AN: For those of you who are confused about the Moh'ra, their blood and third eye, and imagine that the mechanics I'm allowing them is simply too powerful, I would ask that you should go watch the Angel Season 1 Episode 8: I will remember you, where the Moh'ra are first introduced. Their blood resurrects Angel as a living human Liam and banishes the blood demon Angelus in a flash of light after Angel and the Moh'ra's blood mix on a wound. Bringing back the dead was precisely what it was designed to do; though it was more of a "fuck you" than a useful tool type item. While we do not know it it could bring back a simple corpse or not, I'm choosing not to stretch its powers that far, leaving a few specific requirements for its use. Blood transmission and an animating spirit among other things.
Disclaimer: Angel and BTVS belong to Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon. Warcraft and all its subsidiaries belong to Blizzard North Studios. If you don't already know this, weep, for it means you can't make any money off fanfiction either.
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The first deer they found was a fawn. Nearly as tall as Jonathan, the flesh was still mostly on it's bones, but the stomach had been ripped out and the blood long drained. As Lynet went to inject the creature with the dart Jonathan sent her as strong a feeling of disapproval as he could. The banshee set them both back and turned to listen to him, confused.
That's not going to work, the warlock said the moment he had his captors attention. While the Essence of the Moh'Ra will could possibly fix the meat, the body is desiccated so there's no blood left to transmit it. Use the Eye of a Thousand.
The what? You mean the ruby? Why would a healing gem be called that?
Because while it's embedded in a Moh'Ra's forehead it acts as a third eye. That's not important right now. Put the gem on the fawn's hide and I'll help you channel mana through it.
Jonathan got blasted with a strong sense of suspicion from the ghost. You're not trying to exorcise me, are you?
He blushed slightly, feeling a little sheepish. The thought had occurred to me. It's my damn body after all. But i've decided I'm more interested in… other things… You know the lay of the land for starters and I find myself lost and stranded without sufficient transportation.
Which was true, if not everything. As he'd slept he'd calmed down and had now come to the definitive conclusion that he was most definitely not on earth. Or any dimensional analogue thereof. He had no idea how to get home, find friendly territory or even if his ability to summon and bind protectors would work at all. Ignoring that he was sorely lacking in materials, the only things he was sure about were his thoroughly destroyed magic bone and the boomstick.
He was going to have to think up a new name for his wand though. Now that he no longer had the hellmouth gushing out energy for him to infuse into the rod he had no idea when he'd be able to recharge it, so it's power was now too precious for frivolous blasts of raw power.
Or was it? This area he was in seemed to be simmering with a power Lynet's presence had begun familiarizing him with. But if it was, as he was beginning to suspect, the power of death; would blasting an undead creature with bolts of it hurt them or just make them stronger?
Mentally he shook his head and watched carefully as Lynet did as instructed. With the Eye of a Thousand Fates resting warmly in his palm he could feel the hold the banshee held over his limb steadily weakening. He could seize hold of the arm and slamm the gem into his chest, exorcising the bitch and demanding new terms; it wouldn't be hard… but how did he know he could succeed? He'd felt the compression in his soul when she'd slid into his body, oh so carefully. Heard her warnings that Banshee normally exercised the bodies original spirit when taking their form. He could believe it. Would she agree to his demands? Attack him? Leave him where he was with no protections? Bring more undead back with her to kill and raise him as a mindless slave to this Lich King?
Somehow, he wasn't ashamed to say he took the coward's way out. As their hands separated and he took control, Jonathan channeled his mana through the stone and into the deer, watching in amazement at the speed with which it was restored. Cracked bones knitted back together, furred leather pulled together and transformed from grave dust grey to a healthy brown and ravaged desiccated meat plumped, reddened and flowed to connect ligament to bone. Jonathan moved the stone slowly across the surface of the animal, healing and renewing the necrotic flesh until finally, with an unearthly howl, the spirit of the deer separated from the corpse and stood above us.
Lynet stared at the ghost first with sadness and then shock as instead of streaking away as she'd expected, it walked off slowly and faded first from eyesight and then from her banshee's death-sense.
We will not be using this stone on Dar'Khan. She said forcefully. A peaceful death is too good for him.
Don't worry, that was mostly me. Remind me to show you The Book Of Vile Darkness some time, it's got some really… creative ideas on how to apply healing magic. I think you'll approve the human thought back as he continued to repair the carcass. How about we set up a fire and get to cooking? I for one am fucking starving.
Dry dead wood sparked easily and soon the meat was being cooked. After Lynet had eaten their fill, Lynet used a pinch of salt and a spell to dry the rest of the meat and pack it away for later. Life required food, and periodically.
As the pair of them continued on and Lynet avoided the constantly increasing number of wandering undead, Jonathan was paying close attention to how the magic of his possession worked. An incomplete knowledge of necromancy had gotten him into this particular mess, remaining ignorant would not get him out.
The first type of 'undead' they had to actually deal with during their flight south weren't actually undead but rather, airborne golems. The 'Gargoyle' were granite statues vaguely similar to the ones that adorned churches back home, but animated by a poisonous green energy that Lynet feared. While they could gather this energy into their mouths and spit bolts of it, their favorite method of attack was to become solid stone statues once more and fall through the air like siege missiles, landing on victims or buildings with crushing force. According to his ghostly companion, many of their great mages had fallen this way as they stood in place working grand spells that might have saved Quel'Thalas.
Fortunately the constructs had little to no noticeable intelligence and ignored Jonathan whilst Lynet flew them through the 'ghostland' skies. Feeling vindictive, the former elf dove for the ground and retrieved a solid mace from a pile of unused corpses. The weapon shone with a dull light and burned mutely in their hands, but did not resist when they became ethereal once more and took once more to the air.
The enchantresses strategy became apparent quickly. In a special irony, the banshee would drop back into solidity overhead of her targets and fall with high shriek that made his throat raw. Meeting them with the swing of her hammer and disrupting their magic with the scream, they smashed the golems heads to gravel, sending cracks through their bodies. Sometimes they would miss; the magic destroying cry causing the gargoyles to fall early or by Lynet mistiming their fall, while other times they tore instead through the stone bats wings instead of the head and body. Either way after each strike she would catch them with ghost form and return to flying south. Ever south.
Over the next day and a half the pair had to stop on several occasions; to eat, to sleep, and to rest and recharge Jonathan's magical stamina. Channeling magic for spells and rituals could be exhausting, constantly channeling death magic to phase halfway out of reality and fly was brutal. The pocket where Jonathan kept the Moh'Ra's ruby Eye burned with a constant heat as their journey pressed on.
