| Power |
E-1 |
| Reserves |
E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3) |
| Versatility |
E-1 |
| Control |
E-1 |
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1
Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. It had been nearly a month since they had arrived on Rusalka, and already she could feel the difference in herself. The biggest improvement had been in her Physical Attributes, with Strength, Dexterity, and Endurance each climbing by one level. She didn¡¯t need Yggdrasil to tell her that, though¡ªMalacoda¡¯s relentless conditioning had sculpted her body into something tougher, leaner, and far more capable. The stubborn softness that had clung to parts of her body had faded, replaced with tight muscle.
The most drastic difference was the increase in Endurance. Despite being only a single level of improvement, the progress was astounding. A month ago, the training drills had left her gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, and begging for Malacoda to relent and tell her they were done for the day. Now, though, she was able to keep up with the man¡¯s brutal routines, pushing her body to its limits without breaking. In fact, Malacoda had increased the time they spent most days focusing on her combat training and physical conditioning.
It wasn¡¯t long after their arrival at Bijel Garden that Mags successfully completed the Daedalus Orb¡¯s maze. In less than two weeks she had become a master at the task. She was able to navigate the maze both blindfolded and with enough speed to even elicit a whistle of admiration from Malacoda. He had nodded in approval, a wide, crooked smile breaking across his face in a glowing endorsement. ¡°I think it¡¯s time to finally start leaning some magic,¡± he had said.
¡°You mean it¡¯s time for you to finally stop shirking your full duties as my tutor?¡± she added.
Malacoda threw his head back in a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll need to find a different time to take my midday cat nap.¡±
Malacoda¡¯s first lesson in Soulsinging was in self-imbuement.
¡°Now that you can channel aether and have rudimentary control over your aura, we can start with the basic: physical enhancement,¡± he had said. ¡°Every Soulsinger in the Coalition ranks can do it. In reality, it makes up over ninety percent of Soulsinging. Those with more power¡ªcasting spells, etcetera¡ªare actually a very small portion of the overall Soulsinger population.¡±
¡°You speak as if running faster than a garuda and being able to lift and throw an entire stagecoach is nothing spectacular,¡± she retorted flatly. Soulsingers were superhuman, beings who walked Iardyss knowing they were a cut above the ordinary mortals who happened to share the same plane.
Malacoda laughed. ¡°Not every Soulsinger can accomplish those feats, even with an aether-enhanced body.¡±
He continued. ¡°Aetheric imbuement is the cornerstone of Soulsinging. First, is the ability to imbue oneself. It¡¯s easier because it¡¯s easier to know oneself and have mastery over your body.¡±
¡°Like the meditation exercise needed to trigger the Daedalus Orb?¡±
¡°Bingo! Soulsinging requires different levels of understanding one¡¯s self. But that¡¯s scholarly bullshit that I¡¯ll leave for Rubicante and the bookworms at Brightwash to enlighten you on. The fact of the matter is, our bodies aren¡¯t that different than the Daedalus Orb. Our souls generate a fine network¡ªlike the circulatory system that carries blood through our veins¡ªbut for mana and aetheric energy. Imbuing your body is a lot like channeling your aura through that puzzle.¡±
Mags thought about what he said for a moment. ¡°That sounds easy enough . . . But I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s easier said than done. Otherwise, why would ninety percent of all Soulsingers simply stop there?¡±
Malacoda tapped a finger on his chin, looking up thoughtfully as though he were actually carefully considering her question. ¡°Well, you¡¯re correct. It¡¯s not that simple. I was just trying to get my point across. But many of those with potential for higher levels of magic choose not to pursue it.¡±
¡°Really? Why?¡±
¡°Most magic beyond aetheric imbuement is combat-focused, and out there in the great big world, most people¡ªsurprisingly¡ªlike to avoid fighting or anything that could cause severe bodily harm. Self-imbuement is generally useful, and offers a significant advantage for a military¡¯s soldiers who are capable of it. Once you master the basics of self-imbuement, you¡¯re then capable of imbuing objects.¡±
¡°Artificery.¡±
Malacoda snapped and pointed a finger at her, winking. ¡°Exactly! Artificers are perhaps the most useful and widely applicable Soulsingers. All of the aethertec out there? It¡¯s all built on principles of aetheric imbuement.¡±
That makes a lot of sense, actually, she thought. She wondered what choice she would have made if things had been different. If she was capable of Soulsinging without having consumed the Angel¡¯s egg. Would she have chosen a comfortable, quiet life of an Artificer? She thought so. She thought of Cagna and Dragnazzo. The Ghost Hounds¡¯ Artificers seemed to enjoy their craft.
¡°And then there¡¯s probably the most important reason so many choose to stop their growth in Soulsinging,¡± Malacoda said. His smile faded.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
¡°And what is that?¡± Mags asked, snapping her attention back to him.
¡°The aether rot.¡±
While Mags¡¯ body had adjusted to the increasing intensity of Malacoda¡¯s physical training, she couldn¡¯t say the same for her lessons with Libicocco.
Her Intelligence Attribute had also increased a level, which she had initially chalked up to her mastery of the Daedalus Orb. But now, she wasn¡¯t so sure.
With Rubicante traveling with Skithbladnir, Libicocco took it upon herself to fill Mags¡¯ additional capacity. The reading assignments became grueling and at each lesson, the bespectacled woman expected Mags to practically deliver a dissertation on whatever subject she had read the previous night. More than once, she had fallen asleep reading the assigned tomes in bed and had received Libicocco¡¯s wrath the following day when she showed up unprepared.
Mags resolved to avoid that in the future. Reading in bed, she learned, was a surefire way to wake up with a stiff neck and half a chapter left unread (and gods forbid if she got drool on the pages!). She would stick to completing her reading at her desk going forward.
Libicocco¡¯s recent focus had been on the Second Uruth War.
Mags was only somewhat familiar with the conflict before she had begun her readings on the subject. There were always whispers of old grudges between the Grand Duchy of Olendar and Broceliande, their neighbors to the north.
Uruth, the disputed region at the heart of the war, sat like a wedge between Broceliande and Olendar. The two nations had always squabbled over who had true claim to the region. The delicate balance of the two superpowers in Uruth had only ever been upset twice, but the resulting bloodshed was significant.
¡°It is rare that conflict between one of the Thirteen Crowns erupts to this level,¡± Libicocco explained. ¡°The Second Uruth War is also the latest major conflict, and our best examples of modern warfare and capabilities.¡± The Thirteen Crowns was a reference to the thirteen sovereign nations that had a seat on the Chained Council, which was ultimately pledged in fealty to the Ravaelian Empire.
¡°What was the inciting incident for the Second Uruth War?¡± Libicocco asked.
¡°Broceliande wanted more control throughout the southern portions of the region, because of the religious significance of several sites in the Morduin faith. Olendar, similarly, staked the importance of Uruth¡¯s capital city, Tragusa, as a pilgrimage destination for followers of the Zircunwit, the major religion of Olendar.¡±
Libicocco remained silent, which Mags had learned was sign that she had not yet responded with sufficient detail, or had completely missed the mark.
Mags cleared her throat and pressed forward. ¡°Additionally, Olendar claimed control of the area due to the culture ties between the Uruth and Olenish people. In Olendar¡¯s mind, the people of Uruth are Olenish, and should therefore be governed by Olenish people.¡±
Libicocco nodded but still didn¡¯t speak up.
Mags racked her brain, thinking about what details she could have been missing. Oh, that¡¯s it, I haven¡¯t even answered the question! She almost smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand at the realization. ¡°The inciting incident . . . er . . .¡± She knew this! She tried to sort through the various facts and figures that swam in her head on the subject. ¡°Some local governor died¡ªpassed away¡ªand Olendar claimed that his successor was not legitimately elected. That the man was a Broceli puppet. So, they deposed him and put someone else in the position. And, well . . . Broceliande didn¡¯t quite like that, now did they?¡±
Libicocco smiled. ¡°And the governor¡¯s name?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t have a clue!¡±
Libicocco sighed.
She went on to explain the finer details. By the end of the day, they had covered all of the major points of the war. The war had ended ten years prior. Queen Ermetrude Ovetha of Broceliande had been assassinated before peace talks brokered by the Crown Coalition could truly take root. A hasty treaty followed. Olendar feared the wrath of Broceliande with the Coalition Forces behind them. The result: the delicate balance of power reinstituted¡ªBroceliande taking control of several financial centers previously controlled by the Olenish. A hollow half-victory at best.
Mags left Libicocco¡¯s room with her head spinning with the avalanche of names, dates, and political intricacies.
Mags lay in bed, unable to sleep, staring at another unfamiliar ceiling in a place she could never really call home, tracing invisible patterns in the darkness with her thoughts. She glanced over at Calcabrina, who was snoring softly in the bed across from her.
She turned over, trying to settle into the scratchy wool of her blanket, but sleep remained elusive.
In the month they had been at Bijel Garden, Calcabrina had become something of a mystery. She was always elsewhere, the two never crossing paths during the day. And by the time Mags returned to their room following her lessons, Calcabrina would already be sound asleep.
She thought of Calcabrina¡¯s reaction, subtle as it may have been, when she witnessed the Shrine¡¯s priestesses. It had been recognition, sure¡ªbut there was also something else there. There¡¯s something there in her history with this place, Mags thought. Something she¡¯s not telling me.
Calcabrina had become her closest friend amongst the Ghost Hounds. She wanted to talk to her, to ask her about this place and why it seemed to have such a hold of her. The curiosity gnawed at her stomach like a hunger. For a moment, she considered slipping out of her bed, crossing the small space between them and waking Calcabrina.
No. Calcabrina hadn¡¯t volunteered anything so far. Why would she now? Whatever scars this place held to the girl, she was keeping them to herself. And it wasn¡¯t like Mags had been any more open about her own scars.
She swallowed hard as the memories of Solstice flickered at the edges of her thoughts, cold and sharp. The tide of hungry Maldrath flooding the streets and overwhelming innocent people. The mind-shattering visages of the two Angels as the sky tore apart. The guilt. Why am I still here? She couldn¡¯t save them . . . not a single one.
Mags blinked and realized her cheeks were wet with tears. She had been so preoccupied with the tasks before her, she hadn¡¯t really stopped to think and remember everyone she lost that night. Another pang of guilt stabbed at her chest. I buried them all beneath a haze of studying and training.
No one had asked her to bare her scars to them. She couldn¡¯t expect Calcabrina to be any different.
With a sigh, she let the idea slip away, and finally, sleep began to creep in. Her mind drifted, and soon she found herself in a dream¡ªstanding before a great tree with leaves of red and gold. Two ravens perched on its branches, their blind white eyes fixed on her, unblinking. They were watching, waiting.
The morning light streamed through the narrow window of her room, casting pale slants of sunlight across the stone floor. Mags blinked once, twice, groggy from the strange dream. She had slept later than usual. For the first time in weeks, she had the luxury of a day free from her lessons with Malacoda and Libicocco. Today would be a day for rest, her instructors had informed her the previous morning.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Calcabrina was already gone, as usual. A distant song, haunting and beautiful, drifted through the window. She made her way to the window and peered outside. Below, a procession of the blindfolded priestesses, each dressed in plain white dresses moved in slow, deliberate steps in two neat rows. A few of the priestesses held thuribles, the white smoke drifted up towards the towers, carrying with it the scent of pine and citrus. Together, they sang¡ªa hymn that echoed through the air.
We draw their bones from ruin¡¯s dawn
as last light¡¯s bloom will dim.
For in the Shadow¡¯s place at last,
we sing the Dead God¡¯s Hymn.
In night¡¯s cold shroud our lips still sing
of ancient walls of light
from which, we pray, will shield us from
the evil Serpent¡¯s bite.
The souls of fallen victims will
come save us from these chains,
and in the branches shall be spilt
blood from a dead god¡¯s veins.
Of blood shall fire rise from the well
and burn the sacred tree.
The fire¡¯s fury will spread and
from once was one, now three.
From the ashes, He will take flight
and all that was is Him.
For all will know the Serpent¡¯s bite,
when we sing this Dead God¡¯s Hymn.
Mags watched them for a moment, captivated by the sight.
The archway they passed through stood tall and ancient, worn by time but still imposing. Mags had never ventured beyond it at Calcabrina¡¯s insistence that it was sacred ground.
What¡¯s out there? she wondered, her eyes following the procession as they disappeared through the archway and into a thicket of Sanguine Trees. She had never been one to follow rules for the sake of following rules. And Lady Celestine did say we have our leave to all of Bijel Garden.
With that thought, it was decided. Mags grabbed her slippers and a thin felt wool felt jacket that she had acquired in Perun and was off to explore beyond the archway.
AUTHORS NOTE: Thanksgiving
For those of us in the U.S., today is Thanksgiving - a holiday about celebrating what we''re thankful for. So, I wanted to take this moment to express my gratitude and thankfulness to you: the readers who have chosen to support a new story on Royal Road.
I, like many authors, write my story out of passion - I need to write these stories in my head and won''t be satisfied until they''re done. However, the amount of joy each and every comment brings is immeasurable (even if only an edit suggestion). From an author''s perspective, taking the dive and publishing your story in a public forum is . . . terrifying. You''re opening up the universe that was once only existed in your mind and declaring, "Here I am, world." You''re inviting people to scrutinize and evaluate a creation that is, in many ways, reflections of various aspects of yourself as a person. To have folks willing to not only explore that world , but choose to interact with it in a meaningful manner makes any and all fears, doubts, and imposter syndrome utterly and absolutely worth it.
So, again, I wanted to express my gratitude for all the readers who have joined me on this journey. Thank you.
I am working hard in the background on continuing A Crucible of Light and making it the best version of itself that I can offer. I am wrapping up Arc 2 (on Patreon) and am finalizing revisions on the outline for Arc 3. Arc 2 will be around 100,000 words in total. Arc 3 is shaping up to be even longer than that - my outline, which is usually more conservative than the ultimate end product, would estimate it at approximately 150,000 words. So, as of today (looking ahead), Volume 1 of A Crucible of Light would be in the ballpark of 320,000 words long once we get there. A certified door stopper! You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
I am also working on several other projects. The first is set in the same world as A Crucible of Light. The other two are even further removed: one a System Integration LitRPG, and the other a Slice of Life LitRPG (which I would describe as Succession meets What They Do in the Shadows meets Arrested Development). In any case, there is a real possibility that I have four projects running on Royal Road at some point in 2025. I think this is a testament to how much I was fueled by the early warm reception to A Crucible of Light.
I''ll leave it there. A Crucible of Light will be back on Tuesday, December 2nd.
In the meantime, if you have any questions about my writing, A Crucible of Light (story, characters, world), or anything else, please feel free to drop it below in the comments and I''ll answer it to the best of my abilities! Note that any answers related to the story or world will be spoiler-free and should only be considered quasi-canon (not canon until it makes it into a published chapter).
Cheers!
RM
31. The Well
Chapter 31
The Well
Mags cautiously approached the archway that marked the entrance to Bijel Garden¡¯s sacred grounds. The distant voices of the priestesses still hung in the air, delicate and haunting, their hymn a faint melody carried on the ocean breeze. The path ahead twisted into the trees, vanishing into the thick foliage. She hadn¡¯t seen anyone else around, be it Lady Celestine or one of her blindfolded priestesses¡ªthe coast was clear. There was only the silence of the sacred grounds that lay in the distance, and the pull of her own curiosity.
Just as she moved under the stone archway, a rustle to her left snapped her out of her thoughts. She whirled around.
Scarmiglione stepped out from behind the archway¡¯s shadow, his short, broad-shouldered frame moving with a fluid grace that shouldn¡¯t have been possible. A plummy giggle echoed from behind the two-sided mask. The smooth, polished, porcelain mask, betrayed nothing, save for the faint glint in his eyes behind the narrow slit that made for an eye on its white side.
¡°Well, well,¡± he said, his voice carrying a playful lilt. ¡°And what was our little wanderer planning on doing, hm?¡± He ran a gloved finger over the stone of the archway and inspected it, as if searching for dust and grime.
Mags¡¯ pulse quickened, caught off guard, but she masked it with a quick tilt of her chin. She wasn¡¯t about to let him know she had nearly jumped out of her skin. This guy gives me the creeps.
¡°What are you doing here?¡± she shot back, folding her arms across her chest, avoiding the question entirely. She wasn¡¯t about to tell him she was sneaking after the priestesses, curious to see what they got up to in the restricted portion of the temple¡¯s grounds.
Scarmiglione let out a low chuckle, the sound muffled beneath his mask. ¡°Oh, me?¡± He leaned casually against the archway, the black fabric of his cloak shifting like spilled ink. ¡°I was planning on doing a bit of snooping myself, naturally. You see, I¡¯ve always been curious about what those lovely, blindfolded ladies get up to over there.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± she asked.
¡°Alas, no. I do hope they¡¯re performing dark blood magic rituals! Invoking ancient and forbidden rites. Or, perhaps summoning a feral god, bound to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world. You know, the usual shrine maiden activities.¡±
He sighed dramatically, as though this was all routine.
Mags raised an eyebrow, half-expecting him to burst into laughter, but he remained completely serious¡ªor as serious as one could be while spinning such bizarre tales.
¡°A feral god?¡± Mags asked, incredulous. She couldn¡¯t help herself.
¡°Oh, yes,¡± Scarmiglione said, waving a gloved hand dismissively. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it happening before. A man¡¯s cat accidentally summoned one, long ago. Quite the disaster, really. Wouldn¡¯t recommend it.¡±
¡°Er . . . Right . . .¡± Mags was thinking it would be best to turn around and avoid any further interactions with the Ghost Hound¡¯s doctor. There¡¯s a reason he¡¯s been thrown off a flying airship at least once, she silently added.
Scarmiglione tapped his chin, as though in deep thought. ¡°Yes, yes . . . Perhaps a mass human sacrifice. A lot of souls gathered in one place, all passing into the Aethereal Sea at once. Something with flair!¡± He sighed again, shoulders drooping dramatically. ¡°Unfortunately, it seems I¡¯ve been beaten to the punch.¡± He gave her a mock bow, sweeping his hand before him. ¡°You¡¯re the snoop now, and it¡¯s taken all the fun out of it for me. I only enjoy causing trouble when I can do it alone. Religious types are so easy to irritate.¡±
Mags blinked. She hadn¡¯t expected that. ¡°Wait¡ªso you¡¯re just going to leave?¡±
Scarmiglione straightened, stretching his arms above his head, the cloak rippling around him. ¡°Indeed, little wanderer. You¡¯ve ruined my grand plan with your preemptive curiosity.¡± He spun on his heel and made to leave before pausing. The mask glanced over his shoulder. He spoke, the voice shifting to a rasping growl. ¡°Just remember, curiosity butchered and devoured the cat. As they say.¡± Then, he continued on his way, whistling as he strolled back down the path. Mags thought the tune oddly resembled the hymn the priestesses had been singing earlier.
She stared after him for a moment, completely thrown. Then, as the melody faded into the distance, Mags shook her head, trying to dispel the confusion.
With renewed determination, Mags turned back to the trail, her slippers crunching softly against the gravel as she continued her journey into the unknown.
Mags trudged deeper into the woods, the hymn of the priestesses now a faint echo. The further she walked, the more untamed the trail became. Roots of the towering Sanguine Trees clawed their way through the earth, breaking up the once-clear path. Crimson leaves rustled in the canopy above, casting a warm, otherworldly glow over the trail. Several paths diverged before her, splitting and winding in directions unknown.
She frowned, pausing to consider her options. How do the blindfolded priestesses navigate this maze? she wondered. Then she remembered how she could complete the Daedalus Orb while similarly blindfolded. Their voices had grown too faint now to guide her, and the wind carried the hymn in fragmented verses, too scattered to follow.
Still, she pressed on, choosing the most trodden of the paths ahead. The trail eventually opened into a clearing, and Mags stepped through, her breath catching at the sight before her.
The floor of the clearing was a mosaic of interlocking river stones, each smoothed and worn by time. They were large and flat, their grey surfaces broken up only by the occasional sprout of deep-red plants growing from the cracks between them. Flowers bloomed here, vibrant and rich as blood, their petals striking against the pale stones. The Sanguine Trees loomed at the clearing¡¯s edges, but it was the center that drew Mags¡¯ attention.
There, rising perhaps a foot off the ground, was a circular stone lip. A well¡ªor something resembling a well. The hole it surrounded was wide, easily ten feet across, and when Mags approached it, she felt a chill creep up her spine.
She leaned over the edge, peering down into the depths. The walls inside the well were covered in vines, their tangled tendrils sprouting the same red flowers she had seen throughout the clearing. But no matter how hard she squinted, she couldn¡¯t make out the bottom. Darkness swallowed the shaft, stretching endlessly downward.
Mags¡¯ heart quickened. Something about this place felt . . . wrong. She couldn¡¯t explain it.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Her eyes traced the vines twisting along the well¡¯s walls. As she watched, something shifted¡ªso subtly at first that she thought it was a trick of her mind. The stone seemed to melt, the vines creeping and reshaping. Her breath caught in her throat as shapes began to form, woven from the red and green of the flora.
Eyes.
Hundreds of them.
They blinked into existence, some as large as her palm, others grotesquely larger. They twisted and turned, shifting in impossible directions as though they were taking in the world around them. Mags¡¯ mouth went dry. The eyes¡ªthose hundreds of eyes¡ªweren¡¯t just looking around.
They were searching.
And then, as if by some terrible instinct, they found her.
Whoosh! A cold rush of air swept past her, pulling at her clothes and hair. Mags staggered, the ground shifting beneath her feet. She couldn¡¯t hear anything but the rush of that dark air. Her gaze locked on the eyes within the well, and suddenly, her vision was filled with images¡ªvisions so vivid they tore through her mind with the force of a storm.
A grand palace, gleaming under the sun, floating impossibly on an island high above the clouds. A beam of light pierced the skies behind it, splitting the heavens apart. In the distance, across the land below, the sky itself seemed to shatter, ripping wide to reveal darkness beyond.
From that darkness, they came.
Angels¡ªhundreds of them¡ªdescended upon the world. They were twisted, terrible forms, their wings, tentacles and other distorted traits mangled and bent, their bodies shifting as though defying comprehension. They bent the mind, each form worse than the last, and with their arrival came death.
Cities burned. Towns crumbled. Thousands screamed in terror as those horrific Angels unleashed their destruction. Entire swaths of the land fell silent in a single moment, their cries snuffed out. And above it all, in the skies now filled with monstrosities, the heavens bent and twisted, cracking like a mirror under unimaginable strain. Something in her chest thrummed in response to the vision¡ªseeking, reaching out with desire.
Mags gasped, her breath stolen by the vision. The cold air pulled harder now, dragging at her, yanking her toward the well. Her feet skidded against the stones as she tried to keep her balance, but the force was overwhelming. She couldn¡¯t look away¡ªthe eyes were upon her, watching, as if they knew her, as if they were peering into her very soul.
Then, in an instant, the visions ceased. The rush of cold air vanished, and the world snapped back into focus.
Mags blinked, disoriented. The clearing was still. She found herself staring at the sky, the sound of birdsong and distant insects filling her ears once again¡ªoddly quiet in the absence of that rushing air. She had fallen, her body sprawled across the stones at the edge of the well. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, her pulse hammering in her chest.
She glanced back toward the well, half-expecting the eyes to still be watching her, but the stone walls were once again solid, the vines unmoving.
The vivid horror of the vision lingered in her mind. A shadow clinging to her consciousness. Blind be! What in gods¡¯ name was that? Something in the back of her mind prickled with dread, telling her that it had been no simple trick of the forest. Thoughts of a day, long, long ago threatened her, but she quickly pushed them back down.
Mags sat there, breathing heavily, her skin damp with cold sweat. For a long moment, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to stand, the weight of the images crushing her.
Mags heard it before she saw it¡ªthe soft, almost imperceptible scrape of claws on stone to her right. Instinctively, her head snapped in the direction of the sound, heart hammering. There, standing just at the edge of the clearing, was the Archon of Darkness.
It wasn¡¯t a wolf¡ªnot exactly. Its shape was lupine, but not bound by flesh and bone. The creature was massive, its shoulders easily over three feet tall. Its form was constructed of something far more elusive than skin, fur, or muscle. It seemed to be made of living shadow, an inky, liquid-like substance that shifted and roiled, as if animated by some internal current. Tendrils of the dark matter would occasionally drift away from its body like a tongue of black flame, hanging weightless in the air before being pulled back, absorbed once more into the swirling void of its form.
But what truly unsettled Mags were its eyes. Two orbs of light, like distant stars, hovered within the murky darkness of its face. Not much unlike a Maldrath, she thought. They were not eyes in the traditional sense¡ªno pupils, no whites¡ªbut their gaze was unmistakable. Cold. Ancient. Focused entirely on her.
Mags swallowed hard, instinctively pushing herself up to her feet. Her legs wobbled as she rose, but she forced herself to stand straight, squaring her shoulders despite the fear clawing its way up her spine. She had seen terrifying things in her life¡ªhell, she had fought them. But this was something different. This was a being older than anything she had encountered before, something beyond her understanding. The air hummed with its power and something deep within her vibrated in response. The desire to channel aether and touch the source of her power clawed at the inside of her stomach.
¡°What do you want with me?¡± she asked, her voice strained but steady. She clenched her fists, readying herself for whatever came next.
The Archon tilted its head slightly, the tendrils of shadow undulating as it studied her. When it spoke, its voice was deep baritone, masculine sounding, but it carried with it a strange reverberation that seemed to echo in her bones.
¡°Angel,¡± it said, the word coming out as both accusation and title.
Mags blinked, momentarily thrown off. Angel?
¡°Half-Angel . . . You are an abomination,¡± the Archon continued, its tone as cold as the void it was made from. ¡°A danger to the delicate balance that has existed since the Heresy of Man.¡±
Mags¡¯ throat went dry. Her mind raced. Heresy of Man? What in Weles¡¯ name was this thing talking about?
The Archon¡¯s eyes¡ªor stars, whatever they were¡ªflickered with a dangerous glint. Mags¡¯ muscles tensed, her body preparing for a fight. If this thing came at her, she¡¯d give it hell before it could kill her.
The Archon, as if sensing her thoughts, let out a low, rumbling sound. ¡°Fear not,¡± it said. ¡°I will not¡ªcannot¡ªharm you.¡±
Mags narrowed her eyes. ¡°Why not?¡± she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
The Archon¡¯s gaze lingered on her for a moment before it spoke again. ¡°Not while you are under Her protection.¡±
Her? Mags¡¯ mind immediately flashed to Celestine¡ªthe Shrine Maiden, and all her cryptic talk of Fate and the divine.
The Archon stepped closer, the darkness of its body swirling with a restless energy. ¡°How was it discovered?¡± it asked, its voice lowering to a near growl. ¡°I wonder. The womb of evil . . . how did they find it?¡±
Mags¡¯ confusion deepened. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said, her voice edged with frustration. Was it trying to make sense of her or accuse her of something? Either way, her patience was wearing thin. The familiar spark of defiance rose in her chest. She wasn¡¯t sure what was going on, but damned if she¡¯d let some shadow-wolf spout riddles at her. Am I really going to have to punch the Archon of Darkness?
For a split second, the thought of having to punch this thing¡ªdemigod, or whatever it was¡ªflashed through her mind.
Then, the snap of a twig behind her.
Mags whipped her head around, her heart lurching in her chest. There, emerging from the dense woods, was Calcabrina, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and exasperation.
¡°Mags!¡± Calcabrina hissed, her voice sharp but low. ¡°What in the hells are you doing here?¡±
Mags blinked, her brain still catching up. ¡°I¡ª¡± She turned back toward the Archon, but her breath caught in her throat. The creature was gone. Vanished. As if it had never been there at all.
¡°Damn it,¡± Mags muttered under her breath. How could she have taken her eyes off it? She felt foolish at the amateur mistake.
Calcabrina grabbed her arm, tugging her toward the edge of the clearing. ¡°Come on,¡± she whispered urgently. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be here. I thought I saw you heading this way. Do you have any idea how much trouble you¡¯ll be in if we get caught?¡±
Mags shook her head, still dazed. ¡°Calcabrina, I saw something. It was¡ª¡±
¡°No time for that now,¡± Calcabrina interrupted, her gaze darting nervously to the surrounding trees. ¡°We need to go. I know the fastest way back to the towers.¡±
Before Mags could respond, another voice echoed through the clearing. A woman¡¯s voice.
