The Communing

Victor felt a cold chill run down his back, the rough concrete floors offering little to no protection from the frigid temperatures outside. He sat on his knees, cradling his bag on his legs.

“Are you well? Did the helicopter ride make you ill as well?” Seraph asked, hovering uncomfortably close over his shoulder.

Victor slowly nodded. He was lying. While he had gone relatively unscathed from motion sickness, the daunting task of the seánce hung on his back like a weight. His hands were soaked in cold sweat as he flipped through the pages of his spellbook, pausing at the very spell he had cast in Ereith all that time ago. There he had done a stellar performance, but now he was petrified. The shallow self confidence he had gathered had been shattered.

The entire reason they had been contracted was for this moment- necromancy was his only use on the team. He didn't want to let Seraph know he was having doubts.

“Can you please cast a shield spell around me? And hold my bag?” Victor clenched his muscles to remain still as Seraph moved across the floor, sitting in front of him and pressing his palms to the floor. Golden magic crawled through runes, ready to activate.

Victor sat in the center of a circle of runes, carefully transcribed from his spellbook. All around him, the occupants of the guild gathered, pulling chairs and leaning on furniture. A lump formed in his throat as he became conscious of the eyes watching him.

Searching for encouragement, Victor looked at Matthew, but he wouldn't meet his eyes. Something became tense in his stomach.

“Necromancer,” Sedna murmured, breaking the silence, “Are you able to work without a corpse?”

He nodded erratically, startled by her direct communication. He twisted around for his pen and notepad, quickly scribbling down a message: “i just need some kinda link to him. like an object he had"

“Will this work?” Sedna asked, kneeling down and presenting him a folded piece of fabric, “It is his shirt, unwashed. It was the the last thing we found in the laundry from him.”

The shirt carried a strong chemical scent, something Victor was unfamiliar with. He wrapped it around his shoulders, pressing his hands to the runes drawn on the floor.

Magic flowed from his fingertips, igniting the symbols in stark blue light, electricity pulsing through his veins. His hair stood on end, engulfed in the energy he was generating. He clenched his eyes shut, muttering the words of the spell under his breath. His senses began to stretch, reaching out like ghostly hands to draw out the spirit of Arctos.

It was faint, but he felt something in the distance, a frantic and angry ghost clawing to meet him. Panting, Victor opened his eyes, seeing a misty form writhing as it struggled to manifest before him, entrapped within Seraph’s shield.

He froze, his stomach becoming cold and heavy. Victor lifted his chin, meeting eyes with Lilith. Her eyes flashed red.

A bolt of pain ripped down his spine, taking the breath from his lungs. The icy, euphoric magic surging through him turned searing hot, making his eyes roll back in their sockets.

Sparks popped and flickered out at his fingers, the magic in the runes receding and sputtering. The ghost vanished into smoke, the room becoming blurry as he swayed.

He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Author's Note- oh no, I broke victor :(