Chapter 113: Raking the Sands

Chapter 113: Raking the Sands

“Necromancy? I don’t really know much about it. Combat-capable necromancers are a pain in the ass, I can tell you that. And I know that they run most funeral parlors.”

“Short version... very, possibly too short version... is that necromancy is one of the foundational areas of magical technology. No reason you would know this, but we can trace the origins of a lot of our demon summoning and binding magics straight back to necromancy. Indeed, separating the two, summoning the dead and summoning demons, is a comparatively new gloss in the history of magic. It was all just “necromancy.” At least before we settled on this planet.”

“Okay?”

“The System Astrologica tried to tear out a bit of your soul. Which means it wanted it for something. It’s a "spirit," which we categorize differently from the spirits of the dead and demons, but a lot of the same magical technology applies to all of them. The System likely empowers itself with the souls of its victims. And I can exploit that.” Merkovah grinned.

“Oh? How?”

“That’s going to be a “me” problem for now. But let’s just say, I suddenly have an extraordinary number of angry dead to work with. And I certainly will do just that.”

Merkovah had clearly gone to a mental happy place. Truth didn’t want to disturb him, and let him enjoy the moment. After a couple of minutes, Merkovah shook himself out of it and started to shoo Truth out of his room, then paused, and pointed Truth back towards his seat.

“Truth, in the spirit of... sincerity and candor, there is one point you haven't raised yet, but that will occur to you eventually. And since I am far, far too old to put up with jejune drama that could have been solved if people just talked to one another, we are going to talk about it now.” Merkovah fixed Truth with a direct look.

“I supplied magic, mentorship, a fine sword, opportunities to excel... and companions.”

That brought Truth up with a jolt.

“I receive in excess of a hundred applications a year from young scholars seeking to join my retinue. My criteria for selection are generally based on my academic interests at the time. Etenesh and Jember were the first two I can remember recruiting on the basis of being single, attractive, and having high emotional intelligence.”

He tapped his desk for emphasis. “They are under no geas and have received no instructions from me on how they are to behave with you. I simply assumed that if I threw the three of you together and set you to work, bonds would form. They are intensely social people, after all.”

Merkovah smiled.

“I’m pleased, but not surprised, to see that I was right.”

Truth was suddenly having trouble breathing. His vision narrowed onto the old monster’s young face. “So Etenesh-”

“This is why I wanted to tell you directly, Mr. Medici. She is under no compulsion. She has not been instructed to seduce you. She hasn’t even been nudged by me into making friends with you. I made sure you had fun co-workers, Mr. Medici, not people playing that role.”

Truth’s paranoia was flaring hard, so hard that he found it difficult to hear Merkovah.

“Breathe, Mr. Medici! Breathe! She isn’t toying with you, and neither am I. Tolerable manipulations, remember? I was, and am, and will continue to create an environment you want to stay in.”

Which made sense, but he knew damn well if Starbrite had been running this op, those two would have been special-made jobs from the “Lovers” tab in the System Store. Brainwiped, body sculpted, enchanted, and tuned to his particular desires. Or succubae if Merkovah was on a budget.

“Before you fall any deeper into your well of paranoia, I want you to remember the erotic binding spells. The... rape magic, as you so charmingly put it.”

Truth looked at Merkovah like he was an asshole. Not really easing the paranoia here.

“Truth, we are an ancient country of demon binders. Do you think we don’t worry about consent a lot? Enchantments, glamours, beguiling demons, and spirits of all forms? We do. Marriage is a transformational sacrament. It must be entered into freely and joyfully by people who firmly know their own needs and desires. Free of all other romantic burdens, committed totally to their new family.”

_______________________________

The terms of the deal between Truth and Merkovah was simple in construction, if complicated in the details. Merkovah had promised to look into the situation with the sibs but warned it would be some time coming. He was also quite happy to meet Truth’s fee for the job, plus the completion bonus.

“Transporting you and your sibs out of Jeon, a place somewhere quiet in Siphios and some walking around money? Arranging quality, safe jobs and housing for your siblings? Done.”

Truth had taken pains to ensure that any provided equipment, spells, national-treasure tier elixirs, transportation, etc., all fell under the category of operational expenses to be supplied by Merkovah, and were considered separately from his fee. As was the bodyguard work. That, too, was carefully carved out. One fee per job.