¡°You! You are not permitted here.¡±
The sound was cold, commanding. Both girls turned to see a group of seven priestesses stepping through the trees, their blindfolded faces turned toward them. Despite the fact that they could not see, they moved with eerie precision, their pale hands raised as if sensing the air around them. No, Mags corrected. They¡¯re raised as threats. Their white robes glowed faintly in the light of the clearing, like phantoms emerging from the red-tinted shadows of the Sanguine Trees.
Mags¡¯ heart sank. They were surrounded.
Calcabrina¡¯s grip on her arm tightened.
The priestesses closed in, their presence as suffocating as the darkness that had surrounded the Archon.
32. The Task
Chapter 32
The Task
The clearing fell into a tense silence as the seven priestesses circled Mags and Calcabrina. Their faces, blindfolded but not unseeing, were eerily calm, a contrast to the pounding of Mags¡¯ heart. The leader of the group¡ªor at least Mags thought she carried the air of someone with rank¡ªstood a step ahead of the others. She was tall and slender, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders with bangs nearly covering her blindfolded eyes, and her tan skin gleamed in the faint light filtering through the crimson leaves of the Sanguine Trees.
Calcabrina¡¯s eyes widened as she recognized her. ¡°Isidora,¡± she called out, her voice tight but controlled. ¡°This is all a mistake. You know me. You know you can trust me. We were just about to leave. I was taking her back to the towers.¡±
But Isidora¡¯s expression didn¡¯t soften. If anything, her lips pressed tighter together. ¡°You¡¯ve trespassed on sacred ground,¡± she said, her voice even but cold. ¡°Both of you will be taken before Shrine Maiden Celestine to be judged.¡±
Mags stiffened as the priestesses began to inch closer, their robes whispering against the ground, bare feet inaudible against the smooth river stones. Her feet shuffled instinctively, trying to keep her distance, but her heel bumped against the lip of the well. She glanced down, a brief flicker of unease rippling through her as she remembered the hundreds of eyes she¡¯d seen staring at her from within. In that moment, the well seemed very much like a maw, waiting to swallow her whole if she lost her footing.
Despite the outward hostility of the priestesses, Calcabrina remained calm. Her face softened. Her voice was gentle as she took a step toward Isidora. ¡°Come on, Isidora,¡± she said, her words coaxing, soothing. ¡°You know I respect these grounds. You know me. We¡¯ll leave quietly, and you can stop pretending. You don¡¯t need to do this.¡±
She reached out, her hand extending toward the taller girl. A hand seeking the touch of an old friend.
¡°Don¡¯t take another step,¡± Isidora snapped, her voice slicing through the air like a whip.
Calcabrina froze, her hand hanging in the space between them. Mags could feel the shift immediately¡ªan invisible vibration of power in the air, a subtle pull of aether gathering toward Isidora. What am I seeing? she thought. It was like particles of light being pulled in a vortex towards Isidora. Is that her channeling aether? It was too faint to tell, and she had never noticed it before. Mags¡¯ breath caught as she felt it, the same sensation she experienced when Malacoda demonstrated the basics of Soulsinging.
Silver script flashed in the corner of her vision but was gone in a blink.
[Passive Skill: Aura Vision.]
[Level: E-4]
Isidora threw her hand forward, and the ground around them rumbled. Gold chains, glowing with aetheric energy, erupted from beneath them, phasing through the ground as though it were water. The chains snapped through the air with a sharp metallic hiss.
Before Mags could react, Calcabrina¡¯s form rippled, shifting in a blur of motion. In the blink of an eye, she had transformed¡ªher human form replaced by the powerful, bestial shape Mags had only seen once before. Long, muscular body, white fur, a scaled face and the same horns that typically crowned the young woman¡¯s head. Calcabrina¡¯s claws were sharp and gleaming, her tail whipping through the air. With a swift motion, she deflected the chains flying toward Mags, sending them skittering across the river stones. Her front claw caught another chain, holding it at bay as she growled, the sound deep and menacing. The chain writhed like a snake in her grasp.
¡°Knock it off, Isidora,¡± Calcabrina snarled. Her voice was still hers, but it now carried a deeper, resonant undertone, vibrating with the power of her transformation.
Isidora¡¯s expression remained emotionless, her blindfolded gaze unwavering. ¡°You both will be bound,¡± she said, her voice devoid of sympathy. ¡°And you will be brought before the Shrine Maiden.¡±
The other priestesses moved in unison, raising their hands in mirrored gestures. Twelve more chains phased through the ground, glowing and ephemeral, as they spiraled upwards, aiming for Mags and Calcabrina.
Mags reacted on instinct. She ducked under two chains that hissed past her head, their golden glow illuminating the air where she¡¯d just been. She moved with practiced ease, Malacoda¡¯s training kicking in as she surged forward, closing the distance between herself and the nearest priestess.
¡°You started this,¡± Mags growled under her breath, her blood pounding with a mix of anger and adrenaline. She didn¡¯t hesitate. Her fist connected squarely with the priestess¡¯s face, the satisfying crunch of bone beneath her knuckles followed by a gush of blood as the woman staggered back, clutching her nose.
Mags¡¯ muscles tensed as she felt the familiar rush. She drew in aether, and it coursed through her, urging her to move, to act. But before she could channel the magic, more chains erupted from the earth.
Calcabrina roared in frustration, her claws swiping at the chains that bound her, but even her strength wasn¡¯t enough. The glowing gold links wrapped around her limbs, crisscrossing her body and pulling her down to the ground. Mags watched out of the corner of her eye as Calcabrina¡¯s bestial form strained against the bindings, aether flickering around her like mist capturing rays of sunlight. There it goes again, Mags thought.
She barely had time to register it before the next wave of chains came for her. She dodged one, her body twisting out of the way, but two more caught her by the wrists. The moment they snapped around her, she felt the aether she had been gathering slip away, like sand through her fingers. She had lost her focus and her grip on her fledgling powers alongside it. The chains yanked her down, forcing her onto her knees.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
She gritted her teeth, pulling against the restraints, but the more she struggled, the tighter they seemed to hold her.
¡°Jebati!¡± Mags growled, her frustration bubbling over.
Across from her, Calcabrina had shifted back into her human form, the fight seemingly drained from her. Her shoulders slumped, her expression one of quiet defeat. She looked up at Mags, her eyes sad but resigned.
¡°Just cooperate, Mags,¡± she said softly, her voice calm. ¡°There¡¯s no getting out of this. Not right now.¡±
Mags huffed, her chest heaving with the effort of resisting. Her muscles strained against the chains one final time, but it was no use. She was trapped. With a begrudging snarl, she stopped struggling, her fists still clenched tight.
The priestesses moved in closer, their ethereal chains binding them both to the earth, their cold, emotionless faces turned toward Mags and Calcabrina. There was no escaping the judgment that awaited them now.
The towering Sanguine Tree loomed above them, its blood-red leaves casting an ethereal glow over the temple¡¯s interior. Mags couldn¡¯t help but glance up at its sprawling branches, thick and knotted like veins stretching towards the vaulted ceiling. And just like in her dream, there they were: the ravens. Their pale, milky eyes, devoid of sight but somehow still watchful, perched on the lower branches, tracking her every move. Just like my dream¡
Mags¡¯ gaze shifted forward. Lady Celestine stood at the base of the tree, her white robes shimmering faintly in the dim light. She appeared as serene as ever, her face a mask of calm, but there was something beneath that serenity, a weight of authority that made Mags uneasy. Frey Sarto sat nearby on a stone bench, her expression unreadable. She wasn¡¯t going to interfere, Mags realized. Maybe she couldn¡¯t. In this strange place, Frey didn¡¯t hold the reins. Celestine did.
The seven priestesses marched Mags and Calcabrina forward, their bare feet making soft, rhythmic taps against the cold stone floor. As they neared Celestine, the chains binding Mags dissolved into a shimmering golden dust, drifting weightlessly into the air before disappearing altogether. Mags flexed her wrists, trying to shake off the lingering tension of the bonds. Calcabrina, standing beside her, looked despondent, her normally sharp features softened by the weight of their predicament. Her eyes, usually brimming with mischief, now shimmered with unshed tears.
Isidora stepped forward, bowing her head deeply. ¡°Lady Celestine,¡± she began, her voice steady. ¡°These two have trespassed upon the sacred grounds. I request that they be judged for their offense and that a penance be imposed upon them.¡±
Mags clenched her fists, biting down her frustration. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, ¡°I didn¡¯t know! You said we had our leave of the grounds. How was I supposed to know some parts were off-limits? Perhaps next time, may I suggest that the most sacred enclaves of your faith be kept behind something more than an open archway?¡±
Celestine¡¯s warm smile flickered across her face like sunlight breaking through clouds. She regarded Mags with the same kind, yet distant, expression. She chuckled. ¡°You make a good point.¡± The Shrine Maiden advanced upon them, practically gliding across the floor. ¡°But ignorance,¡± she said softly, ¡°is never an excuse for the violation of sacred law.¡±
Mags¡¯ frustration flared, but she held her tongue as Celestine¡¯s gaze settled on her, curious. ¡°What did you see while in the sacred grounds, Fate-touched?¡±
Fate-touched. Those words again. Mags didn¡¯t know anything about Fate. There were those with power, and then those without it. She was currently trapped beneath the weight of both Celestine and Frey Sarto. She was powerless¡ Mags hesitated, her mind racing. What am I supposed to say? ¡®Yes, M¡¯Lady, I saw a bunch of eyes grow out of the stone and then was struck by visions. Didn¡¯t mean to steal your job, with you being the Oracle and all. My sincerest apologies!¡¯ She glanced quickly at Calcabrina, whose head hung low, then back at Celestine.
¡°It was just . . . a big hole in the ground. Perhaps an abandoned well. I don¡¯t see why it¡¯s such a big deal, or why the priestesses here think it¡¯s worth all this fuss.¡±
Isidora stepped forward, her voice cold. ¡°It is no mere hole in the ground¡ª¡±
But a single look from Celestine silenced her. Mags blinked, wondering how that was even possible. Isidora was blindfolded¡ªhow did she know Celestine was even looking at her? But the priestess fell silent immediately, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Celestine turned back to Mags, the edges of her smile curling slightly as if amused by her audacity. ¡°It may seem a harmless thing to you, but the grounds you wandered into are older than you know, and the well you saw is far more than what it appears.¡± Her voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of something deep¡ªsomething ancient. ¡°You¡¯re lucky nothing unfortunate occurred. There are reasons outsiders must be accompanied in those parts of the temple grounds.¡±
Mags shifted uneasily. She wasn¡¯t sure she liked where this was going.
¡°Nevertheless,¡± Celestine continued, ¡°the priestess is right. A penance must be imposed.¡±
Calcabrina flinched at the words, her shoulders sagging. Mags glanced at her friend, frustration burning in her chest. She didn¡¯t want to just sit here and take some arbitrary punishment. Her fists tightened again, ready to argue, but before she could, Celestine raised a hand.
¡°You will not be punished in the sense you may be imagining,¡± Celestine said, her voice thoughtful. ¡°I have a task¡ªone I had intended to ask Frey to handle herself, but now, I believe the two of you are better suited for it.¡±
Mags¡¯ frustration gave way to curiosity. Calcabrina lifted her head, her eyes widening slightly as she listened.
Celestine clasped her hands together, her fingers intertwined like the roots of the tree behind her. ¡°A rogue airship crash-landed on Rusalka, just north of Bijel Garden. It is a mile from here, deep in the Leshi Forest. I have a dear friend who lives there. She is old. She is concerned about what this airship¡¯s arrival may mean for the forest and its inhabitants.¡±
Mags felt her breath catch. ¡°A rogue airship?¡±
Celestine nodded. ¡°The forest has been undisturbed for many years, and I cannot leave the Temple to investigate myself. Your task is simple: go to the airship, assess its crew, and ensure they do not pose a threat to the Leshi or to the Garden. Should you find hostility . . . I trust you will know how to handle it.¡±
¡°And if we refuse?¡± Mags asked.
Then, suddenly, the air around her squeezed her¡ªas though two gigantic invisible hands grabbed her and clenched with all their might. Something in her mind¡ªher own thoughts, but something alien about them¡ªtold her to be quiet, and obey. She pressed her lips together and bowed her head impulsively. However, her eyes wandered upwards to find Sarto, who sat upon the bench, legs crossed and chin resting delicately on her hands, which were oddly held together in closed fists. She stared at Mags with those wide, glowing eyes¡ªgolden, concentric circles¡ªtoo easy to lose oneself in.
Celestine simply smiled. ¡°This is your penance, Fate-touched. And it is not up for negotiation. You two will set out immediately. I worry about my friend. . . She¡¯s alone out there in the woods.¡±
Mags was finally able to fully lift her head. She glanced at Calcabrina.
Calcabrina nodded faintly. ¡°Yes, Lady Shadow,¡± she whispered, her voice hoarse. ¡°We¡¯ll leave at once.¡±
Mags had hundreds of questions. For starters, who¡¯s this friend of hers? Who would live in the forest on a distant island? She frowned, concerned about Calcabrina. Scratching the back of her head, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do, she stepped over and put a reassuring hand on Calcabrina¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We got this,¡± she whispered, forcing a smile she hoped was reassuring.
Celestine stepped forward, the flowing fabric of her robe whispering against the stone. ¡°May the Garden watch over you both,¡± she said. ¡°And may you return with peace restored to the Leshi.¡±
The ravens above cawed in unison, their blind, white eyes fixed on the two girls. Waiting, watching.
33. Leshi Forest I (Skills)
Chapter 33
Leshi Forest I (Skills)
Mags found Malacoda napping in the courtyard behind their tower, stretched across a stone bench, bathing in the golden glow of the midday sun like a cat. He was shirtless and had what appeared to be his Company cloak bundled beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. A faint smile tugged at Mags¡¯ lips. This man is absolutely ridiculous.
The courtyard felt peaceful, the air warm and heavy with the scent of blooming flowers. Birds chittered in the trees overhead, and for a moment, it was easy to forget where she was.
As she approached, Malacoda¡¯s ears twitched, and then he sneezed¡ªa loud sneeze that echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard. His red eyes blinked open, groggy but alert, and before Mags could say a word, he sniffled and glanced her way.
¡°Of all the people in Bijel Garden, it¡¯s always you I smell before I see,¡± he muttered, still half-asleep.
¡°It¡¯s the scent of responsibility. You¡¯re my Soulsinging tutor¡ªor are supposed to be, at least.¡±
Malacoda turned his gaze towards the sky and scratched his chin. ¡°We gave you the day off, remember. That means it¡¯s my day off too . . . Now, take your stench of responsibility elsewhere and do whatever it is country bumpkins do in their free time.¡±
Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the stone bench. Mags crossed her arms, her brow raised. ¡°Well, I¡¯m leaving soon in any case. My question will be quick.¡±
Malacoda stretched lazily, his arms extending briefly before retracting as he yawned. ¡°Fine. Go ahead. The Great Malacoda will hear your plea, pupil.¡±
Mags rubbed the back of her neck, glancing at the neat silver script she recalled using Yggdrasil¡¯s interface.
[Passive Skill: Aura Vision]
[Level: E-4]
¡°I got a notification about something called Aura Vision,¡± she began. ¡°It says it¡¯s a passive skill, but I don¡¯t know what that means.¡±
Malacoda¡¯s eyes gleamed with amusement. ¡°Are you worried? It¡¯s one of the most common skills you¡¯ll pick up as a Soulsinger. Passive skills are just that¡ªpassive. They¡¯re always working in the background, enhancing your abilities without you needing to do anything special. You can focus on them, bring them to the forefront, but often times they¡¯re there and not too different from breathing.¡±
Mags nodded slowly, processing the information. ¡°So is it like the physical enhancement ability we¡¯ve been working on?¡±
Malacoda rolled his shoulders and stood, stretching his sleek, muscular body before hopping off the bench with a graceful stride. He began pacing around her, eyes glinting with a teacher¡¯s focus. So now you¡¯re motivated to do your job?...
¡°No. Physical enhancement is an Active Skill¡ªyou need to actively channel aether into your body. There is Aspect Enhancement, which isn¡¯t active once the process is complete, but that¡¯s a little off topic. I¡¯ll let the losers at Brightwash walk you through that one.¡± He paused, tapping a finger on his chin. He sucked his teeth before continuing.
¡°Aura Vision is a passive skill that allows you to see the flow of aether¡ªimagine being able to visualize the energy that moves around us and within us. At its most basic level, you can see concentration of aether in the atmosphere, someone¡¯s aura¡ªif they aren¡¯t properly suppressing it¡ªand in time, as the skill levels up, you might be able to glimpse more. Mana channels, for instance¡ªthe pathways through which magic flows within a person. And if you get really good at it, you can see into someone¡¯s soul.¡±
Mags blinked, startled. ¡°Into their soul?¡±
A lazy grin spread across Malacoda¡¯s face, lopsided from the scars across his face. ¡°Yes, though it takes considerable mastery to get there. Don¡¯t worry about that just yet.¡±
¡°How do I level it up?¡± she asked, curiosity piqued.
¡°By using it, of course,¡± Malacoda replied matter-of-factly. ¡°Like most Skills, it strengthens the more you rely on it. The more aether you encounter, the more you¡¯ll grow accustomed to its nuances, and Aura Vision will evolve naturally.¡±
Mags found herself fascinated. ¡°What about Spells? Are those Active Skills?¡±
Malacoda¡¯s gaze softened with a rare hint of patience. ¡°Spells are a little more specific. For example, I have the Active Skill ¡®Water Manipulation.¡¯ I can manipulate water, if you couldn¡¯t guess what that Skill does . . . Anyways, I have Spells that rely upon that Skill to cast.¡±
The prospect of that kind of power sent a thrill through her. But there was always a catch, wasn¡¯t there? Mags sighed. ¡°So, I just need to keep practicing?¡±
Malacoda grinned, eyes twinkling. ¡°Oh, absolutely. And this is the perfect time for what I would call ¡®independent study.¡¯ Didn¡¯t you say you were leaving?¡±
Mags¡¯ expression sobered at the reminder. The task ahead loomed large, and the memory of Celestine¡¯s cool, commanding voice still echoed in her mind. ¡°Yeah. But thanks for the crash course. I needed that.¡±
Malacoda gave her a sly wink. ¡°Just don¡¯t get yourself killed before I get the chance to fight you. Really fight you. Once you can go full Angel again.¡±
She chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll try not to.¡± Though the thought of ¡®going full Angel¡¯ made her stomach lurch.
Malacoda reclaimed his spot on the bench, stretching out luxuriously, catlike. ¡°Good. Now off you go. And don¡¯t forget: practice using [Aura Vision] in addition to the Physical Enhancement Skill we¡¯ve been working on. The more you see, the better prepared you¡¯ll be.¡±
With one last glance at her mentor, Mags turned toward the tower. She needed to swing by her room before she and Calcabrina departed on their task.
Mags hurried back to her quarters. The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the halls of the temple, and her footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors. She pushed open the heavy oak door to her room, immediately scanning the small space for her essentials.
Her satchel sat on the edge of the bed, already half-packed with a few basic supplies¡ªbandages, a waterskin, and a handful of dried rations. Not enough for a long journey, but it would work for their assigned task. Mags swept the remaining items into the satchel with practiced efficiency, checking to make sure she hadn¡¯t forgotten anything crucial. Her mind raced, but she forced herself to slow down, to think clearly.
She kicked off her slippers and found her good pair of boots, which she hastily pulled onto her feet.
Then, she knelt by the chest at the foot of her bed, flipping open the lid. Her eyes immediately fell on Mithra, the half-blade resting atop her belongings. The ancient Ivaldi-wrought weapon gleamed even in the dim light of her quarters, the polished jet surface of its blade practically eating the light around it.
Whoever had packed her things for this trip had, thankfully, included the blade. She exhaled a quiet breath of relief. There was no telling how useful Mithra might be in the Leshi, but Mags never felt fully prepared without it. Mithra had saved her life on more than one occasion and she had no idea what trouble waited for them out there.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Her fingers brushed the thick leather belt lying beside the blade, the handiwork of Cagna and Dragnazzo. She smirked, remembering how she had pestered them for the custom belt to replace the one she¡¯d lost in Solstice, and how, despite their exaggerated grumbling, they had completed the fine work outrageously fast. The leather was supple and strong, and the sheath attached to it had been made to fit Mithra perfectly. It rested horizontally along her lower back when she wore it¡ªjust as she liked. Out of the way, but within easy reach.
Mags stood, slipping the belt around her waist and securing the buckle with a decisive snap. Mithra fit into its sheath like a missing piece, its weight familiar and comforting against her back. She adjusted the straps, giving the blade a testing shift. It moved easily, fluidly, just as it should.
Satisfied, she swung the satchel over her shoulder and took one last look around the room. There wasn¡¯t anything else she needed. Everything essential was either on her person or within easy reach.
Mags and Calcabrina moved swiftly down the ancient stone steps leading out of Bijel Garden, the enormous Hand of Weles looming over them like a silent sentinel as they struck out into the Leshi. Its fingers, carved from dark stone, reached toward the sky, casting long, foreboding shadows across the Sanguine Trees.
Calcabrina was a few steps ahead, her pace quick and determined. Mags jogged to keep up, eyes scanning the dense treeline as they made their way northward, toward where the rogue airship was reported to have crash-landed. The Leshi Forest was eerily quiet, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. No birds called, no insects hummed¡ªjust the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The salty scent of the sea breeze was quickly replaced by earthy aromas as they pressed deeper into the forest.
It didn¡¯t take long before they started seeing signs of the crash.
The first was the splintered trunk of a massive Sanguine Tree, its once-majestic branches now scattered across the forest floor like broken limbs. Mags frowned, stepping over a particularly large piece of debris. She exchanged a glance with Calcabrina, who simply nodded and kept moving forward. More trees had been felled in a wide swath, their branches tangled and bent as though something large had plowed through them. It was easy to follow the path of destruction.
Then, just beyond a cluster of uprooted saplings, they found it.
The airship lay on its side in a shallow ravine, partially buried beneath a canopy of broken branches. It wasn¡¯t a large vessel¡ªno more than thirty feet long, with a sleek, angular hull made of darkwood and reinforced with what looked like bronze. Its design was modest, built for speed rather than endurance, and likely capable of holding no more than four or five men.
The ship was still tethered to its skyfin.
The thing floated effortlessly in the air, its body resembling a massive goldfish, but far more otherworldly. Its shimmering scales caught the red-tinted light cascading down through the blood-colored canopy, gleaming a soft, iridescent gold. The skyfin¡¯s fins moved through the air as if it were underwater, undulating gently, silent and graceful. It hovered just above the ship, tethered to it by a long cord of braided silver, the creature almost unnervingly calm in the stillness of the wreck.
Mags gawked. It was still fascinating to see the creatures at so close a distance. And they were so varied that each new variant of skyfin gave her something to admire.
Calcabrina¡¯s eyes narrowed as she assessed the scene. She gestured for Mags to follow as she cautiously approached the ship. ¡°Strange. The ship looks intact, and the skyfin¡¯s not injured. No obvious signs of it being a crash due to mechanical failure or distress. This?¡± She shook her head. ¡°This was intentional. Though it takes gall to try and land an airship here. And taking off will be tricky.¡±
Mags circled around the opposite side of the ship, her boots crunching against the undergrowth as she scanned for signs of movement. ¡°You sure about that?¡± she asked, crouching to peer into the open hatch of the airship. It was dark inside, but she could just make out a narrow compartment with a few scattered crates and supplies. Empty.
Calcabrina nodded grimly. ¡°Nothing¡¯s broken. No sign of distress. Whoever was flying this thing landed on purpose. I suppose the question is why did they come to Rusalka. It isn¡¯t quite the holiday destination I¡¯d decide on.¡±
Mags stood up, dusting her hands off. ¡°And where did they go? Whoever was in the ship.¡±
Calcabrina¡¯s brow furrowed, her sharp eyes surveying the area. She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. ¡°Time to put my Bonesinging to use.¡± She gave a half-smile, her expression softening slightly. ¡°This is actually what I¡¯m really good at¡ªnot fighting. Tracking is my forte.¡±
Mags tilted her head. Calcabrina¡¯s transformation was a spectacle she hadn¡¯t quite adjusted to seeing just yet. The young woman shifted her weight, her form rippling as she tapped into her abilities. Her limbs elongated, her skin shimmered as fur sprouted along her arms and legs, her form growing larger until she resembled a strange, elegant mix between a stag and a lion.
Mags asked, hands on her hips as she studied Calcabrina¡¯s beast form. ¡°I actually always meant to ask . . . what is this form you take?¡±
¡°I¡¯m a Shifter,¡± Calcabrina said, her voice layered with that familiar, deeper undertone, the same one she used when transformed. ¡°I can turn into Kirin, specifically.¡± She sniffed the air, the faint glow of aether drawing toward her. ¡°Exceptional tracking Skills.¡± The large, bestial eye seemed to give a wink.
Mags squinted, focusing on Calcabrina just as Malacoda had explained. She could see it now¡ªthe faint shimmer of aether, like glowing dust, surrounding Calcabrina as she activated her Skill. The longer she focused, the clearer it became, almost as though she could feel the aether moving, pulsing around her. It took concentration, but she was starting to see it.
¡°Odd, I¡¯m getting two trails,¡± Calcabrina murmured, her nose twitching as she scanned the area. ¡°One is stronger. The other is . . . faint.¡± She gestured with her head toward the northern end of the clearing, where the trees grew thicker and more tangled. ¡°We should follow that one.¡±
Mags glanced at the skyfin, then back at Calcabrina¡¯s imposing form. ¡°How exactly are we supposed to be stealthy with you looking like that?¡± The massive bestial form would be hard to miss.
Calcabrina gave a huff that was almost a laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got it covered.¡± She lowered her head, the air around them shimmering subtly. ¡°I have two stealth Skills, too¡ªSound Mute and What¡¯s That. Sound Mute will dampen the noise we make. What¡¯s That will create an attention shroud around us, mentally pulling the attention of people who look towards us in another direction. If we move carefully, they won¡¯t know we¡¯re coming.¡±
Mags raised an eyebrow, impressed. The [What¡¯s That] Skill reminded her of the Deep she had explored with Sabo and Bidelia. In the dungeon, there were passage ways that were similarly cloaked in magic that subtly affected what one¡¯s mind paid attention to. Only a Navigator¡¯s talents could pierce it. ¡°Alright then, lead the way.¡±
And with that, the two set off into the thick of the forest, the shadows of the Leshi closing in around them as they followed the trail of whoever had been in that airship. Mags kept her senses sharp, her hand resting on Mithra, ready for anything that might come their way.
The forest was unnaturally silent as they moved, their footsteps absorbed by Calcabrina¡¯s [Sound Mute] Skill. Mags would¡¯ve sworn they were gliding rather than stepping on dead leaves and brittle twigs. She glanced sideways at Calcabrina, her friend¡¯s Kirin form somehow both graceful and imposing, her silvery hide somehow blending into the shadowed greenery. Calcabrina¡¯s nostrils flared as she followed the faint scent trail, her head dipping low every so often as she tuned into whatever subtle signals the forest offered her. Mags tried to keep her focus on the faint traces of aether she could see being drawn into her friend.
After several minutes of weaving through thick branches and dodging thorny underbrush, the dense canopy gave way to a clearing. The trees opened up, revealing a wide space ringed by thick trunks. In the middle of the clearing stood two men.
Mags froze, instinctively pressing herself against a tree, motioning for Calcabrina to do the same. The Kirin crouched low to the ground.
The men looked Olenish¡ªtall, dark-skinned, with the rough edges of mercenaries who had seen one bad job too many. The one closest to them was painfully thin, his skin drawn tight across his bones, and his cheekbones jutting so sharply that Mags wondered how he hadn¡¯t cut himself just by smiling. The other was the exact opposite, thick and round-bellied, reminding her so much of Radmilo from the Blackfire Company that her hands curled into fists just from the memory. She took a fleeting moment to silently curse them. I hope they lived long enough to have been massacred by the empire, she thought. Radmilo and Kruno, and their gang of cronies, didn¡¯t deserve the quick death Angels brought.
