Soren Summersbane: International Necromancer of Mystery

Book IV: “Another Chance”

Need to catch up before reading this captivating conclusion? Check out Part I & Part II & Part III!

Summersbane dropped the Soulstone, as the upper portion of his body slid off the lower. A precise laser-shot from the Elon Husk's ruby eye had bisected him. Before Summersbane could cast a defensive spell—or even scream—the laser expanded into a lattice & cut him to small chunks, leaving a bloody stew on the vault’s cold floor.

Betty wasted no time in closing the distance, taking advantage of the Husk’s distraction. Her chain-blade roared against the Husk's left forearm, severing the limb, but coming away broken. The blade’s chain sprang apart, lodged into the walls & ceilings, & slowly cooled from red-hot to silvery-steel. 

“Ah! Betty…an inferior model! My master has made many improvements on your primitive prototype, Ms. C.R.O.C.K.E.R.,” chuckled the Elon husk, as it shimmered beneath an active cloaking system.  The wretched thing seemed to fizzle out of existence, leaving Betty alone in Kissinger’s vault with the remains of Summersbane—remains which slowly congealed back into a blob of flesh. The necromancer’s bones were already starting to re-knit, & the vague outline of a man was forming.

“This technology is going to disrupt the market—in fact it already has.” A red pinprick blossomed, as the Elon Husk charged its ruby eye-laser once more. It betrayed the Husk’s position, & that recharge time—a small opening, certainly, but years of training & experience told Betty she wouldn't get another chance to strike.

In a blink, she wrapped her right arm around the invisible Husk’s neck, forcing its gaze upwards. The beam sliced the vault door & continued up into the ceiling. It severed the fire suppression system, bathing them all in ancient, acrid water. The vault doors slammed against the ground, unleashing a gust of wind, which revealed the Elon Husk with a watery outline. 

Betty slammed her steely right fist into the Husk’s half-cloaked face, throwing it back up against the wall. The safety deposit boxes tumbled down onto its sleek frame, spilling worthless Cyber-Confederate dollars everywhere. The fire suppression system had leaked its last drops, leaving the vault flooded with 2 inches of 1970s water.

“Well, we like to fail fast here, anyway,” said the Elon Husk, re-engaging its stealth field. Betty readied herself for an attack from any angle. The dull, marble-mouthed voice seemed to come from everywhere & nowhere all at once.

 “But we learn something from each failure, don’t we? & we'd like to re-approach this, with a renewed focus on shareholder value.”

Footsteps! Splashes of water along the floor punctuated each pounding step of the Husk’s powerful biomechanical limbs. Like Betty’s, but lighter, & clumsier. The mound of flesh that was a re-forming Summersbane exploded once more as the Husk crunched it ‘neath a carbon-fiber heel. The monster held the Soulstone aloft in its intact tight hand, its form exposed by the stone’s sickly glow.

Betty lurched—too slowly! The Husk rammed the Soulstone through Betty’s exposed chassis, smashing her cookery processing unit. Steel bent & mashed like potatoes as the two thrashed. Betty closed her arm around the Elon Husk in a final embrace, the last signal of a dying mecha-mind—but she lingered! Where her processing unit once sat, now squatted a fraction of Henry Kissinger's fetid soul. She recoiled, knowing she lived for now only thanks to Kissinger’s store of stolen lives. She heard the pounding & gnashing of teeth within herself, as Kissinger longed to be reborn & terrorize the world anew. His tendrils reached into Betty's Detroit steel frame, & she leeched that power into every servo, every actuator. She would overload on that stolen life, taking the abominations with her.

Summersbane had nearly reorganized his heap into something more useful, but too late. His naked half-body, impossibly smooth, crawled desperately toward the combatants. 

“Abort, Betty! I can't bring you back from this!,” Summerbane pleaded. For all his mastery of life & death, he could not resurrect a machine.  Betty's head swiveled 180° toward him, rubber ripping, & a single tear rolled down her face once again. A second, final chance to feel.

