Author's Note: This takes place sometime before Tales of Change and the sequel, which has not been started yet. I want to note that this has a slight "spoiler" in it but it's not in the first story, and it's already happened by the second story. Enjoy.
I slowly traced the scar that ran across my collarbone. It was permanent, as was the memory that came with it.
Glancing up, I looked emotionlessly at the dismembered body of a monster that dangled from the ceiling; perhaps a Harpy? I noted the feathers that remained on one limb. I noted how the feathers were black and shriveled up; they looked like they would crumble at the slightest breeze. This thing, probably a Harpy, was one of my experiments from a few months ago.
"Arme!" I heard from above me.
"What?" Looking up, I met the wide eyes of a ghost; a dead female elf.
"Is that a Harpy?" Lire asked me. I nodded, and her ghostly body seemed to waver; she had shivered.
"Weren't you hanging out with Ryan?" I asked as I began to pull some dried plants out, some water hemlock, oleander, Ellian water lily, fire grass, etcetera. I also took out a potion bottle.
As I crumbled the plants into the bottle, Lire said, "Well, Ryan went back to help the Lich out with something."
I sighed; that Lich always wanted Ryan and Lire to help him with something, since the Lich himself wasn't really capable of floating around much higher than a few inches from the ground.
"What's that necromancer want this time?" I asked curiously, as I poured a bit of a green liquid onto the plants. I watched the contents mix together and fizzle.
"I don't know," Lire answered and I sighed silently to myself. After a pause, Lire asked, "What's that for?"
"A new concoction I found in that new book I found." I noticed Lire's form waver again; she knew what most of my concoctions did.
Tapping the bottle a bit, I shook it enough to mix the contents around a bit more before placing it on the old oak table. Then I turned towards a long piece of cloth that hung in the back of my shack.
"A-Arme, are you. . .?" Lire let the question die, so I decided not to answer her. She'd already know the answer to her unfinished question.
I held aside the cloth that hid a door and went inside without a backwards glance, aware of the fact that Lire was following me. A necromancer was always keen on the presence of spirits; elves were no exception, especially friends that are elves.
A loud 'scree' greeted me upon entrance. I glared coldly at the creature that made that sound; a baby Gon.
"Want to be next?" I said to it with a slight snarl. "I have something ready." The baby Gon made no sound and cowered in its tiny cage. Stupid monster.
I walked down the row of cages that held various monsters; Icefangs, Wyrm Spawns, Drillmons, Swamp Slimes, Harpies, and others. They all cowered at the sight of me. They feared me, as they should.
Then I noticed a small, sickly thing. It was dull in color, and there was a slight, sour stench coming from it. But its physical body looked well enough. It looked like I found my test subject; a Gashimon. I always hated these things.
Kneeling down next to its cage, I placed my hand on the lock of the Gashimon's cage. Immediately, the sickly thing began to cry out, running backwards right into the back of the small cage. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
"You can't escape, and you know that," I whispered to it, a smile growing on my face. I was going to enjoy watching this stupid thing squirm.
"Arme, it's sick, couldn't you find a healthier monster?" I heard Lire ask.
"You wouldn't know what I would need, Lire," I told her. "You wouldn't know if I needed a sick monster or a healthy monster, a big one or a small one, an Orc or an Armored Lobster. You aren't, after all, knowledgeable in what I am an expert in." Lire fell silent after that, and I felt content enough to continue.
"C'mere, little thing. . ." I muttered. I was close enough to see the Gashimon's wide eyes, pleading, sad, crying. I could see its violent shaking as it knew what was to come. It looked so small, so innocent, so fragile. . . I was going to enjoy this.
"Get out here right now!" I yelled as I pulled my staff out from under my shawl and struck the Gashimon as hard as I could on its small head. It crumpled to the floor of its cage. Was it still alive? A quick check told me it was.
I pulled the Gashimon out of the cage, ignoring the small cries of Lire. If she didn't like this, why did she watch?
As I started back to my testing room, my main room, the Gashimon suddenly bit me on the finger.
"Ow!" I cried as I threw it across the room, the Gashimon slamming roughly against a pile of empty cages. It let out a croak of pain and didn't move.
Walking towards it, I turned the Gashimon onto its back and held it down by its throat, checking to see if it was still alive, and it was. Then I kicked the Gashimon in its side.
"You think you can fucking escape me, you fucking thing?" I yelled at it and kicked it again. "You and your kind, and all the others, are the reason why Kanavan has corrupted, why Grand Chase are all exiled, why everyone died!" I kicked it again; the fucking Gashi had let out a weak cry with each kick. Then I picked it up, went to the door that led to my main room, and threw it roughly onto the table.
The stupid Gashimon landed with a dull thump and let out a small cry. Ignoring Lire's cries of protests, I picked up my newest concoction, turned the sickly monster onto its back, and forced the potion down its throat, not caring if it choked, but caring if it died. Luckily for me, it didn't.
And then, I waited. I counted the time exactly in my head; 2 minutes, 34 seconds, and it begun.
It was a small change at first, but I was keen on noticing such small things. Inside, I felt anxious, giddy, and impatient.
The Gashimon's body gave out small, minute tremors that grew with each passing second. Soon it began to convulse and twist. The mouth of the Gashimon opened and let out a low, aching groan of pain that grew in pitch; it became a shriek. Then black, spotty patches began to appear. They seemed to burn the skin of the wretched monster, contributing to the shrieks from it.
The head of the Gashimon twisted back suddenly, as its body arched involuntarily and stayed arched as bulges appeared at various points of the Gashimon. Soon, its skin began to shrink, and the Gashimon stopped all noise from its mouth, but it was still alive. The bulges turned sharper and larger, until finally, the skin peeled back, revealing the monster's white bones, with a thick, sticky liquid seeping out onto the table. The liquid, the Gashimon's blood, filled the air with its rotten stench, which would've made normal people gag. Someone such as me, however, actually enjoyed this stench. Or maybe I was just that sadistic.
After awhile nothing happening, I prodded the Gashimon with my staff. It twitched slightly, showing that it was still alive, so I began to take it apart, starting with all non-vitals and working my way down.
I lost track of time, but after a certain amount of working, I realized the thing was dead. Oh well. I found that its voice box had been punctured by bone, so that's why it had stopped making any noise.
"If ghosts could puke," Lire whispered, "I would've done so every minute or so."
I rolled my eyes. "I don't get why you keep watching."
Lire gave me no answer.
Beginning to hum, I placed various organs and parts into various containers.
"Why do you do this?" I was asked.
"To get revenge for my fallen friends," I answered. "To get revenge against those who started this period of corruption."
It was the monsters that had began all this. It was because of them that innocent lives were lost. It was because of them that my friends were lost.
Blood for blood, life for life, that was what I believed.
I traced the scar that ran across my collarbone. Suddenly, a memory came back to me. It was in pieces, like all my flashbacks I experienced.
There was white, there was blue, there was red. Blood, metal, bone. Purple. . .
As suddenly as it came, it left me. I realized that my shawl had fallen off, so I kicked it and grabbed a long, hooded cloak and put it on. It gave me the appearance of an old woman, and those that thought me as such, I let them believe it. They always thought me as an old witch who dabbled with the dead.
Walking over to a small stool, I picked up a spell book with a skull engraved on its cover and began to read. After all, the dead interests all necromancers.