Prologue Part 1: From Another Time, Another Land...
FAIR WARNING: BAD FRENCH AHEAD! IF YOU HAVE A COMPLAINT, KNOW THAT I DO NOT GIVE A SINGULAR FUCKING SHIT.
The thumping of a running heart, the dripping of sweat on the asphalt, the frantic steps of a boy hitting the ground running in a mad sprint.
Bone-shillingly cold wind rushed past Esau Hope's ears as adrenaline spiked his teenage bloodstream with the boost he needed to ignore the burning in his legs. He let out a panicked yell of annoyance and soreness as a pendant with a cracked gem that glowed an ethereal green hung from his belt.
"Shit, Shit, Shit!" he cursed. "What the fuck did you do, Ignacius!?"
The pendant's glow shimmered, a panicked, aggressively French voice, coming out of it with deep ethereal echo.
"Bordel de merde! Ne les laisse pas m'attraper, Espoir!"
(Author's Note: I don't want people to be lost so I'll translate from Frog French to Sinner English. That and I want you to learn new, offensive things to horrify your foreign friends and/or foreign language teachers. Why?)
(Because it's funny. :^) )
(Translation: Holy shit! Don't let them catch me, Hope! BORDEL DE MERDE means literally brothel of shit, or shitty brothel. It's commonly used as a crass exclamation like the aforementioned holy shit. Also, yes, he did translate Hope's name, I didn't miswrite that part.)
Hope's pursuer, a figure clad in leather emblazoned with a tombstone holding an engraved bat, nearly caught up with him only for Hope to take a sudden turn and sent the man straight into a wall.
"I mean, ok, Undertaker International grunts, I get. But..."
A figure landed on the asphalt behind from the nearby rooftops, the figure crashing down and breaking the floor. The figure was clad in old-fashioned Japanese clothes and a black cloak that hid their entire face like a funerary veil, holding a wickedly sharp shovel. Hope was sent to the floor from the impact as the grim figure stood up slowly
"A FUCKING GRAVEDIGGER?!" Hope screamed as he scrambled to his feet.
"Que veux-tu que je te dise?!" the amulet screached. "Je suis une Liche! À quoi t'attendait tu?!"
(TL/N: What do want me to say?! I'm a Lich! What did you expect?!)
"NOT FUCKING THIS!"
Hope felt his spine tingle with dread and his instinct screamed for him to dodge. With a dolphin dive, Hope avoided a sideswipe that would have beheaded him with ease. The shovel of the Gravedigger lodged itself into the brick wall of a building but a quick tug and pull destroyed part of the wall and sent broken brick shrapnel towards the young Shaderunner. He felt a chunk of brick hit his shoulder like a punch from a heavy-weight boxer, nearly dislocating it. He let out a scream as he spasticity began to run between different alleyways to try and lose his pursuers.
Time and again, he got caught, only to barely escape.
"D'où viens tous ces connards, putain?!" the Lich yelled angrily.
(TL/N: Where do all of these dumbasses come from, damnit?! PUTAIN or PUTE means whore but can be used as a crass exclamation in the same vein as the Russian BLYAT, the Polish KURWA or the aforementioned DAMNIT.)
"Don't know, don't care! Just want them to fuck off already!"
"Je doute sincerement qu'ils abandonnent sans une bonne raison!"
(TL/N: I sincerely doubt they'll give up without a good reason!)
A loud, meaty TWACK resonated as Hope was sucker punched across the jaw by an ambushing Undertaker. Hope fell on his back, the Undead Hunter mounting him and restraining his hands with his sheer bulk.
"I GOT HIM! I GOT THE PHYLACTERY!" He announced. "GUYS, OVER HERE!"
"MERDE!" the Lich swore.
(TL/N: MERDE means shit. I know you probably knew already but not everyone has played online games on EU servers or Canadian/North American servers. So just in case.)
Hope slid his leg between the Hunter's thighs and kicked him in the nuts as hard as he could. The hunter let out a disgusting gurgling noise as he collapsed next to Hope, foaming at the mouth. The Shaderunner stumbled to his feet, using a wall to help him stand while trying to shake off the hit to his jaw.
A cold wind blew, and a glow heralded doom.
