《Shards of the Dark Lord》 Time to Wake Up Abad-Shai, Scion of the Black Flame, Scourge of the Ten Realms, the Dark Scholar, felt himself slowly pulling back together. Piece by piece, mote of essence by mote of essence, he gathered himself at the edge of the void between thought and form. A former lord among lords, a once magnificent being, one of the fragments of the greatest being to ever walk Reial, had been brought low. Ever so low. While he would have been too proud to whinge and whine before, now Abad-Shai did not bother to mask his seething, impotent rage at his current state¡ªthat of a literal shadow barely tethered to his rotting corpse. Oh, he had lofty ideas back then. He had it all planned out. He''d slowly infiltrate the court. He''d seduce some noblewomen, become the talk of the court. He would slowly grow closer to the king and queen. He twist the queen away from her husband, planting treachery in her heart. He''d patiently whisper poisoned words into the king''s ear, convincing the soft-minded mortal to take action against his enemies. Who, of course, would include the Hero, hells curse her blessed name. Of course she secretly wanted his throne, Abad would have said. Of course she had already made alliances with the faction of dissident nobles, Abad would have claimed. Of course she was readying herself to strike, Abad would have insisted. It would have been glorious. While his idiot "siblings," if the various coalesced essences of a dead being who called himself "The Dark Lord" could even be called siblings, were busy fighting their "glorious" battles in the shit-covered plains, striking down peasants and their petty lords, he would have watched the hero hang. He would have brought low the king. He would have executed the "dissidents" who orchestrated the king''s death. Then, he would have used his position to become the king, or at least he would have put the next king in the queen''s fertile belly, taking the dead man''s throne, his beautiful wife, and the greatest of the ten kingdoms. Instead, he got a holy sword planted three feet into his sternum. How could she see him? His illusions were perfect. His weaves were intricately designed to bypass all manner of magical protections, and he had personally unwoven the enchantments that he couldn''t. The question was vexing. He had turned it over in his mind countless times. He also certainly hadn¡¯t seen her coming. One moment, he was flirting with the queen in the castle''s courtyard after their most recent week-long tryst in the countryside, and the next moment--POW, sword. A few slices later, and he was only half of himself. Only a fortuitous protection spell and a last-resort ring of teleportation had prevented him from joining the ash-heap of history. Not that it meant much. His vault called his broken body back home, and there he found himself bound to the little sarcophagus he had crafted as an apprentice. He had honestly forgotten about the old thing, buried under pounds and pounds of riches in the back of his vault. He remembered placing a giant''s axe on top of it as a makeshift display, but that was as far as his memory went. Once he found himself inside the stone coffin, the glowing runes illuminating his ashen skin, he was grateful that he hadn''t gotten rid of it to make more room for his collection. He was, however, upset at his past self for not making it larger. The stone walls brushed against his skin terribly whenever he tethered his soul back into his body. Adjustments for later, when he restored his vault to its former glory. Ah, his vault. The most decadent storage space for the most eclectic collection of art, treasure, and artifacts ever known to the seven races. Even his progenitor couldn''t claim a vault rivaling Abad''s own! It was his pride and joy... and now it was gone. To think that he had heard voices outside of his sarcophagus. Lousy, filthy, disgusting voices cackling about the score they had found. His spirit bristled as he remembered the way they laughed. To think that mortals would dare enter his glorious vault. Day after day, they returned, stealing more and more of Abad''s precious belongings. They stole from the man who stole all that treasure! The audacity. Thinking on it, he vowed, for possibly the thousandth time, that somewhere, someday, he would find them. The two men and the woman. He would remember their voices. They''d been burned into his spirit like a branding iron on flesh. Ooohhh, then he''d make them laugh. Laugh and cry, and scream and¡ª He felt his spirit grow weary. It didn¡¯t matter now. What mattered was that he was here¡ªrotting in his own vault like some lifeless corpse. Like a mortal. A mortal! The thought sent a grimace through his still-forming jaw, and he willed his body to sigh, producing a dry, rattling sound that echoed through his tomb. The noise made him cough, which caused his arm to fall off. And not before the stone walls scraped his shoulders. He grumbled and groaned before willing himself out of his body, back to the edge of the world between worlds. There, he simmered, slowly slipping back into a dreamless slumber, a kind of restless nothingness that ebbed and flowed, caught in a place between worlds. *** He woke up with a start. His spirit was brought back to reality by a soft, metallic, impossibly irritating tapping noise. As the haze slowly cleared from his mind, he realized