“I'm sorry. The muffins are done.”

Betty drank deep of the Soulstone, & released—a shadow-shimmer, then a sphere of absolute nothingness, enveloped Betty & the horrid Husk. The sphere collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but the sound of the water rushing into a small blast crater. The Elon Husk’s stammering screams echoed through the vault, long after they disappeared.

“Not like this,” Summersbane whispered, as he wove the final layers of his corpse back together. He stood & wept, for even black-hearted necromancers may love, & lose.

“That’s it?,” growls General Mills.

Summersbane sneers. “You drag me in for debriefing, & mislike the tale? Tough being you, Mills. I told the truth, as poetically as I could.”

“Who the Hell asked for poetry, wizard?”

“The Husk, Kissinger’s Soulstone, Betty, they’re all gone. I solved three of your problems at once, you cheapskate.”

The general, aged & frail from decades of life-extension charms, paces slowly around the interrogation chamber. Summersbane forms a watch in his flesh, & checks it sarcastically.

“If that’s all, I’d like to get back to killing on my own time.”

General Mills grunts, & nods to a camera. The door slides open, & Summersbane exits as calmly as he can, to attend to one final duty.

Betty had died, that was true, as he told General Mills & the OSS’s legion of enthralled psi-terrogators. But in that chamber, Summersbane had felt a call—a whisper, on the edge of his immortal mind—& with the government off his back, he now feels free to act. After returning to one of his secret towers, he dons his nether-gear, & speaks the power-words thusly: [redacted, to preserve mortal sanity. - Editor].  Summersbane leaps through the cold-flame portal into undeath, dragging his body & spirit to Hades’ realm, & flies straight for Tartarus. The misty cavern labyrinth that confused most souls, feels as familiar as a lover's caress. He emerges from Tartarus & looks out upon the Elysian Fields, cut in twain by the River Styx. Fabled Styx meanders through the valley & on this bank, the souls of the dead shamble toward Charon. 

Some dare not approach, while some embrace their fates. Still others stand sentinel, as if awaiting some forgotten promise—& there among them, in the sighing wheat, stands Betty! Her steel body gone—her form now as she & Summersbane had so delighted in not a day ago! That is, she appears how she sees herself, enfleshed & vibrant.

She turns & recognizes Summersbane.  The two embrace, tears are shed, for hours or no time at all. Summersbane pulls away, breaking the hallowed hug, & looks Betty in her beautiful eyes. 

“I know—this shouldn't be possible. I shouldn't be here,” sobs Betty. A grim question strikes her, “What about that Elon Husk?”

“You don't have to worry about that. The thing never had a soul—only a shard of one, a borrowed being.” 

“But neither did I!”

“You may not have been given a soul by your creators—they saw no profit in that. But you forged a soul, on the anvil of life, making & remaking it until the final hour.”

Summersbane places his hand on Betty's chest, over her heart. “This is your soul. The one you made, as real as any cake.”

A wave of understanding washes over Betty. 

Summersbane smiles, takes Betty's warm hand in his, & flicks a coin to Charon as they stroll into Avernus, back toward the World-That-Is.

“Let's get out of here, Betty. You've got a life to live.”

THE BEGINNING…

Tears! Hugs! Souls obliterated & forged! What grander tale could there be than LOVE & LIFE ITSELF? If that is not worth at least $5 monthly, mortals, I truly have no idea WHAT ELSE COULD BE. We hope ye have enjoyed this journey; we thank ye for reading, & hope ye consider sending this to a friend & upgrading to a paid subscription (if ye have not already joined those illustrious ranks, that is).

I shall write ye again Wednesday—hopefully, with not merely news of Episode #198, but also of a return for the PODCAST!

Until then, please, tell Summersbane what ye thought of his adventure, & tell a cooking cyborg ye love them.

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Weeping With Joy