She forced herself to breathe slowly, noticing that both men looked worn and haggard. Their clothes were tattered, hair wild, and eyes dull from who knew what they¡¯d seen or done. Behind the rotund man floated a small metallic sphere, about the size of her fist, humming faintly as it levitated at shoulder height. The man held a bloody shortsword in his fat, sausage-like fingers, blood still fresh, so dark it looked almost black as it dripped slowly from the blade¡¯s edge. And then Mags¡¯ eyes followed the dark trail downward to the body lying at his feet.
It was a woman, squat and plump, dressed in layers of skirts that looked like they would be found on any grandmother in the Olenish countryside, but were now soaked in crimson. She¡¯d been decapitated. A surge of nausea hit Mags, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her eyes then found what had to be the body¡¯s head¡ªan old woman¡¯s haggard face, grayed thinning hair still pinned into a loose bun, eyes half-lidded, slack. The man held the head in his other hand, fingers clenched around a fistful of hair.
That¡¯s when the old lady¡¯s jaundiced eyes rolled, slowly, like dice on a table. Her gaze stopped dead on the shadows where Mags and Calcabrina hid.
The head¡¯s lips worked, twisting with effort before the mouth opened. A shrill, craggily voice burst from the head¡¯s open mouth. ¡°You! Are you the ones she sent? Well, quit standing there and help me!¡±
34. Leshi Forest II (The Hag)
Chapter 34
Leshi Forest II (The Hag)
For a heartbeat, Mags felt as if she¡¯d stepped into some kind of fever-dream. She blinked once, twice¡ªfrozen in place at what she had just witnessed, just heard. Am I going mad? she couldn¡¯t help but think. The old woman¡¯s head was speaking¡ªno, chiding her. And it was impossible to ignore, eyes locked onto her with unsettling clarity.
¡°Going to stand there and gape, are you?¡± the head snapped, voice sharp and thoroughly unimpressed. ¡°Or did Celestine send two scared little pups thinking that would be enough? I expected a hound!¡± She scoffed, her lips curling in what might¡¯ve been a grin. ¡°I¡¯ve seen squeaky rats with more pluck.¡± Gore spilled out of the bottom of her neck where the blade had severed her from her body. ¡°Now look at me, making a mess all over the forest floor!¡± The wrinkled face twisted into a deep, pained frown. ¡°How dreadful is this.¡±
Mags exchanged a glance with Calcabrina, who had, to Mags¡¯ surprise, shifted back to her human form, shoulders squared and eyes fierce. Are we doing this? Mags thought. The look of determination in the other young woman¡¯s eyes was the only answer she needed. Right, we¡¯re doing this.
They both stepped forward, keeping their movements measured, trying to ignore the rapid beat of their hearts. Mags tightened her grip on Mithra¡¯s hilt, the familiar weight of the Ivaldi blade grounding her.
¡°What is Weles¡¯ name is going on here?¡± Calcabrina demanded. Her voice was a mixture of forced confidence and wariness.
The skeletal man looked over with eyes that seemed far too wide for his gaunt face, a ghost of a smile stretching thinly across his lips. ¡°No place to invoke the name of a dead god, girly. Only black magic to be found here,¡± he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. He spat onto the old woman¡¯s lifeless, headless body.
The broader man, face oily with sweat, swung the old woman¡¯s head around by her hair, smirking. The old lady cursed him. ¡°Ain¡¯t none of your business, assuming you wandered down from that temple up on the bluffs. We need her head.¡±
¡°What do you mean, you need her head?¡± Mags spat. Not to mention, why in the hells is her head speaking?
The man stopped spinning the head. ¡°Our friend back at our ship is in a bad spot. Was ¡®bout to be pinched and locked in Tartarus¡ªbut we don¡¯t quit on our friends. We heard . . . rumors, let¡¯s call them, that boiling a Hag¡¯s head can cure it.¡±
¡°A Hag?¡± Mags had memories of the old women in Solstice telling tall-tales while knitting, children gathered around at the foot of their chairs. Tales of Hags living deep within the Ulava Woods, who would spirit away unfortunate children who wandered too deep or too late into the dark forest.
¡°That¡¯s right,¡± interjected the skeletal man. ¡°Think nice old broads live alone in a forest such as this. Or can continue to gab after having their bloody head chopped¡ªcan you please shut her up?!¡± He shot a glare at his compatriot, and the Hag¡¯s head that was continuing to swear and spit at the two men.
The large man continued to spin the head.
The skinny man continued. ¡°Better to deal with her like this than keep her lying around. You know Hags aren¡¯t to be trusted. A dangerous creature, Hags. And this one . . . well, who¡¯s to say what it might be up to with you lot so close. Innocent, pious girls.¡±
Does he seriously think we¡¯re priestesses? Mags glanced at Calcabrina. Despite having spent some time at Bijel Garden, the young woman didn¡¯t give off the appearances of someone who spent her waking hours tending to an isolated temple.
The head snorted, somehow managing a glare from her lopsided position in his hand. ¡°Dangerous? Ha!¡± Her dark eyes, milky and alive, shifted to Mags. ¡°They think lopping off a head¡¯s enough to tame a Hag. I could show you both just how dangerous I am if you reattach me. Lucky for you, I was out foraging and¡ª¡± The man continued to spin her. ¡°Blargh! . . . You . . . Bastards!¡±
The skeletal man shook his head, his expression sour. ¡°If I had my way, you wouldn¡¯t get a word in.¡±
Mags was torn, her gut instinctively at odds with the whole scene. Celestine had called the Hag her ¡°friend¡± and trusted her to protect the Leshi, which didn¡¯t sit right with the idea of standing by while these men kept her head. ¡°I still don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re here.¡±
The big man grunted, barely avoiding a flimsy attempt of the Hag to bite him. ¡°The aether rot. Our friend is just about full gone. Boiling and consuming a Hag¡¯s head is the last remedy we have.¡±
She flicked a glance at Calcabrina, who watched the men with narrowed eyes, silently tense.
¡°Right,¡± Mags said, tilting her chin defiantly. There was no more time to think. She had to act. She drew Mithra, the half-blade¡¯s cold, comforting weight like an extension of her arm. Its jet surface hung in the air in front of her with ominous stillness. ¡°We¡¯re here on behalf of Celestine the Shrine Maiden to protect that Hag. So, you¡¯re going to set that head down and walk yourselves off this island.¡±
The two men exchanged glances, the rotund one smirking, his fingers tightening around his shortsword. ¡°Or what, girl?¡±
Mags held her ground, her voice edged with a note of steel. ¡°Or else I¡¯ll be counting three headless bodies in this clearing.¡± She poured as much venom into her voice as she could muster, but the words rang hollow in her ears. What do you mean, Mags? You¡¯ve never killed anybody.
There was a taut moment, the air thick with the eerie quiet of the forest, only insect song to fill the space with its white noise. In that moment, Mags hoped her threat of violence would be successful and that the men would relent. In that very same moment, she knew it wasn¡¯t a possibility¡ªnot for men who had already come so far.
Then, in one breathless instant, they all moved at once.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Calcabrina surged into her beast form, her muscles rippling as her lithe, hybrid-beast shape morphed into something immense and otherworldly, crowned by twisting antlers that crackled with latent energy. The big man¡¯s eyes widened slightly, but he leapt back, putting a surprising amount of distance between himself and the suddenly formidable Kirin before landing in a low, bracing stance. Mags barely had a second to notice as the skinny man closed the space between himself and her in a blur.
She struggled to track his movement with [Aura Vision], but was sure the burst of speed was a result of channeling aether. Physical Enhancement! With a determined breath, Mags did the same, willing aether into her body, tapping into that inner reservoir of mana as she channeled it into her limbs. The rush of aura flooding her body sharpened her senses and reflexes, urging her to move. And just in time, too!
Mags snapped Mithra up, catching the blow against the flat of the wide blade. The sheer force of it reverberated through her arms, nearly rattling her teeth, and she skidded back, heels gouging into the earth as she fought to keep her footing. The force of the single punch was far greater than she had been expecting. She was lucky to still be holding onto Mithra¡¯s hilt.
¡°Oof!¡± came the voice of the Hag¡¯s head as it bounced along the ground, having been unceremoniously kicked by the large man¡¯s flurry of movement as he was evading the onslaught of slashes and grabbing motions from Calcabrina, surprisingly light on his feet for one so large. ¡°Are you going to fight back, little pup?¡± the Hag called to Mags.
The skinny man gritted his teeth, shaking his hand out with a grimace. ¡°Put a lot into that one.¡± His eyes fell on Mithra, and a flicker of recognition sparked in his gaze. ¡°Is that there Ivaldi steel?¡± A greedy smile split his face, his gaze lingering on the blade as he licked his cracked lips. ¡°Looks like this little excursion¡¯ll score us more than a Hag¡¯s head.¡±
The skinny man¡¯s steps were nearly soundless as he rocketed forward. This time she was ready for him. She burned more mana, letting aether flood her limbs, instantaneously converting to aura, until she felt her own strength and speed spike. The man was faster, stronger¡ªa more experienced Soulsinger¡ªbut Mithra gave her reach, and if she played it smart, she could keep him at bay and take advantage of the situation at the right moment.
They clashed, Mithra whistling as it sliced through the air in a blur of blackness, meeting his precise, darting strikes. Her strategy was working. Despite how much the man tried, he couldn¡¯t get within arm¡¯s reach of her. She could see the flicker of frustration in his eyes as she kept him just out of range, her blade skimming too close for him to get comfortable. She pressed forward, keeping Mithra¡¯s tip aimed at him, feinting and lunging, feeling for that one opening. And then, she saw it¡ªa momentary drop in his guard, his stance open. Her arm snapped forward, the blade aimed for his shoulder¡ª
But suddenly, her opponent¡¯s form splintered into multiple images, afterimages that blurred in every direction around her. Mags hesitated, her strike falling short as she slashed through one of the illusory copies, watching it waver and distort under Mithra¡¯s edge. Mags felt her eyes widen in shock. What?!
The real man was within her guard in the blink of an eye.
His fist came toward her, fast and brutal. Mags twisted, just barely dodging the punch, but his knuckles grazed her ribs with a searing jolt of pain. She stumbled back, hissing as her side flared in agony, and she whipped Mithra in an arc to create distance. The man danced back, the remnants of his afterimages lingering like smoke.
¡°I can¡¯t believe you fell for such a simple illusion Spell!¡± cried the Hag who had landed not far from where Mags stood.
Gasping, Mags risked a glance down at her side. Her shirt was torn, and blood was seeping through the thin scratch there. The ground near where she had been standing was scattered with the contents of her satchel bag, which now hung onto her body in tatters. She let it fall to the ground.
Confusion rattled her¡ªshe¡¯d felt the impact of his fist, and he hadn¡¯t been holding a weapon. She scanned his hands. Empty.
¡°You¡¯re not helping here!¡± Mags exclaimed through gritted teeth. She shot a glare at the Hag¡¯s head.
She re-focused her attention on her opponent. She activated [Aura Vision]. Then her eyes caught the faint shimmer of something on the man¡¯s skin, a jagged aura of light, almost translucent, peeling off his knuckles at sharp, serrated angles.
¡°Ahhh¡ See it now, don¡¯t ya, little pup?¡± said the Hag.
Was I cut by his aura? Mags had no idea that was possible.
The man noticed her glance, and a crooked grin stretched across his face, triumphant. ¡°Figured it out, have you?¡±
Mags didn¡¯t respond; she was too focused, her eyes flicking back to Mithra. She steadied her breath, feeling the aether pulse within her. She channeled more, letting the surge of power calm her nerves and sharpen her focus through the pain at her side.
The man moved, images blurring around him once more. Mags leapt to the side, sweeping Mithra in front of her in a wide blow. The blade passed through several images that evaporated as soon as the Ivaldi blade touched them.
Her blade cut a fierce arc toward the skinny man, who twisted away with a laugh, his ghostly afterimages reappearing in the periphery. She braced herself to strike again when, between them, a small stone sphere clattered to the ground. She barely registered it before the stone erupted, releasing a pulse of air that knocked her off her feet. The world spun; she hit the ground hard, her body skidding over moss and rough dirt. Her grip on Mithra slipped, and the blade sailed off, embedding itself several paces away.
Dazed, Mags opened her eyes to find herself lying uncomfortably close to the Hag¡¯s head. A face the color of old parchment, eyes rimmed with creases as deep as ravines, regarded her with a withering look.
¡°Quit lounging, you lazy little pup,¡± the Hag snapped, her expression one of extreme boredom. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be my rescue party, not my afternoon entertainment.¡±
Mags forced herself up, head still swimming. She barely managed to shake off the haze when three more of those infernal stone spheres zipped through the air toward her. Her hands were empty, and she barely had time to throw her arms up before Calcabrina barreled into her line of sight. The young woman-turned-Kirin took the brunt of the blasts, her massive, fur and scale covered body absorbing the concussive force with a sharp, agonized howl.
¡°Calcabrina!¡± Mags yelled, stumbling as the world steadied around her.
Calcabrina staggered, but even dazed, she positioned herself between Mags and the fat man, who now stood some distance away. He had discarded his shortsword and held one of the small stone cubes, grinning with a sickening glint in his eye. Behind him, the metallic sphere hummed and spun, pulsing as a fresh cube materialized in the air before him. Mags¡¯ [Aura Vision] activated, and she noticed a faintly glowing white outline on the cube already in his hand, but not on the new one. He plucked the newly materialized cube out of the air like a child grabbing candy. A second later, the same glowing outline formed around the cube.
¡°He¡¯s got a Pocket,¡± Calcabrina growled, blood matting her fur where the explosions had hit. ¡°It¡¯s probably full of those stones. He can turn them into explosives. The longer he holds them, the bigger the explosive.¡±
Mags focused on her [Aura Vision], watching as each cube¡¯s faint glow intensify, suffusing with the more of the same aura. Her fists clenched. She didn¡¯t need Mithra to fight, but it would make things easier¡ªand right now, there was a whole lot of incoming trouble.
¡°Hey, careful with that!¡± the skinny man snapped, his afterimages blurring as he scrambled back. ¡°One of those blasts almost took me out!¡±
¡°Then maybe don¡¯t get in my way,¡± the fat man retorted, laughing as he raised another glowing cube, ready to throw. Mags gritted her teeth, flexing her fingers as she calculated the distance to her blade.
She drew in aether, burning more of her mana reserves to channel it.
Then, she felt a faint haptic tingling in her mind and a window of neat, silver text flooded the upper righthand corner of her vision as a notification from Yggdrasil appeared.
[Skill: Physical Enhancement]
. . .
[Improved from E-7 to E-8!]
[New Skill: Aura Enhancement ¨C Void Cloak (Active)]
[Level: E-4]
35. Leshi Forest III (Aether Rot)
Chapter 35
Leshi Forest III (Aether Rot)
A notification flashed in Mags¡¯ vision, the words etched like smoke across her mind.
[Skill: Aura Enhancement - Void Cloak] [Level: E-4]
She wasn¡¯t sure what it meant, but something shifted in her¡ªa pulsing warmth at the edge of her awareness. Activating her [Aura Vision], she blinked, stunned by what she saw. A silvery light covered her skin, rising and flickering like ghostly flames. It clung to her in a protective shroud, the gleaming haze almost unreal. She deactivated [Aura Vision], and though the light vanished from view, she still felt its warmth embracing her.
She focused again, pulling [Aura Vision] forward, and not a moment too soon. The skinny man lunged, his fists glowing with razor-edged aura, carving through the air toward her with deadly speed. Mags sidestepped, letting instinct guide her. To her surprise, her aura seemed to intercept his as he moved. His aura seemed to shudder, dissolving as it met hers¡ªshe could feel her own aura hungrily devouring his, rupturing his own shroud which she watched disperse into the air like faintly glowing dust.
Something within her thrummed, a pulse of awareness, a heightened perception as though she could feel the world around her with more clarity than sight alone. While it was still difficult to perceive in the midst of battle, even with the help of [Aura Vision] she was able to feel what her cloak of aura had done to the man¡¯s blades of his own aura.
A notification from Yggdrasil pinged into her periphery.
[Passive Skill: Aura Sense]
. . .
[Improved from E-3 to E-4!]
The man staggered back, wide-eyed and gasping. ¡°What . . . what in the hells did you do to me?¡± He stared wide-eyed at his hand as though she had bitten off a finger.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Calcabrina barreled into him, her massive Kirin form tearing through the clearing. Her antlers struck him hard in the gut, lifting him off his feet, and with a twist of her head, she hurled him away. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, writhing as blood and viscera pooled at his side, his face contorted in shock and pain. The scream that escaped his lips was chilling and Mags felt her stomach lurch as she saw the man¡¯s guts spilling out of his body onto the foot-flattened grass of the clearing.
Mags barely had another second to process it before she felt something¡ªa faint, tingling awareness at her back.
¡°Behind, you damned fools!¡± cried the Hag¡¯s head.
The bombs! She spun around, catching sight of the fat man launching a fresh volley of explosive cubes straight toward her and Calcabrina.
¡°Calcabrina, move!¡± she shouted, but her friend, still in her beast form, was too slow to react. The concussive blasts hit her full-on, throwing her body across the clearing with a howl of pain. Another sphere came hurtling her way, sparking with deadly energy. Instinctively, she braced herself, her body pulled in aether and her [Void Cloak] flared to life around her, swallowing the blast in its shimmering flames. The blast from the exploding cube washed over her, the wind only faintly brushing back her hair.
The effort hit her like a hammer, a bone-deep weariness seeping into her limbs. She barely managed to stay on her feet, every muscle trembling with fatigue. The cloak¡¯s aura dimmed, flickering weakly across her skin. How much mana did that take from me? She¡¯d nearly forgotten that mana¡ªthe fuel source for channeling aether and producing aura¡ªwas a limited reserve that took time or resources to replenish.
Around her, the clearing lay in chaos, dust and smoke thickening the air. Calcabrina lay still where she¡¯d fallen, and the fat man smirked, reaching for another bomb. But Mags could sense his aura now, see the tiny pinpricks of aether flaring in his hand before he could even throw it.
She gritted her teeth, tapping into her reserves of mana and forcing channeled aether into her lungs and legs, filling them with an invigorating rush of energy. Her muscles tightened, and in a single bound, she hurtled across the clearing toward where Mithra protruded from the ground.
As her hand wrapped around the sword¡¯s hilt, a familiar voice piped up nearby, shrill with irritation. The Hag¡¯s head, somehow still conscious despite the explosions and chaos, rolled to a stop near Mags¡¯ foot.
¡°So, little girl, going to stand there all day or put that black blade to some use?¡± the head snapped. ¡°If Celestine wanted someone slow, she¡¯d have sent a tortoise.¡±
Mags¡¯ jaw tightened. ¡°I¡¯m doing my best!¡±
The fat man drew back his arm, readying another of his bombs, and in a flash of instinct, Mags swung Mithra in a tight arc, intercepting the cube in mid-air. The force of her swing caught the cube perfectly, sending it back in the direction it came. It arced through the air, twisting, then detonated just short of the fat man, erupting in a fierce wave of wind and flame. Mags barely managed to shield her face as the blast threw her backward, and dirt and debris filled the clearing, painting everything in a haze of gray and smoke.
The ground shuddered, and Mags heard a faint wail that grew louder as the smoke cleared. Her stomach dropped as she saw the Hag¡¯s head spinning through the air, head twisting indignantly as it careened back toward the forest, ultimately landing near the tree line. The Hag¡¯s shriek split the air, ¡°You careless oaf! Watch where you¡¯re swinging!¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Mags shouted back, wincing as she picked herself up from the ground.
The fat man¡¯s coughing laugh broke through the ringing in her ears. He limped forward from the edge of the explosion, his face twisted in a grimace. ¡°You . . . you¡¯ve got some quick reflexes, girlie. But that won¡¯t save you, little hero. Miro might be gone, but I¡¯m not leaving here without that Hag¡¯s head. Or without putting you and your friend in the dirt!¡± He spat, his voice a sickly growl, as he reached down to pull another bomb from his strange pocket space.
Mags gripped Mithra, the blade vibrating in her hand, a steadying warmth against her palm. If this man wanted a fight to the death, damn it she¡¯d give him one!
Mags felt her heart hammer as the air shimmered with a new, eerie tension. Another cube materialized from the sphere over the fat man¡¯s shoulder, and Mags¡¯ newly acquired [Aether Sense] flared to life, pulling her attention to the edge of the clearing. A presence lurked there, dark and seething with bloodlust¡ªa sensation so raw and predatory that it clawed at her instincts, sending a chill down her spine. Before she could fully register what it was, something massive leapt from the shadows, a streak of orange and black that slammed onto the fat man¡¯s back.
The fat man screamed, wild and raw, as the tiger-like creature¡¯s claws dug deep into his shoulders, its jaws clamping down on his neck. Blood splattered across the forest floor, and he gurgled, gasping as he tried to twist away. ¡°No! Luca, it¡¯s me, it¡¯s me¡ª¡± His voice dwindled into a sickening gurgle as his body went limp, collapsing under the weight of the monstrous creature. The floating sphere thudded into the dirt, rolling to a stop near his motionless hand.
As the haze of dust settled, Mags got her first real look at the beast. A tiger, yes¡ªbut this wasn¡¯t any ordinary predator. Standing nearly seven feet tall, it loomed on powerful hind legs, muscular and furred, with a chest that looked almost humanoid beneath the savage, striped pelt. Shreds of torn pants clung to its legs, and its massive, clawed feet sank into the earth with feral intent. Its face was a bizarre blend of man and beast, the muzzle elongated and teeth bared, yet with the faintest trace of human-like features around the eyes. Eyes that gleamed with the feral light of hunger, devoid of sanity, and chillingly aware.Stolen novel; please report.
¡°It¡¯s the aether rot!¡± came a shrill voice from nearby, where the Hag¡¯s head lay wedged in the dirt. ¡°He¡¯s a Bonesinger lost to the sickness, girl! Get him before he gets you!¡±
For a split second, Mags stood frozen. The tiger-man¡¯s gaze snapped to hers, and his lips curled in a bloodthirsty snarl. She swept her eyes across the battleground, noting the fat man¡¯s lifeless body and the mangled figure of his skeletal companion. At the edge of the clearing, Calcabrina was rising to her feet, still in her Kirin form, looking slightly dazed but alive.
Gritting her teeth, Mags tightened her grip on Mithra and charged at the beast before her.
The tiger-man leapt to meet her with a speed that was both animalistic and horrifyingly precise. She could feel aura radiating off of him. He has to be channeling aether like mad!
She swung Mithra in a wide arc, but he dodged, weaving around her blade like a shadow before swiping a massive, clawed hand. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, but felt the razor-sharp claws graze her shoulder, leaving burning trails of pain in their wake.
They danced around each other, Mags darting in to strike and retreat, the tiger-man dodging with an uncanny, predatory grace. His claws were a constant threat, and twice more they raked across her arms and side, leaving shallow but bloody wounds. She grunted, forcing down the pain and waiting for her moment, eyes sharp on her enemy¡¯s every move.
With a snarl, the tiger-man lunged forward, seizing Mithra¡¯s blade in his hands. The razor edge cut into his thick, clawed fingers, but he held on, wrenching the sword from her grip. The blade spun from her hand, landing somewhere in the underbrush with a soft thud. Before she could react, his huge, clawed hands clamped around her shoulders and he heaved her off the ground, slamming her back against a nearby tree.
White-hot pain burst through her body, and her vision swam. She gasped, trying to draw in more aether and summon her power, but before she could, the tiger-man loomed over her, muscles coiling to pounce¡ª
A blur of silver fur and antlers hurtled into the tiger-man from the side, sending him tumbling. Calcabrina had leapt at him in full force, her Kirin form glinting with defiant energy as she drove her antlers deep into his side. She held him, wrapped in a powerful hold, as he twisted and snarled in fury.
¡°Don¡¯t forget about me!¡± she snarled, her grip unyielding even as the tiger-man flailed, swiping at her with his powerful claws.
Mags took the opening, pushing herself off the tree and channeling aether to steady herself. The channeled aether was like a rush of cold water, numbing the pain of her wounds, and sharpening her focus. Her eyes darted to where Mithra lay. Too far away. Calcabrina struggled to restrain the mad, tiger-like Bonesinger.
She drew in every wisp of aether she could manage, channeling it to blunt the screaming pain tearing through her limbs and chest. Could she get to Mithra and then back to where Calcabrina and the other Bonesinger were locked in a death drip in time? Before he potentially overpowered the Kirin?
That¡¯s when the tiger-man broke from Calcabrina¡¯s hold, quickly tossing the large Kirin over his shoulder. Then, he had her pinned, his fangs sunk deep into her flank. Calcabrina roared in agony, her Kirin form flickering as she struggled against him.
"Run, fight, do something, girl!" screeched the Hag¡¯s head from somewhere nearby.
Mags¡¯ muscles tensed. Mithra lay tantalizingly out of reach, but something in her rebelled at the idea of fleeing or scrambling for her blade while Calcabrina fought to hold back the monstrous Bonesinger. She had to fight, had to act!
She filled herself with aether, channeling it straight into her body, feeling her mana surge and her blood pound as her speed multiplied, her every nerve crackling with energy. In a burst, she released the energy, surging forward, legs pounding beneath her. She was running faster than she ever had, barreling toward the creature, her own aura blazing around her like fire as the [Void Cloak] reactivated, shrouding her in shimmering, flickering energy. She was only steps away when words burned into her vision, information searing into her mind:
[New Spell: Angel Flare Spike]
[Level: D-1]
Mags didn¡¯t have time to question the notification, blinking it away. But then, unlike the Skills Ygdrasil had presented to her in the past, she wasn¡¯t simply left guessing about the nature of an ability; its instructions settled into her mind as if by instinct. She knew exactly how it worked, how to pull the aura tight and shape it, compressing it into her fist, and then releasing it a fraction of a second after landing a punch.
Her hands moved almost of their own accord, gathering her aura into a solid point as she raced closer to the tiger-man, her eyes zeroing in on the gap in his defenses.
With a battle cry, Mags closed in, her fist glowing with her gathered aura, aimed right at his solar plexus. She swung with all her strength, and the strike landed with a bone-crunching impact that reverberated through her arm. The air left the Bonesinger in a hoarse grunt, and he released his grip on Calcabrina, his eyes widening in shock. In that split second, Mags released her channeled aura, a searing spike erupting from her fist and punching straight into his core.
The tiger-man froze, his whole body stiffening as if gripped by invisible shackles. Mags felt her aura rippling inside him, a destructive force disrupting the dense mana lines that ran through his body, tearing apart the wild aether surging through his veins. His limbs convulsed, his eyes rolling back as he coughed in pain and surprise, each breath ragged and hoarse.
In a flash, Calcabrina was there, her form bloodied but determined, hooking her powerful arms under the tiger-man¡¯s, lifting and holding him in place. ¡°Hit him again, Mags!¡± she shouted, her bestial voice hoarse and edged with desperation. ¡°One more to finish it!¡±
Mags stumbled back a step, breathing hard. She drew in the remaining strands of aether around her, searching her core for every last ounce of mana to fuel another strike. Her limbs trembled, her vision going hazy as she focused on compressing her aura, building up the power just like before.
But then a cold, hollow sensation washed over her¡ªa feeling she hadn¡¯t experienced since she first began Soulsinging: the desolate void of mana depletion. There¡¯s nothing left. Her heart raced as the last flickers of the aether she¡¯d drawn to her faded, the warmth in her core snuffing out, leaving her feeling empty and weightless. All the power she had felt surging through her body moments ago vanished in an instant, leaving her with nothing but exhaustion. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground, her limbs weak and leaden.
¡°Not now . . .!¡± she desparately whispered, struggling against the encroaching darkness edging her vision. But her body wouldn¡¯t obey her will. She could barely manage a breath, let alone lift a finger.
The tiger-man snarled, ragged breaths puffing hot clouds into the cold air as his gaze fixed on Mags. He was like a wall of muscle, fangs bared, barely an inch away, his gaze flickering with a bloodthirst that saw only her.
Calcabrina¡¯s powerful form trembled as she tried to hold him in place, but the beast reached up, his claws curling around her horns. With a guttural roar, he flung her aside, and she crashed into the ground with a resounding thud, her body rolling limp across the dirt. By the time she skidded to a stop, the Kirin was gone, leaving behind her humanoid form.
Mags tried again to draw in aether, forcing every fiber of her will to channel even a single thread of energy, but her reserves were empty. Every attempt sent sharp, twisting pains through her body. She was drained, powerless. Desperation flickered through her mind.