Shortly past noon on the second day they began to find Banshee and Wraiths in the air as well. Wraiths, Lynet explained, were spirits that had either been torn apart by the scourge or had formed from congealed death magic. When bound by necromancers, they served as the eyes and ears of the Scourge Commanders. This, of course, presented a problem. While his captor knew what their new obstacles did and how they were formed, she didn't know if they could detect the difference in her allegiances.
And knew they could detect Jonathan's life force. ...If he got close enough.
Do you think you could free them as you did me? She asked her host, standing in meditation on the branches of a tall tree.
...I don't think so, no. I mean, if I had my magic bone, or perhaps some chicken feet blessed by one of the death gods, but with what I have… He paused in thought, reviewing his supplies and what he'd been learning from feeling and observing the magic of this new world. It was similar to the magic around the hellmouth, especially when working with vampire or mummy parts, but without the chill taste of shadow magic or the foul aftertaste some of the nastier demons left behind.
I could maybe use the monkey knuckles to summon a Kurgal soul eater, but they're not the most friendly or, y'know, controllable types. I don't have the materials for anything better.
Better? Lynet asked, disgusted. There are better types of soul eating monsters?
Jonathan supposed it would be a valid fear for a ghost and tried not to feel a smug vindictive pleasure at where his thoughts were going. It wasn't hard, most soul eating types were just as happy to eat living souls as dead. Sure, there's the Mok'Tagar, they're a pretty spineless race of immortal scholars who consume souls to gain experience or hide among a world's denizens. The victim's soul can be recovered fairly easily but if left with the Tagar it eventually becomes part of them and has influence over them just like if it were an original part of the personality. Then there's a number of holy orders who collect souls of the dead so that they don't keep wandering around. Supposedly they send them on to the next life, but if you put in an order to the office of Wol…
Alright, I get the picture! The trolls here do something similar as a means of enchanting things. And that's not even scratching what the Lich get up too. ...We still need a way to get past them though. The only living among the scourge are necromancers who have not yet ascended to Lich, Death Knights who betrayed the light before suffering their first death, and captives the other monsters here want to turn into specific types of undead instead of the rank and file ghouls. Hold still and don't resist, I'm going to need to modify your body if I'm to gather the necessary materials.
Jonathan first went cold and then exploded. YOU'RE GOING TO WHAT? His thoughts screeched at his captor.
Flesh shaping, she replied matter-of-factly. Hosted banshee devote a fair portion of their energy to maintaining the vessel they're possessing. Ner'Zul intended it to aid with infiltration of the noble class, but Drathir and Menethil made such measures more or less unnecessary.
But what are you going to do to me?! Jonathan worked to keep the whining out of his voice with fury and outrage. He was pretty sure it worked, given he was feeling a fair amount of both.
I intend to trade your fat stores and the Jerky in our pack for denser muscle, she replied, I'd like to add some height and reach as well so I can fight as I'm used too, but we left the uncorrupted bone samples a day's journey back and I don't trust you not to exorcise me if I try to use that stone to to make more. Now settle down and quit whining, or I'll go much further to make myself comfortable, like realigning your bones and organs into a female configuration. I think you have enough flesh to recreate myself when I was in my 30's. That's 16 by human and gnomish standards.
Rather than quailing as she'd expected though Jonathan's mind stuttered and then went to the pervert zone as his earlier outrage warred another idea. Were you pretty? I could use the confidence boobs, er boost. I mean boost. Ah...
Jonathan grinned internally as Lynet quickly went back to the 'control seat' Ignoring him and muttering to herself. Crisis averted. He still had no boobs to play with which was a pity, but it was better they weren't on him. ...well, not unless it was something he did on purpose...bad brain!
After several more perverted geeky tangents Jonathan turned his attention to the elf's plans. She'd decided to return to her roots as an enchanter and forge a costume that could fool the scourge into thinking she as a Death Knight. Windrider still intended to modify his body some so that any necessary fighting would not be totally on her power as a banshee, but any plans to turn him into an adolescent elf girl were either quelled or left to the part of her mind he couldn't see. Which...was most of it, admittedly.
Landing in a tree, Jonathan watched intently as the banshee began eating their food stores ravenously and manipulating death magic to take advantage of the incoming material. Death Magic, or perhaps he should call it decay or destruction magic, broke down the meat and belly fat before moving them to nearby muscle groups. Those too were then broken apart on the cellular level and reassembled in a new pattern, stronger and tougher than before. A process that should have been intensely painful mostly felt cold and creepy, like static electricity, slime or an itch where you can't scratch at it. There was some pain as an angry red power flowed out of the stone, hissing and clashing with the necrotic power as it broke things down, but the pair of them quickly started to work together as the first sinew began to be rebuilt. Jonathan growled a little in frustration because it made observing the process more difficult, but between what he was seeing now and what he had seen before with their first meal he had an idea he might be able to do something similar with the stone alone.
In the end he went from thin with a major paunch to thin with ripcord muscles just showing under slightly tight leathery skin. His bones had also been hardened, bringing in large amounts of carbon. Lynet showed him what she had done with monkey knuckle, indicating that the structures were now black and glossy as well; something the Lich King apparently did to some of his favored skeletal minions making them much harder to kill with sword or hammer and better able to channel magic besides.
After that, she took the monkey bones and crushed them to powder. Jonathan winced at the loss, he'd taken weeks to carve those bones with runes and layer the magic of the hellmouth into them so they could act as communicative foci. Lynet however had another use for the magic dense material. Using the dust she began to draw patterns in a swooping curvy language and poured more death magic into them, drawing it from the area around them. The bone powder crackled with dark green power and became flat bone-white symbols on the ground as if they had been grown that way. Not done yet, the elf acquired a fallen limb from a nearby tree and lay it on the pattern.
Speaking, not in the strange but somehow completely understandable sounds she normally made, but in yet another language he had never heard but somehow understood; Lynet began describing a weapon. A thin pair of curved elf blades Jonathan's geeky mind labeled a cross between a Machete and a Kopesh. The words were harsh and twisted the tongue, but with them she described their weight, the curve and thickness of the blades, how they should be balanced and the piercing points, swept both forward and back. As she spoke the wood warped and flowed and broke into two powerful looking blades, each which should have been considered a hand and a half sword in their own right. Dead power flowed into the weapons turning warped wood to glittering tigers eye and making the edges crackle with a broken grey light that promised death.
The process, which had started at dusk, came to a close under the light of a full moon, hanging high in the chill sky. Lynet picked up one of the blades and shivered as the chilling power of the weapon sought to deaden Jonathan's arm whilst the Moh'Ra's ruby in his/her pocked sent burning streams of power though his body to restore feeling and circulation. Jonathan prayed quietly that the gem would not crack under the pressure and almost missed where the enchantress went next.
