In the dimly lit abandoned factory under the moonlight, I pace back and forth, anxiety gnawing at the edges of my undead consciousness. The hollow echoes of my footsteps reverberate against the walls. The entity in my head, the Witch King, speaks in soothing tones. "Fear not, my servant. Rachel is resourceful, and she has followed your instructions meticulously. She and Evandel are making their escape even as we speak."
I nod, though my skeletal face betrays no emotion. Rachel, loyal and obedient, must remain oblivious to my current state. I cannot let her witness the monstrous transformation the Outcall has wrought upon me. I sigh, the sound escaping as a raspy hiss.
Though honestly, my looks are the least of the problems.
How the fuck am I escaping my current situation?
"Have you foreseen your death, my puppet?" queries the Witch King. My memories trace back to the confrontation with Lancaster, the fight that led to my demise. I take a moment to reflect, grateful that my contingency plans had worked, at least to a certain extent. I managed to threaten Lancaster, stalling for precious time. But the unexpected had unfolded. "I did not foresee my death. I thought I could outrun Lancaster, given the chance. Yet, my lack of magic power hinders me now."
As the magic power begins to seep back into the atmosphere, a sense of vulnerability washes over me. I had not anticipated Lancaster's swift and ruthless pursuit. "Magic is returning, but not in time to evade his grasp. I never imagined Lancaster to act so swiftly." The Witch King acknowledges the predicament with simplicity, "Unpleasant, indeed. We find ourselves entangled in the threads of fate sooner than expected."
Since when did Witch King become so cryptic?
No. Scratch that, she has always been cryptic in a weird way.
I can't help but feel a surge of frustration at the turn of events. Rachel and I were stuck for years in this timeline, only to be confronted by Lancaster at this moment which honestly sucks. The urgency of the situation hangs heavy in the air.
In the dimly lit corner, I feel the Witch King’s attention on me with her penetrating eyes in my imagery of what she looks like. Her voice, as cold as the factory we stand in, cuts through the silence.
"What are your plans now?" she asks.
I let out a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. I turn my attention to her, a wry smile on my lips.
"Well, Witch King, I've decided to become the King of studying. I know, it's not exactly the most exciting plan, but given my current situation, it's the best I can do."
Her hooded figure in my mind leans in, a hint of curiosity in her tone. Sometimes, I play with the thought of what Witch King or Cube AI will look like, so I often imagine them being humanoid while conversing with them inside my head.
"Studying? Why?" she inquires.
I begin rummaging through the corners of my memory, recalling the places I stashed my magical explosives. With a determined look, I start dismantling them, gathering parts.
"Think of me as a Demon King sealed away in a storybook. I'm stuck, and my options are limited. So, I figure, why not use this time to become the master of something? In my case, it's studying."
The Witch King watches as I tinker with the bomb parts, her interest piqued.
"What are you planning to build with those?" she asks.
I shake my head, my hands busy with the task at hand.
"I'm not planning to build anything. I'm studying, like I said. I've become a monster, an entity fueled by magic. With this second chance, I want to make the most of it. So, I'm delving into the mysteries of science, seeing where my knowledge can take me."
I glance at her, determination burning in my eyes.
"I might be trapped, but that doesn't mean I can't evolve. Knowledge is my key to freedom now, and I plan to unlock every door it opens." I say it with bravado, but I am just bored.
Wires snake their way around my bones, an intricate fusion of technology and magic. I glance at the smartwatch dangling from my wrist and secure it with more wires. It's a peculiar creation, a result of what I've come to call my messed-up, wacky science. Witch King, with a sarcastic tone, calls out to me.
"So, you ended up building something anyway, huh?" she remarks.
I look up from my work, meeting the morning sky. "Yeah, I did. But this thing I created helps me monitor my vitals."
Witch King raises an eyebrow, amused. "Vitals? How does an undead monitor their vitals?"
I smirk, a hint of mischief in my eyes. "Magic power, my dear. It's all about magic."
As I continue to study my new biological composition, I discover hidden weaknesses. It's a strange balance of strengths and vulnerabilities. I share my thoughts with Witch King.
"You know, if someone were to throw me into a vacuum or entangle me with anti-magic, I'd be as good as dead. Turns out, being undead has its challenges," I explain.