he, his body at least, had been hearing the terrible noise every few minutes or so now for... a year? Time was fuzzy when you were a corpse. However, he knew it had been happening more and more frequently. He pulled himself into his rotten body for the first time in however long and immediately regretted it. The smell! Devils below, he would do anything to not smell that smell again. Slowly, he pushed some of his essence into his desiccated eyes and fluttered them open. He felt his left eyelid split apart as he did. His shoulders scraped the walls of his coffin as his corpse animated. The space around him was as dark as ever, save for the softly glowing runes on the lid of his too-small tomb. Listening intently, he realized the sound must be the wind knocking some piece of metal against the outside of his sarcophagus. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. The wind? His vault was underground. The sound made his fangs itch. He hated it. He hated it so much. The rage and curiosity and self-loathing would kill him if he weren''t already dead. His spirit roiling, he willed his mind out of his body and back into the world between worlds, hoping that whatever it was that was making that racket would most quickly rust away, or die, or de-animate, or get eaten by wolves, or... *** It felt like a thousand years since he¡¯d drifted back to his body, yet no time at all. The abominable noise finally had stopped at some point. Madness was barely staved off. His fangs no longer itched. His spirit floated back into his corpse, more easily this time. Once he had settled comfortably into his body, he noted that the smell had at last diminished. He was certain all of his insides had dried out at some point in his long rest. He sighed. How long would he have to wait? He raised a hand to his face, feeling around with the stiff, almost mechanical movement of fingers unused to effort. His skin was thin and cold, bending with an unsettling tautness over sharp bones. His hands, once capable of conjuring storms and calling forth legions, felt tired from the effort. He shifted in his sarcophagus, yawning. He froze. For the first time in a very long time, he felt it¡ªthe weight of his body. He could move. His body felt¡­ whole, or at least not entirely rotten. He didn''t stink. He could feel his own muscles, the tension in his sinews. His skin was cold, but it wasn''t as cold as the stone around him. There was life in him again! After years of waiting, his form had returned enough to contain his essence. His body could respond to his will once again. A flicker of hope curled within him. He moved slowly, experimentally stretching each muscle, feeling the stiffness of limbs that had lain dormant for what he could only assume had been years. Decades even. His vision began to clear as he opened his eyes, taking in the faint, darkened interior of his sarcophagus. He felt weak, abysmally so. He was certain even a lowly zombie could have made quick work of him if he wasn¡¯t careful, but one thing was clear: He. Was. Alive. He surveyed the cold light emanating from the sigils carved into the underside of his sarcophagus. Each softly glowed in a variety of dull, dust-covered colors¡ªeach contributing to an enchantment to preserve the sarcophagus''s contents, a precaution he¡¯d woven himself in his younger days, back when he was little more than an eager apprentice to his mistress. Basic, yes, but effective. A spark of pride stirred within him at the memory, though even his pride felt weak, ghostly, like an echo. He gave himself permission to smile for the first time since his unfortunate passing. A small flicker of joy filled his heart. "Master Abad, are you awake?" Abad''s heart froze. He hadn''t heard a voice in... however long. The voice came again, faint and muffled by the thick stone lid above. ¡°Master Abad,¡± the voice repeated, insistent now, as though Abad¡¯s silence was more alarming than his stirring. Abad felt his thoughts gather, like mist swirling into form. He recognized that voice. Who had it belonged to? Ah! It belonged to Angra, his most loyal servant. He had summoned the diminutive shadowspawn as his familiar during his final testing, when his mistress demanded perfection. He had almost botched the ritual and lost his life, but, thankfully, the creature heeded his call. Even since, it had been loyal and tireless in the ways Abad needed, and unflaggingly persistent. Abad hesitated before answering his servant, curiosity tugging at him to assess the state of his newly restored form. Reaching into his mind, he summoned the metaphysical scroll that contained his unique qualities. A gift from the goddess during the mortal''s war with his sire, it didn''t take long for Abad''s kind to learn to access the goddess''s potent magic. "Goddess be praised," he whispered. With a faint shimmer of dark magic, a translucent scroll formed above his head, then unfurled before his eyes:
Abad-Shai, Shadowspawn Elf Adept of the Mask Level: 1 Experience: 0/100 HP: 14/14 MP: 18/18
Might [D]: 3 Resilience [B]: 5 Agility [A]: 6 Power [S]: 7 Resistance [B]: 5 Focus [A]: 6
