Hungry Necromancer - Chapter 120

“Astral Projection.” I say for the umpteenth time.

By now I’ve gotten used to the feeling of being ripped out of my body and plunged into a sea of fog.

I take the next steps the instant I get my bearings; I begin to sprint.

Of all my trials and errors over the quickly slipping hours of the night, I’ve explored the Astral to the best of my ability but one part is yet to be uncovered; the doors.

The doors are a recent discovery of mine. For the past three attempts I’ve been trying to get my hand on one of the knobs.

But as always, that’s a lot easier said than done. The fog I’ve skipping off of in a mad sprint will soon begin to sink and soften under my step, pulling me down until I’m waist deep in the fog, unable to leverage myself in any form.

So, to get to my goal, the door knob, any one of them as there are thousands of doors, each one of them leading to a different place most likely and each one of them having radical design exceptions I have to sprint across the fog like a mad man.

I’m not at all sure if the door I open will be the one I’m meant to, if it’ll lead me to where I’m meant to be but I haven’t made any progress in the Astral passed the fog level.

Although, some doors are an obvious put off. Like the one to my right with curved, black horns at the top and one large hoof as the bottom. That certainly doesn’t lead to anywhere pretty.

Nevertheless, I keep up my strut, up ahead is a white as snow door, it’s one that’s always greeted me when I try to get after it. It’s the first door I noticed too.

First come first open, I guess.

The fog beneath my feet begins to soften but I’ve barely covered the distance to feel good about my chances. Fuck!

I ramp up my speed as best as I can, at some point I start jumping, although that may be unwise since that will only serve to further my descent into the fog.

But…in a weird twist I find my jumps are a lot higher than they actually are. And so are my descents.

Rapid ascent, slow descent.

Can I fly?

I mean, it reasonably shouldn’t be out of my options given where I am. The Astral.

I think it would be stranger than I can walk on fog and not fly. Let’s try it then.

The moment I land I get my knees to push off as much as they reasonably can, leaving no spare moment for my legs to fall into the fog and trap me.

The result? I’m launched off the fog at speeds I’ve only achieved with Anselm carrying me. Distance is no longer an issue; the door is right in front of me now.

Upon landing, full of excitement and adrenaline, I grab the knob and flinch; it’s terribly cold, so cold my hand is now covered in snow and wet with water.

What the heck?

I grit my teeth and get ready for some pain. Grabbing the knob again my entire palm feels as though it’s been frozen, the cold begins to streak up my arm even as I turn the knob and push the door open.

A door that douses me in snow and cold winds.

Fuck! Am I just back at Frozia?

By the time the winds calm and the storming snow stops I’m covered in a cold white pile of it. With a groan I free myself from the snow and take a cursory look about my surroundings.

The door is gone. I expected that to be honest. And the land is covered in snow, but to begin with, is there any land?

Everything is white, except for the one splotch in the distance, a mop of black floating above the white. A person.

I hope it’s Anselm.

Launching off the snow I begin to pseudo-fly, a controlled descent and ascent really, but all that matters is that it works.

At aerial view I can see the figure much clearly. Talking to something, I think. With a grunt I pull myself down and start a premature descent.

I land with a soft displacement of the snow underneath me and begin to trudge through the knee-high pile in my way.

The figure standing in the snow is clad in a white gown, plain white, camouflaged into the white background of their surroundings.

“Hey!” I call out, they tilt their head to the side and I glance an object…a snowflake? A large snowflake.

There’s a twinkle of light and the flake disappears. The figure begins to turn but as it does, the cold winds start again and I suddenly feel as light as paper.

The figures face is…light? Simply a host of bright lights, blinding to the eyes. I flinch and raise a hand to shield my eyes.

“Asher. You’re here.” The figure speaks, their voice is warbled by the billowing winds, “Ah…she doesn’t want you here long, something about a mutt.”

I can’t summon the breath to utter a reply, the wind stuffs my pipes so much I can barely breath despite there being so much air, much less speak.

“I’ll see you on the other side, I think you’ll be pleased with what I’ve found myself.”

As the warbled voice says these words the winds turn violent and I’m blown off my feet. With unnatural intent the winds push me towards the door that has seemingly reappeared.

Fuck!

I’m effectively tossed out of the snow filled world, my back against the fog again, I look up and find the figure with light as a face waving just before the door slams itself shut and sinks into the fog, never to be seen.

Great. What was that about?

***

With my soul back in my body and my head resting more or less on the soft feathered pillows, I try my best to review what exactly just happened.

If my guess is any good then things aren’t likely to get any prettier for me or Anselm.

As it stands, I’m pretty certain that figure blazed in white and light was Anselm, warbled or not that annoying voice of his is unmistakeable.

Then there’s the other person or being that was present. The snow and freezing cold are a dead giveaway, that giant snowflake I saw him talking to when I entered would be none other than Frozia, the Goddess of Winter and Ice.

But Kaylin’s dream or vision about Anselm isn’t entirely wrong it seems. There’s a familiar, almost exact copy to the presence of Frozia and the presence of Anera. The light they exude especially.

I’m not sure why that is but that doesn’t matter in the least now. What matters is why the hell Anselm is getting comfy with the Goddess of Winter and Ice. I’ll credit his change of attire to her powers but his personality change is something else entirely.

He doesn’t feel the same, not anymore.

I’m scared to speculate what transpired between the two while I roamed about like a brain numb monkey. Fortunately, I don’t have to ponder much longer on any of it as there’s a knock on the door, a series of knocks that don’t seem to have an end to them.

How rude.

I get off the bed, my body relatively rested. Out the window the city starts to come to life as the first rays of sunlight strike the horizon.

I’m leaving today, a shame I could only stay a few hours but I’ll be back once everything in Aste is settled.

The knocking continues. With a sigh I begrudgingly tear myself away from the beautiful view of a sunrise in a frozen city and make towards the office door.

“Is everything ready?” Is my immediate demand rendered at the rather rude messenger at my door.

The boy, a foot and a half shorter startles at me, “Ah, sorry, Lord…I mean, I thought-” he trips over his words a few more times before starting from scratch.

“Sir! I thought it was Lord Matthias within these chambers, he takes forever to get up hence my persistent knocking.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I groan. My head still hurts, more so considering my nightly expeditions into the Astral Planes.

“Ah, yes, of course Sir. There are several wagons of arms and armour waiting for your approval down at the South Gates, Marshal Leon is overseeing the delivery to Aste…although…”

“Although?” I urge, tilting my head to the side.

“The Cultists are lying in wait, Sir.”

Of course, they are. No matter, the plan was always to kill one and get on with the journey to Aste.

I push past him and start walking down the hallway. “I’ll take care of them, though, I’d like to know…where is the Mayor?”

The messenger falls silent beside me as we walk. I toss a glance down at him and find he’s got a grim look on his face.

Then it clicks. With a huff, I answer my own question, “He’s fighting the Cultists, isn’t he?”

I don’t wait for the silent confirmation of the terrified boy before starting a sprint.