The flickering light of broken neon light tubes was illuminating the filthiest operating room one could possibly imagine. Soaked reddish crates full of unidentifiable content were towering in each corner of this secret place. Hooks were hanging from the ceiling holding fully cannibalized bodies of the owner's prior experiments. Grotesque mixtures of man and machine devoid of any life plastering the floor completed the look of a place that could be only described as the anteroom straight towards hell. On a blood-soaked altar loosely reminiscing an operating table who mated with a straight jacket there laid the mangled body of the lamia that he found at the brink of death days before in a sinkhole beside the streets reaching towards Echterwalden. The doctor rearranged his round shades and cracked a wide smile across the uncombed beard.
"Such a lucky thing, that happened to stumble across my capable hands. Without me you would have died that day...well technically you are already dead, but that won't stop me! I rebuilt your body and gave you a new lower body...no idea where your tail vanished - couldn't find it."
The man walked over the dead cyborgs on the ground towards the restrained corpse on the table. All these sacred people gave their all for him to hone his necromancy to allow the possession of inanimate matter by souls gathered. He tried and tried to create a masterwork rivalling the Eternals in their perfection, but had to settle after many attempts to artificial limbs inwoven with organic matter. These mechanical arms, bellies, legs and heads decorating the room of his art all had a thin layer of the martyr's flesh pressed in between the metal layers.
Arriving finally at the operating table the doctor looked down at his newest saint, who might be the very first to bear the fruits of his expertise. Carefully caressing the scaled chest of the lamia the doctor let his finger wander downwards to the corpse's pelvic area until he met with a wide orb of steel, which acted as a new lower body holding all the organs and entrails, that would elsewise be held by the lamia's tail.
I was sadly unable to pack all the wonders of your body into your new lower half. But I don't think you will miss your reproductive system as well as all of your tail muscles. But rejoice, oh saint of my craft. I was able to analyse your arcane abilities and craft your first legs to be supported by those.
The elf rebuilt his greasy hair to a tower using the remaining blood on his gloves as a straightener. He wanted to look memorable for the resurrection of his 'child', a sight to behold and to gain the respect of this lucky lady. He reached into his pockets and took out a clear bag containing a shimmering something within it. Showing it to the dead eyes of the corpse that something immediately changed colours and grew angry trying to escape the bag.
"So it seems that I indeed have found your soul out there in the fields. You seem rather excited to get to look once more at your body, my friend. Excuse my failures to restructure your face, dear. My unrivalled skills sadly don't include a degree in plastic surgery and I saw myself unable to completely replace your head. It would make attuning you once again to your vessel quite difficult - rather impossible. So excuse my inability to make you perfect...giving you back the gift of life however sounds like more than you could think of on your journey into the next realm."
The soul inside the bag grew now even angrier slowly dissolving the bag with the acidic aura of death, which was a soul's natural mechanism against anything living. Just as the bag vanished the arms of the doctor grabbed the soul casting an impenetrable casket of arcane energy in the air and preventing its escape.
"We are an eager one, aren't we? That is perfect, glorious. Your will to escape this state of in-between life will render the resurrection a cakewalk. Oh, my beautiful creation, you will soon once more inhale the fresh air that keeps the living alive. I have already prepared everything necessary for your second life. All that is left is to utilize this thick smog of arcane threads of death collected in this lair to support my immense powers weaving you back into your body, my dear. Within less than an hour, you will open your swollen eyes again and be able to praise your maker."
Letting out a burst of maniacal laughter, which echoed through the hollow halls of the abandoned facility even scaring the Nachtmars roaming through the unholy place. The arcane soul-casket between the now glowing hands of the doctor grew darker and darker absorbing the threads of arcane swirling around the imprisoned soul forging themselves around the casked until not even a single shimmer of the soul was able to pierce the pitch-black curtain. As that was happening the laughter grew bigger and grim. The skin of the elf got as pale as those of a snow elf, his eye white retreated giving way to the black eyes of those, who can see far beyond the restrictive sight of men. Death was irrelevant in these moments, he rather was its master holding the whole of the gathered energies within his capable soul.
Minutes later the orb compressed into something, that can only be described as a perfect black pearl. The doctor's eyes widened realizing it worked. The room was clean of all necrotic threads and all its energy was now containing the snake's soul. He grabbed the now solid pearl and showed it to all the corpses in the room.
"So that's why past attempts failed. We haven't gathered enough devotees to donate their arcane to the creation of life. She will be the comprehensive representation of all of you. I am so proud of each of you, my friends. This pearl was a community effort I couldn't achieve without your assistance. Thank you all, I will give each of you a worthy funeral before abandoning this place with my future partner.", he grinned at the pearl, "You are truly lucky, love, you will hold all the dreams and wishes of those giving you your life...be a reaper in their, and further my cause. Raise!"