The tiger man stared down at her menacingly, eyes blank with fury and fanged mouth frothing. He sniffed the air. ¡°Maldrath,¡± he growled.
¡°Please. . .¡± she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°There has to be something left of you . . . just stop¡ª¡± But his eyes were empty of any recognition, glinting only with feral rage.
The tiger-man tensed, muscles bunching as he prepared to pounce. Mags could do nothing but watch, frozen as the inevitability of it closed in. She braced herself¡ª
WHAM! The sky seemed to tear open above her as an entire house hurtled from nowhere, crashing down on the tiger-man with enough force to shake the ground. Dust and splinters flew in every direction, and Mags barely processed what had happened, her mind reeling. The house was nestled in the clearing, just inches from her outstretched hand, its wooden siding splattered with dark streaks where the beast had been moments before. A single, massive fur-covered arm jutted from beneath the house, frozen mid-swipe toward her.
Mags stared, slack-jawed, her mind refusing to process the absurdity of it all. She looked up at the small cottage, whose windows seemed to glare back at her like eyes. Pleasant-smelling smoke billowed from the chimney in lazy curls, and the scent of baked apples filled the air.
Then, with a creaking groan, the house lifted itself off the ground on two massive, chicken-like legs, stepping aside to reveal what remained of the tiger-man beneath. Only a smear of dark, matted fur and twisted limbs was left.
The cottage stretched its legs, then scurried across the clearing like an eager pet, stopping beside the Hag¡¯s head. It lowered itself, looking almost . . . concerned, and . . . bashful?
¡°There you are!¡± the Hag¡¯s head said, her voice light and warm. ¡°I was beginning to think you wouldn¡¯t make it, dear. Had to call in a little backup.¡± The house seemed to quiver with excitement, nuzzling the Hag with the very tip of one of its legs, like a dog reuniting with its owner. Then it plopped back onto the ground, sinking comfortably into the earth as if it had always been part of the clearing.
Mags watched, mouth slightly agape, as the Hag¡¯s head rolled back over the ground until her wizened face was turned up toward her. The old crone¡¯s wrinkled face cracked into a sly, toothy grin. ¡°That was a close one, little pup!¡±
Interlude A2-VI. Guarani Adonargui
Interlude A2.VI
Guarani Adonargui
Guarani sprinted through the deserted streets, his feet pounding against the cracked cobblestones as the wind lashed against his face. The town (Guarani didn¡¯t recall what the others in his squad called it) was abandoned¡ªempty houses, leaning fences, and old wells stood like forgotten monuments to another time¡ªbut to Guarani, it was delightful. He breathed in the cool air, the scents of wild grass and crumbling brick mixing into something fresh.
The A-M-Z, or Annexed-Miasma-Zone, as it was called, had been amazing so far. He wondered if all of Olendar was like this. The Olenish were fantastic warriors, and tall, some even taller than him! No wonder why the school had chosen this place for their field trip¡ªer, field mission.
He grinned. Their Field mission¡ªhe still preferred to call it a ¡°field trip¡±¡ªhad been a real treat. He¡¯d never been to Olendar before, and if this was any indication, the whole country must be a haven for sightseeing! Sure, the towns were mostly empty, some of them taken over by nature, some overrun by flesh-eating living shadows. But that just meant more interesting places to explore!
¡°Man, this place is great,¡± he muttered to himself. Is this what it¡¯s like when people talk about traveling to see the ruins on the Shambalan Continent? Guarani thought so. But he still preferred the town they had passed in earlier in the trip.
Now that had been a sight. Guarani¡¯s thoughts drifted to the pack of giant wolves they¡¯d encountered a few days earlier, having taken over the small town. Towering, muscular creatures with silvery fur, each one the size of a small cart. He¡¯d almost tried to tame one, but Giacinto and the others had been adamant about sticking to the mission¡ªno distractions, Giacinto had said. Still, Guarani couldn¡¯t help but wonder if Professor Safilo would let him bring one back to Wrifton. Maybe one of the smaller ones. After all, it wasn¡¯t like they¡¯d have much trouble fitting it into the Academy¡¯s kennels, right? It was a shame the wolves had already killed off the local Maldrath in the area. Guarani had been itching for a good fight.
His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden buzzing in his right ear, the small stone earring he wore vibrating softly. He¡¯d almost forgotten about the sending stone clipped to his ear lobe, a little enchanted bauble crafted by Giacinto back at the Academy¡¯s Artificery Lab. Giacinto¡ªalways so prepared, so focused on details. That¡¯s why they¡¯d voted him squad captain. A man of virtue, just like Guarani himself!
¡°Guarani, are you there?¡± Giacinto¡¯s voice came through the earring, slightly muffled as if he were speaking through cloth. His tone was sharp and commanding, which Guarani admired. A leader needed strength, after all.
Guarani grinned, touching the earring with two fingers and channeling a small pulse of aether into the stone. ¡°Brother! What a fine morning it is, don¡¯t you think? The air is so fresh, and these ruins¡ªbeautiful, just beautiful! I was thinking about the wolves again. I think I will tame one after all! Maybe one of the smaller ones. What do you think?¡±
A long pause followed, and Guarani could almost hear Giacinto pinching the bridge of his nose.
¡°Guarani, focus. We¡¯re on a mission, not a vacation.¡±
¡°Focus! Leadership! What manly virtues!¡±
Giacinto sighed in his ear. ¡°You¡¯re coming up to an intersection. Don¡¯t turn right¡ªthe path to the right and straight ahead are both blocked by Maldrath hordes. I¡¯m sending Lien to deal with those. Primary objective is to the left, about four blocks east.¡±
Overhead, three crows circled above the rooftops. They were larger than normal and even from the streets below, Guarani could see their sky blue, crystalline eyes. Those were Pal¡¯s crows. The Conjurer was probably using them for reconnaissance. It was likely how Giacinto was able to confirm the location of the Maldrath hordes and their primary objective. Guarani was tempted to take a quick detour and handle the lesser Maldrath, but he knew he needed to let Lien handle them. She was talented but lacked self-confidence. Giving her the opportunity to rise to the challenge was the virtuous thing to do. It¡¯s what a real man would do, like Professor Safilo!
And so, Guarani made a sharp left turn, following Giacinto¡¯s instructions. ¡°You¡¯ve got it, brother!¡±
He stopped, observing the street before him. No sign of their objective. He set off at a sprint again, his powerful legs eating up the distance with ease. Manliness and beauty, he thought. Those were the virtues that guided him. The purity of strength, the grace in every motion¡ªit was his duty to embody both.
As he ran, the wind rushed past. He burned some mana, channeling aether. His senses sharpened. His magic thrummed through him like a second heartbeat, raw power coiled beneath his skin. He¡¯d learned to harness it well during his time at Brightwash. He was the Hand of Virtue!
The town blurred around him as he moved, the ruins mere shadows in his periphery. ¡°You¡¯re getting close,¡± Giacinto said through the sending stone earring. ¡°Take the left and you should see the target.¡±
Guarani tapped the sending stone. ¡°Brother, I¡¯m ready to bask in the glory of combat. Let¡¯s do it!¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
Guarani rounded the corner, his heart pounding with anticipation, and immediately spotted their target. The Sin-type Maldrath was a monstrosity, towering over the empty street like something dragged from the depths of a nightmare. Its reptilian form barely fit between the ruined buildings, its vine-covered back bristling with spikes as long as Guarani¡¯s hand. The thing had the squat, bloated look of a toad, with a long, ribbed tail dragging behind it. Its four arms were unsettlingly human, stretched unnaturally long, each ending in razor-sharp claws that flexed and twitched as it shifted its bulk toward him.
¡°Now this is what I¡¯m talking about,¡± Guarani muttered, excitement buzzing through him. The Sin¡¯s glowing red throat crackled as it opened its maw, the light growing brighter. He could already hear the sizzling hum of the energy gathering there.
¡°You¡¯re beautiful,¡± he said, admiring the creature¡¯s horrifying form with genuine awe. ¡°It¡¯s a shame I¡¯ll have to break you.¡±
The Sin screeched, its maw splitting wide as it released a volley of crimson energy blasts straight at him. Guarani didn¡¯t flinch. His aura flared, aether surging through his limbs as he burned mana to reinforce his body. He crossed his arms just as the first blast struck, the force of it pushing him back a step. Pain flared up his arms, more than he¡¯d expected, but nothing he couldn¡¯t handle. His sleeves disintegrated, burning away, leaving his arms bare with trails of smoke rising from them¡ªbut otherwise, he was unscathed.
So, this is the strength of a Level B-1 Sin.
The Sin paused for only a moment before charging at him, massive legs pounding the cobblestone street.
¡°Guarani, be ready!¡± Giacinto¡¯s voice crackled in his ear, bringing Guarani back to the task at hand.
¡°Always, brother!¡± Guarani called back, eyes gleaming. He was just about to brace for impact when a sharp projectile whizzed past him, striking the cobblestone just behind the Sin.
Rue!
Guarani¡¯s mind clicked into place as he noticed the projectile had landed directly in the Sin¡¯s shadow. Just as Giacinto planned. Rue was a Forger, whose armament took the form of a large aether rifle. With that armament, she was deadly from extreme distances. Before confronting the Sin, Giacinto had Guarani infuse his aura into one of Rue¡¯s projectiles. Rue¡¯s precision, combined with his aura, had set the trap.
With a grin, Guarani tapped into Yggdrasil.
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Guarani Adonargui]
[Class 1: Bonesinger (Type: Giantsblood)]
[Class 2: Evoker (Type: Shadowbiter)]
It was as though everything in the street slowed down to an imperceptible level of movement. He felt the familiar, haptic tingling as he tapped into his Shadowbiter abilities in a fraction of second.
[Spell: Shadow Jump]
In an instant, he was no longer standing in front of the charging monster¡ªhe was behind it, slipping through its own shadow like a wraith. He could feel the energy thrumming beneath him, his aura surging through the Sin¡¯s shadow.
His hand sank into the dark silhouette on the ground, and with a pulse of aether, the Sin froze, locked in place. The creature growled, struggling against the invisible bonds, but it was too late.
¡°Time to dance, brother.¡±
Guarani flexed his right arm, activating his Bonesinging and feeling his aura flow into his fist. His muscles swelled, his arm growing to an absurd size, veins bulging as his fist became a massive weapon of bone and sinew. His fist was the size of a giant war hammerhead, at least five times the size of his head. He swung it down with a resounding crack, slamming into the Sin¡¯s spine with the force of a battering ram. The beast¡¯s massive form lurched forward, smashing into the street and sending cracks spiderwebbing through the stone.
Not stopping for a moment, Guarani¡¯s left fist grew to match his right, and he unleashed a flurry of powerful jabs into the creature¡¯s back, each blow sending tremors through the earth. The Sin¡¯s bramble-like spikes cracked and shattered under the relentless barrage.
Get it airborne. Clear the path for Rue.
That was the plan, and Guarani wasn¡¯t about to fail his team. That wasn¡¯t what a man of virtue did! With a grunt, he grabbed the struggling Sin by its tail, his massive hands closing around the ribbed appendage. With a single heave, he threw the creature up into the air, following it with a rapid series of punches that kept it suspended above the rooftops. Each strike kept the hulking monster helpless, its bulky form spinning in the air like a ragdoll as Guarani juggled it higher and higher.
¡°Rue, you¡¯re good to go!¡± Guarani called into the sending stone, breathless but grinning ear to ear. Victory was in sight.
Until his legs were swept out from beneath him.
The Sin¡¯s tail whipped around in a blur, catching Guarani by the waist and yanking him into the air. He barely had time to register the movement before the beast¡¯s claws dug into his side, tearing through his skin. Blood splattered against the cobblestones below, and pain shot through him, white-hot and furious.
¡°This . . . this is bad,¡± Guarani grunted, struggling against the creature¡¯s grip. This did not exemplify the virtues of manliness and beauty. He was entangled with the Maldrath. If he didn¡¯t get free, Rue wouldn¡¯t be able to fire her shot. Her attack had a long charge time and an even longer cooldown. This was their only opportunity.
Focusing through the pain, Guarani shrank his fists and instead channeled his power through his entire body. His frame swelled, muscles expanding, and with a roar, he broke free of the Sin¡¯s claws, sending it reeling backward. His eyes snapped down to the ground where their shared shadow twisted on the cobblestone beneath them.
He activated his Shadowbiter abilities again, slipping out of the Sin¡¯s grasp in a blink. He reappeared on the ground below, just as the massive beast began to fall. Without missing a beat, Guarani slammed his fist into the creature¡¯s shadow.
[Spell: Shadow Stop]
The Sin locked in place mid-air, hovering, suspended above him, thrashing helplessly.
¡°Rue! Now!¡± Guarani barked into the sending stone.
A second later, the sky lit up as a beam of light and fire tore through the air, screaming toward the Sin. The energy struck the creature dead center, detonating with a crackling explosion of heat and raw power. The bramble-like spikes on its back shattered like glass, and the Sin¡¯s body stretched, contorting under the force of the blast before erupting into black dust that dissipated into the wind.
The energy beam didn¡¯t stop, continuing to soar into the distance. Eventually, high above the town¡¯s rooftops, the remnants of Rue¡¯s attack exploded in the sky like fireworks, bright against the clear sky.
Guarani stood in the midst of the settling dust, panting heavily. His gaze fell on the shimmering aether core¡ªa crystal the size of his fist¡ªthat descended from where the Sin had been suspended in the air. He caught it easily, turning it over in his hand and smiling.
¡°Professor will be proud of this one,¡± he muttered.
With the core in hand, Guarani struck a pose, flexing his still-enlarged muscles, one fist raised in victory.
¡°Manliness and beauty, brother,¡± he said to no one in particular, basking in the glow of his well-earned triumph.
36. Boon
Chapter 36
Boon
Mags¡¯s mind struggled to keep up with the absurdity of what had just happened. She glanced down at the splintered wood and remnants of fur that had been the tiger-man. A whole house had dropped from the sky and crushed the Bonesinger, and now it was prancing on a giant pair of chicken legs?
¡°Did I really just get saved by a hut with chicken legs?¡± she muttered, half-laughing to herself.
She spotted Calcabrina sprawled a few yards away, and let out a trembling sight of relief when she noticed the horns on the girl¡¯s head shift ever so slightly. Thank the gods, she¡¯s alive. Mags stumbled over to her, her own bruises and cuts aching with each step. Calcabrina sat up gingerly, brushing dirt from her bloodstained tunic, her breath shallow and strained.
¡°You okay?¡± Mags asked, though the question felt almost absurd given their state. The two of them had just battled two Soulsingers and an aether-mad Bonesinger and lived to tell of it.
Calcabrina managed a small, weary smile. ¡°I¡¯ll survive. Once we¡¯re back at Bijel Garden, Scarmiglione can patch me up.¡± She tried to stand but winced, and Mags extended a hand, pulling her to her feet.
Mags took stock of herself, realizing her own body felt like one massive bruise. Her limbs were heavy, exhaustion pulling at her muscles with an almost physical weight. The journey back was going to be grueling, especially with every ounce of mana burned from her body. She¡¯d never felt an exhaustion like the one she had when her mind scraped the bottom of her mana reserves. Malacoda had explained that mana reserves would naturally replenish over time. She wondered how that actually worked. Did the body replenish its mana similar to how it heals and grows over time? Was there an Attribute that affected mana regeneration? These were questions she¡¯d need to ask Malacoda during their next lesson.
The Hag¡¯s head gave a polite, if grating, cough. ¡°Now that the danger has passed,¡± she said with a toothy grin that nearly split the yellow, paper-thin skin of her face, ¡°could one of you young folk see to my head? Being a head without a body is such a dreadful nuisance.¡±
Suppressing a sigh, Mags strode over, lifting the Hag¡¯s head from the ground. The crone winked at her, entirely too pleased, as Mags carried her to where her body lay sprawled on the forest floor. When Mags lowered the head to the stump of her neck, she gasped as bloody, sinewy threads extended upward, twining from the body and into the head. The threads knit themselves with a grotesque, seamless efficiency, sewing the head firmly back onto the shoulders. And then, with a sudden jerk, the Hag¡¯s body bolted upright.
But her head was on backward.
With a grumbling groan, the Hag raised her bony hands, gripping her own face, and gave it a rough, twisting spin. The head turned with a crunch, her eyes rolling in her sockets like marbles before they settled forward. Her mouth split into a wide grin as she brushed off her skirts.
¡°Ah, much better,¡± she said, flexing her gnarled fingers. ¡°Thank you, my dears.¡±
Calcabrina stared, still half in shock. Mags tried not to stare. The wet crunch of the Hag¡¯s neck being twisted around the right way would haunt her for weeks, she was sure.
The Hag adjusted her shawl, clearing her throat before continuing. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s time for proper introductions. You may call me Baba Yaga. Witch of this wood, keeper of its secrets, and not too fond of visitors.¡± Her tone softened, and she sniffed indignantly as she looked over the bodies of the three mercenaries. ¡°And after that little display, I think I owe you both something for your troubles.¡±
The Hag produced a small, worn mortar and pestle, pressing it into Calcabrina¡¯s hands. ¡°This is a gift, child, though what it does will be for you to discover in time. Its powers will reveal themselves only when needed. Don¡¯t let it gather dust.¡±
Calcabrina blinked, reverent, her fingers brushing over the ancient stone. ¡°Erm¡ªthank you,¡± she said, lamely.
Then the Hag turned to Mags, her eyes studying her with unsettling intensity. ¡°As for you, little pup. You¡¯re . . . an interesting one, aren¡¯t you? Not quite Angel, not quite human. Dead, yet still alive . . . reborn.¡±
Baba Yaga cackled when she saw the slack-jawed look on Mags¡¯ face. ¡°Yes, yes. I see you, little pup. For what you really are. Live long enough to be my age and . . . well, you learn to truly see the way the world is.¡±
Mags cleared her throat, about to respond, but Baba Yaga cut her off.
¡°There¡¯s something worth watching in you.¡± Her grin widened, showing a set of yellowed teeth far too sharp.
Before Mags could respond, Baba Yaga reached up to her face and, with a horrible squelching sound, plucked her own left eye from its socket. Mags stifled a gasp as the Hag held it out. The eye was oddly vibrant, swirling with blues and greens, its gaze seeming to pierce her very soul.
¡°I give you a rare boon, one that no witch like me would part with lightly¡ªthe Hag¡¯s Eye. Through it, I¡¯ll watch and see what becomes of you. You¡¯ll see things, too, if you know how to look.¡± The eye floated from her gnarled hand, its gaze fixing on Mags before slowly sinking into her palm. It carried a warmth that sent shivers up her arm.
Mags flexed her fingers, feeling the strange energy hum through her veins. She didn¡¯t close her palm. How do you properly hold an eye ball? . . . Actually, let¡¯s not think about the fact that I have this old woman¡¯s eye just sitting in my palm.
With a final, satisfied cackle, Baba Yaga turned and climbed the stoop of her house, which straightened, its chicken legs ready to carry her deeper into the wood. She gave Mags and Calcabrina a nod. ¡°Tell Celestine I send my regards.¡±
With that, the chicken-legged hut sprang into motion, trotting off through the forest, the Hag¡¯s laughter trailing like mist as they watched her vanish into the trees.
Mags held the Hag¡¯s eye in her hand, its unsettling warmth and slight pulse feeling like something between a heartbeat and a whisper. It didn¡¯t hurt exactly, but the thing was undeniably . . . alive. She could practically feel it observing her, aware of her touch. A part of her wanted to fling it into the undergrowth. Instead, with a sigh, she gently closed her fingers over it and slipped it into her pocket, hoping she¡¯d forget the way it felt in her palm. It actually reminded her of the way the Angel¡¯s egg had felt when she first encountered it in the Deep outside Solstice.
Nearby, Calcabrina bent over the fat man¡¯s body and picked up a small metallic sphere that glinted in the low, filtered light of the forest. She tossed it to Mags, who caught it mid-air, brow raised.
¡°What is it?¡± Mags asked, turning it over in her hands. It was deceptively heavy for its size, cool to the touch, and faintly engraved with runes that shifted in her grip.
¡°An Aether-bound Pocket,¡± Calcabrina said. ¡°Or just a Pocket, for short. Pretty rare, and very expensive aether-tec. It¡¯s a storage device that synchronizes with Yggdrasil so you can store practically anything inside it. A portable pocket space inventory.¡±
Mags felt a pang of excitement, clutching the Pocket a little tighter. ¡°And you¡¯re giving it to me?¡±
Calcabrina nodded her head towards the tattered remains of Mags¡¯ satchel bag and its contents that had been scattered over the clearing. ¡°Seems like you¡¯ll need it, and it will serve you well at Brightwash, I¡¯m sure.¡±
Mags smiled. ¡°Thank you!¡± She turned the sphere in her hand, looking over it some more. ¡°How do I use it?¡±
¡°You¡¯ll have to attune to it first,¡± Calcabrina replied, dusting off her hands. ¡°Once you do, it can shrink down to the size of a marble, but it¡¯ll take a bit of practice before you get the hang of it.¡±
Mags nodded, then made her way over to retrieve Mithra from where it had landed. She felt a surge of relief as her fingers closed around the sword¡¯s hilt, comforted by the familiar weight. This blade was becoming as much a part of her as her own skin. She slipped it into the sheath at her back and walked back to Calcabrina, who was standing over the remains of the two men, her gaze somber.
¡°What should we do with the bodies?¡± Mags asked, trying not to look too closely at the grim scene.
¡°Leave them,¡± Calcabrina said, her voice low. ¡°It¡¯d be too much for us alone, anyway. Especially in our state. When we return to Bijel Garden, we¡¯ll let Celestine know.¡±
Her eyes drifted to the dismembered arm of the tiger-man, fur matted with blood, the hand still partially curled as if ready to swipe. Mags stared at it, unease stirring. ¡°Is this what aether rot looks like?¡± she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. ¡°He attacked his own ally who was out here trying to find him a cure for this condition.¡±
Calcabrina nodded slowly. ¡°Aether rot¡¯s different for each type of Soulsinger. For Bonesingers like him . . . and me . . . it means losing control of their own transformations until they¡¯re unable to revert back to their original form. They become more beast, or monster, than person. Sometimes they¡¯re driven purely by the instinct that is coupled with their Bonesinging form.¡± She paused, frowning as she looked at the severed limb. ¡°But the madness, regardless of which form it takes . . . that part¡¯s the same for all of us, in the end.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Mags thought about what Calcabrina had told her not too long ago. We all touch the Aethereal Sea and grapple with the monsters that lurk beneath its surface. Not a one of us comes back whole. Remember that, Mags. Remember that as you continue down this path you¡¯ve chosen.
The two of them turned their backs to the clearing, making their way through the dense undergrowth, the sounds of birds and insects returning to the forest as they left the grimness of the battlefield behind.
Eventually, they reached the spot where the airship rested, the sight of the skyfin¡ªa creature resembling an enormous goldfish, tethered to the ship by thick cords¡ªgiving a surreal, peaceful touch to the scene. It floated in place, ignorant of the violence that had taken place not a half hour walk away. Calcabrina moved toward it, her fingers brushing against the side of the beast¡¯s smooth body as it floated lazily in the air.
¡°Time for you to go, too,¡± she murmured. In a single bound, she leapt onto the roof of the airship. Her arm shimmered, and was replaced by a fur-covered arm, hand tipped in razor-sharp claws. With a practiced motion, she sliced her hand through the silvered tethers, cutting the skyfin free from the ship¡¯s mooring. As the creature drifted away, it twisted and flipped in the air, graceful and ethereal as it swam into the open sky.
Mags watched it go, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over her as it disappeared into the horizon.
Mags and Calcabrina stumbled through the arched gates of Bijel Garden, exhausted but triumphant. Scarmiglione was already waiting near the gate with his arms crossed, his head tilted to the side in concern, though the half-smile of his mask was unchanging. He clicked his tongue at their approach.
¡°Back from the forest, are we? And oh my, does it look like you¡¯ve taken all the fun!¡±
He led them to a room in one of the towers that he made into a makeshift infirmary, where his capable hands worked to bind their cuts and mend bruises, applying salves that tingled and smelled sharply of herbs. Calcabrina winced at his touch, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Mags.
Later, as the evening deepened, Mags found herself face-to-face with Celestine and Sarto, who looked on with a mixture of pride and curiosity. ¡°You did well,¡± Celestine said, her eyes warm. ¡°The forest is no easy place to tread, but you¡¯ve returned stronger Fate-touched.¡±
Sarto nodded, a reassuring smile tugging at the corner of her lips. ¡°A task¡ªan obstacle on the path of progression. You rose to meet the task. You¡¯ve earned a night¡¯s rest¡ªthe both of you.¡±
And so, after a quick wash and change of clothes, Mags found herself standing before Malacoda¡¯s quarters. Despite being given the remainder of the evening to rest, she had questions she needed answered. The room was dimly lit by a single lantern, casting a gentle glow on the low table and the numerous cushions around it. Malacoda sat cross-legged, hunched over a small feast, inhaling the rich smells of lentil soup, spiced rice, and stews dotted with beans and vegetables.
¡°Ah, there she is!¡± he called out, patting the cushion across from him as he ladled himself another bowl of soup. A placemat, bowl and utensils had already been set for her. ¡°What did you want to discuss, my bright young pupil?¡±
Mags took her seat, pouring herself a glass of the chilled herbal water he¡¯d had set out. ¡°I . . . gained some new Skills while we were out there,¡± she began, watching Malacoda¡¯s eyes widen with intrigue.
¡°That¡¯ll happen the more you get experience in the field and battle more.¡±
¡°And something strange¡ªa Spell. When I received the notification . . . It was as if the instructions were already in my mind, like the spell was . . . waiting for me?¡±
¡°Ah, now that¡¯s exciting!¡± Malacoda set down his spoon, his face alight. ¡°Skills are often intuitive, but the parameters need to be tested through trial and error. But Spells are a little different. Yggdrasil can transmit knowledge directly to us when it deems we¡¯re ready. So, when you gain access to a new Spell, the System gives you everything you need to know in that very moment. You¡¯re a Soulsinger, Mags¡ªyou have access to more information than you might think.¡±
Mags looked at him, confused. ¡°It¡¯s a strange feeling. I knew how to use the Spell, but I don¡¯t actively understand it.¡±
¡°Exactly,¡± he replied, grinning. ¡°If you focus, you can actually prompt Yggdrasil¡¯s interface to show you the information. Just use your thoughts to summon the right interface.¡±
She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Thoughts?¡±
¡°Try it now.¡± He took a gulp of soup, his eyes gleaming. ¡°It¡¯s all about intent. Command it mentally, like when you summon your Attributes interface. Try using the command word Spells.¡±
Mags closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining a prompt window with the word ¡°Spells.¡± She opened her eyes and the familiar prompt of neat, silver script filled her vision.
[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]
[Soulsinger Designation: Magdalena]
[Class: Angelic Host (Type: Unassigned)]
. . .
She focused harder. Spells, she mentally commanded.
Then, the familair haptic sensation in the back of her mind.
[Access Spell Information?]
Yes.
She guided Yggdrasil to summon the information she was looking for.
[Spell: Angel Flare Spike]
[Level: D-1]
[Root Affinity: N/A]
[Range: Touch]
[Description: The Soulsinger channels void essence aura into a concentrated spike capable of disrupting mana channels.]
[Current Mana Cost: 20%]
Mags studied the text for a moment.
¡°I¡¯m assuming it worked?¡± asked Malacoda around a mouthful of rice.
¡°Spells have levels too?¡±
¡°Yup! But not all Spells, or Skills, can increase in level.¡±
¡°And it says the current mana cost of the spell is twenty percent?¡±
¡°Ah, this is a good lesson. If your mana reserves increase over time, that number should decrease, unless the Spell increases in level. Right now, what that means is using that Spell will require twenty percent of your maximum mana reserves.¡±
¡°Got it.¡± Mags thought for a second. ¡°So, I can cast it approximately five times before I¡¯m spent.¡±
¡°Assuming you¡¯re not using your mana in any other way, and don¡¯t have access to a Celestial Treasure or item that can artificially replenish your reserves.¡± Malacoda began re-filling his bowl, replenishing the pile of still steaming rice. ¡°I would guess you could use it once, maybe twice, in most combat scenarios.¡±
¡°Interesting.¡± There was more to Soulsinging and accessing Yggdrasil than Mags could have imagined. She would need to get used to keeping track of the number of additional factors. ¡°Is there a way to tell just how much of my reserves I have left?¡±
¡°Sure. That¡¯s a trickier command that will take some practice, but when you have time, practice using the Status command. There are actually Skills that will provide increased details via Yggdrasil.¡±
¡°Thanks, I will.¡±
Mags scooped herself some rice, topping it with an aromatic vegetable stew. She took a bite and savored the flavor and subtle spices on her tongue. She took some time to stuff her face, trading idle banter with Malacoda as they both ate a serving or two of the meal the priestesses had prepared for them.