Breaking the diagram she had built, Enchantress Windrider crushed the bones once more and began sprinkling the dirt and bone chips along the flat of the blade. Using one of the large chips as a pencil she began writing in the powdered surface, more flowing curvy letters like the ones that had originally made the circle. Once she was done, grey light from the blade's edge seeped into the trails, boring holes through the blade and leaving the words behind. As this happened, the feeling of the grave slowly ceased to creep down the arm holding it and a ghostly edge formed around the blade, reflecting the ectoplasm Jonathan recognized from when Lynet had been a spirit attacking him instead of the bullheaded girl playing him as a puppet.
She repeated the process on the other blade and Jonathan felt a sense of satisfaction coming from the elf. With his body upgraded and arms crafted it was time to build a disguise. Not that she cared about him, Jonathan could see that in her thoughts, but Lynet knew she would not get close to her target if she had to fight against the might of Deatholme, nevermind the ghostlands or the scourge itself. Which was what she might be up against, trying to assassinate the leader of the scourge in Quel'thalas. No, she needed him because without a friendly necromancer this was a banshee's only way to power. Because without a disguise they might look too closely at the banshee with a body and find she hadn't been ordered to take it. Indeed wasn't even taking orders anymore. Undead outside the influence of the Lich King were as much an enemy the scourge hated as the living.
The first 'reagents' and 'materials' Lynet collected was a wandering pair of ghouls. Most of the flesh had rotted or desiccated off their bones so there wasn't much 'leather' to be had, but the elf moved him to attack them anyways. Using flight to build some height and momentum Lynet became solid once more and dropped on them. Blades of spirit and tigerseye stone hewed one dead elf at the waist, while relieving the other of it's skull at the neck. Not enough to drop either monster, the headless undead stumbled around, lashing out with it's arms like clubs while the torso of the other crawled around like a legless circus performer. Undeath lent them strength and thus mobility they had likely never possessed in life, but they were crippled by the blows nonetheless. Lynet stabbed the enchanted blade into the fire at the headless corpse core and it keeled over, flames of blue ethereal light fading as if the fuel were suddenly gone.
The other corpse screeched and tried to escape by clawing it's way up into the branches of the dead forest and swinging through the bous like an orangutan. It didn't get far before the banshee had flown them in front of it, and rematerialized with her sword through it's eye socket. With the runner dispatched the souls animating each corpse scarred and banished by the spectral blades, there would be no report. No memories to be shared about the spirits last moments in their former bodies. The Scourge could potentially reuse these bodies, had she not intended to do so herself. It lacked much of the elven grace fantasy literature had taught Jonathan to expect, but those souls were free.
They gathered the bodies and flew some more in case anyone did still come to investigate. After about an hour of flight they found a quiet place and repeated the earlier process. Several bones were ground to powder to form an enchanting diagram, words were spoken, reforging bone into armor plate.
This time, the skulls formed the basis for a set of shoulder pads, the braincase emptied of dust, the back folded in to provide a thicker plate and the jaw remodeled itself to become a bracelet that would hold the armor to Jonathan's armpit while the skullcap clung to the top of his shoulder. As deathly power and dust flowed and spiraled into the shoulder pads their color became darker, greyish, and pools of blue black light began to glow in each of the eye sockets. The carving to repurpose the necromantic power went faster this time, but was no less disconcerting. The skulls now gave out an aura of fear separate from the creepiness of them being human skulls with glowing eyes, and a ghostly blue-white shield which may or may not be useful. Jonathan wasn't sure.
Two sets of ribcages were next formed into a breastplate. This time though, there wasn't enough material to complete the item, let alone the required motifs, so the arm bones, pelvis and three of the four major sections of leg bone were added to the piece. The end result looked fairly badass in Jonathan's opinion, slightly raised ribs, hand bone pattern on the shoulder straps and a roaring beast skull emblem on the slightly detached stomach plate. Leather straps made from the skin of the dead held it together along with the skull pauldrons and it was relatively light and flexible for its size. The translucent blue barriers that formed on it after enchanting gave it an aura of power and menace that hadn't translated very well though his tabletop and video-games.
The final artifact made that night was a replacement magic bone. Jonathan marveled as Lynet first put the floating chips of his bone back together and then painstakingly copied the carvings he'd made onto the new femur. Jonathan knew it wouldn't work the same, the runes were only half the equation or less, but as dead power flowed into the new artifact, mineralizing the bone and making the lines glow with a burning blue-black power he couldn't wait to see just what it did end up doing.
"I can't help thinking this would work better with an arm bone" Lynet muttered, holding the enchanted artifact up "particularly a mage's arm as it is adapted to channeling magic. But if the leg's actually a requirement what the hell; There's no shortage of materials."
Using a human or elf bone also makes it different. Jonathan said, using what he'd learned to force his way into her thoughts. The first magic bone was made from a goat.
Lynet sheathed one of the Tigerseye axe-swords in a loop of bone he somehow hadn't noticed on either side of the armor. A second to become a wraith and they were off, the new magic bone still held in a white knuckle grip.
The second set of 'reagents' they found was used to test the armor. Lynet walked him up to a small caravan of elven prisoners being pulled by an abomination and guarded by a trio of skeletons and two more banshee. Flying up to them at ground level, Lynet dropped into corporeal form and fell in step with the cart. The banshee turned to them and offered looks of contempt, one muttering "Death Knight," in an ethereal rasp before turning away. Two of the skeletons, walking guard on either side of the caravan, one holding a pair of cleavers, the other a broadsword, completely ignored the banshee and her vessel, as did the patchwork abomination pulling the cart.
Only the skeleton sitting atop the carriage seat paid them any mind. It spoke in a series of rasps and clicks like bones tapping together or some with a flu mucus swollen throat. Somehow though, Jonathan understood what It was trying to say. "The Scourge sends us a Death Knight. I am honored. Is one of my prisoners special, or does Lich Lord Drathir suspect a rescue attempt?"
Lynet responded quickly. "A rescue attempt. Be on your guard."
The prisoners in the cart looked at Jonathan through the bones with odd expressions, obviously confused as to what was going on. The warlock could admit he didn't blame them. A human speaking elf responds to gibberish by talking about a rescue. They probably weren't sure whether to feel hope or spit on him.
Lynet had them drop back to the rear of the small party and raised the bone over her head. "Vaga Phasma, eximo doloris et requiem facilis!"
Jonathan couldn't help but laugh as the power burned in his chest and his magic bone, banishing the two banshee and exorcising the one that was possessing him. Her enunciation was poor, but that she'd remembered the exact wording of the spell he'd used to almost banish her nearly 3 days ago now despite the likely trauma of the experience was impressive.