The doctor formed a bloodstained fist around the pearl and channelled all his magic into his arm. The limb grew darker and aetherial; nearly ghost-like. His arm and further the pearl were leaving this plane of existence briefly existing solely in the Veil. Using every millisecond of this highly draining state the elf penetrated the chest of the lamia with the ghost arm until hitting the still-standing heart of the lamia. There he let the pearl quickly retreat the arm to not solidify within her chest. Shaking off the traces of the arcane from his arm the elf looked in awe at the, now not quite corpse any more, body restrained in front of his. The heart started its work once more directed by the returned soul. And as the sightless eyes of hers eventually turned black and sharp he knew that he succeeded. This martyr of his cause had indeed earned the fruits of his countless past attempts of using his powers. Then the lamia began to cough and breath and his black heart rejoiced.
She is alive once more! I did it!
The voices of countless people screamed at her to wake up. They came from deep within the lamia's chest and oddly felt like her own. Revenge plans and plots to murder their murderers started to develop within her soul. Tears ran across her mangled face witnessing these grim fates all at once. But all voices were pitying her for being forced to listen. They knew about her grim fate and they wanted to help her with her personal vendetta against the conglomerate. But even stronger than even that was a single, collective thought of all those souls, who found their end in this very room she was now looking at. A single entity prevented their departure once and for all crippling their souls with his experiments; forcing them to remain in this very place until enough died a second time from his hand. The lamia understood that the man, whom they all called 'the doctor', hadn't murdered any of them, but desecrated their corpses forcing their souls to return to their bodies in many ways.
She blinked twice and looked left in the direction the necromancer last could be heard by her now returning ability to hear.
What a loser! Didn't think it was mandatory to look like those one wishes to resurrect. A bloodstained troll with a crazed look. Heh...I am surprised 'it' is even able to speak.
"Hey! Doctor guy!", the elf began to smile wide folding his hands and pressing them close to his pitch-black heart, "Seems like you were successful this time."
The smile instantly vanished getting replaced by genuine curiosity. He waddled over to her and unlocked her restraints.
"You know of my failures? Ah, I see. So it was not just a saying in these books that the main soul will get enriched by the memories of those used to fulfil the task. So you are speaking now for all those saints, that helped me to prepare for your second chance, my dearest Lamia. I am sure they have nothing but praise and joy left for my genius. Thank you all for your posthumous sacrifice!
"But now that you are alive again, may I get to know your lovely name, my creation?"
The stitched snake ignored the question and rather heard into herself confronting the soul fragments within herself asking them what to do with their collective 'saviour'.
"No answer? That's alright, we have time. Let me instead introduce you to the personal gift I gave your body. Look down at your legs."
Legs? I am a lamia, I have no-oh god...what are 'these' skinny contraptions riddled with holes? If that madman thinks I can stand on these...
"Do you like them? I crafted them especially to be utilized by the gift of the arcane bellowing within your soul. These nimble babies channel the wind of your ability allowing you to walk and even, according to my measurements of your strength, briefly fly. I hope you like them, love."
So she would be able to walk with them? That rendered her next decision to be a possible one. The voices within all wanted vengeance. Nobody saw this sorry excuse of a saviour as such. Through his incompetence, each of them underwent a second death, mutilating their souls to be unable to pass on forever. The decision of the dead council was absolute and was confirmed by the duress-elected leader, that was the lamia.
"My name is of none of your concern, 'saviour', but if you want one you can call me 'Roamer'. I allow you to scream that name in a few moments. And spare me the 'love', you monster!"
The Roamer gathered the silent air around her and reforged them into an invisible blade of their all judgement. In the moment the doctor attempted to open his filthy mouth she slashed her arm across his throat. The abyss eyes behind the shades widened after realizing, no feeling the results of that movement. Letting out a gurgling 'Curses!' the doctor collapsed in his own blood and died instantly.
But the roamer already lost interest in the show in front of her, redirected the air through her new metallic limbs trying to get them to move. Her first attempt proved to be non-successful, forcing her to gather all her arcane reserves as well as those given to her by those forming the black cocoon of her soul. With that much energy on hand, she was able to create a small tornado around her skinny legs giving her more than enough buoyancy to leave this godforsaken place of her rebirth.
The prideful has fallen. When I remember correctly was this individual a searched vagabond, who refused to obey the rules of the underground...Neither a person of law nor chaos. An unimportant gear outside of the systems nobody will spend a single tear on.
...
Just as it is the case with me now...my past life is lived and I fear taking on that persona again causes my current to be cut short as well. I should stay hidden until I have a plan as well as a goal on what I even wanna do with this...second chance.