Afterward, when she was had her fill, she retrieved the small Aetherbound Pocket and the Hag¡¯s Eye. She held them up for Malacoda, whose eyebrows shot up at the sight of the Hag¡¯s Eye, his face split between astonishment and admiration. Mags swore she saw a flash of silver light cross over his eyes.
¡°A true Hag¡¯s eye!¡± he exclaimed. He reached over the table. ¡°Do you mind?¡±
¡°Not at all,¡± she replied, extending the eye.
¡°Wow,¡± he breathed, taking it from her carefully to examine it. ¡°You¡¯re holding something truly rare here. And that Pocket will be invaluable too. I have one¡ªmost experienced Soulsingers have some sort of Inventory. You¡¯ll want to attune to both as soon as possible.¡±
¡°I meant to ask you about that. How do I attune to something?¡±
¡°Think of how you used the Daedalus Orb. It¡¯s a similar process. Just place a trace of your aura into each item, a bit each day. After several days, Yggdrasil will recognize the connection, and the Attunement will be active. You can also use Yggdrasil¡¯s Inspect function to get basic information about each item¡¯s properties in the meantime.¡±
Mags turned the Pocket over in her hands, assessing its weight. She channeled some of the ambient aether in the air, generating a small amount of aura. She focused, letting a faint thread of it pass into the Pocket¡¯s core, feeling the slight hum as it responded to her presence. It was an oddly intimate process, like laying the first steps of a bond.
She summoned Yggdrasil and prompted it with the command Inspect. A window of silver text filled her vision, as she had expected.
[Request: Inspect]
. . .
[Inspection Complete]
[Item: Aether-bound Pocket]
[Unattuned]
[Description: The creation of Artificery, an Aether-bound Pocket is a compact pocket space capable of storing and organizing items. This specific Aether-bound Pocket is capable of holding a range of 200 to 500 hundred individual items, factoring the physical and metaphysical weight of each item. This Aether-bound Pocket currently holds 20 objects. Incapable of assessing inventory. Attunement required.]
So it seems whatever that man had stored in the Pocket is still there.
Mags thought about everything she had just learned. She looked at the Hag¡¯s Eye in Malacoda¡¯s hand and requested Yggdrasil to Inspect the eye.
[Request: Inspect]
. . .
[Inspection Complete]
[Item: Hag¡¯s Eye]
[Unattuned; unequipped]
[Description: The left eye of Baba Yaga, Witch of the Woods. It contains a portion of her power.]
That¡¯s it?! The description was disappointing. It seemed like there was a limit to Yggdrasil¡¯s Inspect function. Additionally, the descriptor of the eye being ¡®unequipped¡¯ was somewhat unsettling. She wondered how one ¡®equipped¡¯ an eye. Perhaps I¡¯ll put off doing anything with the Eye for now. It would be wise to proceed with caution.
Then, Mags tried something else. She focused on Yggdrasil, and prompted it with the command Attunement. To her delighted surprise, it worked. A new window of text scrolled across her vision.
[Access Attunement Information?]
With her mind, she confirmed the request.
[Items Attuned: 0]
[Available Attunement Slots: 3/3]
¡°I summoned my Attunement information,¡± she said, glancing through the text at Malacoda.
¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re getting a hang of using the System without needing me to hold your hand through every little detail. That¡¯s the result of a good teacher, I must say.¡±
Mags rolled her eyes. ¡°It says I have three ¡®slots¡¯ available for Attunement. I have a couple of questions. First, what determines the number of items I can attune to? And second, once I use a slot, can I un-attune to an item?¡±
Malacoda nodded approvingly. ¡°Good questions. The number of items a person can attune to varies from Soulsinger to Soulsinger. It¡¯s tied to your Intelligence Attribute. The higher your Intelligence, the more items you can attune to. Don¡¯t ask me why. That¡¯s stuffy scholar stuff. It¡¯s just how it works! . . . And yes, you can un-attune by simply making the request to Yggdrasil. You will need to have an open slot before you can attune to another item.¡±
He handed her the Hag¡¯s Eye, but held his gaze, a twinkle of mischief glinting in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re growing and learning quickly, Mags. I can¡¯t wait to see what sort of tricks you¡¯ll be able to pull with these new tools.¡±
A grin spread across his face as he leaned back, picking up a piece of flatbread. ¡°But that¡¯s tomorrow¡¯s business. Tonight, rest up. We¡¯ll see what you¡¯ve learned on this little mission of yours come dawn.¡±
37. Tutors V
Chapter 37
Tutors V
The weeks following Mags¡¯ return from the Leshi Forest passed in a steady rhythm of lessons and rituals. Under the twilight skies of Bijel Garden, her training with Malacoda sharpened both body and mind. As her strength grew, so did her understanding of Soulsinging. She still spent her mornings practicing with the Daedalus Orb over her breakfast. The Daedalus Orb felt more responsive in her hands, its intricate patterns familiar. She knew the maze well. In fact, she knew the Orb¡¯s maze so well she should occasionally describe some of the more interesting traps it contained to Calcabrina simply describing it with word. The other young woman¡¯s eyes would always glaze over after a minute or so.
She hadn¡¯t yet attuned to the Pocket. For some reason she could not explain, the metallic sphere resisted her aura. It mentally felt like her aura was running through water. Malacoda told her to keep trying and even if it took longer, she would eventually attune to the item.
One day, word swept through Bijel Garden that Skithbladnir and the rest of the Ghost Hounds had returned, anchoring off the misted shores of Rusalka. The massive airship loomed on the distant horizon, its pale sails gleaming under moonlight like the bones of ancient leviathans.
From the ship came Rubicante, on the back of one of the small turtle-like skyfin. Mags and the others greeted him at the top of the stairs leading up to Bijel Garden. The Shambalan man took them in with his bronze-yellow eyes. Those eyes, like two coins, eventually landed on Mags.
¡°I hope you¡¯ve grown much since we last spoke,¡± he said. A polite, placid expression was painted on his gray-skinned face.
Mags gave him a wide grin in response. ¡°Just you wait and see!¡±
Mags had missed her tea sessions with him¡ªthose late-night talks by lantern light where they¡¯d delve into philosophical ideas and the mysteries of the Aethereal Sea, and where he often left her with more questions than answers.
During their first lesson after his return, Rubicante led her to the temple, where the sprawling branches of the giant Sanguine Tree reached towards the heavens, casting a shadowed canopy across angular stone structure that made up the inside of the temple. The air felt thick with the scent of damp earth and the water streaming from the ceiling along the outer walls seemed additionally loud. Mags noticed at once that the temple¡¯s resident ravens were nowhere to be seen. She cocked her head.
¡°Are we even allowed to be here?¡± she asked, glancing at the temple¡¯s walls, covered in the flowing script.
Rubicante chuckled, pouring two cups of tea from a delicate porcelain pot. ¡°I have the Shrine Maiden¡¯s permission. She believes the tree¡¯s roots reach far enough to cradle any conversation of significance. As such, it¡¯s a wonderful place for introspection. And, not to mention, this is one of my favorite places on Rusalka. I would be a fool to not take advantage of spending as much time here as I can.¡±
They sat in silence for a moment beneath the great Sanguine Tree, the dappled light and dark-red leaves swirling above them. In the darkness of the temple, Rubicante became nothing more than a silhouette empowered with his voice. Occasionally, he would be cast in the scattered moonlight when he reached to refill his cup of tea.
Mags lifted her tea and inhaled its earthy aroma, as Rubicante began to speak.
¡°Now,¡± he murmured, ¡°where did we last leave off.¡±
¡°The Aethereal Sea, and the nature of aether,¡± she responded.
¡°Ah, yes¡¡± Rubicante took a careful sip of his own tea. ¡°Please, do me a favor and hand me that glass of water on the tray there.¡± Mags grabbed the tall glass, which was about halfway filled with water. ¡°Yes, this may do.¡± Rubicante said, as he grabbed the pestle he had used to grind the tea leaves.
He continued. ¡°This glass is the world, both the physical realm we live in, and the metaphysical realm, which we know as the Aethereal Sea. The water is the aether. The power source for Soulsinging. This pestle is the Soulsinger, reaching into the Aethereal Sea to pull the aether.¡± He placed the pestle into the glass, and Mags watched as the water level in the glass rose higher. ¡°Aether is drawn into the physical realm, filling space previously unoccupied by aether.¡±
¡°But then it is channeled when we use magic, and turned into aura,¡± she said.
¡°Yes, and what happens to aura?¡±
Mags thought about the question for a moment before speaking. ¡°It¡¯s either used, becoming a part of a Spell or Skill, or will dissipate over time if generated by a Soulsinger, but not used. It can¡¯t be held in the body for an indefinite period of time, like mana can be.¡±
Rubicante smiled. ¡°Yes, very well said. Aura is almost a one-to-one ratio with the amount of aether channeled. Some aether is inefficiently lost or burned away in the physical processes involved in a Soulsinger channeling it. The aura is eventually used, taking a different form of energy. That energy, when expended, turns back into aether, returning to the Aethereal Sea until it can be recycled back into the physical realm.¡± Rubicante removed the pestle from the glass, and the water in the cup returned to its previous level.
¡°Aether,¡± Rubicante said, ¡°is always balanced between the two realms.¡±
¡°Almost always balanced,¡± she corrected. She instantly noticed the twinkle in his eyes.
¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, clearly happy with her line of thinking.
¡°You said it yourself, some aether is inefficiently lost in the process of being channeled. It never makes it to the part of being used in the Spell or Skill, and therefore being transferred to its original form of energy and returned to the Aethereal Sea.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
¡°Precisely. Anything else?¡±
¡°What about miasma? It¡¯s thought to be aether in the physical realm that has become corrupted somehow. How does it return to the Aethereal Sea?¡±
¡°Typically, it must be converted back to aether through the power of a Guide.¡±
Mags took another sip of her tea. She let the bitter flavor settle over her tongue. ¡°And is that conversion one hundred percent efficient?¡±
Moonlight crossed Rubicante¡¯s face and she saw that his smile had grown wider. ¡°No, it is not.¡±
¡°Well, there you have it. A second way that less aether goes back than came out of the Sea originally. But it has to balance back out somehow?. . .¡±
She let the silence linger for a second. It was Rubicante¡¯s turn to provide some answers.
¡°Somnyx. It is a unique form of matter that exists in both realms. It is an energy source called the essence of dreams¡ªa representation of pure, unadulterated potential. Somnyx will fill the gaps in the Aethereal Sea, generating more aether and restoring the balance.¡±
¡°Is Somnyx lost when it does that?¡±
¡°No. It¡¯s not quite understood and that very question still keeps many scholars up at night.¡±
¡°And miasma,¡± she said. ¡°If aether can be corrupted in the physical realm, can it be corrupted in the Aethereal Sea?¡±
Rubicante¡¯s face grew somber, his gaze distant. ¡°Yes, though no one knows the exact nature of it, there is a darkness that lurks beneath the surface of the Aethereal Sea. When a Soulsinger goes to draw power from the Sea, they will inevitably draw in some of that darkness.¡±
She thought of the Bonesinger in the forest, his fury, the red haze in his eyes. ¡°Aether rot,¡± she muttered. ¡°That¡¯s what they called it.¡±
¡°Aether rot,¡± he repeated softly. ¡°Yes, I heard of your and Calcabrina¡¯s confrontation in the Leshi. The Bonesinger you encountered had been corrupted past any chance of redemption. Aether rot overtakes a Soulsinger when they tap too deeply into the Aethereal Sea, willingly or otherwise. It is different for each Soulsinger, coloring the madness with the nature of their power.¡±
She stared into her tea, letting his words settle. ¡°He . . . he was stuck in his Bonesinger form, you know? Completely overwhelmed by bloodlust. He even attacked his own ally, the one who was there to help him. He wasn¡¯t . . . he wasn¡¯t a person anymore.¡±
Rubicante nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. ¡°That¡¯s the nature of Soulsinging, Mags. It¡¯s a deeply personal magic. A Bonesinger¡ªespecially a Shifter¡ªdraws upon their own essence. The form they take comes from some aspect of themselves, a part of their identity. So, when rot sets in, it corrupts that very core. They lose their identity in the madness of the rot.¡±
Mags shivered. ¡°And what about other kinds of Soulsingers?¡±
¡°A fair question,¡± Rubicante replied, studying her with his steady gaze. ¡°Each type suffers their own unique brand of madness. For Evokers, the madness aligns with the elemental Root they¡¯re attuned to. Fire-aligned Evokers, for instance, often go mad in fiery rages, burning everything around them.¡±
¡°And Conjurers?¡±
¡°They risk losing control of their minds to the very Shedim they command¡± Rubicante replied. ¡°A Conjurer might become one with the beings they summon, forgetting where their soul ends and another begins. They lose their freedom, seemingly bound to the very creatures they claimed to master. And Forgers . . . well, their madness is the cruelest of all. They become lost in a single, all-consuming memory. A memory typically carrying an emotional significance. Whatever emotion is driven by the memory, it consumes and changes the Forger in the madness.¡±
Mags swallowed, a chill prickling her skin. ¡°Is madness the fate for all Soulsingers, eventually?¡±
Rubicante reached across the tray and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. ¡°Many times, it is. But remember¡ªknowledge, preparation, and restraint are as much your tools as any spell or weapon. Soulsinging isn¡¯t just power; it¡¯s a path of understanding, an intimacy with the forces around and within you. And as long as you remember that, you¡¯ll have the strength to remain yourself.¡±
The large room was lit with the warm, steady glow of mana-infused sconces. Mags sat cross-legged on the woven mat, her posture straight and attentive as she focused on Libicocco¡¯s instructions. Across from her, the dark skinned woman wore her usual look of studious intensity, her round glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose, but Mags could tell that her teacher was pleased with her progress. Beside Libicocco, Rubicante sat with a steaming cup of tea, his eyes half-lidded as he listened to their exchange, a small, encouraging smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Mags felt an uncharacteristic swell of confidence. The past weeks had felt like breaking through fog¡ªnew concepts and bodies of knowledge becoming clearer and sharper under Libicocco¡¯s rigorous instruction. Mags was now confident that she could write persuasive essays on a variety of topics, from the philosophy of mathematics to ancient imperial history. She was sure it would be a skill that would save her life while at Brightwash Academy. It isn¡¯t fireballs being hurled at my head I¡¯ll need to worry about, it¡¯s whether I¡¯ll remember the line of succession of House Lorenz, or some nonsense!
Setting her jaw, Mags leaned forward. ¡°Coco, I¡¯ve been meaning to ask.¡± She searched for the right words, then plunged ahead. ¡°How exactly does doing well at Brightwash help me assassinate the Emperor? I get that achieving the title of Dux per Par is essential, that it earns me a guaranteed audience with him. But. . . ¡± She glanced at Rubicante, who watched her intently now. ¡°What¡¯s my role in this plan exactly? What does having the Angel¡¯s egg do that makes the plan work?¡±
Libicocco¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but she exchanged a look with Rubicante before giving a single, measured nod. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and folded her hands. ¡°First, I told you to not call me Coco. It¡¯s ¡®Libicocco¡¯ or ¡®Teacher.¡¯ Second, that,¡± she began, her voice gentle yet precise, ¡°is a very good question, Magdalena.¡±
She took a breath, as if carefully choosing her words. ¡°The Emperor is surrounded by a complex and highly sophisticated series of wards. They are ancient protections¡ªwhether established through his own Soulsinging abilities or by a network of other Soulsingers in his service, we cannot be entirely sure. However, these wards are . . . indiscriminate. They repel, neutralize, or even negate the effects of almost any Soulsinger¡¯s influence, rendering it nearly impossible for anyone of our kind to harm him, or even so much as touch him.¡±
Mags felt a prickle of cold run down her spine, despite the warmth of the room. ¡°And I¡¯m not a Soulsinger,¡± she murmured, almost to herself.
¡°Precisely,¡± Libicocco replied, her gaze intense. ¡°At least not a traditional one by any means. You have a dull soul, Mags. You¡¯ve never undergone an ignition, but have access to high power potential due to the Egg, and in that, you are unique. Not only that, but the Angel¡¯s egg, the artifact you carry within your core, produces a distinctive ¡®signature¡¯ unlike any known Soulsinger, or anyone without a dull soul. We have reason to believe it¡¯s a signature that slips past the Emperor¡¯s wards¡ªone that essentially renders you invisible to his magical protections.¡±
The reality of it sank in slowly. Mags clenched her fists, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle in her chest. She was to be the knife hidden in plain sight, the unseen threat. But it wasn¡¯t lost on her that ¡°invisible¡± didn¡¯t mean ¡°invulnerable.¡±
Libicocco continued, ¡°There are, of course, other obstacles. Physical barriers, arcane defenses, his guards, and the Emperor himself.¡± Her gaze grew steely. ¡°He¡¯s known to be the most powerful Soulsinger alive. But he¡¯s old. Very old. We think, beyond these protections, mighty as they may be, that he is vulnerable. Ruling for centuries has taken their toll on him.¡±
Mags nodded, though her mind whirled with questions. ¡°And, with my mastery of all of the important dates in Ravaelian history, I may be able to get beyond his defenses, past his cadre of other Soulsingers, and bore him to death!¡±
Libicocco cleared her throats, face darkening in anger at the joke. Rubicante guffawed.
38. Tutors VI
Chapter 38
Tutors VI
A day later, Mags attuned to her first item.
The world folded in on itself, and a soft hum pulsed through Mags¡¯ fingertips as she clasped the metallic sphere of the Aether-bound Pocket. Her aura surged into it, tingling against her skin like the prickle of too-strong tea. A moment later, she felt a connection click into place, as if a small lock had slid free within her own mind. The sphere pulsed once in response, and she knew it was finally hers to command. The text from Yggdrasil followed a heartbeat later.
[Attunement Complete: Aether-bound Pocket]
[Available Attunement Slots: 3/3]
[Assign to Open Attunement Slot?]
Yes, she commanded.
. . .
[Aether-bound Pocket, Grade B-3, successfully attuned!]
[Items Attuned: 1]
[Available Attunement Slots: 2/3]
Mags eyes focused on the words ¡®Grade B-3.¡¯ That information hadn¡¯t been provided earlier . . . It seems that attuning to an item allows Yggdrasil to provide more information than it can when simply Inspecting it. That was an interesting piece of information. She mentally tucked it away for later.
Finally, the Pocket was truly hers. She took a deep breath and activated it, focusing her mind on the command. A window flickered to life in her vision, floating just above her palm, lines of neat script.
[Aether-bound Pocket]
[Access Inventory?]
. . .
[Inventory: Small Stone Cube x10, Flask x1, Steel Shortsword x1, Torch x1, Bedroll x1, Tarp x1, Used Pieces of Parchment x5]
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 98.5%]
Mags rolled her eyes, plucking out the stone cubes with a simple mental command and tossing them to the ground one after the other. Her lips twitched in relief when they landed with dull, heavy thuds and didn¡¯t explode into concussive blasts of force. Just stones. Probably should have been more careful withdrawing those, just in case.
She dropped the flask, bedroll, tarp and shortsword with little more than a glance¡ªthe flask¡¯s faint, pungent scent told her all she needed to know, and the shortsword wouldn¡¯t be useful when she already had Mithra. She then withdrew the torch, squinting as a lit flame flickered to life at one end. A still-lit torch hovered before her in the air for a second and almost dropped, but she snatched it in time.
She swore and quickly snuffed it against the ground, but couldn¡¯t shake the wonder of what she¡¯d seen. The Pocket had preserved a lit torch. What else might it keep untouched by time? Could she store food, medicine, water? The possibilities swirled in her mind, possibilities that spoke of survival in places where life often clung by a thread. She imagined Soulsingers spending days in a Deep. Keeping food preserved in a practically weightless device like a Pocket . . . Seems almost like cheating! She thought.
Does the preservation work on living creatures too? A shiver crawled down her spine. The aether-tec was both exciting and unsettling. She would need to experiment with the limits of its capabilities.
Next, she withdrew the used parchment. Each piece was smudged and crinkled, used enough that she almost dismissed them as scratch paper, but curiosity held her still as she studied the charcoal sketches. A gaunt, wiry man, familiar from his awkward, leaning stance¡ªCalcabrina¡¯s antlers had caught him in the gut. Yes, she recognized him. She shuffled to the next, her brow furrowing as the lines revealed a shape that took longer to place. It was the tiger-man, shown in his human form, a tall and scarred figure with tired eyes beneath a mane of rough hair. A strange tightness rose in her throat as she realized the obvious truth staring back at her: these weren¡¯t just faceless attackers, but people with lives of their own. Drawings of people the former owner of the Pocket found dear. Enemies, yes, but each of them with stories she¡¯d never know, with people who loved them.
With the parchments held carefully in her hand, she sought out the first priestess she came across. It was Isidora, one of the blindfolded priestesses of Rusalka. Mags had met her before, and her reception hadn¡¯t exactly been warm.
¡°Isidora,¡± she greeted, nodding respectfully. Isidora¡¯s head followed her voice but her frown spoke louder than words.
¡°Sacrilege,¡± she replied, the disdain of judgment thick in her voice. ¡°You and Calcabrina are fortunate to have faced no greater consequences. Had it been up to me, I¡¯d not have let you off so easily.¡±
Mags swallowed down a sharp retort. Good thing you¡¯re not the Shrine Maiden then. ¡°The men we fought in the forest¡ªdid anyone do anything with their bodies?¡±
Isidora¡¯s mouth drew into a thin line. ¡°They were retrieved and laid to rest near the Hand of Weles, at the base of the mountain. A mark of respect for souls who walked dark paths, if they are even worthy of that.¡±
Mags nodded, offering a quiet thanks and leaving before Isidora could level more judgment in her direction. She made her way down the thousand steps. The great stone hand of Weles loomed large as she descended, each massive finger extended as if reaching skyward, eternally guarding the mountain¡¯s roots.
At the base, Mags found the fresh graves, each plot of turned soil casting a humble mark against the green. She knelt by one of the plots, digging a small hole in the loose soil with her fingers. It wasn¡¯t deep, just enough to hold the drawings. She carefully laid them down and covered them with a dusting of dirt, feeling a strange calm settle over her as she did. She didn¡¯t regret what had happened in the Leshi¡ªthey had been dangerous, driven men who¡¯d left her no choice¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t quite bury the memory of their faces, either. They were, like her, souls caught in a world that twisted people into weapons, and whether or not what they had attempted to do was right or wrong, they¡¯d been worthy of at least a moment¡¯s respect.
¡°May you find peace,¡± she whispered, brushing the last of the dirt over the drawings. The wind stirred, catching a few loose strands of her hair, and she thought she heard a faint hum in the air, like the dying echo of a song.
The Pocket gleamed like a jewel in Mags¡¯ palm, small as a marble now, and she marveled at the way it hummed in tune with her aura. She gave it a gentle nudge with her mind, letting a trickle of energy pulse into it. The sphere immediately lifted from her hand, bobbing along at shoulder height, hovering like an attentive little pet. With a bit more intent, she willed it to hide, and though it didn''t quite disappear, it shimmered, blurring slightly like a hazy mirage. Light bounced off it in strange directions, enough that it might pass unnoticed from a distance.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
¡°Good work,¡± she muttered approvingly. The Pocket only left her side when she gave it permission, and each time it returned to her with a faint metallic hum, almost like the purr of a contented cat.
The next few hours found her experimenting with the storage capabilities of her new prize. She stuffed all sorts of odds and ends inside it. She watched in fascination as each item vanished into the faint shimmer of aether, seemingly untouched by weight limits or clutter. The Pocket¡¯s interior was an endless space, or near enough that she couldn¡¯t imagine reaching its limits anytime soon.
Curious about just how endless, she considered her bed. She squinted at the squat, wooden frame, draped in rumpled blankets. It would be absurd. But. . . the question had to be asked. She first attempted to store it as it was, bedpost legs solidly on the ground. She focused her intent on it, like she had every prior object. Nothing happened.
She walked up to the bed and placed a hand on the wrinkled sheets. She tried again.
Nothing.
¡°Interesting.¡± Then, she squatted down and, grabbing onto the bottom of the frame, lifted, using her improved strength to pick the entire bed, frame, mattress and all, off the ground, though not by much. While still holding the bed, she focused her intent on storing it in her Inventory.
The entire bed popped out of existence, vanishing with a soft whoosh.
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 96%]
¡°Well, now,¡± she muttered, ¡°there¡¯s something.¡± That number was with a large amount of other items already stored in the Pocket. Pulling the bed back out of the Pocket proved just as effortless as withdrawing anything else. She watched as it popped back into reality, frame, mattress, and all, almost right where it had previously been.
A grin tugged at her lips as she noted that the bed had barely made a dent in the Pocket¡¯s storage capacity. This was a new frontier of possibility.
Her curiosity led her next to a rather unwilling volunteer. Spotting one of the feral cats that roamed the temple grounds, Mags held her hand out, coaxing it gently. With a suspicious glance, the cat approached, and in a swift move, she caught it.
The feline let out a growl, wriggling frantically in her grip, clawing at her arms as she tried to store it in the Pocket.
[Error: Ineligible Target]
She released the cat, which shot her an indignant look before darting back into the bushes. ¡°Thanks for the help,¡± she called after it, shaking her head with a bemused chuckle. So the Pocket had hard limits on what it could and could not store. Good to know.
And then there was Mithra. She hesitated only briefly, cradling the familiar sword in her hands. She admired the weapon¡¯s jet black blade before focusing her intent on the command. With a thought she willed Mithra to be placed in the Pocket, watching as it disappeared into the same dimensional haze.
[Available Inventory Space Remaining: 50%]
Mags eyes widened in surprise.
Then, the realization struck her with the force of a revelation. Mithra wasn¡¯t just physical metal and enchantments¡ªit was a creation from the Ivaldi, brimming with layers of ancient power. She remembered what Yggdrasil had told her when it first inspected the Pocket. If the Pocket accounted for ¡°metaphysical weight¡± too, then Mithra¡¯s essence might carry more force than any ordinary weapon or object, even if it was physically heavier than Mithra.
She withdrew Mithra with another thought. The blade was pulled back into her hand, feeling its familiar heft, and nodded to herself.
The Hag¡¯s Eye had similarly disproportional metaphysical weight. Once she had both the Hag¡¯s Eye and Mithra stored in the Pocket, she was left with 22% remaining Inventory Space. Satisfied with her experimentation with the Pocket, Mags nodded to herself and stored both Artifacts, together with a number of other basics.
ATTRIBUTES
USER LEVEL: E-2
Physical Attributes:
| Strength |
E-4 increased to E-5 |
| Dexterity |
E-3 |
| Endurance |
E-5 increased to E-6 |
| Vitality |
E-6 |
Physical Sub-Level: E-4 increased to E-5
Mental Attributes:
| Intelligence |
E-2 |
| Reactivity |
E-2 |
| Perception |
E-1 |
| Willpower |
E-2 |
Mental Sub-Level: E-1
Spiritual Attributes:
| Power |
E-1 |
| Reserves |
E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3) |
| Versatility |
E-1 |
| Control |
E-2 |
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1
Mags stared at the summary of her Attributes. She adjusted her grip on Mithra, her fingers a little sore from the latest round of drills. Even her breathing came smoother now, more measured, her body bending to the rhythm of her training in a way she never thought it would. She glanced at Malacoda through the transparent silver text. Her time at Bijel Garden was quickly coming to an end, and she knew he eagerly awaited testing her full capabilities.
¡°You¡¯re looking stronger every day,¡± he said, voice gruff with approval. ¡°You¡¯re moving faster too, and it shows in how you handle Mithra.¡±
Mags nodded, appreciating the praise, but a small crease formed on her brow. ¡°My physical skills are improving, sure. But I¡¯ve been stuck at the same levels with the rest of my Attributes. My Mental Attributes, my Spiritual . . . they haven¡¯t moved in some time. And even my Physical Attributes have only marginally increased.¡± She squatted down, wiping sweat from her brow. ¡°Does that mean I¡¯m just not suited for actual Soulsinging?¡±
Was her dull soul still holding her back, even with the power of an Angel inside her?
