013 Body Possession

  Finding a corpse wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined, which says something unsettling about the state of this city. After a bit of wandering and some good ol’ fashioned eavesdropping, I stumbled upon a drunk guy who had, rather unfortunately, been stabbed and bled out in an alleyway. Judging by his stained clothes and empty coin pouch, it looked like a cssic case of robbery gone bad.

  “Well, buddy,” I muttered, crouching over the body, “looks like you’ve had a rough night.”

  No answer, obviously. I dragged him out of the alley, doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone. Not that it mattered much—most people took one look at my bck armor and promptly found something else to be interested in. Being the armored sidekick of a lich had its perks.

  When I got back to the inn, I shoved the door open with a creak and cnked inside, dragging the dead guy behind me like a sack of potatoes. Skully was crouched in the center of the room, halfway through drawing glowing runes and inscriptions all over the floor. He gnced up, his empty eye sockets narrowing at the sight of me hauling a corpse inside.

  “Seriously?” he said ftly. “That’s your pick?”

  “Rex,” I replied. “This guy’s dead. I just need you to patch him up a little.”

  Skully sighed like a parent dealing with a particurly disappointing child but waved his hand anyway. A faint green glow surrounded the corpse, and just like that, the stab wound vanished, leaving the guy looking freshly dead instead of brutally murdered.

  “Nice,” I said with a nod. “Thanks.”

  I stepped out of the armor, letting it ctter to the floor with a loud metallic crash. The noise echoed through the room like a thundercp.

  “By the old gods, Non!” Skully snapped, flinching so hard he almost ruined one of his runes. “Do you have to be so dramatic?”

  “Sorry,” I said, not sorry at all.

  Before he could compin any further, I floated over to the body and slipped inside. Possessing the guy felt different from possessing the armor—warmer, somehow. More... alive.

  I flexed the man’s fingers experimentally and wiggled his toes. Everything seemed to be working. I stumbled to my feet, feeling unsteady for a moment as I adjusted to having actual limbs again.

  “Hey, not bad,” I said, testing out the voice. It came out raspy, like someone who’d had one too many drinks—which, to be fair, this guy probably had.

  Skully stood up and crossed his arms, gring at me. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin. “I feel terrible.”

  Skully rolled his eye sockets. “Let’s hope you can stay upright long enough to get the job done. And don’t break my runes next time you drop your armor, you walking catastrophe.”

  The moment I felt comfortable in the body, something strange happened. A wave of memories rushed over me like a tidal wave, crashing through my mind and dragging me under. I blinked hard, trying to shake it off, but it was too strong. Images, sounds, and sensations—none of them mine—filled my head.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t just Non Cruz, resident ghost, and occasional nuisance. I was Rick.

  Rick the gambler. Rick the drunk. Rick the screw-up.

  I saw fshes of his life, one after another. His childhood wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. His father had been an angry, heavy-handed man with a mean streak a mile wide, and his mother had walked out on them when he was just a kid. By the time he was twelve, Rick had learned that stealing was easier than asking and that drinking was easier than feeling.

  Fast forward a few years, and Rick had become a full-fledged gambler, con artist, and all-around disaster. He spent his nights at dingy taverns and underground gambling dens, betting away every coin he got his hands on. Sometimes he won, but more often, he lost—and when he lost, he drank until he forgot why he cared.

  He wasn’t picky about his company, either. Thieves, mercenaries, smugglers—if you had a vice, Rick was your guy. He ran with all the wrong people, made all the wrong choices, and somehow managed to stay one step ahead of the w.

  But Rick wasn’t just unlucky. He was reckless. And reckless people don’t stay lucky for long.

  The memories sped up, like someone had hit fast forward on a particurly grim documentary. I saw Rick getting into fights, cheating at cards, swindling merchants, and sweet-talking barmaids. I saw him making deals with shady figures in dark alleys, promising things he couldn’t deliver, and borrowing money from people you really shouldn’t borrow money from.