Hope gnashed his teeth as he ran out of the back alleys just as a shovel's head hit his back, sending the young man flying across the street just as a car sped by. Hope bounced off the windshield with a pained cry, landing in a heap next to the sidewalk. The car screeched to a halt, the driver red in the face with a mix of anger and dread.
"What the FUCK was that?!" He screamed. "Are you fucking mental?!"
Hope groaned, whimpering as he crawled to the sidewalk as people watched in horror at the scene. One person, a lone samaritan with deep brown skin covered in white tattoos, ran out of the crowd towards him.
"My Gods!" He exclaimed with a thick Jamaican accent as he crouched down next to Hope. "Are you seriously hurt?! Do you think you have anything broken?!"
Hope looked up at his aid, the man's face was covered with the bone-white image of a skull with soft black dreadlocks that almost hid his black eyes. A thin, purple heat-wave-like effect surrounded him, but it didn't feel too ominous. Hope gnashed his teeth again, powering through the pain as he tried to lift himself off the ground.
"Fuck me..." he swore. "Try to help me up..."
The samaritan did as asked and by pure miracle, Hope's spine had not liquified. Holding his back like an arthritic old coot, Hope was still held on by the samaritan as the latter took out an old flip-phone.
"I am calling an ambulance." he declared. "Don't worry, you'll be in good hands soon-"
A leather step crashed against the pavement followed by a dozen others. The gravedigger stood tall, almost too tall, with his shovel in hand. Hope felt a wave of dread hit him as he caught a glimpse of his slanted eyes, one filled with dreadful determination and an inhuman drive to complete his work. The samaritan, seeing how afraid Hope was, put himself between him and the Gravedigger. The two looked into each other's eyes with recognition and hostility.
"Not another step, Deathbringer."
The ethereal being's eyes narrowed in fury.
"A child of Samedi..." his voice was cold and hateful. "Give me the Lich, Loa Slave, and we will not be cross... For now."
The pendant glowed fearfully.
"NON!" the lich yelled. "Nuh huh! Pas question!"
(TL/N: NO! Nuh huh! No way!)
Hope looked for a way out, any way out. At this point, this job was going to get him killed. Not by the Undertakers, they usually don't resort to killing unless their hands are forced to. Much like Shaderunners, those guys were just there to do their job, not get jailed for murder.
The entire equation went out the door the moment the Gravedigger came into play.
They give not a single thought about any situation they're in. If they're faced with Undeath then, as agents of the Stygian Archons, they must root it out and permanently silence those who would abide or aid the Fasely Living. And as they served the Rulers of the Afterlife, rare were the agents of law and order who had the titanic balls/ovaries of steel needed to try and apply their trades to them.
And as someone who's trying to help a Lich to remain falsely living, Hope had painted a target on his back so big, you could hit it with a smooth bore from a thousand miles away and get a bullseye. Faced with this veritable Terminator, Hope was practically soiling himself. Suddenly, his salvation came into view.
And oh boy, did he not want to take that path.
There, past the intersection he flew across, was a nightclub nestled behind a dark alley. The big thick neon letters announced themselves as "Lilith's Garden", an obvious reference to the First Woman, Adam's first love and Eve's rival for the First Man's affection.
Seeing as he was short on good choices, he chose the least terrible options.
Hope patted the skull-faced samaritan's shoulder.
"Thanks, bruv, but I gotta dash."
A twinkle on high turned his survival instinct back on as the Gravedigger brought his shovel high to bisect both Hope and the samaritan. The Jamaican man's eyes narrowed as the ominous purple aura enveloped him fully.
"MAMAN!" The samaritan yelled.
(TL/N: MAMAN directly means mom, not be confused with MÈRE, which is mother.)
A figure clad in a ravishingly beautiful purple dress with skin as black as coal appeared in front of the samaritan, catching the shovel with her off-hand. her head was completely smooth and devoid of hair and her motherly face was painted over to resemble a skull. A black rooster pin flanked her left breast, clashing with golden bangles that hung from her wrists, ankles and neck. She held a bottle of rum in the other hand, scotch bonnet peppers floating at the bottom. She took a swig, leering angrily at the Gravedigger.