Malacoda chuckled, the sound rolling low and deep. ¡°No, no. It¡¯s normal. Mental and spiritual growth is slow, and the higher you go, the harder it gets. Yggdrasil¡¯s rewards don¡¯t come freely; it takes time and struggle to reach those levels. Your physical progress is already ahead of where most Soulsingers are at your level.¡±
She nodded, letting his words settle over her, though the question still lingered in her mind. ¡°It¡¯s just. . .¡± she started, gathering her thoughts, ¡°Yggdrasil¡¯s system feels so complex, so . . . deliberate. Everyone has their own unique set of Skills and Spells granted by Yggdrasil. I¡¯m told what my capabilities are, and I¡¯m given specific powers. It¡¯s almost like no matter how hard I work, my path is pre-determined. It¡¯s so frustrating!¡±
Malacoda raised an eyebrow, looking at her thoughtfully before he spoke. ¡°Yggdrasil might guide us, but it doesn¡¯t do all the choosing. Soulsinging is as personal as the souls that wield it. You¡¯re shaping your own path, Mags.¡± He paused, looking away for a moment as though he were choosing his words carefully. ¡°I told you before. Attribute reflect reality, they don¡¯t alter it. A Soulsinger can improve their Attributes by putting them to use¡ªgood ole¡¯ hard work! But Yggdrasil can change that reality just as easily. The System presents options to each Soulsinger at various points in their growth, and those choices reshape what I think of as a Soulsinger¡¯s blueprint: your body, your mind, even your soul. I¡¯m sure the scholars up at Brightwash have a better explanation. The Attributes and skills you see are just a mirror of what¡¯s already there, and you refine that with every decision, every level.¡±
Mags absorbed his words, a new light sparking in her eyes. ¡°So, when I level up, I¡¯ll be given a choice of how to develop my powers? And Yggdrasil will make changes to me?. . .¡±
¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Malacoda replied, a rare, soft smile crossing his face. ¡°And you¡¯re close, Mags. When you reach your next User Level, you¡¯ll see exactly what I mean. Yggdrasil will prompt you with choices and you¡¯ll decide what the next step on your path looks like. It¡¯s a little different for everyone, but in time, you¡¯ll understand how it shapes you.¡± He paused, patting her on the shoulder. ¡°Until then, focus on what¡¯s in front of you.¡±
She nodded, staring down at Mithra in her hand, her grip tightening.
And with that, a new determination settled in her chest. She wouldn¡¯t just train her body. She¡¯d train her mind, her spirit, too, until she was ready for whatever Yggdrasil would place before her.
39. Basil Trompst
Chapter 39
Basil Trompst
The courtyard echoed with the shuffle of bare feet and the soft brush of cloth. Mags darted between the two shadows, her [Void Cloak] weaving around her like a silver vapor as two blindfolded priestesses closed in. She could barely hear their steps over her own pounding heartbeat. The sun cast long shadows across the stone, the two shadows of the priestesses stretching long between themselves and Mags as they attempted to keep their distance. This was the fifth time Malacoda ¡°borrowed¡± them to assist with sparring practice, and they¡¯d grown extremely wary of Mags¡¯ [Void Cloak] and her [Angel Flare Spike] Spell.
Malacoda lounged on a low wall nearby, the apple in his hand a flash of red against his loose white tunic. He took a leisurely bite, seeming more interested in the apple¡¯s crisp snap than the sparring happening right in front of him. Still, every so often, he¡¯d toss out a comment, his voice drifting lazily across the courtyard like smoke.
¡°Watch your timing,¡± he called as Mags slipped around one of the priestesses, but the blindfolded girl sensed her movements and danced out of range. ¡°You¡¯re telegraphing your moves far too much. Let instinct guide you a bit more!¡±
The other priestess lunged, aiming to grab her, but Mags rolled away, letting the priestess¡¯ hands pass through the extended aura of her [Void Cloak]. She could feel the cloak disintegrate a portion of whatever power the priestess had been channeling.
She sprang to her feet, trying to circle back around, her breaths coming fast but controlled. ¡°Easier said than done,¡± she muttered under her breath, eyeing the women who remained unnervingly calm despite their sightless, covered eyes.
Malacoda chuckled as though he¡¯d heard her. ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be easy. If it was easy, it¡¯d be boring!¡±
A glowing, golden chain constructed of pure aura shot from the sleeve of one of the priestesses. It slowed, as if pausing a hair¡¯s breadth from Mags¡¯ body, the [Void Cloak] doing its job. But it wasn¡¯t strong enough to completely stop the priestess¡¯ attack. The chain latched onto Mags¡¯ chest and yanked her forward, pulling her towards the priestess and off balance. She let the momentum carry her into a roll, dodging the second priestess who lunged, a bare-handed strike passing through where she had just been standing.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate. She barreled forward towards the priestess with the aura chain, letting aether fuel her body and propel her body with enhanced speed. She was too fast for the priestess to react this time. Mags landed a cross jab right to the young woman¡¯s abdomen and in that very instant mentally triggered [Angel Flare Spike]. Her [Void Cloak] flickered and a piercing spike of her aura erupted from her fist. Through her [Aura Sense] Mags could feel the Spell immediately take root. The priestess froze and then crumpled to the ground.
Mags smiled with triumph.
Just before a sweep kick struck her right in the temple, knocking her to the ground in a dazed heap.
¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Malacoda sighed around a mouthful of apple.
Mags could hear the bare feet of the priestess who had landed the kick to her head slide away. Malacoda grabbed the back of her tunic with a single strong hand and yanked her up to a sitting position. Her head still swam, temple painfully throbbing where the kick had landed. The last remnants of her aura faded, leaving her feeling cold, drained.
¡°Thank you, again, ladies,¡± Malacoda said, giving a half-hearted salute with his other hand.
The second priestess had slowly risen to her own two feet and nodded before walking away with the assistance of her fellow. Mags groaned, gingerly touching her head.
¡°And your mistake that time was?. . .¡± Malacoda asked.
¡°I left my flank open.¡±
¡°Yes, and I saw that you did that on purpose. But you were too slow to make it work. And it was foolish when you know they have ranged Spell attacks.¡±
¡°I got too confident.¡±
¡°The word you¡¯re looking for is cocky.¡±
Mags grunted. She slowly got to her feet with Malacoda¡¯s help.
¡°But what you did back there with baiting your attacker into your Void Cloak,¡± Malada purred with approval, ¡°that was the right idea. And these two opponents know what tricks you have up your sleeve. Most won¡¯t.¡±
¡°Shouldn¡¯t I avoid having to rely on tricks to get by?¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
¡°Yes, generally, that¡¯s true. But the void aspect of your aura-based abilities are something that¡¯s so unique, you can almost depend on springing a surprise on most enemies.¡±
¡°There really aren¡¯t any other Soulsingers with these abilities?¡± Mags walked over to where a waterskin lay in the shade. She snatched it off the ground and took a long pull of cool water.
¡°No, there aren¡¯t. As I¡¯ve mentioned before, that ¡®void¡¯ aspect isn¡¯t associated with any of the Roots of Yggdrasil. There are some similar abilities, but the only close thing to it is voidstone and the voidsteel made from it.¡±
During her studies, Mags had learned a decent amount of information about voidstone. It was a naturally-occurring element that had been around since the time of the Ivaldi. The Ravaelian Empire had a near monopoly on the rare material, controlling its use and limiting it to containment and control of powerful Soulsingers, such as the criminal and aether-mad sent to Tartarus.
¡°It¡¯s likely something unique, resulting from the Angel¡¯s egg,¡± Malacoda said. ¡°Let¡¯s continue to explore its limits and see what it can do.¡±
Mags dropped the waterskin and jogged back towards her instructor. She was pleased with her progress, but the end of her training period was quickly coming to an end. I need to be stronger. I¡¯m running out of time, but I need to be stronger!
Mags reached the final step on the winding stone stairs that zig-zagged up the mountain to the temple ground, heaving under the bar balanced across her shoulders. Each step had seemed to stretch forever, her legs burning with the weight of two sloshing buckets. But now, as she finally dropped the bar, letting the water spill across the dusty stone, she could only smile. Her breath came in steady gulps, her muscles humming with satisfaction. She was drenched in sweat, but there was a thrill to it¡ªa feeling of mastery that had become almost addicting. One hundred trips up the stairs, complete, she thought. When she had first arrived at Bijel Garden she would have been fully depleted after two trips down and back up the mountainside.
¡°Need a break?¡± a familiar voice called.
Mags looked up, grinning as Calcabrina stepped toward her, a small basket and a large canteen in hand. ¡°Absolutely,¡± she replied, reaching for the canteen as soon as Calcabrina held it out to her. The water was blessedly cool, and she drank deeply, savoring every drop.
They settled into the courtyard, where she took another long drink and pulled a bundle from Calcabrina¡¯s basket: flatbread, wrapped around a hearty mix of cheese, vegetables, and drizzled with oil and a finish of finely ground salt. She bit into it, savoring the burst of salt and richness after a long morning of training.
¡°You feeling ready for tomorrow?¡± Calcabrina asked, watching her with a soft, steady gaze.
Mags chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. ¡°I think so. I¡¯ve trained hard, and I¡¯m confident when it comes to the tests Coco and Rubicante will give me.¡± Her voice faltered, and she took another bite to stall. ¡°It¡¯s just . . . the sparring match with Malacoda. I¡¯ve never fought someone that strong. Not even close. And he hasn¡¯t used his Soulsinging once during our time training together.¡±
Calcabrina chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ll do fine.¡±
But if I don¡¯t?. . .
The weight of that unspoken question and its answer settled between them. They both knew Sarto wouldn¡¯t hesitate to remove her if she failed the final trial. It was the one reminder, sharp and constant, of the world¡¯s ruthlessness. She was a tool to be used. Sarto had no need for a broken tool.
¡°Malacoda has seemed pleased with my progress so far, and it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve turned into a giant Angel and wiped Bijel Garden off of the face of Rusalka,¡± she said. ¡°So, I¡¯ve got that going for me.¡±
¡°Exactly! So, why are you training so hard?¡± Calcabrina asked after a beat, glancing at Mags¡¯ flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. ¡°You¡¯ve been at it all day. It¡¯s the day before those three test you. They gave you the day to rest for a reason!¡±
Mags looked at her, thoughtful. ¡°Because I think I¡¯m close to a breakthrough, and working hard¡ªwell, it¡¯s all I¡¯ve ever known. It would feel strange to slow down when the finish line¡¯s this close.¡± She let out a soft laugh, a laugh mixed with the pain of old memories. She thought of the pale heels of another young girl, kissing the grass outside Soulgrave House. Of the young girl breaking away from the other child struggling to keep up, sprinting hard towards the finish line. And memories of being trapped, either in bed or in the confines of a wheeled chair.
Only after realizing that the silence between them was growing awkward did Mags open her mouth again. ¡°I didn¡¯t always have control over my body, you know. When I was younger, I was very sick. My body just . . . stopped working right. A lot of times, I had to be bound to a wheeled chair because my muscles wouldn¡¯t listen to me. It was like I knew¡ªI knew¡ªwhat I wanted them to do, but they just wouldn¡¯t listen. To be betrayed by my own body. . .¡±
She paused, memories flickering across her mind. She tried to push them back, to bury them again into the dark recesses of her mind. This time, they fought back. ¡°I always dreamed of having powers, of being a Soulsinger, thinking maybe that would fix everything. I thought if I could have magic, it would cure me. I was told that it would fix what had been broken. But. . .¡± She shrugged, swallowing the last bite of her meal. ¡°Turns out, I had a dull soul. And there was no magical solution. So, I doubled down on strengthening myself. Little by little, I got stronger, and eventually, I didn¡¯t need that chair. I was able to walk¡ªwith a lot of help, and slowly¡ªbut still mostly on my own. I struggled, and struggled. Walking became jogging, which eventually became running.¡±
She didn¡¯t say her next thought. That despite fighting to regain control of her body, no amount of training fixed what was fundamentally wrong with her soul. The years of her father not even acknowledging her. No one has use for a broken tool¡
Calcabrina watched her, an almost reverent expression crossing her face. ¡°I can see it,¡± she murmured. ¡°That fire in you.¡±
¡°Sometimes I still have nightmares,¡± Mags admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. ¡°Nightmares of waking up and not being able to move, of having to be carried around because I¡¯m too weak to even stand. That¡¯s part of why I keep training. Not just for the test, but for myself.¡± She wiped her hands on her knees, glancing up at Calcabrina with a grateful smile. ¡°Thanks for the food, though. I needed that.¡±
¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Calcabrina replied warmly, a twinkle of respect in her eyes. ¡°Go study and train, then rest up. You¡¯ve got this, Mags.¡±
With a final, resolute nod, Mags stood and stretched. She gave Calcabrina a small wave, her heart steady and determined.
Interlude A2-VII. From the Personal Notes of Magdalena
Interlude A2.VII
From the Personal Notes of Magdalena
Excerpts from the personal notes of Magdalena, taken in a single bound journal of parchment with an ink pen, from several lectures provided by Libicocco of the Ghost Hound Company.
Lecture 1: The Maldrath and Their Regenerative Abilities
- Maldrath Regeneration:
- The Maldrath are made of manifested miasma, which makes them nearly impossible to harm with conventional weapons.
- Physical attacks, even with firearms powered by aether, will barely affect them¡ªthey can regenerate almost immediately.
- (Scrawled in side margin): ¡°I once saw a common Maldrath take a blunderbuss at point-blank range and shrug it off. Terrifying!¡±
- Weaknesses: Soulsinging-powered attacks, some aether-tec devices, and ancient Ivaldi-wrought Artifacts can inflict lasting, and often increased, damage on them.
- If they survive an attack, regeneration slows down; however, for more powerful Maldrath (e.g., Sin, Angels), even these attacks may only delay their healing briefly.
- (Side note): Libicocco knows a surprising amount about the Maldrath but doesn¡¯t seem like a fighter. Scholar type, as Malacoda would say.
Lecture 2: Skithbladnir, the Soulship
(Side note): We were actually discussing anthropology and archeological discoveries relating to the Ivaldi and I asked about Skithbladnir. This is a lot more interesting, but probably not useful for Brightwash prep!
- Description of Skithbladnir:
- An immense ship that is far larger inside than it appears due to its construction with multiple ¡°pocket worlds.¡± These spaces are magically connected, allowing for vast interior rooms and chambers.
- Self-repairing, self-cleaning¡ªits crew handles tasks like cooking and general upkeep, but the ship can mend itself and keep everything clean autonomously.
- Aether-Powered Automatons:
- The ship contains a sub-crew of ¡°tik-tok men,¡± automatons fueled by aether.
(Scrawled in side margin): ¡°I¡¯ve never noticed them! Will keep an eye out now. Libicocco says tik-tok men are more common in specific parts of the world, like northern Broceliande and Valhadryan.¡± (A doodle of a little clock man)
- Skithbladnir channels its own excess aether to fuel these tik-tok men, ensuring the ship stays operational without external maintenance.
Lecture 3: Organizations and Their RolesIf you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
- COMPANIES:
- Private mercenary groups sanctioned by the Empire to carry out monster-hunting, fight Maldrath, and clear dangerous areas known as Deeps.
- They are granted charters by the Empire (often through one of the Thirteen Crowns), allowing them to legally collect loot in return for a cut paid back to the Empire.
- GUILDS:
- Large corporations with varying specializations, often backed by the Empire.
- Merchants Guild: Led by a council of Merchant Lords from Elbrem and tied to the Royal Bank of Elbrem (largest financial institution in Iardyss).
- Explorers Guild: Oversees licensed Companies and operations, especially in regions like the Green Sea.
- Artisans Guild: Low-profile, pairing wealthy patrons with talented artists.
- Alchemists Guild: The most advanced medical and scientific group in the known world, consisting of alchemists, artificers, and medical experts.
- THE CROWN COALITION:
- The Empire¡¯s unified military force. Formed with soldiers pledged by the Thirteen Crowns, it acts as the main protection against the Maldrath.
- Central to the Empire¡¯s control over the Thirteen Crowns, giving them power to regulate and secure loyalty across the land.
Lecture 4: The Imperial Academies at Wrifton
- Wrifton Academies Overview:
- Often simply called ¡°the Academies¡± or ¡°Wrifton.¡± It¡¯s home to several prestigious schools where future leaders of the Thirteen Crowns, the Guilds, and the Crown Coalition are trained.
- Brightwash Military Academy:
- Known as the top military academy in the world. Graduates often rise to lead the Crown Coalition and create some of the most influential Companies.
(Many asterisks surround the above segment of the notes)
- The Royal Academy:
- Focuses on economics, banking, and governance. Historically, royal heirs from across the Thirteen Crowns studied here, shaping it into a center of political strategy and diplomacy.
(In the side margin): A doodle of a frowning face sticking its tongue out and a thumb¡¯s down.
- School of Faith:
- Affiliated with the Morduin Order. Similar to Brightwash but with an emphasis on training priests and knights for the Paladin Corp, the Order¡¯s paramilitary arm.
(In the side margin): A strikingly similar frowning face with a thumb¡¯s down.
- Artificer Academy:
- Trains students with a natural aptitude for Artificery and aether technology. Its students often innovate in aether-tec field.
(In the side margin): Cagna and Dragnazzo! (Accompanied by a little smiling face)
-
- Academy of Medicine:
- The premier institution for training the Empire¡¯s physicians. It educates medical practitioners from across the Thirteen Crowns, with a particular focus on non-magical healing techniques.
40. A Weighing
Chapter 40
A Weighing
The night air was sharp, and each breath filled Mags¡¯ lungs with a biting chill as she pushed herself through the final stretch of her route. She ducked under the sprawling branches, let her steps lighten over gravel, and poured more aura into her [Void Cloak], cloaking herself in near-perfect shroud of silvery aura. It clung close, swirling at the edges of her form, a seamless shroud that turned her into a living shadow. She could keep it up a bit longer, she knew, if she just pushed herself a little harder. The aura wavered as fatigue began to creep in, but Mags ground her teeth, willing herself forward.
Over the past several weeks she had added an additional run to her routine each evening. Before bed, she would run a route through the outside of Bijel Garden¡¯s grounds (careful to avoid entering the sacred grounds that were off-limits), activating [Void Cloak] and maintaining it for as long as she could during the run. It would force her to constantly channel a steady amount of aether, generating aura and expending it for [Void Cloak] but also occasionally fueling her body. At first, especially during the tail-end of her runs, she would accidentally lose her [Void Cloak] when she pulled on aether to suppress the screaming pain in her muscles. Now, she was able to keep up with both for the entire run. It was a testament to Malacoda¡¯s training regiment and the hard work she put in outside of their training sessions.
Bijel Garden at night was peaceful, a contrast to the pounding of her heart. While out on her evening runs, she had grown an appreciation for how quiet everything grew. It was like the world had been swallowed by darkness and the sounds of the sea. It sort of reminded Mags of Solstice, and the quiet she would find in the countryside.
But then, through the shadowy tapestry of moonlight and swaying branches, a movement caught her eye. A man was approaching the Temple¡¯s grounds, his silhouette crisp and foreign against the familiar shapes of Bijel Garden. Mags canceled [Void Cloak], abruptly cutting off the shroud of aura, and flattened herself behind a large stone pillar, her pulse roaring in her ears. Visitors during their time as the Shrine Maiden¡¯s guest weren¡¯t unheard of, but late arrivals to a remote sanctuary like Bijel Garden were rare, and this man looked out of place.
He walked with a measured, almost predatory grace, his slender frame draped in a close-fitted, sharply tailored suit that seemed out of place amidst the temple ground¡¯s worn stone and winding paths. His face was angular, eyes gleaming under ashen hair combed precisely to his scalp. Mags watched him through a crack between stone columns, noting the way his thin lips curved into a razor-thin smile. With a click, he opened a small silver case and lifted a cigarette to his mouth, the flare of a lighter illuminating his face in flickering orange. Smoke curled from his lips as he took a slow, deliberate drag.
A voice came from the shadows nearby, rich and unmistakable. ¡°Basil Trompst,¡± it drawled. ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure?¡±
Mags¡¯ stomach clenched. Captain Frey Sarto. Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she stepped into the moonlight, a figure of stark authority in her own well-tailored buttoned shirt, black pants. Her golden eyes, glowing in the darkness with their hypnotizing, concentric circles, were fixed on the stranger, this Basil Trompst.
The stranger took another drag, exhaling a smooth plume before replying. ¡°I¡¯m here to see the Shadow, the Shrine Maiden,¡± he said, his voice precise, clipped. ¡°Official business of the Explorers Guild, on behalf of Izmir Kresla himself.¡± The man¡¯s voice carried the clear pronunciation and rhythmic flow of the Broceli tongue.
At the sound of that name, Mags¡¯ world tilted. Her stomach clenched in tight, painful knots. Kresla. She hadn¡¯t heard that name in what felt like a lifetime, yet the sound of it carried an almost physical presence, threatening to dredge up the memories she¡¯d tried to bury.
She took in a shaky breath, clinging to the stone at her back as if it could steady the tremor in her limbs. Her mind spun with memories¡ªbut only for a moment, like a flash of steel in the moonlight. She blinked, grounding herself, but her legs felt like they¡¯d been cemented to the earth. She pushed away the uncomfortable memories, and focused on Sarto¡¯s voice.
¡°Strange hours to be visiting a Shrine,¡± Sarto murmured, circling around the man with deliberate, catlike steps.
¡°The Guild has . . . pressing matters,¡± Trompst said, his eyes still and unblinking. ¡°And I¡¯m sure you know, Captain, how persistent our benefactor can be.¡±
The two stood silent for a moment, smoke drifting between them. Mags clenched her fists, breathing as quietly as she could, but she could feel her heart pounding. She should leave, slip away while Sarto¡¯s attention was on the stranger¡ªbut she couldn¡¯t. Instead, she stayed hidden, mind racing, waiting to see what would come next.
The night seemed to sharpen, the shadows pulling in closer as the exchange between Sarto and Mr. Trompst deepened in tone. Mags leaned in, barely daring to breathe as the tension between the two men swelled, stretching tight across the cold night air.
¡°Tell me, then,¡± Sarto pressed, each word edged with a careful, simmering curiosity. ¡°What exactly is the nature of your business here? I would be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t curious about your master¡¯s . . . interests these days.¡±
A spark of amusement flickered across Mr. Trompst¡¯s face. ¡°Master? I have no master, Sarto.¡± He let the words hang, slow and deliberate, smoke spilling softly from his lips. ¡°Nor do you. And yet here we both are¡ªdifferent roads, same destination. A goal that serves us both.¡±
Sarto¡¯s expression turned to granite, unreadable. She tilted her head, her voice quiet, dangerous. ¡°Do we now?¡±
Trompst¡¯s lips curved again, that slash of a smile faint but deliberate. ¡°Reunion. Restoring the perfect unity of Ein Sof.¡±
The words dropped like stones, and for the first time, Mags caught a flicker of something on Sarto¡¯s face. Not shock, but something subtler¡ªa serious, grim recognition that drained the faint smile from her lips. She took a step forward, voice barely more than a whisper, ¡°And what do you and the Explorers Guild know of Ein Sof?¡±
The words hung there in the cold night, mingling with the smoke from Trompst¡¯s cigarette. Mags¡¯ mind scrambled to make sense of it, but the words were meaningless to her. Trompst¡¯s reaction, however, hinted at weight behind them. He inclined his head just slightly, as if offering a silent acknowledgment. Then, he glanced down at his wrist, the gleam of a watch face caught the moonlight. ¡°Die gute! Would you look at the time? As riveting as this conversation offers to be, Madame Sarto, I really must see the Shrine Maiden.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Finally, Sarto straightened, smoothing the unreadable mask over her face once more. ¡°You¡¯ll have what you came for,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll show you to Lady Celestine.¡±
Trompst took a final drag of his cigarette, the ember glowing fierce before he tossed it to the ground. He ground it into the stone with a quick twist of his heel, leaving nothing but a faint smear of ash.
As Sarto led him through the garden¡¯s shadowed paths, their voices faded into the quiet. Only when Mags could no longer hear them did she let herself breathe out. She slinked back further into the shadows, the mysterious words echoing in her mind. Reunion, unity, Ein Sof¡ªshe had no idea what it meant, but her instincts told her it mattered. If the Explorers Guild was directly involved, it was also likely something Mags wanted no part of. The entire situation wreaked of politics and danger, ever increasing layers to whatever game Frey Sarto was playing.
Mags crept into her room, the door clicking quietly shut behind her. She took a moment to listen to the silence, letting the exhaustion of the day sink in as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Calcabrina¡¯s slow, even breaths rose and fell from the small bed across the room, her silhouette barely visible beneath the coverlet. The room felt heavy, and Mags couldn¡¯t shake the strange chill she¡¯d felt ever since overhearing that conversation between Sarto and Mr. Trompst, the odd and foreign words looping in her head like echoes from a forgotten past: Reunion. Unity. Ein Sof.
She moved through her nightly routine as quickly as she could, every step feeling almost surreal, her hands working on the ties and buckles of her training clothes with automatic efficiency. Exhaustion weighed on her shoulders, yet her mind wouldn¡¯t settle, thoughts flickering and sparking like embers. She couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she¡¯d overheard something of enormous consequence. Something Sarto wouldn¡¯t be pleased with her hearing. She slipped beneath the thin covers, lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, trying to empty her mind as Sarto had taught her.
Gradually, as her eyelids grew heavy, the day¡¯s anxieties gave way to darkness.
The air was cold, damp, and felt ancient, each breath scraping against her lungs. Mags blinked, disoriented, glancing around the familiar stone corridors that seemed to twist and coil into shadow. The walls stretched in strange angles, distorted in the way that bent her perception. Yet she knew this place, recognized its silence, the heaviness that wrapped around her like a shroud. She walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness, every step seeming to pull her further into some unknown depth.
Eventually, she approached a familiar doorway appearing at the end of the long hallway, the sight sending an icy thrill of dread through her bones. An emerald green door, the border etched with runes in silver ink. As she pressed forward, the shadows of the corridor creeped inward, eventually swallowing the green door and obscuring it. When Mags finally reached the end of the hall, the door had vanished, swallowed by the stone and replaced by an open doorway built into the stone itself.
She recognized the chamber beyond it, though stepping into it felt as though she were trespassing into something forbidden. The room was vast, an endless space opening before her. The ceiling was lost above¡ªonly darkness and a strange false moonlight that cast a single beam down onto the center of the room, where her eyes were drawn to the three-tiered altar. It rose like a monument in the dark, illuminated by the cold, silver light pouring from a source far above her. She approached slowly, her steps cautious, her heart beginning to beat faster as she reached the foot of the altar.
Her gaze went immediately to the pedestal, where she half-expected to see the strange, shimmering egg she¡¯d glimpsed there once before. But instead, something else waited on the altar.
A stone bowl.
It sat there, simple and unassuming, yet it seemed to pulse with an energy that made her blood run cold. She couldn¡¯t help herself; she stepped closer, until she was leaning over it, peering inside.
The bowl wasn¡¯t empty.
Within it, a strange substance rippled and writhed, like an inky blackness brought to life. Dark threads twisted and tangled, thousands of lines crossing over one another in a chaotic dance, as though someone had scribbled ink onto a page and then set it moving. The sight was mesmerizing and terrifying all at once, a living darkness that defied reason. She could almost feel it pulling at her, as though it sensed her presence.
Then, suddenly, two white eyes blinked open within the mass of shadows, staring up at her.
A voice¡ªsmall, young, and scratchy, like a boy¡¯s¡ªechoed softly from the inky pool. The sound was weak, almost like it was trying to remember how to speak after a long silence. ¡°Where . . . where are we?¡±
Mags opened her mouth, her throat dry. ¡°In the Deep,¡± she answered automatically, though the words felt wrong as they left her lips. The knowledge hung somewhere in the back of her mind, distant but certain, that the answer wasn¡¯t right. Her brow furrowed. She tried again. ¡°No . . . I don¡¯t know.¡±
The eyes in the darkness watched her with a weighty stillness, silent and observing, as though studying her answer.
¡°Who are you?¡± the voice asked, quiet and yet somehow heavy with meaning.
