by Ink Bamboo
“Speak.”
“Are you planning to let me live?” The captain’s voice shook as he remembered the mage’s previous display of power. If he decided to silence him, there was no way he would be leaving with his live.
“No,” said Amro. His answer left no room for negotiation.
The captain could only smile in resignation. He understood the other party had no use in keeping him alive. His only remaining chance of living laid in appealing to the other party’s sense of honor.
“May I then dare to request a formal duel with you?”
Amro pondered for a second before nodding in agreement. It would be a good chance to experience his current body’s shortcomings. After all, his previous opponents had been dealt with by using the remaining power he had sealed inside his phylactery. This man might have thought of him as just a mage, but as the fallen God of Death, how could he not know of swordsmanship, poisons, and many other ways to achieve the end of a life?
Amro walked back to the bodies of the dead mercenaries and grabbed a dagger, gauging its weight on his hands. The captain was pleasantly surprised. He had initially expected the other party to use magic during the course of their duel. It looked like his opponent carried a strong sense of honor, choosing a method of combat that would give him a chance at survival.
Oh, how wrong he was.
“Begin,” commanded Amro.
The captain stood up and assumed a combat-ready pose. He knew mages were both crafty and cunning. As such, he decided to not display even the least bit of arrogance. Channeling all of his strength, he prepared himself to evade at the least sign of trouble. He trusted his strength gave him at least the qualifications to defend.
Amro smiled. It seemed like the man before him had pretty good instincts. He had not hesitated to opt for the safest option during such an uncertain battle. If it was not for the promise he had made Zaros, he would probably entice the captain to join as a servant to his church once he was able to reclaim it.
Amro knew the captain had opted for a defense-oriented approach. As such, he decided to make the first move. He took a step forward, shortening the distance between him and his opponent in less than a second.
Alas, he miscalculated. He had used far too much strength. Amro could feel groups of muscle fibers snapping on his legs. This kind of speed was too much for his host’s current body to handle.
The captain’s eyes squinted. He hadn’t sensed any energy fluctuations at all. How was it possible for the mage in front of him to run at such speeds then? Was the difference in their power this vast?
Unaware to him, this wasn’t a speed born of energy enhancing the boy’s body. It was the effect of using a body without any of the instinctual limitations human nature had imposed over itself.
*Clash!*
Seeing the boy right next to his face, the captain discarded all of his needless thoughts. He had used his sword to parry the incoming dagger, causing a deep fissure to appear on the blade just before both of them stepped back to gain some distance. The clash had been momentary, but it had been just enough to leave an unforgettable impression on him.
On the other hand, Amro frowned after he saw the conclusion of his attack. He was severely disappointed over his own results.
This body is immature for its age, reasoned Amro. It seems to have lacked proper nutrition as it developed. I’ll need to fix it into an acceptable state before taking the path of power once again.
Even as he was immersed in battle, Amro thought of ways to fix his host’s current weaknesses. The only reason he had been capable of cracking his opponent’s weapon was because the flaws a mortal’s weapon possessed could not escape his eyes. His physical strength and stamina were much too lacking to achieve this results otherwise.
*Clash!*
Amro sighed after seeing the mercenary’s captain block a second blow. It confirmed his suspicions about Zaros’s physique. Alas, this experiment needed to come to an end. His host’s body would be severely injured if he kept fighting in such a forceful manner.
Coming to this realization, Amro channeled the environment’s mana into his body, releasing part of his aura as he prepared his next move. Using both powers like this wasn’t ideal, but it was more than enough to finish his opponent.
Aura and mana were inherently different from each other. Mana was the lifeblood of nature. It was a form of energy with different properties according to the environment where it originated. Aura, on the other hand, was a power born from the soul.
The captain sensed the change in Amro’s demeanor. Instinctively, he decided to strengthen himself with everything he had by channeling what little environmental mana he could use into his own body. Knowing it wasn’t enough, he even used his life-force to ignite whatever amount of aura he could muster.
He had only trained his body to rank one, the first step in the long road to power. Normally, he would only rely on external mana to strengthen himself. However, in a time of crisis like this, he was willing to sacrifice anything in exchange for a chance at survival.
Taking a defensive stance, the captain prepared himself for the worse. Perhaps, if the gods smiled upon his existence, he would make it back alive. Muttering prayers under his breath, the captain felt his senses sharpening to new heights, almost like he was on the verge of a breakthrough.
*Slash!*
Alas, it was all in vain. The captain’s head rolled down onto the ground the very next second without a warning. Once Amro had grown bored with their fight, all his hopes of surviving had become forfeit. In his last moments, all the captain had left was the realization of his own weakness. Because of this unfortunate encounter, his name would be stricken from the records of the living.
As the body collapsed onto the ground, Amro extended his hand and caught the fleeing soul. This time, however, he didn’t burn it. Instead, he proceeded to extract energy from it to recover the damage and over-exhaustion he had caused to his host’s body.
