The Silver Strings of Ereshkigal

The rest of John’s night passed without nearly as much intrigue or confusion as his conversation had held. Once Lerianna was gone, John made his way into the house, and after the usual cavalcade of kittens and lovers greeting him, a quick meal was all the time he had before most of the house had gone off to sleep. That left John with a bit of time to kill, and with no better way to do it than literal killing.

Sophia hadn’t extracted a promise from him about training before the day actually started this time, and with the rest of the household either missing or sleeping, he didn’t have much else that he could do productively. A quick trip upstairs to snap a picture of his spreadsheet for potion ingredients – along with a reminder to buy a printer next trip into Springfield – and he was out the door again. Neither Orria nor Lerianna had shown up at the house yet, something that John found mildly concerning, but it wasn’t as if they were in any danger. They’d both show up when they wore themselves out, one way or another.

“Let’s see, most of the things I marked as essential are pretty high-level, but there are a few that I can get even in low-level dungeons. What did we end on last time…?”

John had a list of the levels of dungeons they’d already cleared in his phone so that they could maximize the efficiency of his completion bonuses. Unfortunately, with everyone else’s help and his little solo training before that, they had already cleared out dungeons all the way up to level nineteen last time.

“I don’t like the idea of doing low-level dungeons and being inefficient, but if I start at level nineteen, I’m not going to have the health or mana to last all night and into the morning.” John hemmed and hawed for a few moments, toying mindlessly with the level slider and enemy selection bars as he contemplated how to handle things.

“My stats are crazy high for my level, but I’m still doing all this solo. Maybe I should just try a few and see how it goes? If I get hurt by the time that I’m doing dungeons at my level, I’ll switch to something lower and focus more on materials than experience. If I only repeat each level once, I’ll only be cutting the completion bonuses in half… I guess that’s fine, but I’d rather not waste time with just a couple weeks to go until the war. Tomorrow is the halfway mark, and I’m not sure if getting to max level again will even put a real dent in the distance between myself and Adantia. Or, hell, even Lord Brighton.”

The thought troubled John. His leveling always slowed down as he approached his new maximum, but would it be necessary to try to Reincarnate again? Would it even be possible? Level 91 seemed so distant from where he was now.

“I don’t get tired like the others. I don’t need sleep, food, water… hell, I don’t even need oxygen anymore. And there are enough people willing to help and train with me, maybe I could rotate everyone around? If we spend the entire last week of the month just grinding nonstop, that might be enough. But would everyone hold up through all of that? I guess if nothing else, it would be good practice for entering a war.”

But the plans for that could wait, at least until he talked to Moira and Kim – both would certainly want in on any last-minute training plans, if they could spare the time. For now, John had farming to do. Farming for-

“Oh god, I don’t remember putting Cockatrice urine on here. Alchemy is disgusting!”

“Sons and Daughters of Inanna, our glorious quest has rewarded us with progress once more!”

With a sickening squelch, a bloodied and largely eviscerated corpse was unceremoniously tossed into the center of the circle of necromancers. Xanthia hovered after the lifeless body, staying just far enough back from it that as many onlookers as possible had a plain view of what she was doing as she began to work. Her five most trusted and powerful apprentices were spread out evenly at the perimeter of the sigil emblazoned on the floor below, while the rest of her followers looked on, packed as tightly as they could be into the tiny tower chamber. From one of Xanthia’s outstretched palms, a glistening sky-blue beam of mana began to exude itself and carve into the floor. Where it touched, the engraved sigils and glistening arcane lines were instantly erased, replaced moments later by the same beam on its return path.

Her work was focused largely on one quadrant of the circle, leaving some lines completely untouched, altering others in only the most subtle of ways, and completely erasing some, only to forge entirely new designs in the smooth stone floor in their place. Esoteric runes that might have left the lesser swaths of her followers befuddled left her most trusted elites speechless, their eyes wide and drinking in every detail as Xanthia finished her work. The last of the work ended directly beside the fallen corpse, her beam dissipating moments before contact with the deceased man’s face, displaying the progress his **** had wrought to eyes that could no longer appreciate the advancement his **** had wrought.