Class Talents: [Familiar] (Passive, Class, Adept): Grants the Adept the ability to summon and bind a creature as a familiar. This familiar aids in both exploration and minor spellcasting. [Minor Spellcraft] (Passive, Class, Adept): The Adept can cast cantrips from a spellbook using their MP as a resource. Personal Talents: [Elvish Reflexes] (Passive, Racial, Elf): Elves possess exceptional agility and coordination. Their minimum growth ranking in Agility is set to B, ensuring they maintain above-average dexterity even with basic training. [Elvish Senses] (Passive, Racial, Elf): Elves have superior perception, blending heightened physical senses with an intuitive connection to magic. An elf¡¯s Focus cannot fall below a B rank, and they can use their senses to detect magic. [Dark Vision] (Passive, Racial, Darkspawn): Darkspawn are attuned to the shadows, granting them clear vision in low-light and total darkness, though colors appear muted in complete darkness. [Dark One''s Embrace] (Passive, Heritage, Darkspawn): As the spiritual progeny of a powerful dark entity, Darkspawn receive attribute growth ratings that are one tier higher than the base level provided by their class. [Mask of Many Faces I] (Active, 10 MP, Sign, The Mask): Enables the user to change subtle features of their appearance, allowing them to adopt altered identities to remain undetected.
Items: [Rotten Clothes] (Poor, Broken): Tattered remnants of what was once finely crafted attire. These clothes are marred with age and decay, providing little in terms of protection or dignity. They emit a faint, unpleasant odor and are prone to tearing with the slightest movement, reminding you of your fall from power and the time spent dormant.
Quests: [None]
Abad¡¯s eyes narrowed as he read the top entries on the scroll. He often forgot that his birth mother was elven. He couldn''t remember much about her aside from her long golden hair. She mattered little in the grand scheme of things. The second his sire''s poison slipped into her womb, her destiny was no longer her own. Reading further, His lips curled into a sneer. His form, once fearsome and beautiful and brimming with power, had withered into something nearly mortal. His stats were low, suggesting a fragility he was not used to. In fact, everything about him was diminished. His once-vast repertoire of magic was reduced to a single warlock skill, a faint echo of his former reach. At the very least, he still had the ability to mask his appearance. He would need it being this weak. Once, he had been more than this, a being of pure darkness and ambition. Now, he was simply the memory of power, with just enough Essence to pull his form together, and Essence barely sufficient to sustain the old wards in his tomb. With a sigh, Abad closed the page, the weight of his diminished power hanging over him like a shroud. ¡°Yes, Angra,¡± Abad¡¯s voice rasped, barely more than a whisper. It grated against his throat, unused for far too long. ¡°I am awake.¡± There was a sound of relief from outside the sarcophagus, which surprised Abad. "You''ve been in your vault for a very long time, master," the creature explained, then fell quiet for a moment before adding, "I feared you would never awaken." The creature''s pitiful voice awoke something in Abad''s heart. A pang of empathy flickered through Abad¡¯s chest. Empathy had never been one of his virtues. Empathy. Mercy. Kindness. All useless, he had often thought. But the idea of his most loyal servant waiting for multiple cycles... made him pity the creature. Her voice cracked his newly reformed heart. "I am here now. Please. Help me open the lid, my dearest friend." His Lifes Ambition The second he managed to open his sarcophagus, stand, and look around, he felt the air leave his newly-reformed lungs. If his servant''s voice cracked his heart before, the state of his vault broke it in two. His beloved treasure vault was a mere shade of its former glory. Where there once had been piles upon piles of exquisite treasure, artifacts, and finery¡ªnow there remained scattered remnants of a kingdom''s worth of wealth. Here were a few gold coins piled in the corner. There lay an enchanted sword with a crack running down its length, its sigils rusted over. Over there rested an otherworldly looking flower, shriveled and dead, with petals shaped like crystalline tears. A giant, gaping hole decorated the far wall, his darkvision revealing a crude tunnel extending into the Depths as far as he could see. A pitiful noise escaped from his lips. He thought he would cry. Just as he fought against the impulse, a small, reddish figure the size of a large cat leaped into his arms. The tiny, gaunt shape looked vaguely humanoid, except for the bat wings, large pointed ears, big yellow eyes, and soft slitted pupils that glowed red in the gloom. And the tail. He couldn''t forget the tail. The creature sobbed into Abad¡¯s arms with all the fervor of an anguished child. Its wailing cries filled the vault. Abad found himself stroking her small, bony shoulders, attempting to console his familiar. Her scorpion tail flicked to and fro, forcing him to move his head to avoid the poisoned tip a few times. "Master!" Wracking sobs shook the imp''s body, her thick red hair sticking to her wet cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ve waited so long for you!