"You big idiots really think you can do ev'ry thin' you fuckin' want without a good smackin'?" She spat with an even thicker accent than the man who summoned her. "C'mon then! Let Maman Brigitte give your ass a good spankin'!"
Veins bulged on the Gravedigger's head.
"You insolent Fey wench!"
Hope flipped him the bird before dashing with a small limp. Before he departed from the samaritan's side, he pulled out a silver coin and tossed it into the air.
"Consider this my thanks, warlock!" Hope shouted as he hit the ground running.
The samaritan caught it with a smile.
"May Baron Samedi not dig your grave yet!"
The warlock servant of the Gede Family returned his attention to Gravedigger, whose sight was set on Hope and the Lich, but a good smack from Maman Brigitte stopped him before he could give chase.
"Pay attention, death dealer!" The samaritan decried. "Your fight's with us!"
The forehead veins became bigger and the Gravedigger's eyes began to twitch.
"I will send that whore back to her pimp and BURY YOU BOTH!"
Maman Brigitte scoffed.
"Bitch, please! I'm His one true love! You wouldn't know true love if it smacked you in the face with its big black cock!"
With a cry, the Gravedigger wrenched his shovel out of the Loa's hand. He looked back at the Undertaker goons, who looked fearfully at the matriarch of the Gede family
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?" he screamed. "GET THAT DAMNED PHYLACTERY ALREADY!"
The samaritan groaned, taking out a serpentine dagger as half of the Undertakers stayed to hold him down while the rest pursued Hope.
"I'm sorry, friend." he apologized. "I can't help you more than that..."
Cars sped by as Hope rushed down the sidewalk, intent on crossing the busy street. A manic smile appeared on his face since the Gravedigger was busy somewhere else. Against fellow humans, Hope was confident in his capabilities. A car barreled down the road as Hope went to cross, but his smile didn't falter. Hope dived as high as he could just as the car was about to run him over, jumping over the speeding metal as Klaxons blared all around him. Another went much slower, braking suddenly as she saw Hope running towards her.
"Holy shit!" the woman behind the wheel exclaimed as she slammed the brakes.
Hope slid over her hood, to her shock and frustration.
"Watch the paint!" she yelled.
"Sorry, luv! Gotta run!"
Half a dozen Hunters rushed past the car, at least two of them limping from getting hit by a car. Hope could visualize the scant few meters separating him from Lilith's Garden. A pair of arms closed around his legs as the same goon he nut-shotted tackled him to the ground.
"Got you!" he exclaimed.
Hope his templed before kicking him off with a boot to the face but it was too late, as the other Undertakers cornered him.
"Nowhere else to go, hoss." a woman with a Southern accent said as held her hands up passively. "Look, we just want the Lich. If you give him to us, we'll let you run from that madman."
Her offer was genuine, Hope could see the honesty in her eyes. She was far more afraid of the Gravedigger than she was of the Lich. Unsurprising, judging by his attitude and behaviour. Hope looked side to side, his back against a brick wall. He was at a dead end, his body begging for a break as the sudden burst of movement did not help his pained back. He looked over to see his saviour in deep trouble. Most Warlocks are stereotypical magic types: Complete wimps physically but with cunning and intellect that were dangerous to go against. Unfortunately, Gravediggers don't care about stereotypes, they are walking, talking forces of nature.
However... He was getting over a thousand dollars worth of occult shit he can pawn off to a witch for double the price.
Greed is a powerful motivator, especially for a relentless gambler like the young Hope.
"Tempting offer..." he admitted before smirking. "But I've got some bets I'd like to edge."
Hope gripped the talisman and squeezed it hard, eliciting an annoyed cry.
"OK, OK, J'ai compris! Du calme!"
(TL/N: OK, OK, I get it! Calm down!)
The talisman glowed violently before releasing a Banshee Scream, a sonic shockwave that sent the six hunters flying across the streets to crash against the opposite building's wall. Hope sighed in relief before walking quickly towards the bar.
"Sorry, lads, lass." Hope apologized, looking at the slowly recovering hunters. "But I ain't got time to be mucking about."
His quick walk turned into a sprint, his "safety" within reach.
