Book of The Dead - Chapter B3C48 - The World Beyond

In the aftermath of the ritual, Tyron focused on recovering his breath as he massaged his aching hands. His throat felt raw, and his reserves of magick almost completely drained. The bitter tang of arcane crystal would linger on his tongue for a day or two, he’d definitely taken too much. He leaned to the side and spat the last of the mage candy onto the ground. There’d be a lot of pain later, but Tyron was confident he’d erred on the right side of his limitations.

Before him, the crack in reality persisted, an arch of bone framing a black door. An Ossuary. He was excited to learn what it was, but… he didn’t think he could get off his knees just yet. A few more minutes and he’d have recovered a little magick and perhaps gathered the strength to fetch some water from his pack.

“By the divine teats! What the fuck was that, kid?” Dove yelled as he ran up the slope. “I was expecting a big ritual, but that was fucking ridiculous, I could see it all the way down the slope. You bet your ballsack they could see it in the village as well. If they weren’t too intimidated, then I expect someone is going to come poking their nose into your business.”

The onyx skeleton stood looking at the arch that stood in the centre of the ritual circle.

“Oh nice. You made a door.”

“It’s… an Ossuary,” he huffed, between breaths.

“So you said, but you and I both know you haven’t the foggiest idea what it does. The Unseen is notoriously stingy with details, and you don’t have a Class manual. It could be completely useless!”

Tyron grimaced as he forced himself to his feet. Despite a little waver, he managed not to fall and began to stagger to his nearby pack.

“Even if it’s useless now, this is the first ability I gained with my Class. I don’t doubt there are feats and other spells, possibly even more rituals, that I can learn to develop it further.”

“Then shouldn’t you have waited before rushing ahead to cast this?” Dove pointed out.

The Necromancer allowed himself a slight smile.

“I probably should have,” he admitted after taking a cautious sip from his waterskin.

Blood and bone, his throat was sore.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to resist.”

The lure of new magick was too strong for him, he could admit that, especially such an intricate and interesting ritual as this one. Perhaps he’d cut off his own toe, rushing into it so quickly, without fully understanding how the Class was going to develop, but Tyron was satisfied after everything he’d put into it. His ritual would be useful down the line, no matter what.

“How long is it going to stay there?” Dove wondered, staring at the door. “Is it permanent?”

“Of course not,” Tyron scoffed. “It’ll vanish once the circle is disrupted or runs out of power. It’s barely pulling in enough to keep the entrance manifested.”

“I’m assuming you can also dismiss it?”

“Of course.”

“Right.”

The skeleton circled around the arch, humming in appreciation as he went.

“I saw a gate into the Astral Sea once, you know,” he called as he reached the far side. “It looked a shitload more impressive than this. Bigger, and much more colourful. This thing is depressing.”

“Isn’t the Astral Sea impossible to traverse?” Tyron asked. “Why would anyone want a gate that goes there?”

“It might be impossible to traverse for weak pieces of shit like you and me, but that doesn’t mean that’s the case for everyone.”

“Huh.”

After another minute of rest, Tyron finally felt well enough to approach the entrance, nerves beginning to stir now that the rush of completing the spell had faded. He hoped Dove wasn’t right. It would feel like such a waste if he’d gone to all this effort and created something he couldn’t even use.

Directly above the door, dead centre of the arch, a human skull sat, looking down on him as he approached. An interesting detail, he didn’t think he saw any other skulls as part of the myriad bones that made up the arch. After considering it for a moment, Tyron stepped forward and pushed open the door.

There was a hint of resistance, and then the black wood swung soundlessly, cold, still air wafting through the opening.

“Oh, that’s creepy as shit.”

“Dove. Can you shut up for a minute?”

“Fine.”

It was dark on the other side, but Tyron could make out a stone floor, grooves carved into the surface trailing away into the shadows.

