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Chapter 80: It’s Monarch Season (5)

  It wasn’t long before the vessel was sufficiently pliable.

  Warped and corrupted by her prolonged ministrations, until it personified the sordid depths that would best serve her needs. A ravaged display of wicked barbarity at first glance, the flayed and clearly tortured specimen lying atop her operation table was, in actuality, a prime example of her unparalleled mastery.

  Utterly broken in mind, body, and spirit, yet possessed of a soul shell that blazed with an intensity completely unmatched in its previous incarnation. Elevated beyond the plain mire of mundanity, into the realm of the truly potent, the great and the powerful. Hatred was an effective and long-lasting motivator after all, and what engendered a bond of purest, blackest hatred more, than the relationship between the unjustly tortured and their torturer?

  Truly, these last fourteen hours had proven, if anything, a heaven-sent confirmation of her chosen path. She might even devise a half decent soul battery out of it.

  Around her, sprawled her laboratory.

  A haphazard collection of mismatched tables, shelves, and hanging, iron wrought cages.

  A laboratory which itself sat atop the once hallowed spirit tree located at the center of her domain. Atop and within the gigantic tree structure.

  The floor an interlacing series of thick roots and vines. While all around her, hemming her workspace in on all sides, stretched the reaching fingers of dead branches—wrapping up and over, until its furthest heights were obscured by darkness, to form a half-spherical dome.

  The heart of her dark forest and inner sanctum both. The place to which her siren’s call had guided those few to survive her dark hunters’ playful whimsy.

  Lingering shades of cruelty or malice abounded, bobbing through the air like floating wisps of brownish, purplish light.

  Bottled echos of past torment lined the many shelves—ghastly faces locked in a rictus grin or perpetual scream. Ancient tomes, contracted spirits, and cursed items effectively had the run of the place. Meandering about the large space—unmoored by gravity—idle and docile until she had need of them.

  That and many other such curios roamed her sanctum, the evidence of her many experiments, past successes and not a small number of failures. The sometimes-living proof of her unique dedication to the craft.

  It was a shame, in some ways. That this attempt at war had come at the worst possible time. She had so much left to do. For that matter, there was always so much more she could be doing. There truly was no rest for the wicked as they say, but, in any event, she digressed.

  Forced to leave the repelling of said invasion to her often times unreliable hunters, she supposed she was lucky to have received any new specimens at all. Many had fallen to the whims of her dark hunters, though, thankfully, not all.

  The Cursed Soul Alchemist turned her pitch-black orbs to the gently swaying cages that creaked high above.

  She scrutinized their inhabitants, blackened nails unconsciously dragging long lines across her shiny bald pate. Leaving not a mark on the skin, nor the blackened runes that covered it. And indeed ran along every inch of her gaunt, pale, and stark naked body.

  She studied the vessels that huddled within. Her ears having long since inured themselves to their many pleas and whimpers.

  Oh yes. More than enough, she decided, before she reached for the sudo-mind of the closest contracted spirit. Directing it towards one of the cages, she was already looking forward to the furthering of her great work.

  There came an appreciative whistle from behind her.

  “Oh my! Would you just look at all this? Now, and believe me when I say I mean this in the best possible way, I’ve seen my fair share of nefarious inner sanctums in my day, but this…? I must say, at least where unadulterated villainy is concerned, you, madam, have truly outdone yourself here! Tell me? Do you have to practice at the whole sinister villainess thing, or does it just come naturally? Because wow! I mean, bravo! Do you mind if I take notes?”

  The alchemist spun, taking in the young vessel from where it stood not a hundred paces away.

  It was a small thing, head barely reaching up to her navel, with long dark hair and glowing red eyes. It wore a set of tattered black robes and a red mist rose from it as if sweating from its pores—ephemerally sharp to her soul sight, even from so far away.

  Unused to speaking aloud—seeing as, most often, any mundane methods of truth seeking paled before the cutting end of her scalpel—her voice came out in a sibilant whisper.

  “Surprise! Great delight! Intruder…? How thoughtful. To deliver yourself to us…? Much thanks and many gratitudes.”

  “Oh? With praise like that, I’m liable to blush. I serve to please, madam, as always,” the vessel smirked.

  “Confusion. Curiosity. How come you here, strange vessel? To elude my dark hunters? A feat to be praised. I must needs know before we begin. Far easier that way. Coherent. Less screaming.”

  “Ah… about that. I do hope you weren’t too fond of the lanky creatures. Otherwise, this is liable to turn quite awkward quite fast. For the record, it was they who initiated hostilities, not I. Wouldn’t have bothered with them otherwise, truth be told. Little more than a nuisance with their creepy little forest to scurry on back to, and barely worth my time without it.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The Cursed Soul Alchemist watched the vessel, trying to contextualize its words.

  “Perplexed. Confusion.”

  Then, on a hunch, she reached out with her spiritual senses. What she eventually found stunned her to her very core. Because not only had her dark hunters completely vanished from her spiritual sight, but large swathes of her corrupted domain—the grim dark forest for which she called home—was also just… gone. The curse energy she’d invested in the thick woodland now bereft of any vessel. Even now, all that painstakingly gathered resentment was dissipating into apathy, purgation, or catharsis.

  “Unacceptable.”