As the blue flames of the banshee guards dissipated and the abomination writhed with spirits struggling to do the same, Jonathan turned to the woman who had been holding him hostage and snapped "Nego tibi corpus meum!"
Lynet shrieked in fury as a translucent barrier sprung up between them forcing her further away still and filling her with the understanding of his denial.
This all happened in a matter of seconds, but seconds were enough for the skeletons to react. Clacking and clattering like the pile of bones they were, the two guards rushed him while the driver began casting spells on the flesh golem now doing its best to tear itself and the cart apart.
"Mortem accipiam vos!" he yelled, leveling the bone on the closer of the two skeletons, sending a bolt of black flames at it. Instead of collapsing like a marionette as bound demons did when he dismissed them this way, the skeleton literally exploded, the burning blue energy animating it expanding like a small fireball, leaving a pile of smoking bones behind it. Lynet went after the other Skeleton, shredding it's soul with a scream and her ghostly talons.
When they were done the final skeleton and the abomination were standing together, facing them. The skeletal mage had quelled the rebelling souls animating the construct and unhooked it from the cart with remarkable speed. "I see now," it croaked, though only lynet could understand its words, "You didn't come to warn of a rescue attempt. You were the attempt. Tell me, which of these lovely elves did you come here to save, hmm?"
"You talk too much." Jonathan quipped in english, before trying the spell that had blown up the last skeleton on the driver. The spell didn't connect, as the undead mage raised a glowing severed head before him which conjured a shield. As he did that, the patchwork monster roared.
"Little thing hurt Mumbles! SMAS..!" Lynet used the distraction of the Necromancer and Warlock's battle to dive into the abominations flesh. Such a creature was the last thing she wanted to inhabit on any long term basis, but the warlock now denied him his body and she would not condemn one of her own people to suffer her fate. Perhaps if she'd had the time to do it carefully as she had first taking the warlock, but not in the heat of battle. That would simply force them out of their body, a helpless specter, while leaving her trapped inside the wagon, useless.
There was a brief struggle for control, but the dead Enchantress quickly seized control. The confused spirits which animated the monster had largely forgotten how to act independently and their will was as fractured as their memories. As the five hazy eyes began to feed her information and she began to make sense of her new vision Lynet saw what had become of the battle in her absence. Jonathan, no battle mage he, was running around screaming while the skeletal necromancer fired bolts of void and death magic at him, the bone they had just crafted smoking in the boy's hands. As she watched, working out how to move the mishmash of limbs, a spell struck Jonathan full in the chest. Instead of killing him in some horribly creative manner however, it splashed against the blue white barrier that illuminated their armor.
Seeing this the boy barked in relief triumph and unsheathed her swords, preparing to charge his opponent. Lynet snorted and brought a fist down to smash the mage's body into splinters. As her fist snapped limbs and crushed major structures to shards, the mage's spirit gave her a sour look and vanished in a streak of blue white light.
Jonathan looked up at the amalgam of fetid flesh before him warily, wondering why it had saved hi...er stolen his kill.
"Thír at i mess cin've made." Jonathan only understood two words from the sentence, but the voice was familiar. It should be after hearing it constantly for three days. The meaning was clear too; she was mad at him, indignant that he'd stopped her from possessing him again. It didn't matter though, Lynet had made a mistake. Jonathan grinned, pulled the gun off his shoulder, and shot her in the face.
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Dawn summers lay on her bed, scribbling in her journal. The last week had been...eventful. Glori attacked Tara, their house lost an entire wall, crazy Tara betrayed her to Glori, Knights of nee tried to kill her so glory wouldn't know where she was again, Glori captured her making their retreat worthless, she gets sacrificed for Glori's portal, but instead of everything going to hell Jonathan Levinson, of all people, turns glori's minions to magic eating elves and the world is saved.
Not that Jona the comic guy was still around to appreciate it…
She had it right four days ago when she told Spike she was a lightning rod for evil. According to the monks journal, before she was herself, the Key had drawn crazy's to it like the hellmouth had. Wherever the monks would move her, alien monsters and warlock summoners would gravitate towards her hiding place, opening dimensional breaches in the surrounding area. When the Monks had sent her to Buffy, they had worked a spell to rewrite time, space and identity, making her an innocent that nobody would harm...but still everyone's memories said that she was the damsel in distress. So many of buffy's adventures revolved around rescuing her from the flavor of the month baddie.
Something they apparently hadn't in the 'real' timeline.
It didn't get easier once her true timeline started either. Her presence had given her mother brain cancer. Glorificus had come to town looking for her and driven over a hundred people crazy and left dozens dead in her path to find her. And sprinkled through it all were the monsters. Buffy's destiny constantly gravitating towards and attacking her as they had done in her memories.
Dawn was broken from her morose thoughts by a tapping at her window. It was too early for Spike she thought as she rolled over. It was only just past four in the afternoon. Sitting up and looking out the offending portal where the tapping was coming again, Dawn almost shrieked at the unfamiliar face she was there.
It was an elf. Cute, petite, with silky black hair which reflected a blue tint in the sun and glowing blue eyes. The elf woman gave her a smile and a wave. Dawn returned the gesture hesitantly and the girls smile widened. She made a lifting gesture, then put her hands together as if praying and pouted. The effect was put off by the burning blue gaze and the fact that Dawn herself was well used to doing the same thing to her friends and family.
Xander in particular would cave to her whenever she used that expression.
Giggling slightly and shaking her head, Dawn went over to the window and unlatched it. Opening the window, but not giving permission to enter Dawn Crossed her arms under her breasts and stared at the elf.
"What do you want?" she asked, a little harsher that was probably necessary. They had been Glori's minions until two days ago after-all. There was no guarantee they weren't up to no good, this one's manners in not trashing her window notwithstanding.
The girl cocked her head to the side and smiled. "A few things." she replied voice bright but quiet. "May I come in? I mean, I don't need permission, but the last two decades have taught me that humans have this thing about boundaries."
Dawn stood aside, but again, didn't invite the woman in. "What if I said I didn't want you here?" She asked. "You worked for her after all."
The elf girl chuckled. "People will do funny things when they're mad from mana withdrawal. I supposed it'd be like telling a starving or dehydrated human you'll give them food or water if they do something crazy for your amusement. It's crazy, and you know it, but that won't stop you from doing it on the hope they'll show you mercy. I wanted to apologize for that actually. We all would."
"Really?" Dawn asked, surprised by skeptical. "It's not because you want something?"
"My name's Belithia Firetree," she replied looking at her hand and then holding it out to shake, "and of course I want something; but that doesn't make my wish to apologize for past mistakes any less real."