Witch King chuckles. "Who would have thought? An undead with vulnerabilities."
I nod, acknowledging the irony. "Indeed. But there are perks too. No fatigue, no need for sleep, rest, or food. It's kind of awesome, in a way. But you know, there will always be tradebacks."
I pause, expressing the downside. "On the flip side, my joints have become more fragile, and I've literally lost some weight. I won't be packing the same punch."
Witch King smirks, teasing. "Sounds like you're enjoying your situation a bit too much."
I chuckle, trying to stay optimistic. "Just being optimistic. It's not every day you get a chance to see the bright side of undead life."
In the dimly lit corner of the abandoned factory cluttered with mechanical parts and arcane symbols, I meticulously pore over my notes describing my special constitution. The words dance before my eyes, and the more I study, the more I feel a subtle shift within me.
Amidst the gears and cogs, I find myself drawn to the occult, a realm beyond the tangible. It's a dangerous path, considering my lack of natural talent for magic. Still, a fleeting fantasy teases my thoughts—one where I wield the forces of magic with the same prowess I apply to equations.
Reality, however, slaps me back to reason. Becoming a magic caster isn't a convenience I can afford. It might even be detrimental. Yet, circumstances change. Surrounded by the hum of machinery, I issue commands to a skeletal entourage, directing them in the construction of a mysterious device.
Witch King, perceptive to the shifts in my essence, approaches with a question that hangs in the air like a mystic incantation. "Can you perform magic?"
I hesitate, then nod. "To some extent," I reply, my voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Magic, after all, demands affinity. A spark that I seem to lack. "My magical affinity is poor, maybe even overshadowed by Hajin's prowess."
Her gaze lingers, probing. "Then how..."
"In a roundabout way," I interrupt, aware of the delicate balance I tread. "Magic casters draw power from their affinity. Mine is almost non-existent, a side effect of my Gift. But now, as an undead, I've gained affinity with my own kind."
As I speak, I can sense the necromantic energy coursing through me. It's a delicate dance between life and death, equations and incantations. I glance at the watch on my wrist, a convenient tool in this strange symphony.
"With my magic, equations, and a watch that keeps me in check," I continue, "I can manipulate necromancy to some extent. But I have to be careful. Too much, and I might accidentally unravel myself… as in turn myself into dust."
Witch King nods, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and caution. I can almost see her in my mind’s eye nodding like a kid learning from her teacher new things. In this fusion of technology and the arcane, I find a peculiar path—one where a part-time assassin and full-time scientist wield the magic that eludes the logical.
Days and days come by.
The hum of machinery fills the surroundings as I carefully instruct my skeletal assistants. "Be careful with those gears, and make sure the wiring is secure," I order, watching as the skeletons move with an eerie precision. The atmosphere crackles with magic, providing the resources I've long yearned for to complete my technological marvel.
As the Interdimensional Router stands almost 90% complete before me, memories of the past four years resurface. A bitter struggle, endless setbacks, and now, a stark contrast as the magic power in the air facilitates progress. The Witch King observes, her gaze lingering on the intricate structure.
"You've been working on this for months," she comments, a hint of awe in her voice. "Seems easy for you now."
I glance at the nearly-finished creation and nod. "It's the magic power. Without it, this would have taken me four painful years. The energy in the atmosphere expedites the process."
Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the appearance of the Interdimensional Router. "Dreadful-looking thing, isn't it?"
I chuckle, acknowledging the truth in her words. "Necessity made me resourceful. I lacked parts, so I had to use the bones of the undead under my control."
Witch King raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Bones? That's an unusual choice."
I gesture towards the tower of bones that forms the structure. "I had my limitations. But I found a loophole. I only needed small parts of bones from the skeletons. They regenerate over time, allowing me to use them without depleting my resources."
She smirks, a mix of amusement and approval. "Well, practicality over aesthetics, I suppose."
I nod, my focus returning to the ongoing construction. But on second thoughts, I throw a quip of my own. “Practicality over aesthetics? No. It is the opposite! Look at those ivory bones, they look awesome, don’t they? Kind of has that villainous vibe to it.”