¡± His first instinct was to fling the creature across the vault, but Abad paused, trying his best to calm his irate soul. "Yes, dear," he said instead. "And I am here now." The words felt forced and unnatural. He had never consoled another being before. Not genuinely at least. Usually, it was a ploy to get what he wanted from some noblewoman or another. What had that woman done to him? The imp rubbed its cheeks, looking up at its master. Her big yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. "It took forever..." The imp choked back fresh tears, and Abad saw her bottom lip quiver. "All of your things... everything is gone..." Another violent sob wracked her tiny frame as she gestured towards the tunnel, illuminated by torchlight. "The intruders¡­ they brought so many men... I tried... I tried to stop them..." Her head turned and she bared her fangs, her tail twitching as she did. Two corpses lay against the far wall. A small campfire, long dead, sat between them, and dusty tipped over mugs suggested whatever lay inside them had long since spilled out. "My venom killed these ones, but so many others came and went. I left the bodies, but the others didn''t even care..." Abad pulled her tight, squeezing gently. "You did well, Angra." Angra sniffed. "No, I didn¡¯t. Your beautiful vault was ruined because I failed you!" She shrieked suddenly. "And it¡¯s all that stupid girl¡¯s fault!" She trembled then, curling up into an angry ball on Abad''s arms. Growing tired from standing, he sat on the edge of his coffin, numbly looking around his poor, ruined vault. For what felt like the first time ever, he had nothing to say, so he let his familiar carry on in his lap as he let it all just wash over him. His shoulders sagged and he sat there for several minutes, listening to his familiar babble about the terrible evil people who stole everything. Her whining matched how he had felt when his spirit was stuck in the world between worlds, but now, seeing it all in person, he felt empty. They''d taken it all. Well, not everything, he realized as his familiar recounted tales of taking some treasures back, cursed rings that melted hands, and weapons that even the toughest of the thieves feared touching. She had followed them at times, waiting for them to sleep. She said, of the thirty-or-so who entered his vault, she eventually had ended half of them. Her fangs bared as she told her tales. Some died as they drank at the pub, a simple stab to the throat ending them as they swigged their bitter ale. Some died as the slept, when she relished the horror on their faces when they woke to find their tent covered in flame. Some of them, when she had crept up behind them to steal back whichever trinket of his they had stolen, caught her, and promptly lost their lives to a venomous sting. He smiled at that memory in particular. It warmed his cold, empty heart to know they saw their deaths coming. His gaze drifted around the room, lingering on the many empty platforms, scattered coins, broken vials, and torn scrolls that littered the space, the remants of his storied past, as Angra recounted her experiences. A small pile of equipment laid in the corner, under a torn banner. His old war banner, he realized, the raven symbol faded and covered in dirt and dust. As Angra spoke, her hands gesturing wildly, Abad opened his scroll to distract himself. He needed something to take his mind off of his lost belongings, but every time his gaze landed on another missing object, he couldn''t help but wish he was back in his coffin. His scroll unfurled in the air, and he willed Angra''s page to appear. A moment later, he could see her stats:
Angra Mainyu, Imp Familiar Level: 9 Experience: 317/900 HP: 49/49 MP: 60/60
Attributes: Might [D]: 12 Resilience [D]: 12 Agility [A]: 25 Power [C]: 21 Resistance [A]: 27 Focus [D]: 12
Class Talents: [Venomous Stinger] (Passive, Racial, Imp): Angra¡¯s tail is equipped with a retractable stinger capable of injecting a paralytic venom. [Imp Invisibility] (Active, 20 MP, Racial, Imp): The imp can become invisible for a moderate duration, aiding in stealth operations and evasion. This invisibility may be broken by sudden, loud noises or rapid movement. At rank II, the imp can interact with objects without breaking the invisibility. [Sinister Presence] (Passive, Racial, Imp): In their natural imp form, imps exudes an aura that induces unease or fear in creatures with low Resistance. This effect is subtle but effective in discouraging weaker enemies. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Personal Talents: [Bonded Insight] (Active, 10 MP, Class, Familiar): Allows the familiar to share its sensory experiences with its master over long distances, providing them with valuable reconnaissance. Prolonged use can cause strain. At rank II, the strain is less pronounced, allowing the master and familiar to share senses for longer. [Essence Transfer] (Active, X HP/MP, Class, Familiar): The familiar can transfer a portion of their essence to their master, rejuvenating their master¡¯s health or mana. This act weakens the familiar temporarily but can be crucial in emergencies. [Animal Shape] (Active, 30 MP, Class, Familiar): Familiars can shift into the form of an animal (Raven), enhancing their stealth capabilities and sensory perception. While transformed, offensive abilities are suppressed, but vision and hearing are significantly improved. [Endless Devotion] (Passive, Personal): Angra¡¯s unwavering loyalty to Abad grants her enhanced resilience and magical fortitude when acting in his defense or service. This talent allows her to maintain focus and durability during critical moments, driven by her bond to her master.