¡°I¡¯m Mags,¡± she said, her voice feeling small in the vastness of the chamber. The name felt strange in her mouth. She didn¡¯t know what else to say, and the question hung in the air between them, feeding the tension of the silence.
The eyes blinked, slow and deliberate. The shadows shifted, pooling upward in the bowl until something started to take shape. ¡°I am . . . Enoch,¡± it said, as though tasting the name for the first time. ¡°I . . . don¡¯t remember anything. I was sleeping. Sleeping for . . . a long time.¡± Enoch¡¯s gaze flickered around the room, a distant, unfocused look passing over the black mass that she understood to be its face. ¡°I came here for a reason . . . but I don¡¯t remember what.¡±
The mass in the bowl surged, and as she watched, dark tendrils began to twist and shape themselves into something almost human. Two hands stretched out from the inky pool, thin fingers curling over the edge of the pedestal. Mags took a step back, her heart pounding as the liquid shadow rose higher, the inky substance coalescing into the figure of a child. A strange, shadowy silhouette, all inky darkness and slender limbs, like the vague shape of a young boy, but with features that seemed half-formed, caught in the strange interplay of light and shadow.
Wings unfolded from the figure¡¯s back, black as pitch, and a tail flicked behind him, serpentine and unsettling, ending in a small, hooked tip. The figure shifted, lifting its head to look at her, those blank white eyes studying her with a depth that chilled her.
¡°Wait,¡± she managed to whisper, her voice catching as she took another shaky step back. Her foot slipped, and suddenly she was tumbling backward, down the altar¡¯s stairs. She landed hard on the cold stone floor at the base, her breath knocked from her lungs, her mind spinning as she struggled to gather herself.
When she looked up, the dark figure loomed over her, standing on the pedestal. Its eyes fixed on her, and its shadowed tail flicked softly in the air, a motion that reminded her uncomfortably of a predator¡¯s idle patience. She tried to scramble back, but before she could so much as move, the figure dropped from the pedestal, descending upon her with unnatural grace.
¡°The Watchers,¡± it breathed, as though coming to a realization.
It lunged, its eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying hunger.
Mags woke with a start, gasping for air as her heart hammered in her chest. She was back in her bed, the dim light of early dawn just beginning to creep through the window. Her blankets were twisted around her legs, her sheets damp with sweat. She sat up, disoriented, the remnants of the dream clinging to her like cobwebs. The fear ebbed slowly, giving way to a strange feeling of emptiness as the details of the nightmare began to blur and fade from her memory.
Then she noticed the soft, silvery glow hovering just above her face.
She blinked, realizing the light was forming words, delicate and shining, each letter hovering in the air like a message from some other realm. She squinted, the letters coalescing into a simple phrase that made her breath hitch.
[USER LEVEL INCREASED]
[Level E-2 increased to Level E-3]
41. Decisions
Chapter 41
Decisions
Mags slid out of bed, moving with careful silence so as not to wake Calcabrina. Her heart still thudded from the remnants of her dream¡ªdark corridors, that strange, shadowy child, the weight of his eyes. She threw on her jacket, the woolen warmth a small comfort, and slipped her feet into the slippers that sat beside her bed. She couldn¡¯t stay in this room a moment longer; the silence felt too loud, pressing in around her, suffocating.
She crept out and made her way to the small tower balcony on the floor above. The door creaked softly as she eased it open, and she stepped outside, embracing the cool night air as it washed over her in a soothing wave. The stars stretched above in a swath of glistening light, a vastness that made her feel small but grounded her at the same time. She exhaled slowly, gathering herself as she leaned against the balcony¡¯s edge.
With a steadying breath, she called Yggdrasil¡¯s interface to life. She hadn¡¯t checked her Attributes in a while; her last glance had left her feeling frustrated and impatient, disheartened by the glacial pace of her progress. She had instead poured her focus into her training, numbers be damned. The floating lines of silver text flared into view before her, hanging like fireflies in the night air.
ATTRIBUTES
USER LEVEL: E-2 increased to E-3
+1 Attribute Point
+1 Progression Point
Physical Attributes:
| Strength |
E-5 |
| Dexterity |
E-3 |
| Endurance |
E-6 |
| Vitality |
E-6 |
Physical Sub-Level: E-5
Mental Attributes:
| Intelligence |
E-2 |
| Reactivity |
E-2 |
| Perception |
E-1 increased to E-2 |
| Willpower |
E-2 increased to E-3 |
Mental Sub-Level: E-1 increased to E-2
Spiritual Attributes:
| Power |
E-1 |
| Reserves |
E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3) |
| Versatility |
E-1 |
| Control |
E-2 increased to E-3 |
Spiritual Sub-Level: E-1 increased to E-2
Her eyes swept over the screen, widening as she took in the subtle yet unmistakable shifts. They eventually settled over the increased User Level and the rewarded points.
ATTRIBUTES
USER LEVEL: E-3
[Unallocated Attribute Points: 1]
[Unallocated Progression Points: 1]
Mags exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the two rewards. I should probably wait to discuss these with Malacoda, she thought. Buuuttt¡ The anticipation was too much and she couldn¡¯t wait for the following day.
She focused on the unallocated Attribute Points.
[Assign Attribute Points?]
Yes, but to which Attribute.
Malacoda had explained that Yggdrasil will directly make any corresponding changes to her body, mind, and spirit. One point doesn¡¯t seem like much, but if it automatically levels up a single Attribute that¡¯s actually huge. But where do I place it?...
First, she considered her Physical Attributes. They were head and shoulders above her Mental and Spiritual Attributes. Did it make sense to continue to build advantages she may have in those categories? Or help improve her lagging Dexterity?
Then, there were her Mental Attributes. They were all pretty even across the board. None of them stuck out as the obvious choice. Maybe Intelligence, so that I can increase my threshold for Attunable Items? . . . And I am about to enter an Academy, so it may come in handy in the day-to-day grind.
Her eyes drifted to her Spiritual Attributes and she knew at once it would be where she would assign her Attribute Point. They were, to put it kindly, pathetic. What was the point of finally becoming a Soulsinger if she was handicapped by her low Spiritual Attributes?If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
[Reserves: E-0 (Effective Attribute Value: E-3)]
If it wasn¡¯t for the Angel¡¯s egg, I¡¯d have a zero value in mana reserves. She would effectively still have a dull soul. She depended on the power of the Angel¡¯s egg to even give her the barest of mana for using her Soulsinging. And since when did I just sit back and depend on the generosity of others? And with more reserves, I¡¯ll be able to use my Spells and Skills more often.
With her mind made, she assigned the point to Reserves.
[Reserves: E-0 increased to E-1 (Effective Attribute Value: E-4)]
A familiar wave of energy pulsed through her, starting as a soft warmth in her core that she assumed would spread slowly, gradually expanding her mana. But almost immediately, that warmth turned into something sharper, hotter¡ªlike liquid iron being poured through her veins.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she gripped the stone edge of the balcony as the warmth grew into a scalding pain. She could feel Yggdrasil¡¯s changes spreading through her body, as though her very soul was being tugged apart to make room for something larger. It felt like her lungs were straining against an invisible weight, her chest heaving as if she were struggling for breath. Her aura, her reserves, were stretching¡ªas though an unseen hand was carving a deeper pit within the core of her soul.
Her hands clutched harder against the stone railing, her fingers going pale at the knuckles as the pain built upon itself, layer upon searing layer. It was as though Yggdrasil had turned her mana into a forge, and every cell of her body was being pounded into shape against an unyielding anvil.
She was dimly aware of the stars above, the vastness of the sky that seemed both a comfort and a cruel mockery in her agony. Her vision blurred, spots dancing at the edges, and she had to bite down hard to keep from crying out. It felt like her body was tearing itself apart in the silence of the night.
And then, all at once, the tension snapped. A deep, powerful sensation spread through her, washing over her body and its mana channels like cool water extinguishing flames.
One the pain fully subsided, she recalled Yggdrasil¡¯s interface, this time prompting it to allocate her one Progression Point. What this resource accounted for was less obvious than the Attribute Point, and she was curious to see what information, if any, Yggdrasil provided.
A screen of text appeared.
[USER LEVEL E-3 PROGRESSION POINT ALLOCATION]
[Please select option.]
[Skill: Aura of Fear]
[Skill: Aether Manipulation ¨C Aerial]
[Spell: Phantom Strike]
[Spell: Devouring Pulse]
¡°Erm . . . Can I get an explanation?¡±
The script in front of her expanded.
[Skill: Aura of Fear]
[Description: User creates a spherical area of fear. The aura extends in every direction causing fear within those in the aura¡¯s influence. The strength of the effect and the range increase with each level in this Skill.]
That could be useful. The Skill reminded her of the aura that the Maldrath exuded¡ªit could paralyze some people. That would be useful in a fight, though it depended on how strong it was as a starting point. The aura exuded by many of the common Maldrath was easy to resist. Or would mine be automatically as strong as the Angels¡¯? She thought of the paralyzing dread and fear she felt being in the presence of the Angels in Solstice.
Mine would probably begin on the weaker side, and I would need to use it continually to level it up.
She examined the next option.
[Skill: Aether Manipulation ¨C Aerial]
[Description: User has improved ability to manipulate ambient aether in the environment beyond channeling aether to create aura. They can hold their body in the air using threads of aether. The user gains increased altitude, movement capabilities, and increased control with each level in this Skill.]
Is this saying flying would eventually be possible purely through aether manipulation? Now, there was an exciting thought. I¡¯ll keep this one in mind as a possibility.
[Spell: Phantom Strike]
[Description: Spell applies to a single physical attack. User is able to bypass any physical object or obstruction (inorganic or organic) and land a strike on a target on the other side of the object or obstruction. Range ¨C The target must be approximately five feet away. Range expands at higher levels.]
Wow. Mags¡¯ mind raced with the possible applications of the Spell. Even if she didn¡¯t select this Spell, she hoped there would be future opportunities to select it upon a later increase in her User Level.
She turned her attention to the final option.
[Spell: Devouring Pulse]
[Description: Requires Void Cloak to be activated. User fires their void cloak in a concentrated pulse, extending 10 feet in every direction. The pulse wave will disrupt all active aetheric activity. At higher levels, the Spell¡¯s range and power will increase, eventually being capable of canceling all active magic within the blast radius.]
This Spell was an interesting choice. Mags thought of what Malacoda had explained to her about the nature of void elemental abilities. In a form similar to Void Cloak, it was practically unseen. The only similar power was the effects of naturally occurring resources such as voidsteel and voidstone. It is likely something unique to me being an Angel, she echoed in her mind.
Is this the choice Yggdrasil wants me to take? It would offer an element of surprise, and would be useful in combat. If she could cancel an enemy¡¯s Soulsinging, it would put Mags at an advantage against almost any equally leveled opponent, placing their physical capabilities against hers.
She thought about it for a few moments longer, and then made her decision. In her mind, she selected the option she wanted and a second later felt a warm sensation within the core of her body. Luckily, it wasn¡¯t anything remotely like what she felt when increasing her Reserves.
[New Spell: Devouring Pulse]
[Level: D-5]
[Root Affinity: N/A]
[Range: 10 feet; sphere]
[Current Mana Cost: 40%]
Forty percent was a steep cost. It effectively meant she only have one use of the Spell in any real combat opportunity. It was disappointing, but the level of the Spell was higher than she anticipated, which probably meant it had decent strength. She wouldn¡¯t be able to practice with it before her battle with Malacoda, but was already thinking through the number of ways she could apply the new Spell during their fight.
Her decisions having been made, Mags took in a deep breath of the crisp, night air, and then quietly made her way back to her room, finally ready to get some rest before her final day at Bijel Garden.
42. Versus Malacoda I (Measure)
Chapter 42
Versus Malacoda I (Measure)
Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Mags¡¯ room, washing the stone walls in a muted glow. She opened her eyes to the sound of distant songbirds and the faint rustle of leaves outside, her body heavy with sleep. For a moment, the day felt just like any other at Bijel Garden¡ªanother morning to rise early and train. The familiar rhythm of routine settled over her, and the weight of the tests ahead seemed to shrink.
Mags swung her legs out of bed, feeling the cool, worn stone beneath her bare feet. She pushed away the nerves that churned in her stomach, heading for the small basin tucked into the corner. A wooden bucket filled with fresh, clear water sat beside it, and she poured a few ladles over her face and hair. The cold shock woke her fully, and she shivered before settling into the soothing rhythm of her morning routine.
By the time she dressed and descended the tower stairs, the smell of toasted bread and savory herbs was already wafting through the quiet halls. The dining room was dim, lit by a handful of oil lamps that pooled warmth over the long wooden table. As she entered, she spotted a familiar figure already seated, stirring a steaming mug of tea.
¡°Early as always,¡± Rubicante said, his crimson robes muted in the soft light. His copper eyes were kind, the corners crinkling as he offered her a gentle smile. ¡°Sit, Mags. I was starting to wonder if you¡¯d sleep through your big day.¡±
Mags returned the smile, settling onto the wooden bench across from him. Breakfast was simple: freshly baked bread, a wedge of soft cheese, and a handful of dried fruits, arranged neatly beside a bowl of porridge. She poured herself a cup of tea, savoring the comforting heat against her palms.
¡°Did you sleep well?¡± Rubicante asked, raising an eyebrow as he spread a layer of jam onto his bread.
¡°As well as I could.¡± Mags shrugged. ¡°Feels strange, knowing what¡¯s ahead.¡± She didn¡¯t dare to mention the strange dream she had. Focus on the task in front you, she reminded herself.
He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea. ¡°The nerves will pass. You¡¯ve prepared well, and today is just another step on your journey. Nothing more.¡±
¡°I spent years hunting Maldrath and keeping a criminal lord at bay, and yet here I am, a bundle of nerves at the thought of a few tests.¡± She snorted. It sounded even more ridiculous hearing it out loud.
Rubicante chuckled. ¡°That is how life often works, it seems.¡±
She chewed on a piece of bread, her appetite oddly unbothered by the anticipation of the tests. She had expected to have to force each bite down past the knot in her throat, but sitting here, in the quiet, familiar space, with the gray-skinned Shamablan man across from her brought an unexpected level of comfort.
Rubicante set his mug down, studying her with that patient, observant gaze she had come to expect from him. ¡°You should know,¡± he began, a hint of warmth in his voice, ¡°that I have no test for you today.¡±
Mags blinked, surprise flickering across her features. ¡°No test? But I thought¡ª¡±
¡°You¡¯ve already proven yourself to me,¡± he interrupted gently, a small, almost secretive smile tugging at his lips. ¡°You have a sharp mind, Mags. You think carefully about everything you do. I¡¯ve seen it time and time again, in every lesson and every quiet moment when you thought no one was watching.¡±
He reached across the table, placing a hand on hers¡ªa rare gesture of affection from the usually reserved instructor. ¡°You¡¯ve grown, not just in knowledge, but in wisdom. You¡¯ve learned to weigh your choices, to act with caution even when it¡¯s difficult. That, to me, is enough. You¡¯ve passed.¡±
Mags felt a swell of warmth in her chest, a weight lifting that she hadn¡¯t realized she was carrying. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, her voice a little rougher than she intended. She tightened her grip around her teacup, the warmth of it grounding her.
¡°Now,¡± Rubicante continued, his expression shifting to something more solemn, ¡°I wish you luck with Libicocco and Malacoda. They have their own ways of measuring a person, and I trust you¡¯ll rise to the challenge.¡±
Mags nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. She would face whatever came next, just as she always had¡ªone step at a time.
They finished the meal in companionable silence, the soft clink of dishes the only sound between them. And when she finally rose to leave, Rubicante¡¯s parting words echoed in her ears like a blessing:
¡°Trust in your instincts, Mags. They¡¯ve carried you this far, and they¡¯ll carry you farther still. And in your challenge with Malacoda, he will attempt to break you. Don¡¯t be afraid of it when it happens . . . Find what¡¯s left after you¡¯ve been broken, and use that to keep pushing forward.¡±
She left the dining hall with her head held high, feeling a strange mix of calm and anticipation settle over her.
Lady Celestine¡¯s library was austere¡ªjust a high-ceilinged room of smooth stone walls, lined with shelves holding scrolls and tomes whose contents Mags had largely devoured over the last months. A single table stood in the center, with two chairs facing each other. Libicocco was already seated, a cup of iced cava at her side, her severe gaze locked onto Mags the moment she stepped inside. Mags tried to steel herself, smoothing her shirt as she took the seat opposite the stern-faced instructor.
¡°Let¡¯s begin,¡± Libicocco said without preamble, her voice crisp and clear. She launched immediately into a series of questions on mathematics. This particular line of questioning was also laced together with questions on aetheric principles.
The fact pattern involved a Soulsinger with a User Level of D-2, using Physical Enhancement and threads of aura to manipulate and pull a stone of a certain weight in a specific direction, assuming a consistent aether environment of 100 units per cubic square foot of space, replenishing at a steady rate, and that there is standard gravity.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate, responding with the formula she had memorized weeks ago at this point, detailing the exact rate of conversion and the various considerations. Libicocco listened without expression, her eyes boring into Mags like a hawk¡¯s.
But as soon as Mags finished, Libicocco pressed her further, drilling into the nuances of her response with questions that twisted in unexpected directions. She also changed the fact pattern in several ways, seeing how it would impact Mags¡¯ original responses. Mags quickly realized there was no room for shallow answers¡ªLibicocco was probing for depth, for understanding beyond the surface level, and Mags rose to the challenge. She didn¡¯t just answer, she anticipated. Before Libicocco could even finish one question, Mags would have the follow-up ready, her answers swift and confident.
¡°. . . and that would be the probable result, assuming that they were using a compatible Root, in this case Stone to channel the aether.¡±
¡°What about the nature of resonance feedback between disparate Roots? Say, Water and Fire?¡± Libicocco asked, her brow furrowed.
¡°Depends on the specific density of the aether at the point of intersection,¡± Mags answered. ¡°If you¡¯re in a high-concentration area like near the Green Sea or Hecate¡¯s Tower in Valhadryan, the interference is minimal due to saturation¡ªreaching levels of up to 3,000 units per cubic square foot¡ªbut in lower-density zones, the backlash can be severe enough to cause physical rupture of the conduit. In most cases, it simply limits efficiency, like affecting the boulder using aether channeled using Water, but in other cases it can be dangerous, like drawing on Water and Fire simultaneously. That¡¯s why Soulsingers who have multiple Root affinities need additional levels of control and mastery.¡±
Libicocco¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°And what would you recommend to mitigate such a rupture in the case of such individuals?¡±
And so the test continued.
Two hours of relentless questioning passed this way¡ªon the mechanics of Soulsinging, on history, on obscure details about the ancient Ivaldi artifacts she had studied, and on the shifting balances of political power between the major regions. Mags¡¯ mind was ablaze, firing on all cylinders as she kept up with Libicocco¡¯s fierce pace. There were moments when her breath caught, moments when her palms slicked with sweat, but she didn¡¯t falter. She knew this information, knew it like the lines of an ancient song carried in her bones.
At last, Libicocco leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin, and regarded Mags with an appraising look. A long, tense silence followed. Mags forced herself to stay still, to not fidget under the woman¡¯s intense scrutiny.
Finally, Libicocco let out a long sigh, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosted across her lips. ¡°You¡¯ve passed,¡± she said, and Mags felt the tension between her shoulder blades lift, and her stomach begin to do flips in excitement. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you honestly, Mags¡ªI would not have been so hard on your during these past couple of months if I didn¡¯t think you could handle it.¡±
Mags let out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding. Relief, fierce and warm, welled up inside her, and she managed a shaky smile. ¡°Thank you, Coco,¡± she said, but the older woman raised a hand to forestall her.
Don¡¯t call me Coco, Mags thought, cutting off the anticipated resistance against the friendly nickname. She was surprised when Libicocco didn¡¯t mention it at all, a silent acceptance of the name.
¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. Brightwash will be a challenge, and Wrifton . . . Well, you¡¯ll soon learn that it¡¯s a place with its own demands and expectations.¡± Her tone was even, but Mags detected a note of caution beneath it. ¡°But if you¡¯d taken any of the regional exams today, you would have easily passed the written portion¡ªlikely outperformed most of the candidates. So, know this: you¡¯ll be there on merit, like everyone else. You¡¯ve earned a spot at Brightwash.¡±
Mags¡¯ eyes widened. She had known she was prepared, but hearing it said so plainly sent a thrill of excitement through her.
Libicocco¡¯s expression grew distant, as though she were looking not at Mags, but at something beyond her, something only she could see. Her fingers twitched, tracing a line in the air that made Mags shiver for reasons she couldn¡¯t quite grasp. ¡°I see the threads of Fate,¡± Libicocco murmured, her gaze still unfocused, ¡°and they are pulling you, stronger than ever, towards Wrifton. The current is unyielding.¡±
Mags swallowed, not quite understanding what that meant, but sensing the importance of it. Libicocco rarely mentioned or outwardly used her abilities as a Fateweaver. ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked, her voice quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.
Libicocco¡¯s eyes snapped back to Mags, the strange spell broken, and she offered a final nod. ¡°You will understand soon enough.¡± She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose.
¡°Now go. Rest, and be ready for your next challenge. That fool Malacoda will be expecting you at your best.¡±
Mags rose slowly from the chair, her legs a little shaky, but her heart soaring.
The clearing behind the towers was wide and open, the perfect stage for a duel¡ªif it could be called that. On one side, the soaring, ancient structures of Bijel Garden loomed, their balconies dotted with figures who had gathered to watch the match. On the opposite edge, the Sanguine Trees swayed gently, their deep crimson leaves casting a bloody hue over the western horizon. The low rumble of the sea murmured from below the cliffside, waves crashing relentlessly against jagged rocks that lay far below. The salty scent of the ocean breeze mixed with the faint, metallic tang of the temple grounds.
Mags stood in the center of the clearing, her bare feet planted firmly in the cool grass. She wore a simple pair of trousers and a linen tunic and nothing else. The Pocket, in its miniaturized form, sat comfortably in her own pants pocket.
From above, a dozen eyes watched¡ªCalcabrina¡¯s bright, eager gaze; Libicocco¡¯s studious intensity; Rubicante¡¯s amused calm as he sipped a cup of tea that sent wisps of steam curling into the breeze. And further up, standing apart from the others, was the masked figure of Scarmiglione, his face inscrutable beneath the black mask he always wore.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
But it was Captain Frey Sarto¡¯s eyes that Mags felt most keenly¡ªpressing against her back like a brand, golden and unforgiving, judgmental and ready to decide her fate. A single mistake could mean everything. Her fingers twitched, and she could feel the swell of nerves tightening in her stomach. Sarto¡¯s presence was a reminder of the stakes. This sparring match was more than a test; it was a reckoning.
¡°Are you ready?¡± Malacoda¡¯s voice cut through the silence, casual yet edged with a subtle tinge of excitement. His stance deceptively open. He stood across from her, his arms loose and relaxed, hands in his pockets. His buttoned shirt, opened in the front, flapped in the sea breeze, revealing the lean muscle beneath, the sinuous lines of someone who moved like water in battle. His eyes, however, were focused¡ªsharp and bright, hungry for the challenge ahead.
Mags swallowed hard. But she grinned anyway, excitement fluttering like a caged bird in her chest. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± she said, and was surprised by how steady her voice sounded. She focused on her breathing, channeling a thin trickle of aether into her veins, feeling it mix with the power already thrumming through her entire body. It calmed her, grounded her.
¡°Good,¡± Malacoda said, and his face split into a wide grin, lopsided due to the scar that split across lips. ¡°I expect you to bring everything you¡¯ve got. No holding back, understand? I¡¯m not here to coddle you. And, if I¡¯m bored, I¡¯ll pulverize you even harder in retribution for wasting my time training you. Got it?¡±
¡°No holding back,¡± she echoed, feeling the fire in her belly surge. A flicker of pride danced in her eyes. She¡¯d prepared for this moment¡ªtrained and fought and studied. Her body was taut with anticipation, and every fiber of her being was tuned to the battle that was about to unfold.
They bumped knuckles¡ªa warrior¡¯s gesture of respect¡ªand then retreated to their respective sides of the clearing. Mags could feel her heart hammering in her chest, but her mind was clear, focused. She took another deep breath, letting the wind off the sea whip around her in chaotic swirls. She pulled in more aether, burning a small amount of mana to channel the power. Her senses were alive, hyper-focused, and the world seemed to sharpen around her.
Malacoda watched her, his posture relaxed, his eyes unblinking. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate. With a burst of aura, she rocketed forward, moving faster than she ever had before. The ground blurred beneath her, and her aura flared to life. She moved like a wraith, her form a flicker in the afternoon air, darting from side to side as she closed the distance between them. Her fist lashed out, crackling with energy¡ªa strike aimed at Malacoda¡¯s ribs.
He moved with impossible speed, his body flowing like liquid. He caught her wrist with a casual flick of his hand, redirecting her blow effortlessly, and in the same motion, his leg lashed out like a whip. Mags barely had time to twist away, feeling the gust of displaced air as his kick passed inches from her face.
She pivoted, ducking low, and sent a sweeping kick towards his right thigh. But he danced away with ease, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if he were merely taking a morning stroll. His expression remained calm, almost bored, though Mags knew better. He was testing her¡ªseeing what she could do, feeling out her limits.
She pressed harder, moving faster, her strikes coming in a relentless barrage. She twisted and spun, her footwork light and agile, every movement designed to keep him guessing. But Malacoda never faltered, never lost his footing. He countered each blow with a smooth, effortless grace that made it seem like he was moving before she even decided to attack.
And then, just when she thought she had him pinned¡ªan opening on his left side, ideal for a punishing hook¡ªhe struck. A single, swift jab to her solar plexus, so fast and precise that she barely registered the movement until it was too late. Her left hand, still cocked back and poised to strike, sat suspended in the air. Pain exploded through her torso, and the breath was driven from her lungs in a single, harsh gasp. She staggered back, clutching her stomach, the world spinning.
¡°Too predictable,¡± he said, his voice like barbed iron. ¡°Your footwork is good, but you rely too much on your speed. Adapt, Mags. Think.¡±
She gritted her teeth, tasting blood, and forced herself upright. She had been reinforcing her body by channeling aether, but might as well have been wholly undefended. How hard was that punch of his? It seemed so effortless. The pain sharpened her focus, burned away the haze of doubt. She had to be smarter. She had to use everything she¡¯d learned.
She took a slow, steady breath, feeling the aether coil around her, ready to be harnessed, to be unleashed. Malacoda watched her, still as a statue, hands back into his pockets, waiting. Bored. And from the balconies above, the silent audience leaned forward, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.
Mags¡¯s breath came in quick, ragged bursts. Her heart pounded as she reached slightly deeper into her reserves, drawing in a steady flow of energy. The air around her crackled, and for a brief moment, exhaustion was burned away, like dew before the morning sun. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her. Aether surged through her body, fortifying muscle, bone, and tendon, sending a rush of raw power to her limbs.
Through her training with Malacoda, her Physical Enhancement Skill had increased from an E-8 to an E-9. It was time to put it to full use.
She bolted forward, feet a blur on the grass, each stride consuming the distance between her and Malacoda with blinding speed. Her surroundings blurred into streaks of green and blue; only Malacoda remained clear¡ªa calm figure amidst the chaos, hands still tucked lazily in his pockets.
She struck first, a straight jab aimed at his chest, but he was already shifting, a subtle tilt of his body that sent her fist slicing through empty air. She pivoted without hesitation, following with a backhanded strike and a low kick, each move fluid, each blow backed by aether-enhanced strength.
Malacoda danced around her attacks with a casual grace, his movements almost languid. He moved only as much as was necessary¡ªstepping aside to let her fist pass by, leaning back just enough to avoid her kick. The ground barely shifted beneath him as if the earth itself respected his presence.
She gritted her teeth, frustration flaring, and pressed harder, her fists and feet becoming a flurry of strikes. Yet, each time she thought she might connect, he was already gone, weaving through her assault like a shadow on the wind. His eyes were steady, unblinking, not a hint of exertion touching his brow.
In desperation, she leapt up and twisted mid-air, another roundhouse kick, this time aimed at his temple¡ªa move Malacoda had seen her practice hundreds of times. He didn¡¯t flinch. His right arm shot out, catching her leg with a single, iron-strong hand. The sudden stop jolted through her body, and she felt the tightness of his grip bite into her shin, sending a flash of pain up her leg and spine.
