Chapter Text
Short chapter here, sorry! And I am well aware that it is much, much later than I said it would be. I am trying to complete two other WIPs at the moment, which is working about as well as one would expect, but work and school has been murder of late. My sincerest apologies, but the updates for this will be erratic and not at all on any sort of schedule, just like all my other stories. However, as with all my other stories, I will not abandon it unless all feedback is negative. Please, comment or review and tell me what you think!
The levels of pain flowing through her body unfortunately were not quite enough to halt or even hinder her racing thoughts. In truth, the escape from that slam had been entirely too easy, and the young thief knew that she had made a grave error in believing that stealing the shuttle to escape would be the end of her trouble for a time. As a result of her carelessness, she was now strapped to a machine that looked like some form of torture device. Most likely because it was.
Levana had been given little choice, however. These supposedly ‘undead’ soldiers gave everyone they came across one very simple choice. Convert or die. Such was the Necromonger way, or so she had been told countless times since being brought onboard their ship. Personally, she tired of hearing the same mantra over and over again. “Till underverse come” was still ringing in her ears, even beyond the flaring pain. Maker but this ‘conversion’ process hurt!
That was the point though, as she had also been told several times. The pain supposedly purged away all else, everything that did not have to do with ‘The Necromonger Way’, or ‘The Necromonger Cause’, and whatever other drivel the morons who had locked her into the machine had been spewing. She rolled her shoulders, as much as the straps would let her, and looked around curiously, trying to focus through the searing agony tearing through her.
She was able to see several other new ‘converts’ strapped into identical machines around her, but they all appeared to be unconscious. Levana strained to see further, but each body she saw were all in a similar state. She slumped down, partly from boredom, mostly from the pain. The thief was unused to such inactivity, and this ridiculous conversion was the most pointless time she had ever spent, that she was aware of, at least.
Still, she had to admit that it was better than the days spent in that slam several months ago. Or was it a year? She did not know, but time had somehow seemed less important when she was traveling all on her own through space in a tiny shuttle with literally nothing to do save enter different coordinates whenever it struck her fancy. She was now several light-years from the planetary system in which she had been imprisoned, and glad of it.
Although this pain was surely worse than any that she could have suffered in slam, the anticipation and waiting for the torture and rape that was mistakenly expected from her ex-cellmate had somehow seemed worse. At the very least, in this pain, she knew that it could get no worse, only better over time. Eventually, they would have to release her, and then she could find out whether it was worth staying with these ‘Necromongers’. If not, she would have to plan out an escape and implement it before anyone here learned what she was capable of. As far as they knew for now, she was only a foolish young girl who had been traveling alone in uncharted space. Of course, no sooner had she thought of it, than did that plan go to ruin.
While there was no denying the severity of the pain inflicted by the machines, Levana’s physiology was extremely resilient, as she was not human, but of a race called the Nglara. They appear human in every other aspect, but because of the conditions of their homeworld, they are all but immune to pain. Their bodies will still give out, if there is too much damage or blood loss, to heal, but they can survive and resist far more pain than ordinary humans.
Levana’s mother had fled their planet just after discovering her pregnancy, and had died when Levana was 8. Since then, she had been forced to steal to survive, and discovered an uncanny talent for it. Thanks to her resilient physiology, when the agony finally began to dull after a time, she realized that she was still thinking, feeling, and moving as she did before being ‘converted’. She finally lost patience with this foolish, time-wasting torture, and began to verbally berate and harass the two soldiers on guard duty.
As fate would have it, a young Sub-commander named Vaako passed the purification chambers, and then paused when he noticed one of the newly converted awake and aware in the machine. He entered, demanding, “Why have you left this unit damaged?” of the guards. They glanced at each other, and then responded to the irate sub-commander, “Sir, the unit is functioning fine. She is being Purified, she just... retained consciousness. All readings and vitals are normal, and she will be fully Necromonger when the Conversion process is complete.”
Vaako tilted his head slightly in curiosity, stepping up to the new Convert, and questioned, “What is your designation?” She lifted her head, blinking at him through pain-dazed blue eyes, and muttered, “It’s 1438-kiss-my-a” he snarled, cutting her off before she could finish. “You would do well to show the proper respect for a Sub-Commander of the Necromonger fleet.” She glared at him, then replied in a tone entirely devoid of any sort of respect, “It's Levana, Sir.” The sarcasm laced into the honorific could be physically felt.