The Gravedigger stumbled back, short of breath and red in the face with a bleeding nose from Maman's bottle.
"JUST FUCK OFF ALREADY, YOU STUPID FEY CUNT!"
The consort of Baron Samedi scoffed out a laugh.
"You got a mighty tongue on you, boy!" she praised sarcastically. "But misbehavin' children must have their asses spanked red raw!"
He roared impotently as he had met his match. Of all the places he had been called, it just had to be the continental American epicentre of the paranatural and not only that, he just HAD to deal with a High Fey. His luck ran even more rotten as he felt, and saw, the power of the Lich being unleashed on his goons. His forehead vein threatened to pop as he saw Hope limply run towards a den of darkness.
'Screw that!' he thought. 'I'm NOT leaving this shitpit without completing my mission!'
An ethereal glow surrounded his arm and air froze around it. He threw his shovel arm back, about to drop it on the Loa. She smirked, holding one arm back, ready to easily block the strike.
It came as a surprise when instead of hitting her, the shovel went flying over her shoulder.
The sovel gleamed maliciously as it flew through the air, going past the warlock just as he was kicked to the curb by an undertaker. a car rocketed past into its trajectory, only for the shovel to cut through the glass, metal and plastic of the economical automobile without losing momentum.
Hope reached for the heavy crystal glass door when a scream alerted him of his impending demise.
"BEHIND YOU, MY FRIEND!" the Warlock screamed.
An ice-cold wind brushed his back and time went slow just as he ripped the door open. A glance revealed the razor-sharp edge of the Gravedigger's shovel, only a meter away from him and coming quickly. He felt his blood run cold and his pupils shrunk. he threw himself inside but he knew that the shovel would get him before the door could close but just as he thought that his doom was assured,
A large but gentle hand closed the door for him.
The shovel bounced off the door, arcane wards appearing inside the crystalline formation of the door. The shovel's head nearly tore in half from the Backlash before clinking to the floor flaccidly. Hope fell to the floor breathlessly, blinking incredulously. He heard s roar of pure rage coming from outside, most certainly from the Gravedigger. Hope let himself lie down, staring at the intricately patterned ceiling. Suddenly, a very large man with stitched skin and heterochromatic eyes in a cool suit entered his field of vision, holding out a helpful hand.
"Need a hand, sir?" the giant asked politely.
Hope stared at the hand for a solid moment before sitting up and looking out of the crystal door. No signs of the Undertakers, which he expected. You'd have to be either completely ignorant or suicidal if you're a hunter and decide to go inside a Den of Darkness. No, what he was afraid of was the Gravedigger but there were no signs of him either. He waited a moment, then another, and another. Hope finally let himself breathe once he was sure the Agent of Death wouldn't come in, having held his breath the entire time. He looked at the giant, whose hand was still held out helpfully, and took his offer.
"Thanks, mate." He said with a grunt as he was helped up.
"Our pleasure, sir."
Hope was dusted off by the stitched giant with a small soft brush.
"Take your time, sir." The large fellow recommended. "A stiff drink should steel you for the next step of your quest."
Hope nodded politely to the gentleman before walking to the next set of crystal doors.
"I might just do that."
Once he left the lobby and entered the club proper, he was beset on all sides by a calming fog hovering at knee level as the room bathed in soft penumbra. Natural light seemed from a large glass roof as a veritable Garden of Babylon hung from the building's supports. A hole in the middle of the garden illuminated a central platform, where a songstress let her soothing, gentle baritone serenade the whole of Lilith's Garden. Hope let the smell of booze and tobacco smoke fill his lungs, his shot nerves coming back to life as the songstress's song eased his nervous biological pump. The talisman glowed dimly, as if panting.
"Mon temps se perd..." the lich breathed out weakly. "Je me sens... Faible. Je fade..."
(TL/N: I'm losing time... I feel... Weak. I'm fading...)
Hope rubbed the talisman between his fingers, his expression worsening.
"Keep it together, Ignacius." He encouraged. "I get a drink, I go through the back door and we meet up with the client. You get a new vessel, I get my prize and everybody's happy."
Ignacius breathed out again, though more lively despite his still dim glow.
"Je vais essayer..." he paused. "Merci, Espoir."