  And then came the part where it all went wrong.

  Rick had gotten in over his head—again. He owed money to the wrong people, and they weren’t feeling particurly patient. When they caught up to him, they didn’t bother with threats. They just stabbed him and left him to bleed out in the alley where I found him.

  The memories faded, and I staggered, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath—or at least, what passed for breath in this borrowed body.

  “Hey, you okay?” Skully asked, sounding almost concerned. Almost.

  I shook my head, still disoriented. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Just… saw some stuff.”

  Skully raised a bony eyebrow. “Stuff?”

  “Memories,” I crified. “From the guy I’m possessing.”

  He tilted his head, intrigued. “Interesting. And? Anything useful?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head again. “Not really. Just… he had a rough life, I guess.”

  Skully snorted. “A rough life? Non, we’re in a city where half the popution has a rough life. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

  I sighed. “Fine. He was a gambler, a thief, and kind of a terrible person.”

  “So, the perfect disguise, then,” Skully remarked dryly. “Well, not really that good of a disguise, but a thief gotta heist…”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Rick might not have been a hero—or even remotely decent—but in a city like Rague, that kind of reputation could be useful. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that lingered after experiencing his memories.

  Because for all his fws, Rick had been human. Fwed, broken, and maybe beyond redemption—but human. And now he was gone.

  And I was wearing his skin.

  Possessing a dead guy’s body wasn’t exactly a five-star experience. First off, Rick smelled bad—like blood, booze, and regret. I cringed, but then remembered I had total control over his senses. With a little mental nudge, I shut down his sense of smell. Just like that, problem solved.

  Small wins.

  Then something hit me. I spoke earlier—actual words—and I’d done it fluently in this world’s nguage. No Transtion Ring needed. That… was weird.

  Skully noticed too. “Wait a second,” he said, narrowing his eye sockets. “You don’t have the Ring on, but you’re speaking like a local. How?”

  I blinked. “Uh… Rick’s memories? Maybe they’re helping me?”

  Skully stared at me for a long moment, then extended his hand. “Give me the Ring.”

  “What?”

  “The Ring, Non.”

  With a sigh, I fished it out from where I’d stashed it in my armor and handed it over. Skully cradled it like it was a newborn baby. His bony fingers gently traced the inscriptions along its surface. He had this oddly tender expression—or as tender as a skull could get.

  “Sentimental much?” I teased.

  “This is my daughter’s ring,” he said softly. “It’s one of the few things I have left of her.”

  I blinked, caught off guard by the emotion in his voice. “Oh… right. Sorry.”

  Skully cleared his throat—or at least made the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Anyway,” he said, slipping the ring into a hidden compartment in his robe, “since you ignored my very reasonable suggestion to possess someone useful, you get to come up with the pn for how to infiltrate the Clergy.”

  I rubbed the back of my—well, Rick’s—neck. “Right. Pn. Okay, hear me out: what if we don’t actually steal the Philosopher’s Stone from the Clergy’s vault?”

  Skully tilted his head. “Go on.”

  “What if we… buy one?”

  Silence. Skully stared at me like I’d just suggested we solve our problems by baking cookies and holding hands.

  “Buy one?” he repeated, slowly.

  “Yeah,” I said. “From the bck market.”

  His eye fmes flickered dangerously. “Expin.”

  I held up my hands. “Okay, okay. So, according to Rick’s memories, there’s this underground trade in Philosopher’s Stones. It’s illegal, obviously, but there’s a lot of money involved, and it’s rumored that the whole operation is protected by… wait for it… Mage Lord Kristoff.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Skully processed what I’d just said. His eye fmes bzed brighter, and I could almost feel the rage radiating off him.

  “How dare they,” he growled.

  “Uh… Skully?”

  “How dare they,” he repeated, louder this time.

  “Skully, you okay?”

  “How dare they!”

  He was seething, muttering under his breath and pacing like a caged animal. I watched, mildly concerned that he was about to burn the entire inn to the ground.