Vaako took a step back, analyzing her, and decided to himself that she could most likely reach her best potential in the courts, as she was young and seemingly cunning. It would be simple enough for the already cynical girl to learn the various twists of courtly intrigue. He raised an eyebrow at her mocking, and asked, “You are now a member of the Necromongers, whether you like it or not. I believe you would be best suited in the courts, amongst the nobility who serve the Lord Marshall. As a new convert, you would either need to kill an existing noble, or marry-”
Scarcely had the word left his mouth, than did the girl bark, “No!” Before she could continue, and explain her instant and all encompassing hatred for the very idea, a loud beep from the machines indicated that the Purification and First Conversion process was complete. The machines unhooked the new Converts, and they dropped to the floor. More Necro foot soldiers entered the room, and began to escort the dazed Converts to a chamber off to the side, where they would be evaluated and then placed where they could best serve the fleet based upon their skill sets. When a soldier reached for Levana’s arm, however, Vaako stopped him, and said in a neutral voice, “This one stays with me. I have already decided upon a designation for her.”
Levana went quietly, biding her time for now, but when they passed several cavernous rooms clearly designated for sparring, she planted her feet and stopped dead, causing the man to jerk to a stop as well, as he had had a grip on her shoulder. “I challenge you” she declared, having heard enough of Necro law to know that ‘keep what you kill’ applied to quite literally every aspect of Necro life, be it status, material possessions, even mates. Briefly, she entertained a fantasy of challenging a soldier in the mess hall over a pastry, but was distracted when the sub-commander sighed wearily before taking the lead into the nearest sparring hall.
He learned quickly, she had to give him that. She smirked, knowing that he knew it would be pointless to argue, and hoping she could get a few good blows in before he took her down. Levana knew she was good enough to be a soldier, and that if he chose to kill her, he would have the honor to make it quick. If he spared her, she will have proven her worth as a fighter, not a pampered noble grasping for more power than she would want.
The Necro waited until Levana settled into an easy stance before attacking with a speed and ferocity that was frankly alarming. Levana was barely able to deflect the first few blows before she felt her feet taken out from under her. She rolled backwards easily, regaining her feet, before throwing a jab, a cross, and a powerful roundhouse in quick succession. He blocked the punches, but took the kick to his torso, grunting quietly when it made contact.
She managed to make almost four minutes before she found herself on her back on the ground, the man balancing his weight on her hips, his forearm across her throat. Levana tried not to panic, having a healthy fear of anyone that close after her time in prison over a year ago, and only allowed herself to relax when the Necro rolled off her to his feet. He offered her a hand up, and she raised an eyebrow, silently asking his verdict.
He sighed slightly, his shoulders slumping a bit, and spoke in a resigned voice, “Very well, young one. You will be placed amongst the ranks of the Necromonger army. Most military females are not fighters, but assassins or flight commanders. Are you certain that what you wish is to be a simple foot soldier? You have potential for a great deal more.”
She shook her head, allowing herself to grin just a bit at the defeated look on the Necro’s face, despite his victory in their bout, and affirmed, “I wish to be a foot soldier.” Vaako was surprised, as ‘keep what you kill’ was pretty much a basis for grabbing and seeking more and more power, but was intrigued at the idea of one who did not care for power.
Thus it was that the young thief became a foot soldier in the ranks of the Necromonger Army. Levana was grateful, having no ambition for power, merely usefulness and action, which she would get plenty of on campaign after campaign for ‘the faith’. Perhaps she could stay with these Necromongers for a while, see where they took her. It wasn’t as though she had anywhere better to go for now.
As time went on, and months passed, Levana decided to make this situation permanent. Although she had been officially ‘converted’, and bore the scars to prove it, Levana didn’t put much stock in the Underverse. The concept of ‘you keep what you kill’, however, the thief was much more on board with. The most basic of Necromonger laws was perfectly fitted to the thief-turned murderer-turned Necro, and she was quite happy to live in a place where the rules were short, sweet, and to the point. You keep what you kill. Simple as that. She had no desire to try and fit in amongst the nobles, grabbing for more and more power until one day you bite off more than you can chew and someone else is killing you to keep what you have.
Hence, her lack of blind ambition. She had drive, certainly, and enough cunning for two, but she felt no great thirst for power. She was perfectly content as she was.