Despite his skills and extensive knowledge, the passage of time had made him oblivious to how much strength a normal mortal body could handle before sustaining injury. It was only normal for him to ease the healing process before the boy regained consciousness given how the boy hosting his soul was unable to muster mana or aura on his own.
Helping the kid attain his revenge might prove to be just a little more annoying than I thought.
Chapter 05
Awakening.
Amro sat down as he drained the soul of the mercenaries’ captain in order to heal Zaros’s body. Such a technique would be considered a taboo by many, but to Amro, it was a feat doable without hardship nor any moral concerns. The wails of the soul echoing in his ears posed nothing but a small inconvenience, one he had grown used to ages ago.
As he turned the agonizing soul into fuel for his host’s body, Amro pondered over his own situation. The gods probably thought of him as dead, still unaware of his revival. He could make use of this to execute plans of his own. They were sure to have grown complacent with his disappearance.
That being said, it would take time to build up his strength once more. His revival hadn’t taken long, but the price he had paid was enormous. Fortunately for him, his fated encounter with his new host had come at a perfect time, giving him a window of opportunity.
Amro was sure that once he regained his strength, he could battle most of the gods and come out victorious. Alas, a small problem remained: Vita. A battle against the goddess of life would be difficult, even more so if the other gods interfered. Preparations needed to be held before confronting her. Perhaps the mortal world was the answer to his problems. He just needed some time to figure it out.
Amro had sacrificed much of himself in order to have another chance at life. Even as the former God of Death, avoiding his own mortality came at a great price. Using a phylactery as a catalyst for rebirth allowed him to keep most of his memories, knowledge and the essence he had sealed inside when he created it, but it restrained how much of his p
ower he was able to use upon taking a new body. That meant he would now have to share this body with his host, at least until he could come up with a better solution.
The only advantage he could count on now was time. With the gods’ complacency on his side, he would have an ample amount of time to make his preparations for revenge. That meant he could spare some time to help his host with his revenge. After all, small actions like this would help strengthen the relationship between the two of them.
Seeing the wake of destruction around him, Amro decided to take some time to dig graves for the villagers. Even if they were not related to him, they were still important to his host. As the former God of Death, what good would he be if he didn’t lay his host’s acquaintances to rest?
“Humans will never change, will they?”
Amro could still smell the regrets lingering in the bodies of the dead as he buried them, a stench he was much too familiar with. Massacres like this were far too common in the mortal world. Those without power would often get involved in the plans of stronger forces. He could only hope for them to find peace in their next life.
When Amro finished placing the bodies into their graves, a feeling of exhaustion overcame him. It seemed like training his host’s body would have to be the first priority on his to-do list. Even with his extensive knowledge, he could not overcome these basic, biological needs without consequences. At least not with the lack of alchemical reagents currently available to him.
Speaking of biological limitations, the damage he had done to his host’s body could not be overlooked. Once the boy woke up, he would fall victim to the consequences of Amro’s reckless behavior. This, however, was a small price to pay from Amro’s point of view.
Unfortunately, it was still imperative of him to rest. Thus, Amro strolled through the destroyed town in an attempt to find a suitable place to rest.
Eventually, he ducked into a nearby cabin that didn’t look too beaten up despite the mercenaries’ destruction. Inside, he settled into the closest bed, before he allowed himself to comply with his mortal body’s needs.
I grew arrogant with time, thought Amro. I was wrong to believe a perfect balance could be achieved with Vita. I can only blame myself for not realizing her hunger for power.
Before his death, Amro believed peaceful coexistence with the other gods was possible. Sure, they had struggles. They would declare war upon each other every other millennia. However, they had never before turned hostile toward a god’s laws. The way Amro saw it, it was a declaration of war upon the world itself.
Unfortunately for Amro, despite being complementary, his path and Vita’s ultimately led to separate goals. His major mistake came from believing his position wouldn’t be challenged. A mistake fate had no qualms about throwing into his face.
Amro knew he was to blame for growing complacent. Even his juniors had shown more ambition than him. He had forgotten that only by aiming for new heights would he be able to keep his hegemony. Growing conceited was no different from chaining oneself. Ironically, his close brush with death had served as a reminder of this.
Alas, it’s too late to change the past, thought Amro. Eventually, as the energy from the dead captain’s soul seeped through his borrowed body, Amro came back to reality. The moonlight shone through the cabin’s make-shift window, providing him light to see the wounds healing on his arms.
His host’s body had many limitations. The low physical resilience was only one of them. He would need to find suitable methods to train him into a vessel worthy of carrying his spirit. Otherwise, it would be near impossible to accomplish both of their revenges. That, however, would have to wait until another day. Right now, Amro needed to sleep.
As his senses darkened, Amro’s consciousness entered inside his own soul. This was his soul’s domain, a physical representation of his everything. In Amro’s case, a vast expanse of darkness extended across all the horizon. The only contrasting object in view was the figure of a young boy. He floated along with the darkness, seemingly embraced by it.
