A Bored Lich - Chapter 380

Author’s note: I wasn’t in love with the name William. It seemed a bit too normal to me. My thanks go out to Bruhmomento for his suggestion of “Wilheim”, which was nearly as good as the other, much better name I came up with: “Wilhelm”.

I don’t dig into the meaning behind names. To me, if it sounds cool it sounds cool, and Wilhelm sounds cool. Let me know what you think of the change! You can see us talking about it on the discord. Here’s the link: https://discord.gg/tHaceja.

Now, back to the story…

‘Finally, answers,’ Wilhelm thought, rubbing the place on his neck where his necklace usually irritated him.

He held his hand in front of his face, then condensed copper life essence around his eyes. Not even a vague outline greeted him. Others would have been alarmed, however he was different, even for a hero. To him, the dark was a friend who would always offer him a place within its domain.

They sank deeper. The chain’s rattling was muffled by the water, yet the constant, unnerving grinding of rusted metal made their stomachs churn. Wilhelm had seen the others trudge through miles of snow without a single complaint, yet they couldn’t help but shift their weight from one foot to the other while trapped within the box.

Citrus’s voice called out to him: “It is hard to endure this silently, is it not?”

Wilhelm kept his mouth shut and nodded.

“If you are nodding, know that not even full blooded Elves can see in pitch black,” Citrus explained.

“I-I am perfectly fine,” Wilhelm hesitated.

“You do not have to lie to me,” Citrus’s source-less voice drifted about the enclosed room. “Did your masters warn you not to talk to us?”

“Yes.” Wilhelm replied. Citrus’s intense gaze was fresh in his memory. If he could see, he imagined that that look would be pointed at him like a blade.

“It is all Dogma’s fault,” Ignus exclaimed. “A simple greeting could cost you your life.”

Citrus sighed. “Ignus, you have only known him for less than a century. Besides, what happened to him will happen to us. It is only a matter of time. Wilhelm, I ask you to trust us and speak your mind. Better to know what you are getting into. However, do be cautious of what you say or else your head will hit the floor before we realize what we have done.”

Wilhelm bit his lip, taking a few moments to think. Citrus straddled the line between professionalism and border-line psychotic promises. ‘It could be another one of the War Monks’ tests,’ he thought. ‘But Isaac would at least make them realistic, or else it wouldn’t test my faith in blindly following their rules. This is so strange that it has to be genuine. I guess I have no other choice than to trust them.’ He sighed. “Who are you-”

The room trembled with a thundering clunk, yanking Wilhelm’s balance out from under him. Up and down became left and right. He flailed about the darkness. His palms found scant purchase on the smooth floor as he slid onto a wall. He heard fabric fluttering as the others were thrown off their footing as well.

As soon as he found his balance again, it was ripped away. He couldn’t brace for the second flip in time, and his face kissed the ground with a painful slap. He pushed himself up, sparkles dancing through his vision.

“I apologize,” Ignus said. “I should have warned you of the old Tausm temple. We weren’t able to clear it away before this land was flooded.”

A loud, lengthy scrape set Wilhelm’s hairs on end. He held his breath, expecting ocean water to crash into his body. After a few moments, the room leveled out, and he could breathe again.

“There was a temple down here?” Wilhelm asked, rubbing his aching forehead. “All of this is so strange. Who are you guys? How were you able to use my ability? Why have I never heard of any of this before?”

Ignus let out a deep chuckle, and Wilhelm’s heart sank. ‘So it was a test after all,’ he thought. ‘Hopefully Issac will be more merciful this time.’ He rubbed the scar tissue all along his back.

To Wilhelm’s surprise, Ignus apologized. “I did not mean offence. You always…every hero always asks those exact questions. To put it simply, we are not War Monks.”

Wilhelm paused. “This isn’t a test? How can you serve the Goddess if you are not a War Monk?”

Citrus joined in Ignus’s laughter. They were not, however, joyous laughs. They were hollow, forced. “War Monks do not compose the only religion in this world. They are merely the majority. Not all worship is based around the gods just like how not all worship the gods in the same way. Did they not tell you about this?”

Wilhelm let out a sigh. “Is this commonly known?”

Citrus clicked his tongue. “I am not surprised. War Monks see the world in black and white. Take Ignus, Dogma, and I. We are followers of Tausm (Pronounced: Tah-sim), the path of balance between good and evil. We still worship the goddess. The difference is in philosophy but I don’t want to bore you by explaining.”