Dawn stared at the crazy elf… at Belithia Firetree, for several minutes before shaking her hand through the window and then pulling slightly, her way of offering invitation. The raven tressed alien accepted it for what it was and slipped into the room, taking a seat on the window sill while Dawn returned to her bed. "So? What happens now? If nothing else, I've got to say this is the most polite kidnapping I've gone through."
"What makes you think I'm going to do that?"
Dawn scoffed. "What else would you be here for? In what's apparently my one year of actual existence, what has anyone actually wanted me for? I'm the key, I let you cross worlds. You want to go home, isn't that it?"
Firetree shrugged. "We're not sure it's even possible. On one hand, the hellmouth leads to a thousand and more dimensions, most of them heavily polluted by the void and worse. There's also this magic law firm down in Los Angeles with regular portals to still more worlds. On the other, we have you. A gateway to all realities and all worlds within those realities, but only one incredibly wasteful way of using it. I mean, seriously, who would even design a ritual that uses stellar alignments? Galactic ley lines are so imprecise."
Dawn flopped back on the bed and didn't respond for almost a minute. "So, does this mean you want to use me, or that you don't?"
"It means we'd like to work with you." Firetree replied, a grin hidden from Dawn's perspective spreading across her face. "From watching you this last year I know you've always wanted to have adventures like your sister. Ones where, instead, you were the hero. Come to the mansion this summer. When you have time, when you can get away, when you're just bored. Help us find our way home and I will show you our world. Shining, shimmering, splendid Silvermoon the capital of Elven civilization! If we do this right, you can even move back and forth, coming and going as you please. We've got enchanted items there that can make you an equal to your sister and more! Most of them for sale at the Bazaar."
Dawn sat up, her face struggling with some mix of emotions before settling on intrigued. Belithia knew now that she had her. With a smile, she slipped out the window, crouching by the sill and looking back in. "Do you trust me?"
Dawn reply was hesitant. "...yes."
"Then you know where to find us." With that, she lept off the roof and disappeared.
Seconds later, Buffy barged into the room, and axe in hand and looking around wildly. "Dawn?"
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Seras Goldenglade shuddered as she and her party approached the bombed out remains of the old Sunnydale High School. Void magic was thick here and she could swear she felt the fetid stink of fel. Closing her eyes and offering a prayer to the light, a golden glow suffused her skin and forced the feeling back. When she opened them she was met by the concerned gaze of Gamon Manathistle.
"Should I be worried, priestess?" he asked. The mage was wearing his own shield, a plum colored sphere of light that could only just be seen in the afternoon light.
Seras shook her head and pressed forward. "It is nothing, battlemage. I am just out of practice. This is where we need to be. Keep your shield up and take your readings. I will try to consecrate the area." WIth that, the priestess walked up to the front doors and sat down on a planter with it's shrubs, now overgrown. Stilling her mind and focusing on serenity, Goldenglade reached out for the Light. Before Earth, before Draenor really, she could have consecrated an area to the Light simply by walking through it. But now, her faith was shaken. The withering Jonathan had healed her from had cut her off from the light and left her in madness for so long… but she would recover.
It was that thought, the sureness of her determination and belief that did it. The Light surged through her, flowing into the earth beneath her feet and the plants at her back. While they didn't grow, the sickly, dry, almost withered brush took on a healthy green vibrancy and the stones crackled with holy power. She opened her eyes, now shining with the golden power she channeled and smiled, serene. She walked forward, to the edge of her power had cleansed the earth. The area of consecrated earth expanded with what felt like glacial slowness, but was still visible progress. Seras smiled. She was not 100%, but she was ready.
"Do you have a location for us, battlemage?" she asked turning her golden gaze on her companion.
"That way." Manathistle grunted, pointing at the remnants of a small protruding wing of the building. "The local archivist built his library atop the nexus."
The priest stared at the library's shatters walls baffled. "They used siege spells on an archivist?"
The mage shook his head. "The archivist, Mr Giles, exchanged his books for dwarven siege weapons and used them as a trap to kill a demon lord." Gamon replied with a chuckle. "You will likely find yourself more necessary here than than you'd believed or plotted."
With a nod of determination, The priestess pushed forward, small glowing pools of light growing in her footsteps.
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As Jonathan grabbed the gun and took aim, Lynet moved the arm of the Flesh golem almost instinctively, blocking the shot. Had it been a normal rifle round it wouldn't have been much use against the Abomination, perhaps taking out an eye, maybe even puncturing the useless brain; even less effective blocked as it was by the arm.
Unfortunately for her, the rifle held a particular dart. One of many filled with the Moh'Ra's Blood of Eternity. In an timeline erased by an evil god, the blood had restored the undead monster Angelus to the living man, Liam; excising the demon which had animated his corpse and trading his undeath for healthy life. He had Buffy Summers had spent a wonderful day together after which the Moh'ra came back and very nearly killed the both of them before a lucky attack on the Eye of a Thousand Fates banished it back to its own world.
The transformation of the Vampire Angel to the Human Liam, had take not quite two seconds. Two seconds which the former vampire described as a brief eternity of pain. But where Angel was a single healed body with two souls, the abomination Mumbles was a patchwork of dozens of bodies, animated by the souls of dozens of children. And Lynet.
As the luminescent blood spread through the abomination like roots or spider webs, the creature froze in place, every sewn together sinew taut with pain. The mountain of flesh screamed with a cacophony of voices and the banshee burst messily from the head, desperate to escape the pain. Pain worse than she had felt during her enslavement to the Lich King. Lynet, Jonathan and the captured elves watched in fascinated horror as the Flesh golem writhed and grew, flesh flowing like candle wax as it reformed into the bodies of nearly two dozen people of a variety of ages.
Humans, elves and dwarves of both genders, ranging from what looked to be five year olds to tall well built adults lay in the resulting pile of bodies, shivering and moaning.
It wasn't long till someone at the bottom complained of being unable to breathe and the naked crowd of newly living people began to shift and write as they clambered off each other and helped everyone to their feet. It was then, as the original watchers were moving past their consternation that the newly risen people began to examine their bodies… and found something wrong. None of the souls dragged out of the amalgam and reforged whole remembered the entirety of their past, the trauma and communal soul of the abomination broke most of what they were in the animation process; but many of them remembered something. And most of them were now the wrong race, age, gender or some combination thereof.
Jonathan grinned a madcap grin, not knowing what was wrong, but figuring everyone was excited about being alive again. Warren and Andrew would be sooo jealous, he was certain of it. For all of the scarry stuff, this world was even more like a videogame than sunnyvale's nightlife had been. And on the upside, he noted looking into the cage, Hot Elves!