(TL/N: I'll try... Thanks, Hope.)
Hope smiled before going to the sparsely crowded counter.
"No problems, boss."
He sat down at the bar, a few seats away from the nearest patron. The barmaid, a tall stiched-up woman (Although nowhere as tall as her brethren at the door) nodded at him, acknowledging his presence and silently telling him that she'd be with him shortly. A few seats from Hope was a hairy man with a flat nose, wicked nails, big teeth and furry ears. The man in question was red in the face and quite jolly, obviously intoxicated from one too many Old Fashioned. He didn't seem to have seen Hope yet but his obviously Lycan feature alerted him that someone had sat at the bar. The barmaid approached the Shaderunner, an easy smile on her patchwork face. Her heterochromatic eyes leered at him playfully.
"Welcome to our Den, Handsome. What's your poison and how much do you want?"
"Gimme a Bushwacker, ice cold," Hope asked. "Just one, I got shit to do."
She immediately went to work making his drink, mixing crushed ice with Kalua, creme de cacao, creme of coconut and a nice mild rum in a shaker.
"Sweet tooth, boss?" she asked, doing simple small talk.
"Aye, that and it gets me piss drunk quick."
"Because you're a lightweight or because it's easy to drink?"
"Both, though the latter more than the former."
A hiccup accompanied an annoyingly heavy weight that set itself on his shoulder. Hope grunted as a big furry arm wrapped around his neck. The drunk werewolf giggled like an idiot as he nuzzled into Hope's neck.
"Fuck me running!" The Lycan hiccuped. "I haven't smelled something this good in years!"
Hope groaned uncomfortably as the furry man practically hugged him.
"I don't swing that way, pal." Hope blithered. "Get your mitts off me."
He hiccuped again before giggling.
"C'mon now... No need to be hostile! Just doin' some conversation here, handsome."
Hope immediately felt a wave of disgust crawl across his skin as the werewolf kept being a bit too touchy-feely with a complete stranger. His big hands kept wandering, much to Hope's aggravation and revulsion. Hope's hand snaked to his waist where his pocket knife hung but before he could give the werewolf a shave, the werewolf's big hands grabbed his wrist.
"Let me go, you fucking creep!"
The lycan took a big whiff of Esau's aroma, visibly salivating.
"Calm down now, beautiful~" he purred with the stench of whiskey on his breath. "No need to get violent."
Hope reeled his head forward to headbutt him but the barmaid beat him to the punch. The woman, still shaking his drink, whipped out a spray bottle filled with a pure, clear liquid flecked with silver and sprayed the Lycan in the face multiple times. The werewolf fell to the floor, howling in pain as his face hissed and steamed.
"MY EYES!" he cried out. "IT'S IN MY EYES! IT BUUUURNS!"
Hope rubbed his wrists as he spat on the pervert on the floor.
"Get what you deserve, asshole."
The barmaid puckered her lips sourly, still shaking his drink.
"Sorry about that guy. He usually doesn't get that physical, we're guessing he's in heat."
Hope scoffed apathetically.
"If he can't control himself, don't blame me if he ends up bleeding on the floor."
"Valid."
As they talked, the giant doorman came back to resolve whatever problem he'd been alerted of. As he saw his fellow stitch and Hope talk semi-casually, he assumed correctly that the man whimpering on the floor was the one who caused the commotion. With an unimpressed grunt, the doorman grabbed the werewolf by the scruff of his neck, eliciting a fearful yip as he was taken out front and kicked out with a mighty boot to the ass.
Hope sighed gravely, his nerves nearly giving out.
"Today is really not my day..."
The stitched-up barmaid took out a tall cold glass from an unseen minifridge before serving the sweet dessert cocktail to her customer. She slid the glass forward after topping it with some shaved chocolate and some candied ginger on a pick, smiling as she went.
"Then have a drink and breathe, boss."
Hope stared at the drink quietly before nodding quietly.
"Sounds like a fantastic idea."
He drank the drink, which tasted like a cross between a semi-thick chocolate milkshake and a pina colada, minus the pineapple. He licked his lips, his craving for sweetness immediately satisfied.
"Damned good." he complimented.
The stitched barmaid grinned.