With a gesture, he conjured a globe of light and held it in his palm, wincing as even this insignificant draw of magick taxed his body. With the softly glowing sphere in hand, he stepped through the door and into the other side.

Dove shouted a warning which cut off suddenly, causing Tyron to spin and see the door close soundlessly behind him. Just like that, the mountain was gone, and he was here on his own.

“I can open it again. Probably,” he reassured himself.

The arch was present on this side as well, but instead of appearing from thin air, it was set into the stone wall. Tyron raised his gaze, holding the globe up over his head until he caught sight of the vaulted ceiling overhead.

To think that his magick had created all this….

Did Tyron know how to turn arcane energy into stone? No, he didn’t, but the ritual itself contained the pattern of this space’s creation. He’d been required to gather the power, supply it and follow the intended design, but even so, the act of creation left him speechless.

There were a few things he could tell about the Ossuary already. The air inside was thick with death magick. Drenched in it. Yet there didn’t appear to be any source for it. With his left hand on the wall, he began to walk around the edge of the room until he came to the corner. The wall in front of him was different from that to his left. Instead of flat stone, it was filled with recesses, longer than they were high.

A depressingly short amount of time passed before he realised they were for holding remains. Perhaps a normal person would have taken longer, but he could judge the length of a skeleton by eye quite easily at this point.

Tracing along this new wall, he counted how many of these recessed areas there were. They were organised in columns of four, the lowest to the ground starting around ankle height, the highest starting at eye level. The room was long, surprisingly long, and he counted twenty five columns before he reached the back wall.

There was room for a hundred skeletons on that wall. He quickly strode over and confirmed the wall on the other side was the same. Only the front and back walls were flat and unadorned.

So there was room for two hundred skeletons within the Ossuary, but what did that mean? Did these spaces provide some sort of benefit to the remains placed within? Could they empower the Raise Dead ritual in some way?

Instinctually, Tyron could tell they did something. The air was too thick with magick for it to be otherwise. Given a little time, remains placed in here would get up and start wandering about on their own. Inspection of the side walls completed, Tyron began to wander down the middle, or as close to it as he could tell, his light didn’t quite reach both sides.

The room was ten… maybe fifteen metres wide, and more than double that in length. Certainly a large area to have conjured out of thin air. Another question that came to mind was, where was this place? Neither Tyron nor Dove were competent enough Dimension mages to precisely identify the target of the ritual, but Tyron had a suspicion he knew roughly where it was.

The clues he’d been given by the Abyss hinted as much, though he tried not to think of it. That was a price he had yet to pay.

Distracted, he almost walked into the altar before he stopped at the last second, one hand extended forward to catch himself against the stone edge. Waist high, flat and undecorated, it was similar in dimensions to the recesses on the walls. Large enough to lay a body atop its surface, with room to spare.

The altar itself wasn’t what caught his attention, though; what was beneath the altar was far more interesting.

Tyron crouched down and brought the light close to the stone base. There was a gap, just wide enough to poke a finger into, between the base of the altar and the floor of the Ossuary. Too narrow and too deep to see into, Tyron circled around, tracing the gap with one hand until he completed a full circle of the altar. It went all the way around. Was the altar itself even connected to the rest of the room?

Hard to tell. What was more concerning, was that now he had identified the source of the Death magick. Dense and rich, it rose up through that little gap like a miasma before dissipating around the room. Tyron’s head thudded in his chest and licked his dry lips as he gazed down at the floor.

The death aligned energy was rising into this room from somewhere below. What was down there? What could possibly be the source of such thick Death magick? Did he really want to find out?

