Chapter 658: Beating One's Nature (Patreon)

Drinking alcohol was really just drinking scummy water for Argrave—his black blood, coupled with all the other myriad ways that his body had changed since using the Fruit of Being, made both water and rubbing alcohol equally intoxicating. Which is to say… not at all. As time went on, it became clear both Anneliese and Durran were much the same way. Nevertheless, it was largely for the sake of Garm.

Argrave and Anneliese spent the first while regaling the infirm necromancer on the merits of his choices in the Shadowlands. There were tales to tell that were good enough they seemed tall, but each and all were the truth of the matter and nothing more. They talked well into midnight, and Argrave appreciated the night far more now that he’d experienced total darkness. The night, at least, had some stars shining, and a large red moon overhead.   

Gradually, though, the alcohol loosened and mellowed Garm. His repartee slowed to a lull, before disappearing altogether in way of a more honest form of the man they’d come to know.

“I like your city, Argrave,” Garm admitted. “I wouldn’t choose to live here. The authority is a little… overbearing. But I can see why others would. I’m going to miss it, when I’m gone.” He chuckled. “Or I suppose I won’t, will I? That’s not how being gone works.”

Argrave rested his arms on the table between them. “You’ll live on in this city long after you’re gone. I’ll be sure of that.”

“I’m sure you’ll leave out the sordid details. That kills half the fun of it.” Garm took another drink. “Were you honestly going to name your child after me?”

“Of course,” Argrave said, looking at Anneliese to see her nodding in confirmation. “We think you were… that you were wrong to do what you did. But we respected your choice. Your sacrifice.”

“Before you came… my son assigned me to guard his office,” Garm mused, his eyes distant. “I spent so long, there… present, but muddled. Forgetful. Enthralled to magic. When you came, my head cleared up. But when there’s no fog, and you can only wiggle your ears or blink your eyes, you… you can see everything clearly.” Garm held his hands out, peering through his fingers. “You see the consequences of what you’ve done. You see who you are, laid bare. And you see how you landed where you did.”

Everyone listened in silence.

“I fucking hated what I saw.” Garm looked to the side. “I was a thrall to magic and power long before my son claimed my life. I think my death was inevitable. I think the death of necromancy is inevitable. Not from Gerechtigkeit, but from its nature. It’s powerful. To craft an army from the bodies of your enemies…”

“Even the Archchief all the southern tribes of mine revere was a necromancer,” Durran reflected. “None of my kin would believe that. But I saw it, plain as day. Do you think there’s ever a right way to go about the craft?”

“What do I know?” Garm dismissed contemptuously, then stopped to consider it. After a time he had an answer at hand, and said with some conviction, “Probably not. You can’t have a stable state that promotes necromancy. People like me will come along and uproot that. The Order of the Rose… there was much knowledge within it. We had the crown of Vasquer under our thumb. And in our reign, there could never be enough dead. We—” he broke off into laughter. “We engineered a famine to supply a large project. I remember some of my peers complained about the price of food not long after.” He laughed more.

“I don’t know.” Garm sighed. “Frankly… a lot of the reason I gave up the ghost to you, Durran, is because I could see what would happen. I could see ten miles down the road. I did want to be a good person, then, seeing all of you cockroaches scrambling about, taking all these unnecessary paths for some nebulous ‘good.’ But I know who I am. I know what I’d do. It might be I’d start off doing the right thing. Trying to, at least.” Garm emptied his tankard.

“Then I’d get bored. Frustrated. Perhaps I’d feel undermined, or perhaps I’d see someone doing the wrong thing and getting rewarded for it. Then I’d slip back into what I was—what I am.” Garm looked between them all. “I’d use and abuse the trust of naïve, idealistic people like you. Perhaps you’d confront me. Perhaps you’d let it slide. Either way, I’d fall back on old habits. The selfishness. The callousness. The disregard for anyone I viewed as lesser. I can’t shake that. It’s who I am. I do think a lot of people are lesser than me. For good reason—they are! I’m a High Wizard of the Order of the Rose!”

“You never gave it a chance, though,” Argrave noted quietly. “Never walked that road.”

“I know.” Garm swirled his tankard around. “I’m glad I didn’t take the chance. I know that there’s something wrong with who I really am. I don’t want to set loose that person out in the world again. I can’t beat it. I can’t beat him. No amount of pity or kindness could change those fundamental aspects of me. It’s better that I did this. It’s better for the world that I’m… that I’m not going to be here, anymore.” He looked at Argrave. “Thank you, Argrave. For that clarity, thrice over.”

“Garm…” Argrave wiped beneath his eyes.

“I think it’d be good if you gave your son my name. You’ll do a good job. He might be a bit useless, because you two overbearing, overachieving bastards will probably do everything for him and solve all of his problems so he never struggles. But he’ll have a good heart. You’ve got my approval. And now that I’ve said all this, you can’t renege on your word. Durran!” He took the man’s hand. “Durran, make sure they do it.”

“Alright.” Durran nodded good-naturedly. “Count on it.”