  “Care to share with the css?” I asked, cautiously.

  Skully stopped pacing and turned to me, his eye fmes fring wildly. “The production of Philosopher’s Stones was banned after the war,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It was part of the treaty. No more human sacrifices. No more Stones. The Clergy agreed to it. They swore an oath.”

  “Right…”

  “And now,” he hissed, “they’re breaking that oath. They’re breaking the treaty.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty messed up,” I agreed.

  “Messed up?” Skully ughed bitterly. “Non, this isn’t just ‘messed up.’ This is a betrayal.”

  He started pacing again, muttering to himself. “I knew they were corrupt, but this… this is beyond corruption. This is treachery. This is bsphemy.”

  “Bsphemy seems a bit much,” I said. “It’s not like they’re summoning demons or anything.”

  Skully shot me a look that could’ve melted steel. “Philosopher’s Stones are made from human souls, Non. Every time one is created, someone dies. And they’re not just killing random people. They’re killing mages. Draining their magic. Turning them into fuel. It’s worse than summoning demons.”

  Oh.

  That… wasn’t great.

  “So, uh… what do we do?” I asked.

  Skully stopped pacing and took a deep, unnecessary breath. “We stick to the pn,” he said, his voice cold and controlled. “We get the Stone. But now, we have another mission.”

  “Which is…?”

  “We’re going to burn their whole operation to the ground.”

  Skully exploded.

  Not literally—though, for a moment, I half-expected him to go full fireball—but emotionally. He started wrecking the room. Not with magic, which surprised me, but with good, old-fashioned, physical smashing. He kicked over the table, sent a chair flying into the wall, and ripped a tapestry down like it owed him money.

  I sat on the bed—well, technically Rick’s body sat on the bed—and watched him, giving him space to vent. It wasn’t like I could stop him, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Skully had been bottling up a lot of anger, and now it was pouring out in a storm of curses, smashed furniture, and shattered gss.

  “How dare they,” he snarled, kicking a chest so hard it broke into pieces. “How dare they break the treaty!”

  I stayed quiet. He wasn’t done yet.

  “I agreed to exile!” he raged, knocking over a bookshelf. “I agreed to leave their precious cities, to stay in the wastends, to keep my magic away from their fragile little society! And in return—” He yanked a curtain rod off the wall and snapped it in half. “In return, they swore they would stop using Philosopher’s Stones. They swore they would ban the creation of them. They swore they would monitor the remaining supply and only use them in the direst of emergencies!”

  I flinched as he threw a vase against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  “But no,” he continued, his voice shaking with fury. “No, they couldn’t even keep that promise. They couldn’t resist the temptation of power. They’re making Stones again. They’re killing people—mages—for their magic. And they’re doing it in secret, right under everyone’s noses.”

  He grabbed a chair and smashed it against the floor, splintering the wood. “Do you have any idea how many lives were lost to create those damn Stones during the war? Do you? Thousands, Non. Thousands of mages, drained of their magic, their souls ripped apart and fused into those cursed stones. And for what? For power. For control. For victory.”

  He paused, breathing heavily, though he didn’t actually need to breathe. His eye fmes flickered wildly, and I could see the pain beneath the rage.

  “I fought for them,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less angry. “I fought for the Clergy. I fought against the gods. I gave everything I had—my magic, my body, my soul—to help them win that war. And this is how they repay me? By breaking the treaty? By becoming the very thing we fought against?”

  I swallowed, unsure what to say. Skully wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. Betrayed.

  “They’re no better than the gods,” he muttered, his voice full of bitterness. “Power-hungry, lying, backstabbing tyrants. That’s what they’ve become.”

  He sank down onto the wrecked remains of the chair, his shoulders slumping. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor, his eye fmes dim and flickering.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “You, uh… you okay, buddy?”

  He looked up at me, and for a moment, I saw something in his eye sockets that looked a lot like sadness.

  “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for a long time.”