Soren Summersbane: International Necromancer of Mystery

Book III: “The Heist”

Need to catch up? Check out Part I & Part II!

Bettysbane’s fist cracked into the side of the guard’s head. A spear of bone from her forearm skewered through the skull & into the thigh of his companion across the hall. The second guard screamed as the bone-spear retracted from his shattered femur & back into Betty’s arm, leaving a jagged puncture wound. He spilled forth his life’s blood, dropping his rifle, as the first guard collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. 

Bettysbane—the hulking, beautiful, enfleshed combination of Betty C.R.O.C.K.E.R. & Summersbane—stalked toward the bleeding guard. He looked up in horror, as if to scream, but a grim-gorgeous hand clamped over his face.  Summersbane detached himself from Betty’s hand; he extended as skin, traveling up over the guard’s terrified eyes.  The guard clawed futilely at Betty’s iron grip. A mouth formed on Betty’s shoulder & spoke in Summersbane’s voice,

“I have his ocular pattern.”

Betty’s eyes changed color to green. The guard gazed helplessly, at his own eyes staring back at him from Betty’s face.  He let out a muted scream through Betty’s grip—while drawing his pistol!

“Summersbane, gun!,” Betty shouted.

Betty’s skin formed several Summersbane eyes that locked onto the guard’s right hand, which held a pearl-handled six-shooter. A shot rang out, followed by a sickening wet crack.  Betty had crunched the guard’s pathetic human skull, pulping the brain. The guard’s bullet, his final act in this wretched world, passed through her lovely, necrotic skin & clanged against the metal ribcage. The flesh knit slowly back together, gurgling forth a slurry of blood, flesh, & bullet fragments. The guard had wasted his final moments; Betty felt a fleeting pang of regret, for a mortal who had no idea how precious was his time.

She pushed away such thoughts, walked up to the retinal scanner, & bent low so it could read her stolen eyes. A gentle beep, a hollow thud, & a sinister hiss as the metal door slid open. Inside the vault, stacks of worthless money lined the walls—enough to feed the world, or damn it, but only to fools who believe in it. Bettysbane, fully reintegrated again as one, stepped in to survey the chamber—& lo!, there he was! Henry Kissinger, clad in a dark robe, curled inside a football-sized gem. His body a husk, his eyes cold & distant, as if off in a far-away land. 

“What’s wrong with him? Brain-dead?,” Betty asked 

“Ah, good, we have some time. He’s pulling his soul out of Death, using the stone as a conduit between planes. His brain is dead, but his mind is alive, elsewhere,” Summersbane said, through a mouth on Betty’s graceful collarbone. 

“So: we break the crystal, call up Langley, & tell them we cleaned up their mess. Easy.” Betty slapped her fist into her palm, determined to get the job done. 

“Easy…yes, this is too easy…” Summersbane oozed off of Betty & reformed his own body, revealing her naked neosteel frame. He saw the disappointment on her rigid, rubber face—removing the gift of flesh, for even a moment, had hurt her. He’d make it up to her later—once the job was done.

Summersbane, nude, walked over to the Abramelin array holding the stone in place.  He inspected the runes: Words of power binding Kissinger’s true name, a diagram of what Kissinger’s body should be, & a map of Cambodia. The pieces all made sense, but there was one glaring problem: The soulstone wasn’t active. 

“Betty, the stone, it’s—”

“Let’s kill this thing and be done. It’s just a husk,” Betty said impatiently. 

A shadow by the money-piles shifted—a dark mass began to coalesce.

“Did Someone say ‘husk’?,” spake the shadow.

“They found us—we’re trapped!” Summersbane grabbed for Kissinger, scrambling for leverage in a collapsing situation.

Betty activated her chainblade—it roared & sparked to life as Betty crouched low. Summersbane’s skin bubbled & split, as spikes of bone armor jutted & cracked into place. 

The twisted, taunting shadow stepped forth; the smell of weed & cheeseburgers wafted through the air. There stood…Elon Husk.

“My investors will see quite the return today.”

CONCLUDED IN PART IV

Action, dear reader—& danger! We hope ye enjoyed this thrilling third chapter of Summersbane’s recent adventures! All penned by the dread necromancer himself! Part IV, the finale, 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—to fund projects like Fishman: The Musical: The Short Film!

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 wary of money-piles! They may look tempting, but they are magnets for malice…

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Anti-Kissinger