Despite that, Amro didn’t approach him. Instead, he looked at himself, finding ever-changing appearances overlapping against each other. Amro knew that inside this realm he could hold any aspect at will, he only needed to think about it. Alas, the damage received upon death had blurred the lines of his own identity.
*Sigh.*
It wasn’t the time for him to think about that, however. In order to ease his relationship with his host, he opted to change into something the boy would find more familiar: a human figure clad in black robes. Once he did, he approached the floating representation of his host’s consciousness.
Zaros’s appearance inside Amro’s soul domain remained the same, although he seemed weaker than usual. His skin was deathly pale, and even his hair had gone from its usual black luster to a dark shade of grey. His current condition reflected his soul’s weakness; a small reminder of how near he had been to death not too long ago.
Amro frowned as he examined the boy’s soul. “It requires just as much tempering as his body,” he muttered. “His current self is far from what I would call ideal.”
Unfortunately, Amro knew such a thing was easier said than done. For the time being, he had no option but to nourish the boy within his own soul domain instead. Fortunately, this meant Zaros’s recovery process proceeded smoothly.
After a while, Zaros opened his eyes, finally capable of seeing his surroundings. What greeted him, however, looked no different from a drop of ink. The only visible thing in his view right now was the silhouette of a man covered by dark robes. Despite that, he didn’t felt any discomfort. In fact, a strong sense of familiarity filled him when he looked at the man.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Within me, as I am within you,” answered Amro. “This is a space held inside our souls, somewhere your consciousness can reside.”
“Your voice sounds familiar, didn’t I hear it just before—” Zaros stopped himself before continuing further. Entertaining the notion of his own death was not a pleasant thought. Instead, he moved onto another pressing matter.
“Who are you? No, what are you?”
“Answers about myself will come in time, child. In regards to your first question, my name is Amro. You will find that we are now bound by fate.” Amro’s voice was clear and melodious, yet somehow authoritative and firm. “The moment you speak of was when we struck a deal.”
Zaros nodded as he recalled parts of his previous encounter. A vague connection to the man before him lingered in his mind. He recalled entrusting himself to him shortly before falling unconscious in the forest. Desperate and scared, he had entrusted his everything before surrendering himself to fate.
Did I sell my soul to an evil spirit before falling unconscious? thought Zaros. Perhaps this is something like the merchants’ tales about demons.
“The answer to that would depend on how you view me,” joked Amro, seemingly able to read his host’s mind. “It isn’t the time for that, however. You should now have enough strength to wake up.”
“Wake up? Am I asleep? Is this a dream?” Zaros asked. His gaze wandered around the black void that surrounded both him and Amro, trying to make sense of everything he was told.
“Something very similar,” answered Amro. Without more delay, he approached Zaros’s spiritual form and tapped on his head.
Zaros woke up with his body drenched in sweat. An intense discomfort poured from each and every one of his muscles.
While Amro could use power beyond Zaros’s normal capability at the cost of straining his host beyond his physical limits, the consequence was none other than the boy’s current state. Even with Amro’s healing, it would take Zaros some time before the pain spreading throughout his entire body disappeared.
Everything hurts, thought Zaros.
“This small amount of pain should be a small price to pay for everything that happened,” said Amro, clearly disregarding his own responsibility in the matter. “You are still way
too weak for me to use the full extent of my powers with your body.”
Zaros was taken by surprise. Not only did Amro’s voice echo from within his head, he had also been able to read his thoughts.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Zaros as he made use of this new form of communication.
“You had wished for power. It just means you’re quite far away from achieving your goal,” said Amro. “I might have taken care of the men who destroyed your village, but the ones behind it are still out of your reach.”
Zaros’s hands clenched in anger. His mind wandered back to the corpses he had seen strewn around his village. In a display of madness, his friends and acquaintances were stacked in a tower of lifeless bodies. The mere memory of this caused his nails to dig into his palms.
“Who was behind it?” asked Zaros. He found himself eager to hear the answer. In spite of his weaknesses, his goal hung clear in his mind.
Amro sighed. He could sense that the young man he was bound to was too reckless for his own good.
“The man leading them referred to himself as a vassal of this fief’s king. I don’t know of their intentions, but it’s clear they didn’t want to leave anyone in this village alive,” he explained.
Zaros’s mind froze momentarily. What would the king want with his simple village? They had no riches. No hidden warriors. Nothing in his village could explain the king’s actions. Not rationally, anyhow.
“Politics are much more complicated than that,” explained Amro. “Regardless, his intentions are not important. The only thing you need to care about is getting stronger and eventually paying him a visit when you are capable enough.”
Zaros nodded. There was a compelling logic in his partner’s reasoning. He exited the cabin, only to find rows of bodies belonging to the mercenaries, lying around lifelessly.
“Did you deal with them?” Zaros asked. Mixed feelings made their way to his heart as he took in the new scene in front of him.
