventors alike.

‘Praguor is calling for aid!’

‘They what?’

The 3 men were speaking to their liege, a masterful tactician by the name of Marquis Saran.

His hair was silver and long, reaching far past his shoulders. His face wore a cool indifference, and his eyes were an intense hazel that was often said to have a tinge of red.

Despite his young looks, Lord Saran has been ruling his lands for well over 80 years.

‘Have Boyar take a regiment of dragoons to lend aid.’

‘I get Boyar is your grandson, but sir, can he really handle such a responsibility?’

Saran knew exactly why the men had their worries. Boyar Saran was name well known throughout the lands, but it was out of infamy; Boyar himself was a well-known womanizer, and drunk who spends the people’s taxes on pointless affairs like feasts and parties.

‘He may have his issues, but Boyar is a capable leader; I trust him with even something as important as Praguor.’

‘Of course, my liege, we will inform him immediately!’

‘Good. See to it that you do.’

In truth, Saran was not entirely convinced himself.

Boyar had been trained by the best the nation has to offer, and he has an affinity for conquest; a rare trait that makes him a valuable asset. What he lacks is conviction, and the will to succeed.

‘Gods, help my grandson. Don’t let him fuck this up… please.’

Midnight Request. A bard’s spell that’s usually meant to invigorate the patrons of an inn, and coerce them into drinking more. The incantation itself was simple, and easy to chant making it perfect for scamming drunken oafs too intoxicated to reconsider ordering another drink.

Midnus Sequestratious

Finishing her chant had sent an empty adrenaline rush through her body. Sophie felt fresh when stepping out of her coach, but it wasn’t a true restoration.

Proper rest was needed to truly restore oneself, but this would have to be enough.

‘This will be the last mistake you’ll ever make little one.’

Orcus on the other hand, was filled with power. The icy cold blue flame secreting from him had made the troupe weak, and had even collapsed a few nearby townspeople unaware of the conflict.

White foam leaked from beneath the cheekbones of the skull helm; the Warking had truly gone berserk.

‘All of you, take Aren and find a new horse. This’ll only be a minute.’

‘I can’t wait to skullfuck the confidence out of your severed head!’

At that final provocation, Sophie was the first to move.

She lifted her shortsword; her arms wobbled, but she had numbed herself to the weariness with Midnight Request.

She dashed towards the enraged beast that was Warking Orcus, and planned to make up for her lack of strength using her speed.

*Ting* *Ting* *Ting*

Stab after stab, she aimed for what she could hit, and disregarded the exposed mail the Orcus was guarding. Her earlier thrust to the thigh had surprised Orcus, but now his guard was up; placing his full trust in the superior protection of his shiny armor.

After each thrust with her sword, Sophie would strangely take a moment to sheath and unsheathe it; despite this, Orcus didn’t take the opportunity to strike.

Prioritizing his joints, Orcus was focused and untamable, concerned only with conserving his stamina.

‘You prissy minx, do you really think these mosquito bites bother me?’

Orcus stood like a solid mass. His earlier beast-like strength did nothing to affect his mind, and kept his cool making only the slightest maneuvers when needed.

He was a competent opponent, and wouldn’t be easily tempted by the swift attacks being launched by Sophie.

Sophie had other intentions however.

Yes! He’s starting to fold!

The fruits of her labor were finally revealing itself. Orcus hadn’t noticed in the beginning, but now his situation had become clear. Each stab she made left a yellow stain on his armor, and the strange liquid splattered the into the creases of armor, leaking through the link of chainmail.

With each sheathing of her sword, she had continued to dip her blade into the poison that filled her sheath and made a mess of her gear.

His exposed wound was especially soaked in the goo, and a despair beyond his understanding had washed over him. The intense blue flames that had once encompassed his figure disperesed, and evaporated into nothing.

‘POSION?!’

He could feel his strength being sapped as the yellow substance festered in his cuts, making his right leg go limp and bringing him to his knees.

Sophie raised her sword, and held it to the neck of Warking Orcus.

‘It’s your loss.’

‘You damn hag-‘

In that instance there was a resounding cheer stemming from the onlookers, and a terrible triumphant march of hooves had surrounded Sophie and Warking Orcus.

‘That’s enough, surrender your weapons!’

A weary looking man dressed in golden trimmed mithril approached on a mighty steed covered with the insignia of a lion. His face was drooped, like he wasn’t use to being sober, and his curly brown hair was flattened to one side as if he had just woken up.

The bascinet under his arm had what looked like a horse’s tail shooting out of the top, and it itself appeared to be weaved with thin golden threads.

The cavalry surrounding Sophie were no different, and were adorned in illustrious suits of shining steel. numbering at least 200, beyond the village edge Sophie thought she could see even more waiting outside the town; maybe 2000 strong overall.

Shit.

Hoping Aren would know to stay away, she resigned herself to being taken as a prisoner.

‘This ain’t the end princess, I’ll get out and find ya. The bounty on your head will buy me a lifetime of whores, hehe.’

Warking Orcus was hoisted up, bound at the hands, and tied to the reigns of a horse; forced to marched despite his obvious limp.

‘You can ride with me’

With a creepy smile, Boyar lifted Sophie onto the back of his horse, and directed his men back to Soramesh. His trip had been a success, and now it was time to celebrate.

‘TO HOME!’

‘YEAHHH!’

Another cheer arose from the cavalry, and the drums of a thousand hooves sang the song of victory as they returned home.

-Michael? Miiiichaeeeel…-

The voice had worry in its tone. The space it was sharing with me seemed empty, and that was by design.

I found that with enough focus, I could erase my presence. It appeared as though I wasn’t there, but truly I could perceive everything as usual.

‘I’m still here voice.’

-Michael! Oh, thank the gods you’re still here, I thought you had left me again.-

‘Did you assimilate the energy like I asked you to?’

-It’s already been done. Our space has been energized twofold since you began focusing.-

I didn’t know where the energy came from, or why I was adding it to our space, but I found the surge in power to be irresistible when I started adding more. Whoever the voice is, he doesn’t feel like an enemy.

‘I heard the commotion outside stop.’

-Yes. Your body seems to be secure for now.-

'What do you mean for now?'

-I fear they may extract me soon.-

Extract? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

‘What do you mean by extract? They can remove you?’

-Correct. They will forcefully remove me from this space, and you will subsequently cease to exist-

‘Oh…’

WHAT?!

Before I was emotionless, yet at the thought of becoming nothing the old feeling of fear washed over me. I can become nothing; devoid of sentience, devoid of anything at all!

‘How will they extract you?’

-They will form a rune script using precious magical gems. The process will not only obliterate your soul, but will also destroy your mortal body.

This is unacceptable. My life, my legacy, will amount to being the poor fool who put a strange voice in his head and died soon after.

What was all of it for; why would I spend so much time living in my empire of dirt, trying to crawl up from nothing and become a little better than nothing?

‘Voice, is there a way to stop them?’

-It would be quite simple. All you have to do is resurrect yourself.-

Resurrection; I heard from an old alchemist that resurrection was the most taboo of magics. This voice not only has a way to do it, but also thinks it’s the only way to save me from erasure?

‘Teach me…’

-Of course, Michael, your vessel is my vessel-

Chapter 3 Part 2 End