Sum'gial sat upon his throne, waiting for Jacob's arrival. Once, long ago, he had been a noble of E'nathyr, before his family was destroyed nearly five centuries ago. Yet he did not think much of nobles now.
Even as he remembered the magic academy—and the mentor he had slain—his thoughts did not linger there. Who could have supported his foolish son's actions against him? Sum'gial had too many enemies to name, and no clear answer came.
He ordered the skeleton soldiers to bring Jacob. The lich intended to offer his son a choice: servitude in exchange for sparing his grandson. Obedience first, loyalty later. With such leverage, Sum'gial would gain enough time to tend to his long-neglected library.
The clattering gait of the skeletons scraped at his nonexistent nerves. They dragged Jacob into the chamber and threw him to the floor.
Sum'gial, seated upon his throne of bones, rasped,
"Ah… my stupid son."
Jacob pushed himself into a sitting position, his voice a low chill.
"Why am I still alive? You've taken everything from me—my wife, my children, my home."
"You had a childhood," Sum'gial replied evenly. "A loving mother. A bright future. Yet you chased after me like a hound out for blood. No, my son—you killed me as a necromancer. I killed your humanity."
Jacob's voice sharpened.
"My mother told me of the deal you made—her freedom in exchange for bearing me. Why strike such a bargain? You freed her shackles only to give her another, in the form of a son!"
"It was an experiment," Sum'gial said simply. "Nature versus nurture. I was curious about good and evil. Your mother was everything I was not. What I saw as mercy, she called cruelty. What I saw as evil, she called good. I was born in the Underdeep. She upon the Surface. In you, I sought my answer."
Jacob shouted, nearly breaking his voice.
"An experiment?! That's all I was to you? Then let me die now!"
The lich's soul-fire flickered.
"Oh-ho, dying—always the weak man's answer. I died twice by your hand. Now I'll hold you responsible. I know of your spawn in the North."
Jacob's eyes widened in horror.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on my son!"
Sum'gial rose, stalked forward, and bent close, staring into Jacob's blue eyes.
"That is why I won't kill you. Instead, I will use your blood to weave curses—not to end him, but to unravel him. First his mind: I'll strip him of his intelligence until he's a drooling fool. Then his health. Curse by curse, I'll turn him into the most useless goblin to walk in human skin."
"No!" Jacob cried. "He's under the protection of an archmage of the North! No curse of yours will touch him—she'll counter them all!"
"A worthy opponent, no doubt," the lich said. "But you are here, my son. Every loss he suffers will become your gain. As his wit fades, yours will sharpen. As his vitality wanes, yours will thrive. And so your bloodline will become our battlefield."
Jacob, trembling with helpless rage, asked hoarsely,
"What do you want from me? If curses were your goal, you'd already have cast them!"
"For once," Sum'gial said, retreating to his throne, "you make sense, stupid son."
Jacob's voice cracked. "Then what do you want?"
Sum'gial seated himself once more.
"I need an ambassador to E'nathyr. You will go in my name."
Jacob glared. "How can I trust you?"
"We will make a Contract of Ilyron."
At that, Jacob froze. The truth dawned on him—why he had been able to slay Sum'gial once, why he had touched a lich's phylactery. His mother's contract. Chains upon chains. He whispered through clenched teeth,
"So that's how it is. You made a contract with her. You freed her chains as a slave, only to forge stronger ones in writing."
Sum'gial's soul-fire flared with a cruel glee.
"Yes. At last, you understand, my stupid son."
Jacob spat his hatred. "What will be in this contract?"
"Three main parts," the lich replied, flames flickering. "No betrayal against me. One hundred years of service. And a non-aggression pact—between us and E'nathyr."
Jacob's voice was flat. "Fine. When do we sign?"
"In two days' time," Sum'gial said, his eyes dimming with finality. "When the draft is ready."
---
Two Days Later
The throne room had been transformed. A great parchment floated between father and son, its edges curling with ghostly fire. Above it hung the silver-and-black scales of Ilyrion, the Eternal Arbiter, tilting with every word.
Sum'gial adjusted his skeletal frame, tapped the parchment, and declared,
"Behold: the Agreement of Mutual Endurance, Draft One Hundred. Witnessed by Ilyrion."
Jacob muttered, "One hundred drafts? You've been dead too long."
Ignoring him, the lich recited:
"Clause One: Jacob shall act as my ambassador to E'nathyr, conducting diplomacy, intimidation, errands, and all tasks I deem necessary."
Jacob sneered. "Errands? I'm not running your shopping list."
"Sub-clause 1B: Complaints regarding errands shall be considered treasonous interruptions. See Clause Seventy."
The parchment glowed as Ilyrion's unseen quill etched the words.
"Clause Two," Sum'gial continued, "Jacob shall refrain from stabbing, poisoning, or otherwise harming me, except under conditions of confirmed possession—documented in triplicate."
Jacob blinked. "Triplicate?"
"Clause Three: Duration—one hundred years, or until one or both parties cease to exist… whichever occurs last."
Jacob's jaw clenched. "Last?"
"Correct. Clause Four: I will not directly kill or curse your son. In exchange, you shall not ally with my enemies without notifying me in writing within three days. Clause Five: Jacob must walk in straight lines within my tower and refrain from leaving objects crooked."
Jacob laughed bitterly. "That's not about me. What is wrong with you?."
"Clause Six: Jacob shall not interrupt me while reading aloud the contract."
The parchment flared. Ilyrion's scale tilted. The bond was already sealing.
"Clause Seven: Interpretation rights belong solely to me, the Lich of Death. Even if I contradict myself, I remain correct. Clause Eight: Any attempt to mock, abbreviate, or burn the contract shall be punished by curses."
"You're insane," Jacob snapped.
The quill of light scratched again: Clause Nine: Jacob shall not call the author of this contract insane.
…
Sum'gial leaned back, his soul-fire almost gleeful.
"Clause One Hundred and Eleven: Breach of contract results in forfeiture of your soul, body, and lineage, divided at my discretion. Now then… sign."
The scales descended. The parchment extended toward Jacob, glowing with inevitability. His hand trembled. Hatred and despair twisted his face.
"Damn you," he whispered. "And damn me too."
He pressed his hand to the parchment.
Binding fire seared across both their souls. The scales tipped, then stilled. The contract was sealed.
Sum'gial hissed contentedly, soul-fire calm at last.
At last, his obsession calmed down a little.
---
### Author's Note
The contract clauses in this chapter were inspired by Sheldon Cooper's Roommate Agreement from The Big Bang Theory. I always loved how something absurd could be treated with such deadly seriousness—and I couldn't resist channeling that into Sum'gial's obsessive lich logic.