Drawing one of the swords Lynet had crafted he took a swing at the rusty iron bolt on the cage door and marveled as the ethereal edge cut through it before the solid blade even had a chance to make contact. He reached out to open the door and abruptly found himself flat on his back, a burning sensation in his pants pocket and a charred skeleton of a hand. It didn't hurt yet, the nerves were scorched away by the attack and his brain hadn't quite yet registered what had happened.
For Jonathan's part, he felt like an idiot. It was a cage, made of bones! Held together by poorly tied and heavily frayed ropes. Of course it was going to be cursed. How else were the undead supposed to keep prisoners from breaking out of such a flimsy container and trying to run away? He ignored Lynet's mostly incomprehensible wailing reprimand, or perhaps insults, and used his shaking left hand to reach into his right pants pocket and retrieve the Eye. As the ruby was revealed Jonathan could see the light at its heart, burning angrily. Setting the gem on his cursed limb he channeled mana through it and back into his arm, sighing in relief as flesh bloomed and an unnoticed tension bled out of him.
Getting back to his feet, Jonathan glared at the cage and, weapons in hand, began chopping at the bones by the door. Focusing on the feeling of the spell he'd been experiencing repeatedly for the last several days, he slipped into wraith form, silencing Lynet and the elves, and floated up to where he could strike at where the bones connected to the top of the cage. As the bones fell out of the way, Jonathan returned to the ground and began hacking at the bottoms of the necromantic bars and using the flat of his blades to flip them out of the way. Once this was done, and the cage was completely missing it's back wall, Jonathan glowered at the elves inside. "Well? Aren't you coming out?"
The prisoners did so, tentatively at first, then in a rush when it became clear there was no magic stopping them now that the bars were gone. Several of the elves tried to thank him, but neither side could understand each other's words. Eventually one of the elves, a particularly haggard looking one, pushed his way through the group and stopped in front of Jonathan. Trembling, the elf began drawing in the air with his finger, leaving a faint purple light in his fingers wake. It looked like an eye with several symbols branching off from the eyelids. When he was done, the elf made an odd sign with his and and violet shadow of the image flew out to impact the heads of each of the survivors in the clearing.
As the mark touched his head, Jonathan's brain felt as if it were on fire. His thoughts were moving faster, his memories felt clearer and… he could understand what everybody was saying. Just like when the Banshee Lynet was possessing him his mind automatically translated their strange, oddly familiar, gobbledygook into perfectly understandable english.
"You have our thanks, halfling." The elf who had drawn the symbol told him, his words now perfectly clear. "If you can protect me and mine for an hour or so, I think I can gather the strength to craft a portal to the safe zone in Silvermoon. Our people are looking for allies, we will not forget the aid of one of Gnomeregan's finest."
Jonathan shrugged, not asking where Gnomeregan was for fear of showing himself to be ignorant. Still, It was nice to be recognized as the hero instead of the loser nerd people normally saw him as. "An hour?" He asked. He sheathed Lynet's swords and pulled out the gem again. "An hour's a little long out here..."
The elf shook his head. "I'm dehydrated, half starved and the Ley lines here are hopelessly polluted. The effort will probably end in my death as we are, speeding the process up is not an option. Not all of us are capable of sustaining ourselves of necromantic power."
"I'm not a necromancer." Jonathan replied sharply.
Several of the elves game him strange looks and asked in a jumble of voices "But what about your armor? The motifs alone..." "You had a banshee in you and you're not dead!" "Aren't those shields ectoplasm?" "How'd you become a wraith then?" "Your armor's made of bone!" "You spoke to that Lich!" "How'd you turn that abomination into people?" "You fired death bolts, and shadowflame!" "Your swords cut through the bars, they were enchanted to attack all other forms of magic!"
Jonathan wilted under the barrage of questions. They didn't seem angry, mostly confused; but there were a lot of them, they had good points in retrospect and they didn't seem entirely friendly either.
"One at a time!" He shouted. As the clamor of questions died down, he held out his hands and explained. "I came to Quel'thalas as part of a portal accident. Upon landing I met the banshee. Her name is Lynet Windrider. I freed her from the Lich King and tried to send her to a proper death, but I wasn't strong enough. She possessed me, intending to seek revenge on the one who made her a ghost but didn't kick me out of my own body as a measure of thanks. She used to be an enchanter, so while we were together she started making my armor and weapons as a disguise so we could break into Deatholme. We ran across you while collecting materials. I was able to become a ghost and fly because i'm a quick learner and the banshee used that spell a lot."
Most everybody calmed down on that, though he still hadn't answered several of the questions. The elf who offered to build the portal however, had one more. "How did you regrow your arm after being cursed by the cage? That power certainly was not the light."
Jonathan opened his hand to reveal the ruby. "The eye of a thousand. It allows you to trade magic for health."
"Any magic?" the elf asked.
Jonathan paused and then nodded. He'd been drawing magic from the land just as he always had, even though the magic here was mostly death magic because of the necromancer Lynet was after.
"That's quite Ironic, given what's happened to the land. And very valuable..." He murmured, his and many of the other elves eyes gleaming.
Lynet descended between Jonathan and other, living, elf, practically hissing. "Yes, it is. And we're going to need it if we're to complete our mission and invade Deatholme."
The haggard elf glowered at her but nodded quickly and continued in a cheery tone of voice. "Of course, of course. I wouldn't dream of depriving you of it. However, if my friends and I could have a taste, perhaps we could get out of here and out of your way that much sooner?"
Lynet relented, slowly backing out of the way, the crowd parting easily for her. With that, Jonathan set about healing the elves from the wagon and making sure there was nothing wrong with the people who had been created from the abomination. The new people, weren't so much new as they were the souls of children, some even stuck two or three at a time, into the various pieces of meat than had been used to construct their former housing and then grown into full bodies based on those who had been originally cut up… It was, fairly confusing, but for the most part everyone was just happy to be free from the agony of undeath.
The last person to step up to Jonathan for healing was, ironically the first one who'd made an issue about being able to use said healing artifact. "Pardon me for earlier, my name is Hairon Bloodweaver, former magister of Quel'danas. My friends and I were captured on a routine sweep of the kingdom looking for any survivors among the wreckage. Luckily, we had already sent off our last survivor when the undead descended upon us. We fought valiantly, but my farstriders and I were taken before we could construct our own portal and retreat. The Lich Masophet the Black wanted to interrogate us personally and at length. I'm sure you can understand the desperate nature of our situation?"
Jonathan nodded slowly, wondering if perhaps the elf were trying to invoke pity as a means of getting him to give up the stone. It wasn't an uncommon tactic used by villains in the games he was fond of playing. ...or in highschool by crying girls. He shook off the thoughts and silently began healing Hairon. The elf seemed annoyed, but stood their patiently as Jonathan moved the gem around, a crimson aura burning around his fist and sinking into the other man's flesh.
