Chapter 1
Crossing the path of an Archmage, especially if he holds the post of Archmage, is a below average idea. And even if he does not stoop to direct violence against you, this does not mean that your death from this will be less painful and painful. Oh, no! When it comes to professional demonologists, it is better to meet in person and die under torture than several years of continuous struggle for their own lives, and the constant risk of being devoured by demons… And not a single chance of salvation.
Believe me, for two years of enmity with the Supreme Magician of Sumer, I have done everything to protect my own soul and body. He even escaped from his native country, having sold himself into virtual slavery to the Egyptians… But it still didn't save me. An archdemon capable of leveling a large city to the ground in a matter of hours is not an opponent that a simple master of shamanism and mental magic can stand against. However, by the end of my life, it was already quite difficult to call me a simple master…
Two years of daily struggle for their own lives will make anyone develop. And even though I never got to the rank of Master, but I still managed to become a really versatile and experienced specialist in magic... It's no joke, for two years I fought with all kinds of demons, genies, Loa, undead and spirits, not to mention ordinary assassins, mercenaries and other magicians – not everyone can do this. In other things, the outcome of the outcome was still the same – an opponent came for me, to whom I could not oppose absolutely anything. There was no way to even escape. That's why I decided to commit suicide, at the same time sacrificing all my contractor spirits and minions to distract the attention of the demonic spawn…
That's just something went wrong, and instead of death, I found myself trapped in the body of an overgrown boy magician… At the same time, it would be fine if I had at least some control over the acquired body, but no. I found myself in the role of an ordinary parasite that existed only at the expense of someone else's magic. Which on the one hand was pleasing, because after all that had happened, my aura and soul itself was so twisted and damaged that if I had taken an ordinary, even a child's body, it would certainly have died together with me. On the other hand…
To be in the role of an astral parasite, which I myself sometimes helped to get rid of, is by no means what I have dreamed of all my life. However, the fact that I continued to exist and even retained my mind after the encounter with the Archdemon Lang and subsequent death… It's not even luck, it's a real miracle. Therefore, it was really sinful for me to complain. Instead, I preferred to do my speedy recovery and scan the memory of my unsuccessful donor.…
And he really was a loser, even if he was less than me. It's no joke, a boy from a noble family of wizards was unlucky to be in real slavery to a necromancer who was one step away from becoming a lich. And she is such an undead, she doesn't really like the living, which is why torture spells overtake supporters of "Lord Voldemort" on a constant, I would even say daily basis.
A deplorable situation, no matter how you look at it. So also on the family front and the boys were all not thank God. My father had recently picked up some particularly strong curse, which is why he was slowly dying now, losing his vital and magical powers day after day. The mother is even worse – a crazy woman who fancied herself the head of the family and did not disdain to "educate" her children with torture spells. And the older brother is still a scumbag, which, however, is not surprising, with such a mother…
Yeah, the life of Regulus Arcturus Black was not sugar. So I also stuck to his aura, slowly feeding off his magic and exploring my memory for new knowledge and the possibility of regaining a full-fledged body. I didn't want to remain a simple parasite at all. In addition, the local magicians, in many ways, were still those bumpkins and degenerates. They couldn't even use spells without these wands of their own. I don't even want to say anything about the fact that I've been parasitizing a well-born and "educated" wizard for a couple of months now.
However, it was a sin for me to complain about the current situation. If I had been discovered by one of the local wizards, I would most likely have been finally sent to rebirth. No one likes parasites that drain mana and life force from magicians. Even I myself somewhat despised my own existence… And only the gradual restoration of my soul tried me on with reality. And I don't care that most of my magical shell was destroyed, and I myself rolled back years in my development… I'll catch up somehow.
Moreover, my unwitting donor, from whom I was going to take away the body at a good opportunity, had quite a serious magical potential and a good pedigree… It remains only to gain strength and expel the soul of the young magician from his own body. Moreover, the body itself, in the few months that I have been parasitizing on it, has already got used to me and the process of rejection, as it happens with ordinary obsession, can not be particularly afraid.…
It's just a pity that all my plans have remained plans. A young degenerate from an ancient family of magicians, having learned that his "master" created a "horcrux", which in theory should ensure eternal life and insurance in case of death… A very familiar way to keep your soul in the world, even after death. The necromancers I know also dabbled in this. It seems that such artifacts were called Phylacteries…
However, it does not matter, the main thing is that my unwitting donor, having learned about such a trump card of his hated master, decided to heroically end his life in a futile attempt to destroy krestarzh. Well, after it failed to deal with the artifact, he drinks a poisonous potion, only to rescue his house elf from the trap – a local analogue of the magical servants, with instructions to destroy the crestarge ... an enchanting action in its stupidity, which cost the boy his life. And I, of course, having discovered that my donor's body was plunging into cold water, straight into the clutches of underwater undead, had already managed to say goodbye to life…
But I still did not give up without even trying to resist my fate. I was too used to fighting for my existence, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed... Yes, even my suicide in the face of the Archdemon was a simple attempt to preserve, if not myself, then at least the potential of my soul. Therefore, instead of coming to terms with my own death again, I tried to capture the body of a dying magician.
And lo and behold, I even succeeded... Regulus finally resigned himself to death did not even try to fight for his life, which I took advantage of. And if at first I just seized some kind of control over someone else's body, starting a sluggish struggle with the undead, then I gathered my thoughts a little and subdued the sensations and hallucinations from the potion I drank… I did with Black's soul the same way I did with my own spirits not so long ago – I used it up…
Of course, the soul of a magician is not very similar to that of an ordinary spirit. But if it is very necessary, even it can be destroyed, having received a huge amount of energy at the output, which was so necessary for me at that moment ... Fortunately, my modest strength at that time was still enough to use a rather complex spell-a ritual from the school of shamanism, and then take control of the energy that poured over me and strength.
So, I managed to turn the water surrounding me with the undead into ice, from which, as a result, I got out to the island from which my involuntary donor had previously fallen… Well, there was only a little left – to bring down the ceiling of this cave, well fortified with local charms, and hope that I could survive something like this, after seeing the white light again. I could not apparate from this cave, just as I could not call "my" brownie here.
Therefore, we had to act as rudely as possible and take a lot of risks, first looking for the most vulnerable place of the cave, and then arranging a full-fledged collapse with the help of the same ice magic… It was possible to write a whole epic about how I got to the surface in general, but I will probably refrain from such things. The main thing is that everything worked out for me, the magician Arhem saw the white light again… Although now I'm more of a Regulus Black. At least it was his body that I took, sending the boy himself to be reborn.
- Haaa. Now the main thing is not to die from exhaustion and new damage in my long-suffering aura. - I mouthed in a wild mixture of English and Sumerian, forcing myself to wince at every word. I got too deep into someone else's memory, which now resonated with the sensations from the new body, causing my head to literally split from the inside. However, a sore head is the least of my problems.
Past manipulations with someone else's energy have greatly battered my aura, which was already not in the most adequate state. I'm not talking about the magical and mental exhaustion that has covered me at all… In consciousness, I now remain on the strength of will alone. And then, if it wasn't for the clear understanding that I can't stay near the secret vault of the lord ... Ugh, Voldemort, you should get out of the habit of calling him your lord. I would have passed out on the spot a long time ago. Well, as it was, I even had the strength to summon a brownie, which eventually moved me to the ancestral nest of the Blacks… It's not the best place for a quiet recovery, but I still don't know another one.