The whispers of the Abyss echoed in his mind once more, and Tyron wasn’t sure if he hoped they were wrong, or they were right.

~~~

Trenan clenched his jaw and stared Brigette straight in the eye while she stared back at him, defiant.

“You know damn well we don’t stand a chance if we go up against that Necromancer,” he tried to reason with her. “Last time, you didn’t even get to swing your damn sword. Now is not the time to go haring up the mountain.”

Reasoning with Brigette never went well. She was stubborn as a mule once an idea popped into her head. He thought it might be because her head was usually empty that, when it did finally have any thoughts, it held onto them come hell or high water.

“The villagers are terrified. Someone should go and make sure that the mountain is safe. For all we know, the Necromancer just died in… whatever that was, and the rift is undefended. If the kin come rampaging down here in an hour, hacking and killing, do you really want that on your conscience?”

Trenan’s instinct was to retort, but he had to bite his tongue as he considered what she said. Fucking idiot actually had a point.

“I swear by the gods, Brigette, the only time you say anything smart, it’s to get yourself into danger, not out of it.”

She grinned at him.

“So we’re going then?”

In one bound, she leapt to the side table where she kept her gear and began to buckle on her scabbard and leather armour.

“You want me to get the others?” she said over her shoulder as she wrestled with the straps.

“No,” he replied shortly. “It’ll just be you and me. If it’s just kin up there, the two of us can make it back safe. If we piss off the Necromancer, at least you and I will be the only ones serving an eternity in death.”

The very thought of it chilled his heart, but Trenan took his duty seriously. He was on this mountain to kill kin and keep people safe.

“Good point,” the swordswoman replied. “Are you going to get ready?”

Her team leader pulled his coat open to reveal he was wearing his armour underneath.

“I’m always ready.”

They were spotted on the way out, because of course they were, Brigette made enough noise for a parade when she wanted to. Turns out it didn’t matter much, none of the other teams were all that keen to join them. Gramble had apparently gone running to see the Magister once the magick had lit up the sky. If he’d been there, Trenan would have told him not to bother. He’d tried talking to the man the day before. It hadn’t gone well.

Don’t think about it, idiot. If you start to think your own mind is going to get messed with, you’ll never make it up the slope.

For her part, Brigette seemed unusually determined. Once they were out of the gate, she strode up the mountain, her expression and shoulders set. Whatever the reason, Trenan was glad to see a rare glimpse of her taking the job seriously. She coasted on her talent far too much for his liking.

“Stay sharp,” he reminded her. “There could be kin anywhere. If we run into a big group, we run back to the village, not fight a stupid battle. Got it?”

“Of course,” she said.

After they continued to trek up the slope, they eventually came to a group of skeletons standing astride the path. Silent and still, they watched the two slayers approach with purple flame burning in their eyes. Only six of them, an unusually small number, though he supposed it made sense. The mage wasn’t worried about being attacked from this direction.

He heard Brigette’s knuckles crack as she tightened her grip around the hilt of her sword. In one bound, he was by her side, hand pressing firmly down on the pommel.

“Brigette,” he murmured softly. “Are you trying to get yourself fucking killed? Because if you are, you didn’t need to convince me to come along to die alongside you, right?”

“There’s only six of them,” she hissed back, glaring at the undead.

“There are hundreds more and you fucking know that. Get your hands off your damn weapon.”

The last was forced through gritted teeth as he tried to force some sense into his teammate. To his relief, she finally relaxed and withdrew her hand.

“Now stand behind me and don’t do anything stupid,” he warned her, then stepped forward, hands raised towards the skeletons.

The undead hadn’t moved during their exchange and remained as they had been, watching.

“I’d… uh… like to talk to the Necromancer? Presuming he’s still alive.”

He must be, if the undead were still fine, he supposed. Why was he talking to the damn bones anyway? Could they even speak back? One of them had, but Trenan felt that particular skeleton was… unique.

Silently, the skeletons parted, seemingly giving permission for the two slayers to pass through. Nervous, Trenan led the way, glaring back at Brigette every few steps just to make sure she wasn’t being stupid.

When they came to a relatively flat clearing, they saw him. Trenan caught a glimpse of something, a doorway of some kind, fading to nothing, before the mage turned to face them, eyes narrowed.

“My first guests in a while,” the mage rasped, then coughed. “I presume you have questions?”