¡°Not bad,¡± he said, his voice light and teasing. A slow smile crept across his lips, and then he moved.
Mags had just enough time to brace herself before he spun, pivoting on one foot and using her captured leg as leverage. The world blurred as she was flung through the air, wind rushing past her ears. Panic flared, and she fought the instinct to flail, instead tightening her core and curling into a roll just before impact.
She hit the ground hard, but the momentum carried her, and she let herself tumble, dispersing the force. Grass and dirt blurred around her as she rolled twice before snapping up into a low crouch, her muscles burning. Her lower leg ached where his fingers had squeezed, leaving a deep, throbbing bruise beneath the skin. She grimaced, forcing herself to rise, ignoring the sting.
Malacoda was still standing in the same spot, his smile widening, as if the whole exchange had been nothing more than an amusing game.
Then, he took a step back, and something shifted in the air¡ªa change that Mags felt deep in her bones. His gaze never left hers as he raised one hand and snapped his fingers.
She focused on her [Aura Vision] and was shocked at the amount of aether being pulled from the area towards Malacoda. It was as though he were the eye of a miniature hurricane.
With a soft hiss, water pooled beneath his feet, forming a perfect circle six feet across. It was so dark that its surface was like a disc of black glass, a pool of midnight reflecting the pale sky above. Mags¡¯s breath caught as a ripple spread across the surface of the water, and from its depths, a flash of silver flickered.
The fish appeared slowly, swimming up from the darkness¡ªa school of shimmering, silver shapes, glowing with an iridescent blue, each no bigger than the palm of her hand. They swirled around him in a hypnotic dance, moving in perfect synchronization, their scales catching the light and glowing with an ethereal luminescence that she knew to mean they were constructed of pure aura. They moved faster and faster, forming a whirling vortex of light and shadow around Malacoda, obscuring him from view.
¡°That¡¯s a neat trick¡± Mags muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She¡¯d heard about his abilities while training under them, but had few opportunities to witness any of his spellcasting¡ªa manifestation of his connection to the Root of Water. She¡¯d been warned, but seeing it was another matter entirely.
The fish moved like living creatures¡ªdarting, turning, their movements impossibly precise as they swam through the area. Mags watched them carefully, trying to find a pattern, a weakness, anything she could exploit. Her nerves were tight, coiled like a spring, but she kept her breathing steady. This was still a sparring match. This was still a test. A test you need to pass. Now, think Mags! What does this spell do?
Through the shimmering dance of fish, Malacoda¡¯s eyes found hers, and the grin that stretched his face was one of sheer delight. It was the look of a predator¡ªhungry, taunting, daring her to take the next move. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can even land a punch on me, hm?¡±
Mags dropped into a low stance, the ache in her leg forgotten. Her fingers curled, and she summoned the aether around her, drawing it in until her body thrummed with potential. She¡¯d trained for this, every beat of sweat and bruised knuckle leading to this moment. Think, decide, act!
She took a slow, deliberate breath. It was time to show Malacoda just how much she¡¯d learned.
Trust in your instinct, she reminded herself, and with a fierce grin of her own, she charged.
Her advance was immediately halted. The fish launched at her like a storm of silver knives, each one hurtling through the air with a speed and precision that made Mags¡¯s heart skip a beat. Malacoda¡¯s hand was still tucked in his pocket, his grin widening as the fish scattered in every direction and then converged on her in a deadly wave.
Mags didn¡¯t hesitate. She pulled in aether with the speed of instinct, feeling it rush through her veins like liquid fire. Her fingers flexed, and she burned mana, letting the familiar cold embrace of the [Void Cloak] wrap around her. The cloak settled over her skin, a shadowy veil of roiling dark silver energy, making her outline blur and shimmer. She let her body move on pure reflex, hands blurring as she batted away the incoming barrage.
Her fists became hammers, smashing through the glowing fish one after another. Each impact sent a silver-blue flash splintering through the air as the constructs burst apart, their aether dissipating into mist. Her jabs were precise and brutal¡ªquick, snapping strikes that shattered anything on target. A fish dove for her head, and she ducked low, spinning beneath it before driving her fist upward in a vicious uppercut that destroyed it mid-flight.
They kept coming, relentless and endless, a shimmering tide that bore down on her. She danced between the attacks, shifting her weight, rolling her shoulders, letting the momentum of one strike lead fluidly into the next. When a fish came too fast, she pivoted and spun, the [Void Cloak] flaring and twisting around her in streaks of disintegrating silver. She felt the chill of power coursing through her body as she increased the amount of aether she channeled¡ªthe familiar, comfortable cold that sharpened her senses and hardened her resolve.
But with every fish she struck down, another took its place. Through the corner of her eye, Mags saw the pool beneath Malacoda¡¯s feet ripple, its dark surface bubbling as fresh constructs emerged, their scales glistening like liquid moonlight. The new fish joined the swirling storm around him, each one forming seamlessly out of the black water. The cycle was unbroken¡ªno matter how many she destroyed, the source remained untouched.
She gritted her teeth, sweat mingling with the chill of the [Void Cloak] as her mana reserves burned faster and faster. Aether thrummed through her like a living current, heightening her movements, guiding her strikes, but the strain was beginning to build. The edges of her vision blurred, and she felt the first twinges of fatigue in her limbs. She still had a lot of her reserves left, but they were far from limitless and she knew she couldn¡¯t keep this up forever.
Another volley shot towards her¡ªshe spun and caught them with a cross-jab, her knuckles splitting through the glowing bodies like they were made of glass. But there was no sense of triumph. The pool below Malacoda shimmered with a dark, unbroken calm as more fish leapt forth to join the assault.
The realization hit her like a blow to the gut. She was pinned. Every move she made, every strike she landed, was already being countered before it began. It was a battle of attrition, and Malacoda had all the advantage. He didn¡¯t even need to step forward; he could hold her here until her mana ran dry, and she would be left defenseless.
She ducked under a streaking blur, the fish barely missing her shoulder, and tried to center herself. Her breaths were quick and shallow, her aura burning hotter, and she felt her reserves start to wane.
The aether pool under Malacoda¡¯s feet was calm, a bottomless reservoir that fed the ceaseless onslaught, the fish swirling around him in an elegant dance. He was playing with her¡ªkeeping her locked down, watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. His eyes, calm and amused, flickered behind the shifting wall of fish, and Mags felt the sharp edge of his challenge leveled at her like a blade. He was testing her endurance, her strategy, her willpower. Do something or you will fail, his smile said.
She stepped back, dodging two fish that swooped for her legs, and her gaze locked onto the pool at Malacoda¡¯s feet. The surface shimmered, smooth and dark as a mirror. Her mind raced. He was trying to deplete her reserves, forcing her to spend precious mana while he remained untouched. The aether constructs were replenishing themselves faster than she could destroy them.
Think, Mags, think! She couldn¡¯t keep up this pace forever. She needed to change the flow of the battle, to break free of the pattern Malacoda was forcing on her. The realization solidified in her mind¡ªshe couldn¡¯t win if she played his game. She had to change the rules.
One of the fish shot in too close, and she twisted to the side, smashing it with a rising elbow. The silver-blue aether burst apart like a shattered star, momentarily lighting up the shadowy edges of her [Void Cloak].
Another fish darted for her face¡ªshe dropped low, narrowly dodging it and driving a palm-strike forward, obliterating two more in a flash of silver. Her movements were growing more desperate, her strikes lacking the crispness they¡¯d had at the start. Her mana reserves were depleting, and each second she burned more just to keep the [Void Cloak] stable, just to stay in the fight.
Malacoda stood above the dark pool, watching with that same patient smile, the water rippling softly beneath him. The waves of fish spiraled outward, darting toward her with unerring precision. And Mags knew, deep down, that her window was closing. It was now or never. She focused her attention on Malacoda, drawing a path in her mind between herself and him.
She set her feet, took a deep breath, and let the [Void Cloak] flare around her. She burned more mana, pumping her aura into [Void Cloak], increasing the size and power of the shroud of energy. It was time to gamble everything. Time to make Malacoda fight on my terms, not his.
43. Versus Malacoda II (Limit)
Chapter 43
Versus Malacoda II (Limit)
Mags surged forward, her heart a hammer in her chest, each beat timed with the thunder of her feet against the ground. Aether poured through her veins, a river of power that pulsed with the rhythm of her desperation and resolve. She flared her [Void Cloak], letting the shroud of silver aura thicken around her like an armor of roiling energy, trailing in smoky tendrils that flickered with each stride.
The fish came at her, a flurry of glimmering silver-blue projectiles, but this time, she didn¡¯t slow or dodge. She forced herself forward, leaning into the onslaught, pouring more aura into the [Void Cloak] until it blazed around her. The fish struck the shroud of aura with the force of a hundred thrown knives, their aether-formed scales bright and sharp, but each one shattered as it collided with the [Void Cloak]. Tiny explosions of bright blue aura scattered in her wake, crackling like bursts of starlight in the dim glow of the afternoon sun.
She gritted her teeth and kept running, feeling the burn of her mana reserves thinning with each impact. Her shroud absorbed each strike, dispersing the force in rippling waves, but the strain was mounting. She gritted her teeth and pushed through, pumping more aura into [Void Cloak]. The [Void Cloak] was hungry, devouring her aura as quickly as she could produce it by burning mana, and she could feel the chill of its hunger biting into her flesh. She hoped it could withstand a few more blows as she barreled towards Malacoda.
Malacoda remained a an unyielding figure amidst the chaos, his silhouette framed by the silver-white halo of the fish swirling in a tight, protective formation around him. His grin was infuriatingly calm, his posture relaxed, as if he was watching a child playing a game he knew they couldn¡¯t win.
Not this time, Mags thought, anger and determination blending into a single sharp point of focus. Her gaze locked onto Malacoda¡¯s, her target clear. Her muscles coiled, tension building in her legs, and with a burst of speed, she leaped into the air.
The school of fish swarmed to meet her, the shimmering barrier between them tightening, each aether-construct¡¯s eyes glowing with an ephemeral light. For a heartbeat, she hung in the air above him, the world narrowing to the sound of her own breath and the cold, rhythmic thrumming of her [Void Cloak]. Her instincts, honed by months of training, flared to life. Every sense sharpened, and the moment stretched to infinity.
Now!
The aether within her churned, roared, and Mags felt a quake deep within her soul¡ªa shift as she reached for her ability, mentally commanding Yggdrasil to activate her new Spell. In that instant, she triggered [Devouring Pulse].
A stillness fell over the world, freezing everything in a breathless instant. The light dimmed, and colors drained away, leaving the clearing washed in shades of black and white. The fish, suspended mid-dive, hung like frozen shadows around her, and Malacoda¡¯s face was caught between surprise and anticipation. A twinkle still in the corners of his eyes.
Then the pulse hit.
It was as if her body had become the center of a star¡¯s collapse, the [Void Cloak] snapping outward in a concentric wave of silver wind. The aura she¡¯d accumulated burst from her like an expanding shockwave, consuming everything in its path. The pulse surged through the school of fish, and the constructs erupted, their forms disintegrating into a swirling vortex of shadow and light. Aether splintered, shimmering fragments scattering into the air like shattered glass, leaving nothing but a hazy afterimage where the fish had once been. The dark pool beneath Malacoda¡¯s feet shuddered and then vanished.
For a fraction of a second, the world was silent, frozen in the wake of her unleashed power. Malacoda¡¯s eyes widened, twin suns of molten crimson, but his smile never wavered. Instead, it deepened, stretching into a grin of fierce delight, as if he had been waiting¡ªexpecting¡ªfor this very moment.
The pulse ebbed, and color bled back into the world. The shattered remnants of the fish faded into dust on an invisible breeze, leaving Mags alone in the air, descending upon her target. She¡¯d broken through his defenses. Malacoda was no longer protected by his Spell, and in that very moment was open to an attack. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and the backlash from the mana drain on casting [Devouring Pulse] racked her body.
I have to press the attack! Despite the heaviness leaking into her muscles, she didn¡¯t hesitate. With a swift, practiced thought, she mentally accessed her Pocket¡ªa space that existed somewhere between reality and thought, a small demi-space that could only be accessed through the Soulsinger attuned to the Artifact. The familiar weight of her inventory settled into her mind in a fraction of a second, like the pages of a book being flipped open. She already knew exactly what she needed and drew it forth with a mental tug.
In an instant, Mithra, the broad and short Ivaldi blade, appeared in her outstretched hand, materializing from nothingness. The jet black surface of the blade shimmered as it took shape, a wide, flat weapon with a sturdy edge that gleamed in the light of the clearing.
Arm already in motion, Mags brought Mithra down with all the force she could muster, letting the momentum of her fall carry her. The blade cut through the air, a heavy arc of inevitability aimed directly at Malacoda. His smile didn¡¯t falter, didn¡¯t waver, and even as she bore down on him with the weapon that had appeared as if from thin air, he spoke.
¡°Clever girl,¡± he said, and his voice was calm and amused, as if they were exchanging pleasantries over a cup of tea.
Mithra slammed down, the weight of her desperation and fury behind the strike. But instead of meeting flesh, the blade bit into the earth with a muted thunk. Dirt and grass exploded upwards as the heavy weapon dug deep into the ground, missing Malacoda by the smallest fraction and twisting into the earth as it bit down. Mags blinked, bewildered¡ªshe¡¯d been sure her aim was perfect¡ªonly to realize that Malacoda was standing on the flat of her blade, hands still casually in his pockets, and one boot firmly planted on the steel as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her eyes widened in shock, but before she could react, Malacoda¡¯s foot shot out with brutal speed. She barely registered the movement before his boot connected with her face. Pain lanced through her skull, a blinding white flash as the force of the kick sent her head snapping back. She felt the crunch of cartilage as her nose broke, blood spurting from her nostrils. Her vision swam, stars dancing at the edges, and she was thrown backward, landing hard on her backside.
Her breath hitched, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she gasped for air, shock and pain radiating through her skull. She could feel the hot trickle of blood running down her lips, warm and sticky, staining the front of her clothes. She blinked, trying to clear the tears that blurred her sight, and saw Malacoda¡¯s face hovering above her, a bemused look in his fiery eyes.
¡°You almost had me,¡± he said, his tone approving, even admiring. ¡°That trick with the Spell was brilliant¡ªa move I didn¡¯t see coming. You shattered my defenses in a single strike.¡± He paused, leaning back to regard her with a nod. ¡°And summoning your weapon mid-air like that? Smart. Very smart. I¡¯m impressed.¡±
He stepped off Mithra¡¯s blade, his boot lifting with a soft whisper of steel. Mags pushed herself up, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her face throbbed with pain, her vision still blurred from the blow, but she refused to look away from him. There was no anger or mockery in his eyes¡ªonly the genuine admiration of a teacher who saw his student rise to a challenge, even if coming up short.
¡°Get up,¡± Malacoda said softly, a hint of challenge in his voice. ¡°You¡¯re not done yet.¡±
Mags¡¯s fingers tightened around the hilt of Mithra, her body screaming in protest, and she forced herself to stand.
Malacoda was within her guard in a flash. His fist slammed into her ribs, and Mags felt the air rush from her lungs in a harsh, ragged gasp. Her feet skidded backward, but she didn¡¯t fall. A storm of blows followed¡ªcalculated, relentless, each hit a reminder that her training here had only scratched the surface of what true mastery looked like.
¡°Don¡¯t hold back,¡± Malacoda taunted between strikes, his voice calm and somehow detached, as if they were playing friendly game rather than engaged in a battle of raw power. He swung again, and Mags barely managed to parry the blow with a hasty block, her arms screaming with the effort. His fist slammed against the flat of Mithra¡¯s blade, sending shockwaves through her arms. ¡°I know you¡¯ve got more left in you! Show me!¡±
Her mind raced, adrenaline mingling with the aching burn of mana exhaustion. What do I have left? she thought. The fight had already drained so much from her reserves, but she could feel a faint, dwindling spark within. An Angel Flare Strike. Maybe one . . . if I push it. Deep within her, she could sense barely enough mana for the Spell. She would need to execute the timing perfectly. Just one shot.
She let him get in closer, allowing the punishing blows to force her back step by step. Pain radiated from every strike, each one that broke through her defenses hammering into her ribs, her shoulders, her arms. She gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes locked on him. The impact of every blow jarred her bones, but she watched, waiting, feeling the rhythm of the fight, until she saw it¡ªan opening.
In that instant, she mentally recalled Mithra, pulling it back into her Pocket. Malacoda¡¯s fist went through air as the blade vanished. Mags took the opportunity to step into his reach.
She drove her fist forward, a quick, sharp jab. Malacoda¡¯s eyes narrowed, his arm moving to block¡ªjust as she¡¯d hoped. She triggered [Angel Flare Strike]. A ripple of void-infused energy burst from her knuckles, a spear of darkness that surged into his forearm. The void energy twisted like a living thing, writhing around his muscles. Malacoda grunted, his face tightening with discomfort¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t enough. It barely slowed him.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
His retaliation was immediate, brutal. The flurry of blows hit her like a drumbeat of iron. She felt her knees buckle, the ground tipping beneath her as she was driven back. Her world became a blur of pain, the edges of her vision spinning. She barely registered the moment she hit the ground, the rough dirt digging into her back as she lay sprawled and gasping for breath.
Through the haze, she saw Malacoda¡¯s face twisted into a frown, disappointment flashing in his eyes. He turned away, his gaze lifting to the balconies above them¡ªthe silent witnesses who had come to observe her trial. Frey Sarto¡ªthe judge and executioner. For a second, Mags saw a plea in his expression, a question unspoken: Has she done enough?
But whatever answer he received from above made his jaw clench. He turned back to her, his shoulders squared and his expression hardening. ¡°Get up!¡± he barked, and before she could respond, his fist found her side again. Pain bloomed, electric and fierce, and Mags¡¯s breath came in jagged gasps. He hit her again, relentless. ¡°Dig deeper!¡±
Mags forced herself to her feet, limbs shaking, muscles burning with every movement. Her reserves were running on fumes. Aether flared in her veins like white fire, pushing her beyond her limits. She wasn¡¯t sure how she even stayed upright¡ªwhether it was sheer willpower or some instinctual force within¡ªbut she managed it, fists still raised, blocking what blows she could. The rest slammed into her battered frame, each one feeling like it might be the final strike to topple her.
Her body was screaming at her to stop, to give in. The taste of blood was thick in her mouth, her vision a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes and shadows. Malacoda¡¯s strikes had become a merciless rhythm, each one a drumbeat against her failing defenses.
Then, she fell again. The world turned to cold dirt and distant noises, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs, the eerie stillness of the onlookers watching her struggle. She was on her back, and it felt like she would never get up again. Blood trickled down her chin, her breath a ragged wheeze as she coughed, each convulsion sending fresh agony through her bruised and battered body. Darkness edged her sight, the world spinning away.
I¡¯m going to die here, she thought, feeling the hot press of tears sting her eyes. Whatever it was that Sarto wanted from her, Mags couldn¡¯t deliver.
But even as that thought settled in, she felt it¡ªfaint, but unmistakable. A pulse. A second heartbeat thumping beneath her own, like a drum hidden deep within her chest. It thrummed there, vibrating in time with her own, but colder, sharper. It was a presence, like a well of darkness nestled where her reserves usually lay, alien yet familiar. It was power. Dark and dangerous, but power all the same.
What is that? The question shot through her mind, cutting through the pain and panic. It didn¡¯t matter. There was no time to think, no time to doubt. Malacoda was still coming, his shadow looming over her, his eyes gleaming with the intention to strike again.
Desperation clawed at her, and with a final, ragged breath, Mags reached out with her mind. Her consciousness dove inward, plummeting down into that strange well, reaching for the pulsing darkness that echoed within her chest.
She touched it.
A shudder ran through her, electric and chilling, as if she¡¯d plunged her hand into icy water. For a heartbeat, everything froze¡ªher pain, her fear, even the world around her seemed to stop, suspended in that single, aching moment. She could feel it¡ªraw, terrible power surging through her veins, twisting and shifting, an unfamiliar presence coiling around her mind.
Then, the darkness answered.
Malacoda stood over Mags, watching as her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. Slowly, almost mechanically, the girl pulled herself to her feet. Her face was a mess¡ªbruised, bloodied, and covered in dirt¡ªyet she refused to look away, her eyes locked onto him with a fire that hadn¡¯t quite been extinguished. He admired that stubbornness, even if it was utterly foolish.
He glanced back up towards Frey Sarto, still perched on the high tower balcony with that detached, unyielding presence. Sarto¡¯s face was unreadable, her eyes fixed on the battered girl before him. Her golden, ringed eyes flickered briefly to him, just long enough to send a silent command: Keep going. He felt the pull, the invisible leash wrapped around his throat.
¡°Enough,¡± he muttered, shaking his head. He would stop. There was no honor in beating up a kid who had nothing left to give. Mags had proven her resilience, if not her strength. But Sarto¡¯s gaze bore into him, and he felt the desire to obey, to give into the freedom of control, tighten around his neck like a noose. Continue. It clawed at him, pulling at his will, a suffocating compulsion. He swallowed it down, forcing his defiance to the surface, but the pull faded as quickly as it came. He knew his duty. And if he didn¡¯t follow through, Sarto would carry out her will herself, which would be a worse fate for Mags. No. He had to keep going.
In that moment he couldn¡¯t help but feel his own pangs of disappointment. Was this really it? He had been promised the opportunity to fight an Angel unlike any other. A force of nature capable of being honed and controlled. He took another look at Mags¡¯ beaten and battered face. This is not what I imagined.
¡°Sorry, kid,¡± he muttered softly, preparing for another strike. But then the air shifted.
A faint shiver rolled up his spine, every hair on his arms standing on end. Something was . . . different. His senses flared, instincts roaring to life. He stepped back, his head tilting in confusion as a strange energy flickered around Mags¡¯s barely standing form.
¡°What¡¯s this now?¡± he asked aloud, half to himself.
Mags began to move, but not with the sluggish determination she¡¯d shown before. This was something else¡ªher limbs jerked as if an invisible force were pulling them, like a puppet being yanked to its feet by unseen strings. Malacoda¡¯s eyes narrowed, a hint of unease worming its way into his confident facade. The aura around her changed, warping and intensifying. It wasn¡¯t the usual glow of aether being drawn by a Soulsinger¡¯s body¡ªthis was something else, something far more unnatural.
Golden light spilled from Mags¡¯s body, twisting and bending until it surrounded her in a blinding halo. It stretched, growing taller, wider, until it formed a shape¡ªhumanoid but towering, a full two feet taller than she had been standing a moment before. The figure was a silhouette of pure golden radiance, its edges shifting like flames caught in a breeze. It was featureless, save for two circular eyes that burned like molten metal, piercing and impossibly bright. Its hands were tipped in claw-like fingers. Around its head floated a circlet of starlight.
The pressure in the air grew heavier, pressing down on Malacoda¡¯s shoulders. Even after multiple encounters with the extinction-level threat Maldrath, he still felt an animalistic twist of fear in his stomach. A primal thrill, buried deep in his core, a raw panic that signaled to his uncomprehending brain that what he was seeing was unnatural, maddening and a threat to his very being.
He was in the presence of an Angel.
With calm practice, he stomped out the primal fear. He couldn¡¯t fight the wide smile splitting his face. Finally. He glanced back up towards Sarto¡¯s balcony, and this time he saw the faintest shift in her expression¡ªa pleasant smile curving her lips. Those golden eyes of hers now glinted with satisfaction. So this is what you wanted? Malacoda thought, a wry chuckle bubbling up in his throat. The Angel¡¯s power had awakened, and now it was his job to face it head-on. ¡°Happy to oblige.¡±
He turned back to Mags¡ªno, not Mags, not anymore. Whatever stood before him was something altogether different, something dangerous and raw and barely contained. The white-hot eyes fixed on him, and he felt his legs twitch with excitement.
¡°Well,¡± he said, grinning as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. ¡°Look at you. All dressed up and nowhere to go, huh?¡±
The towering figure didn¡¯t move. It simply watched; the intense glow of those featureless eyes boring into his soul. Malacoda¡¯s grin widened, his vanity and confidence crashing against the tide of dread that rippled in the back of his mind. He had to admit, he loved the thrill of it¡ªthe challenge, the feeling of staring down something that shouldn¡¯t be possible. He wanted to take the impossibility and make it succumb to his will.
¡°Come on, Angel,¡± he taunted, his voice light and teasing, though his muscles tensed in preparation. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can hit me this time.¡±
He braced himself, every fiber of his being alive with anticipation. Finally, something interesting is happening.
Mags lay on her back, the coldness of stone biting into her scalp. Her body felt heavy and numb, the fight drained from her limbs. For a moment, she thought she had blacked out¡ªuntil she blinked and realized that the sky above her had vanished. Gone were the drifting clouds, the shimmering glow of aether in the saltwater air, and the white stone towers of Bijel Garden.
Instead, a dim, otherworldly moonlight hung above her, casting strange, wavering shadows across the walls of a familiar room. Her breath hitched as she recognized the chamber¡ªthe cold, empty space dominated by the ancient altar and the strange, pulsing egg that seemed to draw the very air around it.
No . . . not here. Not now.
She forced herself to sit up, even as the weight of her own exhaustion pressed down on her. And there, crouched atop the altar like some dark bird of prey, was the shadowy figure¡ªthe outline of a young boy, his eyes burning like twin embers in the darkness. Two bat-like wings, made of the same liquid shadow as the rest of his body, extended from his back, casting twisted shadows on the cold stone floor.
¡°Enoch,¡± Mags whispered, her voice hoarse and cracked. That¡¯s what the creature had called itself, though Mags couldn¡¯t remember how she knew that.
The boy-like shadow¡¯s eyes met hers, wide and haunted, filled with a strange mixture of anger and longing. He tilted his head, his wings twitching. ¡°Where are we?¡± he asked, his voice echoing around the chamber. It was surprising gentle, frail. ¡°Why do you keep me here? Why won¡¯t you let us free? What did I do?¡±
Mags pushed herself up, every movement a struggle. She wanted to respond, to explain, but the words caught in her throat. Her limbs felt heavy, her tongue slow and useless, and a deep, aching fatigue settled in her bones. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a broken whisper escaped.
¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know how¡¡±
But Enoch¡¯s expression twisted, his small face of shadowy curves and divots contorting with rage and desperation. He dropped to his knees, his eyes wide and shimmering. ¡°Let me. . .¡± he whimpered, and his voice was so raw, so full of pain that Mags felt something twist inside her. ¡°Please . . . let me free . . .!¡±
His wings flared, casting rippling shadows across the chamber. His hands clawed at his chest, his breath hitching in uneven gasps. And then, without warning, he screamed¡ªa sound that shattered the quiet stillness of the room, a scream of pure, unbridled anguish that tore through Mags¡¯s defenses like a knife.
¡°LET ME GO!¡±
Before Mags could react, Enoch was on her, his movements a blur of shadow and fury. She barely had time to cry out before his weight pinned her down, his small hands digging into her shoulders with a strength that defied his fragile appearance. The shadows writhed and thickened around them, and Mags¡¯s panic flared as she felt a sick, freezing pressure against her skin.
¡°Enoch¡ªstop!¡± she choked, her voice raw with desperation. But the boy¡¯s face was inches from hers now, twisted and wild, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek.
Then it began.
Darkness, thick and suffocating, poured from the smooth, shadowy surface of his face¡ªa torrent of liquid shadow that surged forward and forced itself into Mags¡¯s mouth, her nose, her eyes. She gagged, choking as the cold, oily substance slid down her throat and filled her lungs. She tried to thrash, to scream, to claw him away, but her limbs refused to respond. The feeling of fingers wrapping around her throat. Was he strangling her? She desperately clawed at the cold hands, but her fingers moved through them like cold smoke.
She was drowning, smothering beneath the weight of it, the thick liquid shadows clawing their way inside her. Her vision darkened, narrowing to a pinprick, and every desperate gasp drew more of the shadow inside her, filling her, weighing her down.
No . . . no, no, no . . .
She swung her fists at the creature, her eyes wide and sightless, her entire world collapsing into a cold, endless darkness. The stone beneath her had disappeared, replaced by a void that stretched on forever. Enoch¡¯s face hovered above her, wreathed in shadows, his eyes now glowing a blinding, impossible white. He whispered something¡ªsoft, distant, almost tender¡ªbefore the darkness swallowed everything whole.
And then, just as quickly, there was nothing at all.