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By the guidance of the great God of Death, Tesranach… A solemn voice echoed in Leven's mind. I answer the call…
"Aaaargh!"
Leven screamed as the voice continued to invade his consciousness. Surrender, my past self. Accept your true being.
Even through the pain, Leven couldn't help but find it absurd. It was truly pompous nonsense.
Why the hell is he speaking like that?
Yet. something about it felt strangely familiar. It reminded him of the way he acted in front of his father, Gallard. It was how he put on a show of exaggerated formality.
That's supposed to be me?
Gripping his head, Leven struggled to make sense of what was happening.
How is this even possible?
He had no knowledge of necromancy. Yet instinctively, he understood what was happening. That soul was him. A paradox was unfolding before him. His own soul was trying to take his body.
Like hell it will!
It didn't matter whether the invader was himself or someone else. What mattered was one thing. If he lost control of his body now, the Leven that existed in this moment would cease to be.
You think I'm just going to hand my body...
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