"Glad we could brighten your gloomy day, boss!"
Hope took a ten-minute break to savour his drink in peace, the songstress delivering a wonderful performance in the background. Once his glass was empty, Hope took a cigarillo out of a small smoke case.
"Pardon for the trouble, luv, but can I take the back exit?"
The barmaid's ever-smilling face darkened mischievously.
"Need to dip unnoticed?"
"Yeah, I'll pay extra if need be."
She snorted, taking out a lighter.
"No need, pay for the drink and we're square."
Hope pulled out a pair of bills, a tenner and a twenty respectively.
"This good?"
She pocketed the cash, stuffing it in her bra.
"Tip included? How generous!" she lauded. "C'mon, we'll show you out."
"Thanks, I owe you one."
"Just make sure you come by once in a while," she smirked flirtily. "Good-looking dudes like you are hard to come by in our circle."
Hope blushed despite the knowledge that he was being complemented by a hive-minded literal living corpse.
"Sorry, Luv. I'm taken."
Her smirk turned mischievous.
"Who said we wanted to taste you?"
His blush worsened.
"Don't tease me too much..."
"No promises~"
From one disaster to another, Esau Hope could not catch a break. What was supposed to be a simple escort job turned into an all-out brawl followed by a deathly chase. And now, to make things even worse, he stood amongst the corpses of those he was meant to deliver the Lich to.
"You've got to be shitting me..." he muttered.
A dark basement, once home to a kabal of necromancer-warlocks, was now a charnel pit. Ten dead men and women lay on the floor in a pool of their own blood, a partially completed ritual circle standing behind them amidst extinguished candles and scattered books of lore. Hope paced around in frustration, the mortal danger he had been in now seemingly for nothing.
"Great..." he spat. "Just fucking great."
The Lich's phylactery glowed dimly, its light flickering in panic.
"Non, non, non! Tu te fous de me gueule! Ca se peut pas!"
(TL/N: No, no, no! You're fucking with me! This can't be! GUEULE means jaw or face but in a vulgar manner, not to be confused with MACHOIRE (jaw) or VISAGE (face). It doesn't translate well literally so I changed it to a turn of phrase that matches the meaning.)
Hope groaned.
"Unfortunately, seems the gig's FUBAR."
The amulet whimpered pathetically, its glow dimming as essence leaked from the crack in the gem.
"Merde..."
"Sorry, boss. Can't do much more, now that everyone's either dead or gone."
The glow travelled on the surface of the gem, like an eye scanning for previously unseen details. A corpse there, a book here, a corpse holding his tome over yonder, yet another corpse...
'Attends juste une seconde,' The Lich thought. 'c'etais quoi l'avant-dernier?'
(TL/N: Wait just a second, what was the second-to-last one?)
The Lich shone a light on the acolyte holding a gilded tome signed by the man he was before he became a Lich. Hope humoured the amulet and picked up the tome, reading the name embroidered on the hardback cover.
"Le livre noir d'Ignace Barbais." Hope spelled in accented, but otherwise sound French.
(TL/N: Ignacius Barbais's Black Book. IGNACE is the French spelling and pronunciation of IGNATIUS. BARBAIS is just an old French name I found online.)
"OUI!" the Lich exclaimed jubilantly. "Sa y est!"
(TL/N: YES! That's it!)
"Calm down, boss. What's up?"
An incredulous laugh left the amulet.
"Le livre! Ces la clé de ma salvation!"
(TL/N: The book! It's the key to my salvation!)
"What do you mean?"
"Avec le livre et mes connaissances, on peut compléter le rituel det ransfèrence sans les acolytes!"
(TL/N: With the book and my knowledge, we can complete the transference ritual without the acolytes!)
"OK? Where do I come into this?" Hope asked, already knowing that he was in for some nonsense.
"Que connais-tu des arts nécromantiques?"
(TL/N: What do you know about the necromantic arts?)
"Not much but I've seen some fucking bullshit in my time as a Shaderunner."
"S't'assez bon!" the Lich exclaimed. "Je vais avoir besoin de tes belles mains, mon ami!"
(TL/N: S'good enough! I'll be in need of your beautiful hands, my friend! S'T' are contractions that are not good for proper French. Use S'EST instead if you're a good boy/girl. Or don't, I'm not your fucking dad.)