It suited him well enough, and he thought it would suit the sibs fine too. And if not, oh well. The world was coming crashing down. They had been unhappy before and lived.

The next few days were spent in the Temple. The conference had temporarily broken up to resume later as a series of staff-level working groups who would present reports and possible solutions on various topics in a month. Truth thought this was absurdly slow but was swiftly corrected by the cousins. By the standards of high-level bureaucracy, this was fast to the point of recklessness. It was easy to criticize the slow speed, but he had to consider the alternative- what happened when they got it wrong?

That seemed a good point to him. No more time for second chances.

The rest of the time was spent fighting. Truth would split his time between dueling the cousins and either fighting hoards of Level Three Demons or struggling against a single Level Four. It was extremely satisfying. Time on tools, someone had once told him. Most people needed time on tools to get good with them. He was getting his time on Incisive.

It was fascinating. The spell required you to be both tense and loose, ready but relaxed. The key issue was managing burnout. Truth was driving both the foresight and cutting aspects of Incisive while powering the enchantments on his sword and funneling all the strength he could into his body. All while fighting demons. The trick to it was keeping that light balance. Just barely keeping the spells active while pushing his body and combat skills to fill any gaps that occurred. The true test came when he fought over his level.

Truth, in theory, should physically dominate a Level Four demon. They were roughly equal in strength and speed, while Truth had vastly superior reflexes and control over his body. It wasn’t that simple.

The demon in front of him now had a suite of offensive spells, a spray of hooking limbs extending from most of its body, and the ability to cause insane rage in anyone who held contact for more than a second or two with one of its ninety-nine eyes. Each eye fired thin lances of boiling black tar. He would have to keep an eye out for that- the tar was also poisoned and cursed.

Pretty standard Level Four Demon.

Truth still lacked ranged spells, so he rushed to close as fast as he could. The spitting tar hissed passed him as he dodged it by a hair’s breadth. He had to push his body to move, to try and keep pace with his reflexes. He knew his bones and tendons were tough enough to take the strain. And now the claws were whipping down towards his head. And up towards his guts. And from every side.

Truth felt the attacks coming a tiny fraction of a second before the demon made them. He forced that gap- using that explosive speed and terrifying reflexes to lunge left, swinging the Tongue around in a silver blurring arc and slicing off a half dozen claws. Another whisper, and he leaned back suddenly, avoiding another jet of boiling corruption. Then with boneless grace, he flicked his body into a lunge and used Incisive to stab deep into the wretched thing.

And then the bane spell went to work, and things got much more straightforward.

After the battle, he could wipe away the little splatters of tar that managed to drop on him. An ordinary cloth did just fine. There wasn’t enough of the curse or the poison to make it through his skin or the resistance. It might have been a different story if the demon got in a clean hit. But it didn’t.

It was, slowly, all coming together. He could feel his body strengthening, toughening. Incisive was starting to be as nimble in his hands as his sword. Soon, he would learn how to cast the armor. Very soon.

When he sparred with Etenesh, when he smashed through a barrier or danced between the drops of steel rain cast by her formations, she wasn’t furious or scared. She looked proud of him. Her eyes rarely left him, now that he was watching for it. She looked... hungry.

She looked a lot less hungry at the end of their sessions. Truth wanted more of whatever she was offering, and that meant pushing her hard. He had no intention of letting Alemu have a fair fight. He might not be able to transform Etenesh into a killing machine, but she certainly wouldn’t fear some fop across the dueling sands.

The seconds had been called. (Jember couldn’t do it, as he also had a claim against Alemu and might have challenged him first if Etenesh hadn’t moved so fast.) Etenesh was represented by one of her apparently numerous uncles, a stony-faced man with a long, stiff beard and lightning streaks of white through dense black hair.

In Truth’s private opinion, he seemed like the sort who would summon a demon, kick its teeth in, then tell it what he wanted. And yet, even this craggy fellow had to grin when Etenesh ran up and hugged him.

They spoke for quite a while- more than an hour. Truth was summoned, looked over, and questioned. However rough his exterior, Etenesh’s uncle had a voice that was soft and rich. Duty done, the uncle left to fix the appointment.

There was no basis for reconciliation, nor did the parties wish to reconcile. The seconds arranged the dueling ground, and a doctor prepared for the victor. The loser would have no need.