His eyes snapped open, mad with resolve.
'Gods!'
How could he dare die without avenging those eyes…
What a stupid thing to do!
Umbra also felt like killing himself for discarding that 'crucial' warning as balderdash.
'First attempt, failed…I've got to find a way to back out if I want to live…'
On the contrary…he did disregard his earlier resolve.
He just had to try harder…
Harder…
At that definite point, his mind gratefully opened up.
At once, Umbra began to chant immediately. He couldn't take any more chances.
"Lords of the living and of the dead…"
Aura swirled thickly around him, as Umbra struggled to recollect the remaining lines.
Striving to say it in the ancient tongue made it far more difficult.
Umbra's jammed brain also multiplied the difficulty level both exponentially and astronomically.
"The Pillars… Divine Princes… Ars Goetia…and …"
Beads of sweat rolled down Umbra's face, and he began to shudder in fear.
Shadows began to blend in around him and his fear multiplied.
They coalesced around him and with him. At some point, he couldn't even distinguish his physical form again.
"Heed this helpless mortal his divine wish…"
His brain seemed numb by the barrage of both foreign and residual powers coursing through his frail form.
He only wondered how his vital essence still held firm.
All attempting to coalesce with each other…
To the severe detriment of the vessel…
He had to strive harder…
Harder…much harder than he'd ever done.
Umbra's eyes closed again in deep concentration, as he attempted to channel all his power into the spell.
At long last…
With a bright sparkle of understanding emerging in his eyes, he recollected the last lines.
"Release to me…the exclusive soul of the sorcerer Maris Djata!"
Finally, Umbra let out a thankful sigh of relief.
At the very least, the first stage of the art was over.
He panted heavily, not daring to pull back his hand from the altar.
Although he had no idea if there were any implications, he didn't want to find out the hard way.
Not in this state.
Currently, he was hellbent on avoiding anything or action that could lay his near mortal attempt to waste.
And this was only the first part…
Every necromancer needed to implore permission from the rulers of the Underworld.
And he had just done that.
Nothing notable happened. He'd expected some grand wisp of ghosts to emerge…
'From where…like seriously?!'
Or something ghoulish and miraculous at the same time.
Contrary to his expectations; the shadows coalesced more, drifting closer to him.
But now, he didn't feel remotely frightened anymore.
He felt hopeful. He didn't know why, but he felt good.
So what next?
Anything. Most probably the second spell. Recalling the soul and then…the grand moment…
…Transcending.
A wave of horror washed over him as he rethought that statement.
Umbra suddenly realized that, as much as he wanted to get over with this necromancy, he didn't want to transcend into the Dark Realm for any reason at all.
It all seemed too macabre to imagine…the very prospect of been stuck in the Dark Realm, without any remote hope of salvation.
But he had to do it.
Ragna even hinted that his powers bore a natural affinity to Death, and its allied features.
That was just a tiny sliver of hope…
But it gave Umbra the little boost he needed.
With a re-determined resolve, he took a deep breath and changed.
"Sought soul of the Dead…Arise."
The remaining words tried to evade his mind as the previous spell had.
But this time, he was very much composed and found out that he could think rationally.
This meant he could now overpower the invading subconsciousness in his mind.
Or for some reason, it'd retreated. But anyhow it had happened, he wasn't really interested in knowing how.
The only way now, was forward.
Notwithstanding, this gave him another glowing glint of hope.
"Come to do the bidding of your prime invoker…"
"I call upon you, in eternal servitude…"
Umbra paused at this point. According to the Reaper's Journal, this was the game changing instant.
Now is the moment when you'll have to mention the duration of your invoked servant.
Thus, increasing or decreasing your chances of completing the process alive.
Prospects of longer life spans, presaded a very difficult till on the necromancer's soul and magic.
A shorter one, however, lightened the yoke.
And he, Umbra, had just mentioned 'eternal servitude' despite his novice level and fragile state.
He shrugged internally, resigning himself to a grim Fate.
Whatever happened, he would accept the comeuppance…
If they were any, that is.
Then, he completed the spell.
"...The soul of Maris Djata!"
At once, the air around him exploded. A 'flashy' display of deathly colors descended upon him, wrapping him in grey for a while.
When it cleared, the temple morphed uniformly into an ethereal realm.
For a while, he couldn't see anything but flapping curtains and swirling mist.
Thick purple mist, wrapping around him tightly like a strangling cloak. Only that he couldn't feel it physically.
Good thing…he smiled grimly in the midst of his uncanny predicament.
At least, he can't feel any more pain. He didn't seriously wish for more.
And perhaps, there will be no real need to transcend.
The Souls must have realized his divine status, and were trying to pay homage, to make everything much easier.
Wait…
Homage for what exactly?
In spite of the frightening spectacle, Umbra chortled at his stupidity.
"Seriously? I need to stop giving myself false hopes."
Suddenly, the tumult around him increased tenfold, and Umbra began to feel something…
An unseen spirit…No, a self-conscious personality fit that description better…
It seemed to be straining to leave his body.
Without his will, his body went limp, and his mouth fell open.
Purple aura began to smoke out in large quantities, obscuring those ragged flailing curtains from his line of vision.
This was exactly what Ragna warned about.
His powers were escaping. And he could do absolutely "nothing" about it.
Umbra just suddenly realized that his will power had completely vanished.
His body was entirely no longer under his control.
With a jolt, he realized that he could feel the stench of death approaching.
One of his uncanny abilities, which he'd never understood.
But putting these abnormalities aside, he had to focus on his latest problem.
The death he felt was coming for him. Unless there was another living soul in the temple.
And they weren't.
Those spirits couldn't be exactly called 'living', could they?
Once those dark Princely powers escape, his body would be damaged beyond magical repair.
And that would be the end.
His end.
Noooo…he couldn't let it end that easily. Not when he hadn't found his friends…
Not when he hadn't met his mom yet…
He had to fight to quench the might of those daring powers.
Fight. Fight.
Fight.
Only a little problem lingered; his body completely ignored his will, and stayed limp.
And gratefully, the powers seemed to be having a hard time escaping.
Umbra knew that this was due to the locket.
He secretly reveled in this discovery, but joy never lasts long. He should have known that.
The worst was about to happen.
A sharp cracking sound split through the scattered tumult, filling him with dread.
He knew where that sound came from…
He didn't want to believe it…
His locket…it was cracking apart…
It was breaking apart again. Again?!
Imbued with reinforced desperation, and upcoming fury, he concentrated the last bit of his will power and forced mobility into his limp bones.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!"