Hope held a disdainful hand up, grimacing uncomfortably.
"No offence, bruv, but I'm just a delivery boy. I don't do hoodoo."
"S'il te plait!" the Lich begged. "J'te donnerais s'que tu veux! Je te donnerais la moitier du prix original en plus!"
(TL/N: Please! I'll give you whatever you want! I'll give you half of the original price on top of it! S'IL TE PLAIT means literally if you please, which is also a correct translation but in this context, Ignacus pleading works better. Another line that would have worked as well is JE T'EN SUPLIE! (I beg of you!))
Hope sighed, scratching his head.
"I'm not a fucking warlock, but I'll see what I can do."
"OH, merci! Merci, mon ami!"
(TL/N: OH, thank you! Thank you, my friend!)
"Just don't go around saying I went above and beyond for you," Hope warned. "I don't want to be saddled with a bunch of dumbass magic gigs."
"Fantastique! D'accord, on va commencer par compléter le cercle."
(TL/N: Fantastic! Alright, we are going to start by completing the circle.)
As Hope played assistant to the rapidly chippering Lich, Ignacius began to babble out loud about the procedure like a teacher talking to his class. The process of transference was a simple affair, as it was streamlined for the sake of saving would-be Truly Dead Liches from the grip of Stygia. All it took was an empty vessel for the soul to be transferred to.
"Bien sure, ça n'inclue pas le cercle magique, les chandelles à induction arcanique, le sacrifice sanguin requis pour-"
(TL/N: Of course, that doesn't include the magic circle or the magical induction candles or the blood sacrifice needed for-)
Hope grimaced.
"Wait a fucking moment," Hope interrupted. "Why the fuck don't you just transfer your soul in a skeleton? Why the fuck would you limit yourself to being a piece of jewelry when you can actually move and do the stuff you want?"
The phylactery verbally shrugged.
"Voudrais-tu habiter un corps pourri et ressentir l'agonie de la décomposition?"
(TL/N: Would you inhabit a rotting corpse and feel the agony of decomposition?)
"Why do you think I said skeleton and not a corpse?"
"Un squelette n'a pas de ligament, de muscle ou de tendon!" the Lich exclaimed, offended. "Quoi? Tu penses que juste parce que la magie existed qu'on peut ignorant les lois de la biologie et les lois physiques?!"
(TL/N: A skeleton doesn't have ligaments! Or muscles, or tendons! What? You think that just because magic's a thing that we can ignore the laws of biology and physics?!)
"Uh... Yeah?"
The Lich paused.
"Non...On peut plier les regles de la nature, pas les briser."
(TL/N: No... We can bend the rules of nature, not break them.)
"So Undeath is bending the rules?"
"Précisément. Apres tout, nous brûlons de l'essence, juste... pas notre essence vitale."
(TL/N: Precisely. After all, we're burning essence, just... not our life essence.)
The Lich coughed despite not having a throat.
"Bien sur, tu as besoin d'un Patron puissant pour que sa marche, mais mon maitre m'a été très bon."
(TL/N: Of course, you need a powerful Patron to pull that off, but my master has been quite good to me.)
Hope paused, thinking about what the Philactery just said.
"What would happen if the vessel was recently deceased and brought back to life after the possession? Or using a braindead body?"
The Lich hummed thoughtfully.
"Une idée intéressante..." the lich pondered. "Je ne pourrais dire, je n'ai pas entendu d'histoire à propos de cette idée mais j'imagine que ça a été essayer."
(TL/N: An interesting idea... I couldn't say, I've never heard stories about that idea but I imagine it's been tried.)
"What do you think?" Hope asked, having just finished setting up the ritual.
"Mon opinion éduquée? Possible mais difficile. Il faudrait que ce fusses ton proper corps car, comme nos cellules, notre âme aurait de la difficulté a accepte la nouvelle envelope."
(TL/N: My educated opinion? Possible but difficult. It would need to be your own body because, like our cells, our soul would have difficulties accepting the new shell.)
"So it's like organ rejection?"
"Oui. Même raison pourquoi nous devons transféré nos âmes dans des nouvelles enveloppe une fois de temps en temps."