“This man may seem ordinary, but in my inspection of his fading memories, I learned that he once possessed a twin – a twin sister, bound to him in blood and soul since birth. Ten years ago she was slain in a battle with one of their **** ‘allies’ in their futile war against us, a mage from the Cheitan guild whose territory we now hold as our own. This man was of little power and less importance in life… but in ****, he has brought us another piece of the sigil!”

Excited whispering broke out among the crowd, but only for an instant. Xanthia raised one palm, and the room fell still and silent once more.

“Do not let your hopes grow too boisterous, my children,” Xanthia cautioned. “This man’s connection was weak, aged, and rejected by his mind over time. The visions he held of this sigil were neither strong nor complete. But it will allow us to wield our strength all the more effectively against those who oppose us – including this ghost of the past who stands in the way of humanity finally defeating its greatest enemy!”

Xanthia’s voice rose with this proclamation, and the voices of those around her rose in turn. This time she did not silence them – she allowed the crowd their cheers and howls, waiting until the noise died down in its own time before treading over the dying whispers.

“I have already adjusted our counterspell to weaken the barrier that stands between our world and the world of the dead yet further. We will begin the process of calling forth a fresh army to replace our lost soldiers tonight. Return to your posts, my loyal followers – and know that our day of triumph is nearly at hand!”

With hushed discussions and the stony rustle of cloaks brushing over cobblestone, all but Xanthia’s five chosen elite quickly vacated the room. When the last was gone, and the door firmly shut and barred behind them, Xanthia allowed her presentational mask to slip a little. Her eyes, tired but victorious, met the gaze of each of the others in turn.

“During today’s battle, through no small amount of sacrifice of our own, I have confirmed that we were able to slay the leader of the Amelan guild. This man was one of his closest guards, and fell in the skirmish that took his master. But we are not only going to resurrect him – we are going to bring his fallen leader alongside him.”

“What focus will we be using, Mistress?” Bella asked, her eyes alight with deadly fervor. Her fingers twitched eagerly and the dead skin and flesh adorning the left side of her face shone brightly in the blue light that bathed them. She reveled in the tension in the air, bathing in it as eagerly as if the blue flames of the underworld had reached up to embrace her directly.

“We will not be using any focus at all.”

Xanthia’s words rang out with a commanding intonation, an order and a reassurance in one. Glimpses and glances were passed between those surrounding her, but no one dared to speak a word.

“We were unable to retrieve the corpse of our target. Though we did secure his weapon in the struggle and aftermath, I believe that with our knowledge of Ereshkigal’s sigil and how to breach it, we may have reached the point where no focus is necessary to call upon a soul’s full might and hold it steady.”

“That is… a bold claim, my lady.” Bella kept her head dipped in deference, her voice a half-whisper as she continued, “But what if we aren’t close enough yet? Without his body or a physical tool to bind his soul to-”

“If we are still too far to achieve this, then I will bind the mage’s soul to his guard’s corpse and be done with it.” Xanthia waved her arm dismissively at the corpse, still dripping the last remnants of its blood onto the glowing floor below. “I would prefer to have the former leader of their circle over any replaceable minion, and it’s more important that we test how close we are now. Prepare yourselves, my pupils, and let us begin.”

The five of them moved in unison to begin the all too familiar ritual. Mana poured forth from their palms, filling the remainder of the glistening circle below them, then directing their energy toward the tower’s distant ceiling. The secondary sigil formed above them once more, mana rippling over an unseen frame and forging brilliant light through its intricate details. Xanthia stood in the center of the circle, observing it all, manipulating the flows as easily and with as much skill as only a woman so close to **** itself could. When the sigil above was fully formed, its gaps became more opaque, filled with a glistening azure light that oscillated between solid and translucent. At its weakest, when the light was dim enough to see past, no trace of the roof could be seen. In its place was an endless black expanse filled with trails of blue mist that strained and stretched against the barrier.

“Aectha. Salavir. Ich’thuon. Mostallaire. Intuina, Vak’thir!”

Xanthia raised up an outstretched hand and cast out a thin blue mana strand that zipped its way toward the ceiling, then pressed against the floating sigil. It danced against the barrier there, poking and prodding as the light fluctuated endlessly, taking a few moments to seek out a point of entry – then at once, it burst through, pushing forward and passing to the other side.