“While you’re at it, name your son with Elenore Garm, too,” he insisted. “Make the name ubiquitous. Spread it to every baby in the whole kingdom. Make me live on forever. So long as they know I’m the source. I’m dying—I did it for you, you pricks. You have to do what I said. Make it part of that pretentious constitution that you’re drafting.” Garm slammed his tankard on the table. “Fill my glass, king. Hop to it.”

Argrave let himself be swept up into Garm’s humorful deflection after that outpouring of his true thoughts, but the words lingered in his head. He felt it applied all too well regarding another complicated dilemma he was debating—the matter of Gerechtigkeit and Griffin. The notion of a true, fundamental nature… perhaps it applied to Sophia’s brother.

But Argrave realized they were idle considerations of an uncertain future, and so merely filled up Garm’s tankard obediently as the man reveled in Argrave’s servitude.

#####

When Garm eventually passed out after growing far too drunk, Argrave and Anneliese spoke with Durran about his role in the battle, and his newfound understanding of the powers offered by the Fruit of Being. During the battle, he’d exhibited exceptional strength, harnessing memories that weren’t entirely his own—rather, they seemed to come from the traditions that he’d inherited in the manner of golden tattoos lining his body. The ‘memories of dead people’ bit was a little similar to Garm’s, though far more limited in its scope. Argrave was glad to learn that they had another frontliner who could take the tremendously powerful battles that were soon to come.

After, though, Anneliese departed to search for Onychinusa, bringing along with her the results of the research team and this particularly interesting new field of soul magic—though perhaps ‘new’ was the wrong term, considering it turned out to be an expansion of druidic magic. Argrave was awed by its potential, and joined Anneliese in studying it. After a while acquainting himself to what its spells did, he already had an excellent idea as to what it might be used for.

Anneliese returned in what felt like no time at all, and it was only then that he realized how engrossed he’d been in these developments. She delivered news of her journey without much prompting.

“I found Onychinusa. Lllewellen expired,” Anneliese said.

Argrave had been trying to organize sprawled out papers when she said that, but paused and looked at her. “Elenore said Onychinusa had grown rather close with him.” He scratched his cheek. “She must be… inconsolable.”

Anneliese considered that. “She was, a few days ago, I suspect. She ‘kidnapped’ Llewellen to force him to research a way to preserve his life, to live on with her. Onychinusa tells me that he helped her accept it. So, they spent their last few days with one another peacefully. She’s sad. But at the same time, I think she’s… much more whole, if that makes sense. And Llewellen passed on knowing what all of his good work was in service of.”

“Llewellen was rather sage.” Argrave looked down at the documents before him. “Have you had a chance to look at the results of the research team?”

“No. I was going through the daily reports in chronological order. I saw interesting illusion magics, but not this so-called ‘soul magic’ of yet.”

Argrave looked at her. “You mentioned you preserved Traugott’s psyche, right?”

“I can recreate it.” She nodded. “Why?”

“I was rather worried about how we were going to extract information out of him.” Argrave turned back to his papers, leafing through them. “But… I found… here.” He pulled one paper out, then walked briskly to her and delivered it. “I think we should bring Traugott back. Then… use that. An interrogator’s wet dream.”

“The last thing I wanted was reason to actually bring him back. But with this… there’s no excuse, is there?” Anneliese sighed deeply.

“We need to know anything that he’s learned. It could be the Heralds. It could be related to Sophia’s power. It could be some measure he took to ruin the world before we beat him—whatever it is, let’s tie a bow on this bastard’s saga.”

“Alright.” Her fingers tightened around the page. “One last moment of his existence, until he’s snuffed out forevermore.”

#####

Argrave looked upon the shell of Good King Norman. It was a testament to Traugott’s utter disregard for everything that he’d chosen to abandon his original body to inhabit something like this, all at some vague hope of playing some hand in the fate of the universe. He was a dangerous man—as such, Anneliese took no chances. The form she’d made for the psyche of Traugott had neither A-rank ascension nor magic at all. They were in Raven’s lab, closed off from the rest of the world. The body was crucified in stakes of Ebonice—extreme, perhaps, but they didn’t want Napoleon Bonaparte coming back from exile to pick up the torch of his revolution in the Shadowlands.

Anneliese withdrew her hand from the shell’s chest, stepping back. “Any mom—” she began, but a deep breath of air ahead cut her off.

The shell, now occupied with Traugott’s mind, looked about in curious panic before settling on the two of them. It opened its mouth to speak, but Argrave already had the spell prepared. He employed soul magic—the spell [Compulsion] blast out, entwining with Traugott’s soul. His head rocked back and he spasmed before growing still.

“Tell me your full name,” Argrave commanded.

“Traugott of Galrithium,” he answered.

Argrave paused—that confirmed he was from the Burnt Desert, though Argrave knew that town had long ago fallen to ruin. He looked at Anneliese. He saw her trepidation, and it was surely mirroring his own. It was time for a conversation with the man that had caused so much damage to the world.