Hungry Necromancer

As luck would have it, the bag contained just enough of these…condescend mana bombs for me to make it over to the remaining items with as little exposure to the Mind-Field as possible.

I'd be the one taking the risk. Mainly because Kaylin argued she'd done enough as is giving her hair up to be used in some ritual but also because it made sense.

Once I get all the ingredients ready, I'll have to start the ritual immediately and summon the swarm of Fey spirits to guide and protect me against the Mind-Field as we cross it.

Still, I feel a bit apprehensive about this. The very fact that I may go in and come out a crazy, drooling minion of Phien worries me. But I'd rather Phien's ammunition not be made of Mathilda or Leriva.

And thus, here I stand, at the edge, the precipice of the Field with Anselm cheering me on and Kaylin looking only mildly concerned about my return.

I've told her that if I don't make it out before the day is up, she should best be on her way because she'd truly be alone then. 

Despite the fact that my transformation into a minion of Phien would mean he's never summoned or given a sort of physical presence in the world of the living; Anselm is rather relaxed and supportive of the attempt.

I'm not sure if it's because he secretly still wants me gone or if it's because he realizes that the only way I can fulfil my promise to him is with reckless abandon of safety and a bounty of exp translated into Proficiency.

Either way, it's quite unnerving to be cheered on into danger by the person who regularly attempts to stir you away from said danger.

With a deep breath, a steel mind and a strong heart I prepare myself at the edge for the last time. And then I sprint.

A mad, crazy sprint for dear safety in which I find myself holding onto my breath for some reason. Like the Mind-Field permeates through the air and infects you through the nostrils. 

I sprint all the way through until I begin to feel an irrationality come over me. Thinking things that don't make any sense whatsoever, filling up with hate and anger at Anselm and Kaylin for leaving me despite this being my choice.

When I feel myself slipping just a tiny bit, I lob the bottle of condescend mana far off ahead where it shatters and explodes with a force not unlike that of a grenade.

Still, I charge into the smug of purple turning blue and finally take in a breath as relief and sanity begin to take hold once more.

Checking myself. Breathing the mana rich air greedily as I look through my head for abnormalities.

…

Okay, I can still solve simple arithmetic without screaming in rage.

Quite frankly, the first lob was the determining one. If I still got compromised despite being circled by a smog of mana from the bottle then that'll mean two things.

One, I make it out by some miracle and we have to go back to Aste looking to buy salts and find skulls.

And two, I never make it out and Kaylin is haunted by Anselm. Why would he haunt her and not me? Well, being a minion of Phien isn't very interesting, Kaylin would have a better life to follow than I would.

Done catching my breath I start off jogging through the smog of mana. This has to be done in quick, rapid spurts of mana explosions so we can get moving. The closer I get to the Carbina proper, the more intensely the hum and thrum of vile mana pulsates through the air.

It's thicker and heavier the further I go. Like the ocean pressure, the farther deep you descend the more it threatens to crush you.

Falling into a steady, rhythmic jog through the fog, I prepare myself to be exposed once more as the mist gets thinner the farther, I go and the vile mana of the Cult beats harder against my skull.

The bursts of mana are meant to be a shield as I move, but unfortunately, I can't stay in long because it soon dissipates, mixing and matching with that of the Cult.

A part of me worries that their mana itself adapts to change and confrontation, if that were true then these bottles will only be effective for so long.

Coming to the point where I can nearly see through the smog of blue, I start my eager sprint a second time, unconsciously holding my breath once more until I feel the rapid knocking, tapping and slamming of insanity against my mind, begging for me to give in to it.

Filled with a different emotion this time, a subdued one, sadness, melancholy, whatever; my toss isn't as powerful and the bottle shatters close enough that the explosion of mana ruffles my clothes and shoots loose rocks at me.

It hurts a bit but I've nearly gotten my leg chopped off so it's a shrug in comparison.