Wilhelm nodded, repeating the name “Tausm” over and over again in his head. “I have more questions,” he said. “The War Monks can use holy magic because of their worship, so does this Tausm stuff work in the same way? Is that why Ignus could use my ability? If so, does this mean that I actually believe in this Tausm stuff instead of what the War Monks taught me?”

A bundle of white flames formed in Citrus’s extended hand, brightening the room for a moment before it vanished. Wilhelm scratched the back of his head: “So you can all use my unique ability. That’s a little disheartening.”

Citrus laughed. “It was a good question, but no. Not all followers of Tausm are descendents of past heroes like ourselves. The Mumbling Prophet found us and trained us. In return, we devote ourselves to him.”

Wilhelm nodded, regretting that he hadn’t spoken earlier. Questions got him answers but answers led to more questions. “How old is the Mumbling Prophet? What is he?”

“Older than the War Monks, if I am to guess,” Ignus said. “No one knows what he is nor his true age. We have learned to accept his…peculiarities. Be warned. The more power you gain, the stranger the world becomes. The Mumbling Prophet is proof of that.”

Before Wilhelm could ask what he meant, their downward motion came to an abrupt stop. He cursed under his breath. ‘Maybe I should have asked how to get out of that monastery first. Well, it’s not as if I have anywhere I can go,’ he thought as he rubbed the red mark along his neck.

“You will need to wear a special necklace to proceed,” Citrus said. He held out his hand and a white, flaming aura lit up the space. He then tossed a necklace over Wilhelm’s head.

The moment it made contact, it caused Wilhelm’s body to shutter. The mana  circulating around his body was stuffed into his core, trapped. ‘You could have warned me,’ he thought as he recovered from the shock.

“If you take it off, you will die a death that not even fate can save you from,” Citrus explained. Even though Wilhelm couldn’t see the Citrus’s face, he could hear the genuineness of it. If there was one thing he had learned about the group, it was that they spoke casually of both time and death.

One by one, locks were forced open. ‘Wait, aren’t we underwater,’ Wilhelm thought. He braced as the door opened. Instead of frigid ice water pouring into the room however, it was light.

The light came from lava, which spewed forth from a volcanic fissure at the bottom of a trench. Grey, ash-filled bubbles drifted into the base of the air pocket, where it was cleansed by a weave of golden threads. The hot air then drifted through the grass.

They had emerged into an air pocket at the bottom of the ocean. Dotting the sides of the trench faces were ruins. Statues laden with purple algae looked out from ancient archways built into the sides of the trench.

Scanning the room, Wilhelm found paints, statues, canvases, carving tools, and all other tools for creative expression scattered throughout a green garden.

An old, stone throne had a skeletal figure painted onto it, a book in its fleshless digits.

Empty paint buckets sat under a canvas depicting three beautiful people. Wilhelm recognized the visage of the goddess but not the man she glared at, nor the woman between them.

Outside of the far end of the air pocket swam a school of blind fish, glowing a bright blue as they formed one mesmerizing pattern after the other. Their combined light silhouetted a strange mass.

Wilhelm stumbled forward as hands pushed him into the garden. Ignus and Citrus stood on opposite sides of the door. They straightened their postures and waited, as if they had been turned into statues.

‘It feels like I just walked into a villain’s lair,’ Wilhelm thought.

His thought was repeated out loud in a high-pitched voice on the other side of the garden: “Feels like I just walked into a villain’s lair.”

The school of fish dispersed, and the strange mass shifted.

Wilhelm grimaced as a horrible collection of crunching and squeaking grated against his ears.

Shadow fell off of the mass like a cloak. Outcroppings of coral-like limbs, dried out and blackened, dragged a heap of coral through the grass. Eye-less, mouthless faces of rock rolled along the ground. Wilhelm reflexively stepped away from it, yet Citrus nudged him back into the garden. He could only wait for…whatever it was to approach him.

Light blue mucus gushed out of tubes, condensing into an enormous eye that was bigger than Wilhelm.

Reflected in the eye’s red and yellow iris was a face of visible disgust. ‘What the hell is it?’ he thought.

A line spread down the middle of the eye, which became a mouth as it opened into rows and rows of dagger-like teeth.. “What the hell is it?” it echoed, again and again, each time getting softer and slower as more voices seemed to join in.