Xanthia’s eyes were bright and filled with life, a phrase not often used to describe the pale woman. Her mana weaved its way into the dark land beyond, seeking out a target. She stretched out one hand and connected herself momentarily to the corpse at her feet, plunging through the memories still clinging to its rotting brain as she whispered fate itself into the living string of mana.

Her pupils sweated and strained as they continued to hold the gateway open. Sweat beaded on their brows and joints began to quiver as the minutes stretched on, but not one complaint was uttered. After nearly seven minutes of effort, the string went taut for a brief moment, then rippled and began to recoil.

“I have found his soul. It is still fighting, still fresh. But it will not be long before…”

Xanthia trailed off as the light dimmed, momentarily revealing something she had not expected. The mist beyond, the blue haze that only a handful had ever even glimpsed before, was beginning to move in strange and unexpected ways. Alarm was not the first thing Xanthia felt, but curiosity – she was smart enough to understand that their knowledge of that world before she had gathered her army was limited to a few seconds of glimpses stolen by madmen. She focused only enough on the strand still coiling around her forearm to keep it steady and reinforced, while her eyes watched the dancing mists begin to swirl at some unknown agitation.

It wasn’t until she saw a light beginning to approach, one far brighter than her thread of mana and rapidly growing brighter, that the alarm began to set in.

“Break the sigil! Bring the ritual to an end,” Xanthia called out, grasping the long cord of mana firmly and heaving with all of her might, surging even more of her energy into it to hasten the process. The dim glow of a soul at the end appeared in the distance, but it was nearly overwhelmed by the brightness that was hurtling toward the gateway they’d opened at great speeds. Xanthia pulled the strand binding her to it all the more tightly, hastening its coiling, drawing the soul toward her at even greater speeds.

Her five apprentices hesitated, their uncertainty expressing itself in the way their bodies finally began to waver. It was unlike them to disobey a command, but in their years of service to Xanthia, a ritual had never gone awry before. That hesitation only lasted an instant – but it was enough for the approaching light to reveal itself for what it was.

A glistening arrow of silvery-blue hurtled through the sigil as if the thick barrier between worlds was nothing but papier-mâché. Xanthia leaped to the side as the arrow embedded itself deeply within the stone, aimed so precisely that had she not dodged, it would have impaled her from top to bottom in an instant. And she had few doubts that it would have been more than capable of it – the arrow was massive, longer than Xanthia was tall, and though it appeared to be made out of pure mana, it lost not the slightest bit of its form as it embedded itself in the tower’s reinforced stone floor.

By that point the other necromancers had brought a halt to their efforts, but the residual mana was enough to keep the gate open for a few more seconds. Even as the gateway began to flicker and fluctuate, wavering on the edge of realities, three more arrows followed the first. The first struck at the perimeter – one man cried out and then went deathly silent save for the wet gurgles of blood filling his chest cavity, a massive arrow of pure mana piercing his chest and pinning his corpse to the ground, still standing.

Another followed Xanthia’s movement and struck at the place she had moved to escape the first – but Xanthia was ready this time. Her arm waved high overhead and a spectral skeleton appeared around her like a suit of armor. Its bony arms crossed and intercepted the arrow, creating a deluge of sparks and mana shards that rained down around them. Xanthia’s brow furrowed with the effort, and for a brief moment, a look of worry dared to reveal itself – then the arrow finally gave way, losing its form and dispersing into a cloud of mana particles.

The third arrow hit that cloud of glistening mana fragments and warbled mid-flight, vacillating in the haze of overwhelming magical energies. With a sound like a high-tension wire giving way, the arrow burst apart, splitting into seven separate strands of mana. The first two wrapped themselves around the protective skeleton that Xanthia had conjured, attempting to bind and crush the magical construct. Xanthia let out a frustrated howl as she renewed her spell, bringing the skeleton’s limbs to thrash and push against its bindings.

The other five targeted her surviving assistants, one cord whizzing toward each of them, while the final one zipped upward instead, connecting all of the others while darting back through the gateway above them. Even as she worked to weaken and break the cords attempting to ensnare her, Xanthia’s eyes fluttered across the room while her elites waged their own battles.