In the dimly lit abandoned factory under the moonlight, I pace back and forth, anxiety gnawing at the edges of my undead consciousness. The hollow echoes of my footsteps reverberate against the walls. The entity in my head, the Witch King, speaks in soothing tones. "Fear not, my servant. Rachel is resourceful, and she has followed your instructions meticulously. She and Evandel are making their escape even as we speak."
I nod, though my skeletal face betrays no emotion. Rachel, loyal and obedient, must remain oblivious to my current state. I cannot let her witness the monstrous transformation the Outcall has wrought upon me. I sigh, the sound escaping as a raspy hiss.
Though honestly, my looks are the least of the problems.
How the fuck am I escaping my current situation?
"Have you foreseen your death, my puppet?" queries the Witch King. My memories trace back to the confrontation with Lancaster, the fight that led to my demise. I take a moment to reflect, grateful that my contingency plans had worked, at least to a certain extent. I managed to threaten Lancaster, stalling for precious time. But the unexpected had unfolded. "I did not foresee my death. I thought I could outrun Lancaster, given the chance. Yet, my lack of magic power hinders me now."
As the magic power begins to seep back into the atmosphere, a sense of vulnerability washes over me. I had not anticipated Lancaster's swift and ruthless pursuit. "Magic is returning, but not in time to evade his grasp. I never imagined Lancaster to act so swiftly." The Witch King acknowledges the predicament with simplicity, "Unpleasant, indeed. We find ourselves entangled in the threads of fate sooner than expected."
Since when did Witch King become so cryptic?
No. Scratch that, she has always been cryptic in a weird way.
I can't help but feel a surge of frustration at the turn of events. Rachel and I were stuck for years in this timeline, only to be confronted by Lancaster at this moment which honestly sucks. The urgency of the situation hangs heavy in the air.
In the dimly lit corner, I feel the Witch King’s attention on me with her penetrating eyes in my imagery of what she looks like. Her voice, as cold as the factory we stand in, cuts through the silence.
"What are your plans now?" she asks.
I let out a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. I turn my attention to her, a wry smile on my lips.
"Well, Witch King, I've decided to become the King of studying. I know, it's not exactly the most exciting plan, but given my current situation, it's the best I can do."
Her hooded figure in my mind leans in, a hint of curiosity in her tone. Sometimes, I play with the thought of what Witch King or Cube AI will look like, so I often imagine them being humanoid while conversing with them inside my head.
"Studying? Why?" she inquires.
I begin rummaging through the corners of my memory, recalling the places I stashed my magical explosives. With a determined look, I start dismantling them, gathering parts.
"Think of me as a Demon King sealed away in a storybook. I'm stuck, and my options are limited. So, I figure, why not use this time to become the master of something? In my case, it's studying."
The Witch King watches as I tinker with the bomb parts, her interest piqued.
"What are you planning to build with those?" she asks.
I shake my head, my hands busy with the task at hand.
"I'm not planning to build anything. I'm studying, like I said. I've become a monster, an entity fueled by magic. With this second chance, I want to make the most of it. So, I'm delving into the mysteries of science, seeing where my knowledge can take me."
I glance at her, determination burning in my eyes.
"I might be trapped, but that doesn't mean I can't evolve. Knowledge is my key to freedom now, and I plan to unlock every door it opens." I say it with bravado, but I am just bored.
Wires snake their way around my bones, an intricate fusion of technology and magic. I glance at the smartwatch dangling from my wrist and secure it with more wires. It's a peculiar creation, a result of what I've come to call my messed-up, wacky science. Witch King, with a sarcastic tone, calls out to me.
"So, you ended up building something anyway, huh?" she remarks.
I look up from my work, meeting the morning sky. "Yeah, I did. But this thing I created helps me monitor my vitals."
Witch King raises an eyebrow, amused. "Vitals? How does an undead monitor their vitals?"
I smirk, a hint of mischief in my eyes. "Magic power, my dear. It's all about magic."
As I continue to study my new biological composition, I discover hidden weaknesses. It's a strange balance of strengths and vulnerabilities. I share my thoughts with Witch King.
"You know, if someone were to throw me into a vacuum or entangle me with anti-magic, I'd be as good as dead. Turns out, being undead has its challenges," I explain.