  “Wasn’t my idea, believe you me. I do so deplore wholesale destruction. Though, I’ll admit it does have its uses from time to time. Limited though they may be. Now, before we get to that other sorry business I came here for, what would you say to a scholarly exchange of information? Expertise for expertise, as it were. I can see you’re already well versed in the art of extraction, but I’d wager I know of a few choice techniques that not even you have managed come across. I can assure you, from personal experience, that they are really quite potent.”

  “Bewilderment. Understanding. Indignation…! Outrage!”

  And just like that, the Soul Alchemist’s Laboratory exploded into motion—roiling at the behest of her growing fury.

  The air, the artifacts, the very roots on which they stood. All of it heavily invested with the fruits of her depravity. A massive, cursed object in and of itself.

  Her soul ravaged domain.

  A spirit tree corrupted. Attuned to her unique brand of mastery. The grand vessel through which she might physically enact her will.

  Like the snapping of hidden jaws, her inner sanctum bit down hard. Vines tore themselves from the ground, dead branches from the ceiling. Cursed tomes snapped open—resonant words drenched in the occult chanted in time with the rapid flipping of pages.

  Artifacts glowed, Jars shattered, spilling free the vile contents within. And from said vessels, the tattered remnants of old pain and suffering escaped—leaping upward to dash madly through the air.

  Cursed roots raced forward, the fractured dome, like a wall of misshapen spears, rapidly descended.

  And all around them, the flitting shades of the cursed and damned let slip their long held resentment. Their many unresolved traumas. Pitiful wails and howls of sheer agony that literally wore away at the soul.

  Everything currently held at her disposal converging on this insolent intruder.

  And the vessel meanwhile?

  Much to her annoyance, did not bow before inevitability, but instead attempted to respond in kind. Erupting in an unsightly, ruby red luster, it uttered one last thing before it was overwhelmed completely.

  “Hmm… Perhaps we can exchange pointers afterward. Oh! And, speaking of, please do try to remain in one piece? I’ll be sure to pull my punches, as it were, and we can just meet somewhere in the middle. How does that sound? It really would be such the bother were you to insist on dying prematurely.”

  And then, without another word exchanged, the vessel was consumed by her cursed domain. Obliterated without a trace. Without even a shred of notable resistance.

  “Not bad,” came the vessel, its voice coming from somewhere behind her, and decidedly not from within the tangled knot of roots and thick vines.

  The alchemist spun, finding them standing not twenty paces away—hovering over her latest acquisition and idly prodding the tortured flesh with a finger.

  The specimen groaned.

  The vessel raised an eyebrow. It studied her handiwork for a second longer, before it turned back around to face her with an unreadable expression.

  “Umm… this is… some truly nasty stuff. Ahh… well I’d say it’s about time I start taking this seriously, I suppose. A real shame. Right then. Brace yourself.”

  And with that, the sprightly, red tinged vessel attacked

  *Ding!*

  Congratulations!

  You have formed a Triple Aspected Mantra.

  Mantra: [Body’s Temple | Cutting Evasion] (3rd Tier)

  ERROR: ASPECTS NOT FOUND; MANTRA UNALIGNED. STABILITY HAS BEEN LOST.

  Grade: (Trash Quality)

  Note: Due to the advent of your Ascendant Level Boon, this Mantra’s default grade has been raised.

  [Body’s Temple | Cutting Evasion] (Poor Quality) +2 resonance.

  Mantra: [Body’s Temple | Cutting Evasion]

  Description: So, yeah, good news and bad news. Bad news: technically this is another one in a long line of my quote-unquote “failed designs.” A failed movement technique, to be exact.

  The idea had been there, but the execution…?

  Left much to be desired. It really didn’t turn out the way I had envisioned it at all. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be diced up into a million little, itty-bitty pieces, and not even know it until you tried to take a step? Not pleasant, as it so happens. I really wouldn’t recommend it.

  Good news: with only a little bit of tinkering, and some begrudging outside help, I managed to alter it so that now it’s only mildly fatal to use. Unfortunately, it really only works within the spirit plane now.

  So, yeah.

  Not exactly ideal for what I’d had in mind, but for you, in this instance, I figure that shouldn’t prove too problematic. Something about raw conceptual matter being fundamentally incompatible with the physical world?

  I don’t really get it myself, but I’ve been informed that, if it weren’t for my rule breaking ascendant boon, not even this much would be possible.

  Anyway, details! Down to the nitty gritty.

  This mantra effectively melds your spirit body with your cutting aura for very short bursts, allowing you to move at the speed of… well, not thought exactly, but will, maybe?

  I’m still unclear as to the distinction. It’s essentially a reverse of the normal mode of operations. The spirit body conceptually malleable enough to fold into the faint corporeality of the aura, instead of it happening the other way around. Effectively, you turn your body into mist and can then move really really fast.

  Each burst of speed should only last for a scant few microseconds, however, as anything more than that would quickly erode away your, or, I suppose, our spirit. Also, don’t get hit for a good five minutes during or after the use of this ability.

  Like most cutting mantras, a single slip up is most often the last one you’ll make.

  Limited Time Uses: NOT APPLICABLE

  Charge Time: Instantaneous

  Ability Duration: .05 seconds

  Ability Cooldown: 1 second

  Etheric Concession: The Curse of Perfection

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