Bella had managed to fend hers off with a bloody mist, a red haze that rose up from the ground and slowed the strand to a crawl that was dodged easily enough. Berricht had erected a wall of flesh around himself, creating a hemisphere of rotting corpses to guard him, but it had hardly slowed down the encroaching mana strand. Though the flesh mound was reinforced with a not-insignificant amount of mana, the thread wove its way through them as easily as the air, seeking its target within. It only took a few seconds for Berricht’s muffled howls to escape the chamber as the string abruptly went taut.

The other two had hardly been able to react at all. Emile had managed to conjure up an exoskeleton to protect himself, a bony armor that covered his limbs and torso as the cord struck, but he still wound up bound and was being rapidly lifted toward the ceiling. Camilla hadn’t even managed that much – the girl looked petrified when the arrow burst, and though she struck out with a ritual dagger, it jolted off the cord with no sign it had done more than slightly alter the strand’s path. Camilla was wrapped up in an instant, then rapidly hoisted toward the ceiling.

Xanthia’s eyes traveled to the sigil above, the last remnants of mana still holding the gateway open. There, in the blue mist, she saw something that chilled her to the bone – faintly visible, so hazy and distant that she wasn’t entirely sure what she saw was real, stood a strange figure. A humanoid figure with a glistening ivory coat of fur, and donning the black mask of a wolf. Clutched in its hands was a bow made of ashen wood and strung with a long fiber of pure mana, upon which another arrow was already nocked. And beside that figure, crouched low in the haze of **** and decay, something else walked alongside her, something fierce and bestial, a creature of darkness and shadow that prowled on four legs by its mistress’ side.

Fear might have taken another’s heart, but only anger found its way into Xanthia’s. With a great cry she struck upwards, snapping the weakening bindings that attempted to ensnare her, and then in the same motion bringing her apparition’s arms high into the air. There was a creaking and groaning as the skeleton’s fist struck the gateway moments before Camilla and Emile would have reached it, cyan flames and mana shards bursting from the contact. Then what little mana remained in that otherworldly entryway lost its form, dissipated and now broken entirely, and the gateway snapped shut.

At once, the cords that still remained were severed from their source and lost all control of themselves, wilting and becoming inanimate once more. Camilla and Emile were freed and released, free to plummet into the waiting arms of Xanthia’s guardian. The bony hands caught them as gently as they could, though the conjuration was shaky and beginning to crumble. It deposited the two necromancers onto the ground unceremoniously and vanished shortly after, its bones shattering and dissipating into a fine mist of mana, further saturating the room that was now thrumming with spell residue.

Bella watched the limp thread that had been pursuing her for a moment longer, not entirely trusting that it would not rise and strike like a viper the moment she let her guard down. Eventually she found its forfeit convincing enough to let up her guard and dispel her hex, letting the crimson mist vanish again. It took a bit longer for Berricht to appear, crawling his way through the fleshy barrier he’d constructed, but eventually he limped into the circle once more. He was bleeding rather profusely, apparently having been stabbed by the tip of the thread while attempting to dodge it, but his wound was already closing and a determined grimace masked the pain.

Emile dismissed his armor and quickly freed himself from the loosened mana weave, standing at attention in moments. He couldn’t fully mask the fear on his face, though, or the way his eyes trembled and repeatedly glanced toward the ceiling as he awaited the next words of his leader. Camilla was the only one who seemed unable to right herself – though the mana strings had fallen lax, the girl was in something of a panic, flailing wildly and only entangling herself further in them.

“Get them off me… get them off! I can feel it through them! I can feel that… that thing! She hates us!” Camilla screamed, her voice a high-pitched wail of desperation as she tried to fight the inanimate cords.

Xanthia strode across the room and plucked Camilla by her chin, snatching the woman’s writhing head and holding it stone-still in her iron grip.

“You are safe, my child. The gateway is closed, and that being cannot reach you now.”

“N-no,” Camilla whispered, her body trembling and shaking, her arms furiously swiping at her own body in an attempt to chase away the strings still clinging to her body. “I can still feel her. I-it’s still here, she’s still gripping me, she’s coming for us, she knows-!”

The sound of flesh upon flesh echoed through the chamber like merciless lightning. Camilla let out a choked sound between a whimper and a scream as Xanthia’s palm struck her, crumpling the younger woman to the ground like a wrinkled dress. Xanthia remained still after her blow, watching the young woman as she sobbed and gasped, shock mingling with trauma and leaving her speechless, unable to do anything but waveringly glance upward at her mistress, teary eyes revealing vistas of terror only subdued by an instinctive sense of absolute obedience.

