The Necromancer with the Rogue Thrall
Chapter #1
The air was thick with smoke and anticipation. Thick fumes of incense and burnt coal and steam swirled about, a naked man on a stone bed the root of it all. It had started from mere bones, but the dark magic in the room propagated the man's reconstruction. A sort of backwards decomposition had ensued, until he was rebuilt in the flesh.
The necromancer in the room circled the stone bed, admiring her creation. She was covered from head to toe in a robe of the richest blue, which was now stained brown around the sleeves from the blood and the dirt and the gunk. But the worst was now over. For seven days and seven nights she chanted and spat curses and spells, and little by the little the man was reformed to the form before her.
"By the might of darkness and the power of my blood, Bankotsu of the Band of Seven, take my breath," She had leant over his mouth, the stench of dead flesh overwhelming her already clouded sense of smell. Her purpled lips hovered over his mouth and in a surge of wild magic the cadaver before her stole all her breath away.
The action left her dizzy, her darkened world spinning, and she fell on a heap by the floor to his side. The body that had once died and rotted came to life. It coughed and spat frantically, as if this breath would be his last. The necromancer remained by her spot on the dirt ground, listening intently to his terrified breathing, also terrified herself. Her dark magic was working, but everything could fall apart at any minute. The first few breaths of any of her corpses were the most crucial; they could live or they could just as easily fall apart. It all depended on how much they desired to live again.
Above her the man moved, his lethargic limbs dragging themselves out onto the floor. His legs held him for a split second, only to give in under his weight. He crumpled by her side, growled in pain and exasperation, and exclaimed, "Naraku."
Naraku? "No, you are Bankotsu." Her eyes, the color of moss, stared at him in a mixture of satisfaction and excitement.
There was a pause, then, "Are you the fuck who's trying to bring me back to life?" His naked form hardly fazed her. He got on all fours in front of her, as if trying to appear threatening, but the weakness in his body betrayed his façade.
She stood, dusting her dirtied robes condescendingly, and said, "Yes. I am your Mistress and creator."
He snorted.
"Would you like to have more energy? To feel more alive?"
"You are no one's Mistress."
"Bankotsu, your soul is too greedy to turn me down," she chortled while she circled the cave, back to the small ceramic table that held her necromancy utensils—the potions and scrolls and herbs that made her magic possible. "You have a choice; I give every one of my undead a choice. You can choose to go back to the nothingness I fished you from, or you can live and obey me."
A long silence settled in the room. She wanted to appear as stubborn as he was, but deep down prayed that he chose to be her thrall. She needed the strength of someone such as him. She needed Bankotsu of the Band of Seven, or someone as powerful as him, to kill the Man with Many Faces and save her soul.
"How pretentious of you. I've been brought back to life once already, don't you know? And I refuse to make any pact with devils such as you."
She whipped around. "I am not a devil."
"You fuck around with the undead, what, you think you're a saint? Why thank you, my Mistress, for rescuing my rotted spirit, but guess what, I think it's a little too late."
His blue eyes burned in defiance. They glared at each other, the seconds dragging by a little too uncomfortably for her taste. Should she shut him down? Was this soul a lost cause? Who else could be powerful enough to be a match against the Man with Many Faces? Before she could reach a decision, however, he finally said, "But I suppose you are right. My soul is too fucking greedy to turn this down. What are the terms of my life?"
The necromancer had to suppress the upward curling of her lips. "You are to be my thrall—"
"Yeah, yeah, and what? Kill the cocky hanyou Inuyasha for you? The bitch priestess Kikyo? The dimwit wolf Koga? Maybe fuck you witless? Or warm your bed with romance? What's it gonna be?"
She approached him, twisting her palms in circles and creating swirls of magic the color of her blood. She tossed the wispy energy ball onto his chest, where it was readily absorbed. This was the remaining energy he needed to stand and to live. "No. I don't know who any of them are, and I'll be dammed if I let a corpse have his way with me. I practice necromancy, not necrophilia."
"Naraku?"
"No! Who in the world is this Naraku you keep bringing up?"
Bankotsu approached her and stood before her, omnipotent in all his naked glory. She would have blushed, but was used to the sight from years of necromancy practice. "What do I have to do, little girl?"
He knew of his handsome wiles, and was an expert at using them, for he was making her feel downright uncomfortable. "You will become my protector, and when the time comes, you will aid me in defeating the Man with Many Faces."
Bankotsu lifted her chin up gently, still continuing with his farce to charm her. "Really, is that all you desire? So, do you have a name besides Mistress?"
"Wakahisa Yosei."
"How fucking appropriate."
Her hand shot at his wrist, taking a solid grasp and separating his fingers from her face, "And you're supposed to protect me, not give me the creeps."
He bowed pompously, "As you wish, Mistress."
"Yosei."
"Yosei," his eyes were glinting in amusement the entire time.
"If you wish to live, you are to protect me and do my bidding. If I die, you die. If I'm unhappy, you die. If I can't use you to kill my enemies, you die. Honestly, it should be simple for a mercenary of your caliber. You wish to live, don't you?"
"I'm all yours," the smirk on his lips brought shivers to her very spine. This was the first time she resurrected a thrall with wits and freewill, and certainly the first time she resurrected someone as powerful as him. And something inside her told her he was beginning to realize this as well. Would it be her undoing? The alternatives seemed just as appalling. Bankotsu was her one and only shot at an undammed afterlife, as ironic as it sounded.
Despite how stupid and reckless it was, she was to become the necromancer with the rogue thrall.
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