Despite his efforts however, the elf didn't seem to be getting any better. There was a black aura around his skin and a growing feeling of power emanating from him.
"You're trading health for magic?" Jonathan guessed, worried.
The elf nodded, coughing wetly. "Well spotted, gnome. Life tap, or so the spell is called. It was introduced to us by the trolls. Vile creatures, and with their natural regeneration not particularly harmful to them. But with your healing backing me up, it works." The black aura vanished and the Magister sighed. "Ah, that's much better." Jonathan continued healing the other man dutifully and watched closely as he began drawing in the air once more, his finger leaving trails of magic behind it.
Once the pair of them were nearly done, Jonathan with healing Magister Bloodweaver and Bloodweaver with drawing a now spinning circle of runes, the elf slashed his hand through the circle in a slicing motion and with a ripping sound, the air literally tore open, to reveal a courtyard in the widening gap. After a few seconds, the gap had widened into a large doorway through which Jonathan could see more of the courtyard, including a city skyline and a large group of elves in red plate armor bearing glowing weapons.
"Alright, everyone through!" The mage shouted, "March in a calm and orderly fashion and wait for me to follow you. My farstriders, you know the drill, help our...guests. See that they aren't arrested or killed on sight, that would be unfortunate."
Jonathan snorted. Unfortunate he says… now there's an understatement.
"SO," Bloodweaver said, stepping through the portal and looking back as the last of the elves and former abominations made it through. "How about it, hero? Silvermoon awaits!" Jonathan stepped forward with a grin, intending to take the mage up on his invitation, but a scream from behind him and a blur of ghostly blue-white magic destroyed the magic which bridged the space between the clearing and the city.
"And where exactly do you think you're going?" The banshee snarled.
"Damnit," Jonathan whined "that's cheating! We saved some of your people, and they invited me! Why couldn't you have just left well enough alone?"
"Because our task is not yet finished!" Lynet hissed. "Because you wear armor I crafted for you. Not only does it belong to me, forged for the benefit of my vengeance, my people would have killed you on sight had you worn it into the city. Invitation or not. That my armor would have been then destroyed is the least of our worries. A potion that can revive the dead? A stone that can use undeath polluted magic and still heal? Do you imagine you would have been allowed to keep either? That you would even be allowed to return home before Quel'thalas was fully restored? Or at all? Can't have potential allies knowing that you robbed and enslaved one of their own."
Jonathan stared at the ghost for several minutes… and then broke out laughing.
"What's so funny?" The banshee growled, crossing her arms. She couldn't possess him until his spell ran out, but she was itching to slash her claws through his soul.
"Well, it's just… hehe, you get both of them from a single monster summon. The Elixir is its blood and the eye, well… ha-ha-ha… and even then, they'd have to stop it first!"
"What do you mean? How powerful is this monster?" the banshee asked, alarmed.
Jonathan grinned. "Remember how I told you they came from the Moh'Ra? The Moh'Ra are an order, or perhaps a race, of assassins. They're immortal, unkillable and every wound they take only makes them stronger and meaner. They're also immune to poison, disease, age, fatigue and resistant to many forms of magic requiring crazy amounts of power to do what you normally would to anything else. The only way to stop them," He held up the ruby gem "Is to steal their eye. If some idiot wants to force me to make more of either, they're going to have to deal with a highly trained nigh unstoppable killer and no information about its weaknesses. "
The elven ghost floated there in silent contemplation. "How easy are they to summon and control?"
Jonathan shrugged. "That really depends. First, do you know where I can find some Cherries? And second, other than the ocean, do you have any idea where I can get some salt?"
"The cherries will be a problem. All of the orchards are dead, burnt or corrupted by the scourge along with the rest of the farms in this kingdom and the next. As for salt, the undead often carry it, something about keeping sinew tough and staving off rot. As if being a skeleton without flesh would hinder them any."
"Right. The orchards being dead won't matter much so long as we can get the cherry seeds. I still have most of the bag of soybeans, and we can get salt." At the banshee's pointed look he explained. "Moh'Ra eat salt. In large quantities. It's what allows them to regenerate and grow in size and strength indefinitely. Chopping them apart won't kill them and if nothing else the body parts can just drag themselves to the shore sea and get right back to work. The cherry pits and soybeans are part of the summoning. So were those monkey bones you crushed earlier today, though I suppose I could make more with Human knuckles."
Lynet swore. So that's why the gnome was carrying the bones. Also, the nearest orchards were leagues away. A trip of a day or so flying, but if she couldn't possess the boy again it would be weeks out of their way. Unless the boy had somehow learned to craft portals with a single lesson just… like… he had learned to fly by watching her..!
Alright, this could work, she told herself. While she didn't trust the boy's skills at magic or arms, her plan to make him appear as if a death knight to waylay attention from her efforts to close with and destroy Dar'Khan Drathir weren't totally in shambles. The boy would simply become the distraction and meat shield while she tore the traitor's soul from his body and shredded it beyond even the Lich King's ability to restore.
While Lynet hovered in place, plotting, Jonathan went to examine the bodies for loot.
The banshee they had banished had both left behind a pair of silver bracers that hummed with magic. Using Lynet's swords, he carefully picked them up with the hooked part of the blade and carried them over to where the first skeleton had died. The cleavers it had wielded bore no magic, but were greasy and smelled foul. Possibly poisoned, or maybe just dirty to the point they had bacteria festering on the surface. He left them there and went to examine the one carrying the broadsword. It too held no appreciable magic, but was also chipped and cracked up and down the blade's edge, as if it had seen many battles and no care. Shrugging, he picked it up by the pommel and dragged it along. The three cleavers and chain the Flesh golem had been holding were enchanted however. Both weapons held a silvery sheen to them that had nothing to do with blood caked metal and the hook held a dark miasma to it. The chain twitched as he approached as if it wanted to jump up and grab him, but couldn't muster up the will to overcome gravity.
Nudging the items around with his toe so that they were laid out properly, Jonathan also took off the shoulder pieces, chest armor and shook the bracers off onto the ground, laying them out as well.
The Kopesh he kept.
Turning around, he saw Lynet watching him intently, and thoughtful expression on her translucent face. Ignoring it, he turned away and went to examine the third skeleton, the necromancer. Most of the bones that created the skeleton were broken, and the oddly sparse plate armor it was wearing warped out of shape, but the skull was still strangely intact. Examining it to make sure there were no hidden curses or other nasty traps, Jonathan picked it up and put it under his arm. The various plate pieces the skeletal sorcerer has worn were, on closer inspection, made of silver and all but glowed with potential magic. Not that Jonathan knew what it did.