“Control yourself, my precious daughter,” Xanthia spoke, her voice far from motherly. “The ritual has ended. That creature cannot reach you here, and I will protect you, as I always have.”

“B-but-”

“But nothing.” Xanthia’s tone hardened in an instant as she turned to face the others. Her eyes traveled over the battered and disheartened necromancers, to the sigil on the floor, and emotionlessly washed over the corpse of their fallen ally, still standing, still pinned to the floor by the arrow of mana that still maintained its form. For a moment, silence held sway over the room, uncertainty and a lack of direction controlling all of them.

“Though the results of our attempt may have cost us, I do not want any of you to think of what happened today as a setback. Not in the slightest.” Xanthia stretched her arm out to their slain brother, allowing her voice the barest imitation of remorse. “Errec’s **** is unfortunate, but remember that our mission is to save and return all of those who have fallen to our side. He will return one day, so long as we do not lose our resolve.”

“Of course, mistress,” Bella said, the only one of the four who dared to speak. Even Camilla’s whimpers and sobs were respectfully muffled, but Bella stepped forward, her hand over her chest and her head bowed deferentially. “But how will we proceed from here? Our efforts have always been focused on weakening the barrier between worlds… not on how to deal with whatever threat lies beyond it. That thing, that- that creature did not even allow us to determine if this new knowledge has allowed us to weaken Ereshkigal’s sigil!”

“We have always known that we were challenging the order of this world. The very laws and rules that Gaia set forth for the goddesses she left to watch over this land in her place,” Xanthia said sternly. “There was never a question of if we would draw their ire, only when. I did not anticipate it coming so quickly, but now that we are aware of it, we can make preparations and prepare countermeasures.”

“N-no, no! Please, don’t make me open another one. Those strings, those wretched threads, it was like she was gripping my soul! Cutting into me, pulling me into-”

This time no blow was needed. Xanthia’s eyes fell mercilessly upon Camilla, and the woman fell silent in an instant. There was a deadly threat in that gaze, a coldness that rang out with too much familiarity to the traumatized woman. Camilla had only had a moment to spare as her eyes traversed the barrier between worlds… but looking upon Xanthia now, it was as if she were staring right back into that carved mask of blackened wood in the guise of a wolf.

“You are dismissed, Camilla. Go to your quarters and do what you must to put yourself back into a form resembling coherence.”

Camilla swallowed once, her body tensing in preparation to be struck again. But Xanthia’s eyes remained cold and distant, unyielding and yet uninterested in her. Eventually Camilla found the strength to scrabble off toward the room’s door, frantically unbarring the thick metal barrier and quickly throwing herself down the hallway.

“Emile, take Berricht to the infirmary and see that his wounds are treated as quickly as possible. I will need all of you to return to the front for the foreseeable future, until I can be certain that an incident like this will not occur again.”

“At your word, mistress.” Although Berricht had sealed up his wounds and was in a good enough condition to walk, neither man objected to a chance to exit the room. Emile threw one of Berricht’s arms around his shoulder for support and helped the man to hobble his way outside.

“Bella, I want you to handle Errec’s corpse. Preserve it and ensure that it’s in pristine condition. Once I have prepared proper countermeasures for future rituals, we’ll resurrect him as a **** Knight for our cause. I believe that is what he always suggested if he fell in battle, yes?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Then go. Break his body as you must to retrieve it, so long as you leave the arrow intact. I do not know why these threads of mana are so resilient, or how they have held their form so long after the gateway was destroyed…”

Xanthia hovered over to the strings that had bound Camilla, her body turning sideways in the air in some ghostly imitation of a crouch. She reached out and bundled up the long string of mana in her hand, feeling its essence. There was something in it that was so very familiar to the half-buried woman, yet tingles and echoes of something so very alien to her. Even now, even well after the conflict had ended, the mana in her hand was firm and unyielding, only the barest traces of its edges beginning to fray and dissipate. Xanthia had rarely seen a mana construct that could hold its form for so long – and only ever by mages powerful enough to rival herself.