Path of the Necromancer - FACTION WARS

Chapter 4.1 - Mei

Mei had the mother of all headaches. Her mind was slow on the uptake of her surroundings in its fuzzed state. The acrid smell of fresh glue and new wood assaulted her as she regained consciousness. The soft bed, cardboard boxes and bubble wrap littered the tan carpet of the spacious room. She half relaxed back into the warm embrace of slumber, before jolting upright as memories flooded in.

'The Warl-,' She shuddered. Recollections of an armless body writhing on broken legs lurching out of the darkness, beckoning her to comply with 'his' voice. 'Necromancer... He's fooled everyone.'

Arms jolting with terrified enthusiasm, she inspected her fingernails. They remained clear; caked in white dust and chipped to fuck, but clear. Her heart hurt with relief. She was still alive. That brought her to her next major-among-many questions. How was she alive? She gave everything into that last attack in some vindictive attempt of denying him and his decayed hands from re-animating her.

That prompted the full inspection of everything she could reach. She noted the tears in her dress, along with the contrast of new pink skin against her otherwise honey brown; yet everything was as it should be. She even had bruises. Did zombies bruise? Did zombies know they were zombies? Tenderly prodding the blemish, a familiar pain wracked her body. Powdered glass ground within her joints, becoming lost in the indistinguishable agony as layering effects compounding upon one another. Tendons hyperflexed, her skin blistered, scalded, and peeled away under acid. Nothing escaped the pain, not even her scream. She was overdue, they wanted her to return. The torment would only grow as she continued to 'disobey.'

A door cracked open. Its splintered remains confetying as it lost the fight with the interior wall. She barely noticed. The pain flushed away like it had never been, spasming her body so violently she almost threw herself from the bed. She was on her side, fetal, knees to her chest. Her arms cramped and bent as the muscles continued to quiver. She wasn't sure when that had happened, or how long it had lasted; she was crying. They fell from wide unseeing eyes to leave trails in the residual dust plastered upon her high cheekbones.

A gentle hand stroked through her hair. It belonged to a 'might-as-well-be' nude Demoness sitting at the base of the bed. Mei wasn't sure what shocked her more; the woman's look or her apparent tenderness. Eyes of crimson, skin that of rich cream - very much exposed beneath the oversized mens shirt - and voluminous wavy hair that draped around her shoulders. Mei tried to recoil from the touch, yet the comforting warmth emanating from the creature of death short-circuited her response.

Ember removed her hand as a silhouette blotted the light creeping in around the broken door. They two in synchrony rotated to see Ian, still struggling to pull on some lounge pants, framed by the bruised wall.

A pathetic whimper of fear and anguish rolled from Mei's throat at the sight of the Necromancer. A tremulous shield that made toilet paper seem sturdy by comparison arose in protection. Mei expected anger, rage..., something she had come to expect whenever she put a barrier between herself and a perceived male superior. Instead Ian looked bemused, appraising gaze roaming the firewood that had once been a door.

A disembodied voice commented dryly, "You've always gotta make an entrance don't you?"

Ian ignored The Archive's crass comment and Ember's mock glare, instead more concerned with the trembling girl clutching a wavering shield that was clearly draining her exhausted reserves. He did, however, realise that encroaching on her expanded personal space was like probing a rape survivor, so he stayed put, shoulder resting against the sill.

"Wh-" Cut away into a single, lung emptying, wheezed cough that had everyone within earshot wincing at its death rattle. Two more attempts did little more than bring fresh dew to already damp cheeks as sandpaper vibrated against Mei's taxed throat. Eventually, "What are you going to do? Am I going to be some sort of sick experiment? Going to make me your living servant? What, not got enough with her?" She flung a finger at Ember. 'Figures...,' Her bitter laugh was gritty, like charcoal but sour and thick when mixed with her saliva. 'From one cage to another.'