Soren Summersbane: International Necromancer of Mystery

Book II: “Masks”

Need to catch up? Check out Part I right here!

Betty C.R.O.C.K.E.R. & Summersbane spent the night as immortals, making each other's bodies one. Summersbane sculpted his own malleable necro-flesh to fill the gaps in Betty’s Terminator-like superstructure. Over her utilitarian frame, the Necromancer wove a lattice of muscle, sinew, & eventually skin. They talked all night of their adventures, big & small—the times, bad & good. Tomorrow they would again be warriors; but tonight, they were two old souls. Old friends, catching up after too long apart, reunited now in a way no two mortals ever could be. They were inextricably part of each other, bound in every molecule. When dawn rose, they had perfected their disguise.

“How do you like it? I think it’s fitting, but I am open to suggestions,” the amorphous Summersbane whispered into Betty’s fresh ear.  

Betty flexed her flesh-clad form in the pallid brass mirror of the Necromancer’s bedchamber. Her newly-nimble fingers ran over her new body the way a craftsman admires a masterpiece. Her eyes lingered on every curve, & every imperfection that somehow made her more perfect. A mark here, an asymmetry there, a subtle indentation along one thigh—all of them, so incredibly real. Betty stood, motionless, & beautiful. Even her face was now made of true flesh, not the decaying Vulcanized rubber mask she’d worn so long. For the first time in a long time, Betty was reminded of who she was, not what she was.

Betty C.R.O.C.K.E.R. was first brought to life—if one can call it that—in a Detroit laboratory back in 1915, by the unholy alliance of General Mills, General Motors, & MIT.  She was the first self-aware man-made intelligence, tragically trapped in a body of solid American steel. Betty was made to kill for her country over a century ago, but that wasn’t her anymore. She had become more—her mind was the mechanical equivalent of human’s in every way: capable of hate, of anger, of love. Those feelings had grown over the years. But her body could not evolve—not on its own. & neither General Mills nor the U.S. Government had ever much interest in upgrading her personhood. Only Summersbane cared.

Time had dragged Betty into the present, but she had always felt like a mere passenger in every era. No one ever looked at her steel bones & unmoving face, & saw a person. They never pictured the flowers Betty arranged each morning, the poetry she read at night, nor the cookbooks she penned with her own two hands. Summersbane had given her an intimate, impossible gift: she now looked to others, the way she longed to see herself.  Gazing upon her nude body, fully-fleshed for the first time, she whispered—

“Thank you.”

Summersbane secreted a tear from inside Betty’s eye—she didn’t wipe it away. It was her tear, & she would not wish it gone. Every droplet, a miracle.

“Well, Betty? Are you ready to kill Henry Kissinger once and for all?”

Betty smiled, rejoicing in the sensation of moving real lips. “Yes.”

Two friends. One body. One mission.

CONTINUED IN PART III

Goodness, dear reader—we hope ye enjoyed this second unabashed chapter of Summersbane’s recent adventures! A NecRomance penned by the dread necromancer himself! Part III shall arrive to ye next Monday, True Believers—if ye have a friend who missed this one, send it along to them! The more mortals who join us, the more POWERFUL WE ALL BECOME. Please consider also supporting our work & endeavors with $5 monthly!

We thank the many who have already signed up, we thank ye for reading, & we hope ye have enjoyed the story so far! I shall write ye again Wednesday, with something delightful & new. In the meantime, stay safe, be well, & be kind to thy flesh. Ye never know who might want it more…

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Flesh-Haver