(TL/N: Yes. Same reason why we have to transfer our souls into new shells from time to time.)
Hope stood back from the circle, admiring his work.
"This good enough?"
The Lich hummed.
"Ça pourrait être mieux..." He complained half-heartedly. "Mais tu connais l'expression avec les mendiant."
(TL/N: It could be better... But you know the saying with the beggars.)
"Alright... Let's get this shit over and done with."
Hope rested the cracked amulet at the very centre of the circle, holding out the book. Hope took a deep breath before cracking open the tome of dark lore. His tongue began to feel cold as words from an ancient language tumbled out of his mouth unconsciously. The circle drank the blood of the dead acolytes and expanded, engulfing the entire room. Their corpses turned to dust as every bit of liquid was stolen from their once-living frames. the circle glowed ominously as Hope's cold breath became freezing. Ice crystals formed on top of his taste buds, the taste of ice, ashes and grave-dirt invading his mouth. The amulet began to levitate shakily before the gem tethering the Lich to this side of the mortal coil shattered explosively. His soul flew around the room at speeds too fast for the human eye to follow. Suddenly, the Lich's soul barrelled through the room at a small container the size of a large shoebox. The box rumbled violently before settling down into silence and motionlessness. Hope sighed once more as his numb mouth began to regain sensation and warmth. Hope spittled, scratching his tongue to remove the awful taste of the Afterlife from his mouth.
"Goddamn!" he complained. "That's fucking rank!"
Once he was done complaining and fruitlessly trying to remove the Stygian taste from his mouth, he looked at the box that his employer's charge now inhabited. Upon closer inspection, the box in question actually was a shoebox and behind it, a small ornate box. Hope stared at it dumbfoundedly, trying desperately to neither laugh nor grin.
"No fucking way."
The ornate box contained a new amulet, almost identical to the first save for an intact gem. it didn't move or glow.
"No fucking way!" Hope grinned, suppressing a giggle.
On the other hand, the shoe box was shaking violently, curses flowing from it as light escaped from the lid.
Hope held his mouth so as to not laugh out loud as he opened the shoebox.
"PUTAIN!" The Lich screamed in despair.
Inside the box was Ignace Barbais, a French occultist from the Renaissance turned Lich. A man who had travelled all over Europe in search of ancient knowledge and occult mysteries. A man who sacrificed his mortality and humanity for the sake of quenching his nearly insatiable thirst for knowledge...
A man now inhabiting a pair of expensive sneakers.
Hope burst out laughing, much to Ignace's aggravation.
"Ah ouais, ah ouais! Risautant qu'tuveux,connard!"
(TL/N: Oh yeah, oh yeah! Laugh as much as you want, dumbass!)
"Sorry!" Hope snorted, completely unapologetic. "I'm sorry boss..."
He giggled one last time.
"Looking mighty fresh there~"
"OH, VA FOUTRE TA MERE, ENCULER!" the Lich belted indignantly.
(TL/N: OH, GO FUCK YOUR MOTHER, ASSHOLE! ENCULER is a term that basically means ass-fucked, as in, Hope has been ass-fucked, not he's an ass-fucker. Asshole is closest in meaning when it comes to the insult.)
Hope kept laughing to himself as he picked up the now-possessed sneakers.
"Well! All's well that ends well! Eh, boss?"
The glowing sneakers groaned.
"Quel pute, cette destiné!"
(TL/N: What a whore, that destiny!)
"HA!" Hope exclaimed. "You said it!"
Ignace grumbled, now stuck in fashionable footwear for the time being. Hope left the grim basement behind, a smile on his face. Just for that ending, this whole debacle was worth it. Not only that, his margins for the job went up by fifty percent.
'Money money money~' Hope sang in his head. 'Cash, quids~ DOSH! Makes the world go round~'
Hope hummed as he took Ignace to the rendezvous with his employer and fixer. A life of adventure, daring dos and split decisions. A good life, in his eyes.
But unbeknownst to him...
Life would give him exactly that and much, much more than he bargained for.
As the saying goes: Be careful what you wish for.
PROLOGUE - TO BE CONCLUDED...
NEXT?