Witch King chuckles. "Who would have thought? An undead with vulnerabilities."
I nod, acknowledging the irony. "Indeed. But there are perks too. No fatigue, no need for sleep, rest, or food. It's kind of awesome, in a way. But you know, there will always be tradebacks."
I pause, expressing the downside. "On the flip side, my joints have become more fragile, and I've literally lost some weight. I won't be packing the same punch."
Witch King smirks, teasing. "Sounds like you're enjoying your situation a bit too much."
I chuckle, trying to stay optimistic. "Just being optimistic. It's not every day you get a chance to see the bright side of undead life."
In the dimly lit corner of the abandoned factory cluttered with mechanical parts and arcane symbols, I meticulously pore over my notes describing my special constitution. The words dance before my eyes, and the more I study, the more I feel a subtle shift within me.
Amidst the gears and cogs, I find myself drawn to the occult, a realm beyond the tangible. It's a dangerous path, considering my lack of natural talent for magic. Still, a fleeting fantasy teases my thoughts—one where I wield the forces of magic with the same prowess I apply to equations.
Reality, however, slaps me back to reason. Becoming a magic caster isn't a convenience I can afford. It might even be detrimental. Yet, circumstances change. Surrounded by the hum of machinery, I issue commands to a skeletal entourage, directing them in the construction of a mysterious device.
Witch King, perceptive to the shifts in my essence, approaches with a question that hangs in the air like a mystic incantation. "Can you perform magic?"
I hesitate, then nod. "To some extent," I reply, my voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Magic, after all, demands affinity. A spark that I seem to lack. "My magical affinity is poor, maybe even overshadowed by Hajin's prowess."
Her gaze lingers, probing. "Then how..."
"In a roundabout way," I interrupt, aware of the delicate balance I tread. "Magic casters draw power from their affinity. Mine is almost non-existent, a side effect of my Gift. But now, as an undead, I've gained affinity with my own kind."
As I speak, I can sense the necromantic energy coursing through me. It's a delicate dance between life and death, equations and incantations. I glance at the watch on my wrist, a convenient tool in this strange symphony.
"With my magic, equations, and a watch that keeps me in check," I continue, "I can manipulate necromancy to some extent. But I have to be careful. Too much, and I might accidentally unravel myself… as in turn myself into dust."
Witch King nods, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and caution. I can almost see her in my mind’s eye nodding like a kid learning from her teacher new things. In this fusion of technology and the arcane, I find a peculiar path—one where a part-time assassin and full-time scientist wield the magic that eludes the logical.
Days and days come by.
The hum of machinery fills the surroundings as I carefully instruct my skeletal assistants. "Be careful with those gears, and make sure the wiring is secure," I order, watching as the skeletons move with an eerie precision. The atmosphere crackles with magic, providing the resources I've long yearned for to complete my technological marvel.
As the Interdimensional Router stands almost 90% complete before me, memories of the past four years resurface. A bitter struggle, endless setbacks, and now, a stark contrast as the magic power in the air facilitates progress. The Witch King observes, her gaze lingering on the intricate structure.
"You've been working on this for months," she comments, a hint of awe in her voice. "Seems easy for you now."
I glance at the nearly-finished creation and nod. "It's the magic power. Without it, this would have taken me four painful years. The energy in the atmosphere expedites the process."
Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes in the appearance of the Interdimensional Router. "Dreadful-looking thing, isn't it?"
I chuckle, acknowledging the truth in her words. "Necessity made me resourceful. I lacked parts, so I had to use the bones of the undead under my control."
Witch King raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Bones? That's an unusual choice."
I gesture towards the tower of bones that forms the structure. "I had my limitations. But I found a loophole. I only needed small parts of bones from the skeletons. They regenerate over time, allowing me to use them without depleting my resources."
She smirks, a mix of amusement and approval. "Well, practicality over aesthetics, I suppose."
I nod, my focus returning to the ongoing construction. But on second thoughts, I throw a quip of my own. “Practicality over aesthetics? No. It is the opposite! Look at those ivory bones, they look awesome, don’t they? Kind of has that villainous vibe to it.”