Skidding into the second smog of blue, safe mana I catch my breath for a minute before trotting off in a jog until I reach the thinnest point of the smog and prepare myself to do it all again.

I go through this process several more times before I hear Anselm screaming at the top of his lungs, "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Finally.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Despite all this body has gone through, it still isn't built for too much exercise. I'd better be ripped after this though.

Since Anselm was the only person to see the where the items I needed were located, it only made sense to have him as a guide through the journey. He flew overhead at a safe distance prepared to yell at me when I reach any of the points.

A rather good plan, better than most I've come up with as it actually succeeds immediately.

Dead ahead, in the thinning fog of blue lies a half-buried building; all broken wood and no frame. This should be where he found the salt.

Frankly, I find it oddly convenient that I manage to have access, of some form at least, to the items I need for the ritual that'll let me through the Mana-Field. But who am I to complain?

Carefully, I walk through the field. This is the closest Anselm said he could let himself get to the village, and for a good reason too. Even protected by the blue fog of mana, the effects of the Mana-Field can clearly be felt.

My feet feel heavy and my mind sluggish. My chest, encumbered by a weight and emptiness at the same time. It's familiar, yet unlike anything I've ever felt before.

Raising my feet to walk becomes a debate. I wonder what the point is and long to sink into the cold dirt below and become one with the soil and nutrients of the land, surely a better use of my existence?

Even the knowledge that this is all just the influence of the Cult does nothing to dissuade me from drifting into a mist of drudgery and misery.

But I expected as much. It takes me a ton of willpower to pull though and activate my contingency plan, but I do.

Focusing on the red glowing gem embedded in my ring, I give the command in but a single thought and once more there's an explosion of mana, soaking the air and filling my lungs with every breath.

With my mind clear once more, I find that all I need is truly at my feet.

A skull, provided by the half-buried body next to a backpack that holds within it all sorts of spices.

The picture this paints is terribly odd though. The remains of whoever this skeleton belongs to is charred and blackened by the heat of flames unlike any other, just like the ground itself. 

But if there was a fire hot enough to char the ground, peel off skin and muscle…then why aren't any of the clothes burnt?

Why is there salt, pepper, curry and several other spices laying intact and unbothered in a bag that felt clearly hasn't been burnt?

Could this be the work of a spell that targets only living things?

With another deep breath I steady myself and keep my focus. Hopefully I don't run into such a spell but for now, I've got a ritual to start.

Gathering the items necessary I follow the instructions to the tee.

A skull. Used as a bowl to mix the ingredients. The salt of the earth goes in first, then the salt of the fey; Kaylin's hair. 

Then I chant, "Cur'li Yryopolo."

And finally, some good ol' charcoal to make things even spookier.

"Cur'li Yryopolo!" I chant once more, shaking the skull in my hand whilst stuffing it with mana, "Cur'li Yryopolo!" I'm not sure if I'm chanting it right but I raise the skull up into the air as the system demands

"Cur'li Yryopolo!" 

And then, I hear it. 

A moan like no other. It sends shivers down my spine and I nearly drop the skull in fright. In the corner of my eye, I see a ghastly figure drift into view, studying me as it wispily moves about, it's 'body' devoid of colour and even transparent to a level.

"Cur'li Yryopolo!" This time I chant even louder and push in even more on my mana into the skull.

The figure reacts. Whipping across the field in a frenzy before daring to face me. It has no face to describe, what I see I cannot understand but simply feel. It moans terribly in my face and I chant again.

Another ghastly figure peers through the ground, and another through the whipping winds. All bemoaning me. 

"Cur'li Yryopolo!" with a final fierce scream and burst of mana the skull shatters, blowing into a green mist.

Now I have several of them whipping all around me. Moaning, groaning, but never leaving my side.

Spirit summons are terrifying for someone with an old fear of poltergeists. To see them like this gives me the chills but at the same time I feel safe.

The ritual works.