He carefully picked each of them up with the hook of the swords and moved them to the rest of the gathered loot so they could be examined later.
The last two items the skeletal mage had possessed were the severed head which created shields and a silvery staff topped with a massive amethyst stone. The base of the obelisk was easily the size of a tennis ball. It had to be more than 2000 carats and the purple stone was entirely clear. The staff crackled with suppressed energy as Jonathan carefully maneuvered it over to the pile.
Finally, there was the severed head. The head was rotted, stank and covered in flies. Whatever color it had been before it was now a mottled green/grey with occasional patches of orange mold. The eyes, which had the eyelids removed, glowed with a dark light and were clouded silver of cataracts. At a guess Jonathan might have said the head was originally female by the shape of the face and long hair, but the elves he had just met in the cage… well, the men looked pretty effeminate. There was no real way to tell without using the stone to restore it and Jonathan wasn't sure that wouldn't destroy the magickal properties which had created the shield earlier.
"Well, aren't you going to restore it?" Jonathan started at Lynet's voice over his shoulder.
Jonathan shook his head. "No, the head was able to project a shield that protected the necromancer from my attacks. I'd like to be able to use that later and it might break the magic I restored the head with the stone." he turned to her, gaze alight with curiosity. "Unless you know something I don't?"
The banshee floated closer, sticking her ethereal fingers into the pulpy surface. "No, I don't think so. But come, I'll need you to draw the diagrams now that you've denied me your body. Also," she added in a carefully offhand tone of voice "why mention the stone? Couldn't you use the blood of the Moh'Ra?"
"Nope" the warlock replied simply. "The blood cannot repair or resurrect the simply dead. There needs to be an animating spirit and blood for a transmission vector. It can remove damage, disease, curses, undeath, poison and free the rooted spirit from a possessing one, but outright resurrection? Not so much. All of the most powerful magics have some sort of critical weakness like that."
Lynet stared at him. That was nothing like the magic she had learned over the course of three hundred years of life. Magic didn't have arbitrary weaknesses, nor did it have absolute powers like that. The power and weakness of magic was in how you structured it, from the base elements to the complex framework which gave it shape.
"Take out your wand and trace it in the path I show you." The banshee instructed. As Jonathan follower her instructions, the undead enchantress fell quickly into explaining each symbol and what they meant. How the shape of magic had been learned by observing the way magic flowed through the planets ley lines and wild elemental spirits. Why lines led power from one place to another and how streams of magic moving through other magical fields changed the nature of both. She explained how to sunder enchantments and recover the congealed residue to act as a base for similar, and more powerful, enchantments.
"What I can teach you right now is limited by the pollution in the ley lines, but many of the more basic enchantments work well across elemental boundaries."
Disenchanting the carriage in particular produced a large amount of usable material; both bone and spirit essence. A small amount of it was sacrificed to show Jonathan how to transfer the shield enchantment into another artifact. The human chose one of the banshee's cuffs, because he believed the two magics would form a sympathetic compatibility with the Banshee's anti-magic cry. Lynet was doubtful at first, but once completed the enchantment seemed stable.
The next thing they did was Jonathan's own project. In thanks for teaching him about Azeroth's method of enhancing, the boy wanted to show her one of his own. Taking Masophet's pristine skull, he set it in the middle of the clearing and drew a circle around it. Two lines branched out from the circle in a short spiral he explained was to signify both mixing and condensation. Around that circle was drawn a square, then a triangle, and finally another circle. Each of the lines were then rimmed by jagged runes of the 'eldar futhark' which jonathan translated as he drew them. Once the entire thing was done, he bled a little on the skull and then stood back.
"Brace yourself." He told his companion with a grin.
Immediately the blood started smoking and a shadowy blue light began to bleed out along the lines in the dirt, illuminating them with the same silvery light that shone from the banshee's body. Then the wind picked up and the spirit felt a tugging on the core of her being.
"What are you doing?" she asked, worried.
"Enchanting!" the boy replied with a grin. "This is the quick and dirty method. When a vessel is designated the diagram, denoting spiritual transformation and condensation, drains the area of magic and funnels it into the vessel until it can't hold anymore." he explained as the wind began to cause the branches of the surrounding forest to creak and sway. "The street name for it is 'The Doom Box' because of its tendency to explode if not handled carefully. I thought we could use that to our advantage. You said you wanted someone dead, their soul destroyed? I've set the diagram to syphon the same magic that lingered on the skull. When it's done we should have enough death magic to kill a small city. Or at point blank, a small army of immortal dead. They'll return to the underworld in pieces, you can bet on it!"
"A mana bomb!?" she shrieked, now having to fly to avoid being drawn in. "Are you insane? How do you think you're going to handle something that unstable? How do you intend to deliver it? What happens if it sucks me in!?"
Jonathan laughed, now bowing against the wind himself. "That's kindof the point!" he shouted back over the growing noise of the wind. "You wanted a body? That skull held a powerful spirit not so long ago doubtless you could reanimate the skeleton too. You wanted the power you could get from possessing me? You'll find plenty of power in there! You wanted revenge? That thing can destroy any soul within a hundred meter blast radius! I used one of these babies as the fuel for a spell to rewrite reality itself two years ago! And it worked! Dumbest decision I ever made, but it worked!"
"Well you've just one upped yourself!" the banshee shrieked, before vanishing like an arrow out of a bow as the power draining the death magic from the land overcame her ability to escape and she was sucked in.
As the banshee disappeared into the skull, the suction abruptly cut off and the aura of magic disappeared. Jonathan had expected this, but he hadn't counted on what happened next. Instead of the eyes lighting up and the skull taking flight, an angry banshee trapped inside of it, the bone plates began to glow with a brilliant white aura outlining the blackening bone like a reverse xray. Within moments the entire skull was a queerly radiant black with the ridges given definition by stark white light.
Only now, after this strange transformation did it lift off the ground as he had expected, levitating under its own power. But that wasn't the limit of its transformation. More black material began to pour out of the skull, forming a spine, then a rib cage, pelvis, collarbone, arms and legs. All of them forged of a radiant darkness outlined by blistering white. Next formed organs, a vascular network filled with motes of white power, the muscles, padding and finally a last layer that must have been skin. A face formed around the skull, that of a young girl of alien beauty and long pointed horn like ears. The white aura, enormous now, receded over most of her body to form a flaming whiteness atop her scalp obscuring the darkness of it from view.
The undeniably female figure turned to Jonathan and opened it's eyes, cold and brilliant as stars. Jonathan felt his dick stiffen in his pants and he groaned. "I am so going to hell."
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Tune in next time, for the Death of Dar'Khan.