Items: [Rat Fur Loincloth] (Crude): A basic garment fashioned from the coarse fur of cave rats. While offering minimal protection and no significant stat bonuses, it provides basic coverage and a touch of warmth. The rough texture and unpleasant odor make it less desirable, but it serves as a reminder of Angra¡¯s resourcefulness and humble origins.
Abad reviewed her stats appreciatively, even smiling at her final talent. He knew she was loyal, but he didn''t realize the extent. In truth, he had almost forgotten about her entirely in the ages he spent half-asleep. Being a part of his soul, her skills and stats grew alongside his, usually. However, now her power far eclipsed his own, likely due to their bond being nearly severed by his fugue. He realized she had been very busy when he was asleep, since she would have lost all of her levels alongside him. It slowly dawned on him that, through their bond, it was likely that her efforts to protect the vault were the only thing that allowed him to recover. "Angra." The small creature stopped spouting her frustrations. Her yellow eyes locked onto his with absolute devotion. "Thank you. You have been a most excellent servant, and you have done well. I am proud of you." At his words, she practically beamed. Her eyes glowed brighter in the darkness. He expected she would leap up and begin jumping for joy. Instead, she cried again. A stream of I''m not worthies and thanks and oaths of eternal devotion followed. He regretted saying anything. When she leaped from his lap and planted her head on the floor in submission, he immediately decided he wasn''t going to attempt to praise her in the future. Still, she had earned it. As she rambled on, Abad''s attention was brought back to his vault. He noticed a few peculiarities about its state. Namely, how remarkably empty it was. Even with time wearing away at his seals, the sheer number of enchantments he had placed on it should have made it impossible for outsiders to take much of value. His spells should have corrupted most of the goods. Or transported them elsewhere. Or burned the intruders alive. He walked over to where one particularly potent spell circle had once lay. It had housed his favorite cloak and a pile of coins. The circle itself was made with powdered diamond infused with crushed void pearls, and he could still feel traces of its powerful enchantment pulsating beneath his feet. He wondered what had become of all that it had contained. "Angra." The creature lifted its head and realized he had moved. She flitted over and rested on his shoulder. "You said that thirty people entered this vault, roughly?" She started counting on her little clawed fingers. "Thirty-two, yes." "How many died to my enchantments?" "Too few, master. She helped them get past them." He held out his hand to keep her from continuing. "I''ll ask about her soon enough. Please. How many?" "A dozen." Her lips curled back in disgust. "They died screaming. The flames took them." "And you killed half the remaining number?" She nodded eagerly. "Poisoned, burned, drowned, and eaten! There was a wolf outside of the village and--" "And what of the others?" "Escaped. Don''t know where." She hung her head in shame. So ten of them survived."Why do we have items remaining?" He gestured to the small collection of artifacts in the corner. "Where did those come from?" The imp bared her teeth. "That''s what I could get back." He patted her on the head. "Good girl." He thought a moment. "Did they ever return?" "Many times. Many, many times. But I got them in the end." "Explain." The imp nodded to herself. "Oh! That! I thought they might come back, master. And I was afraid you''d wake up to them being here, so I spent some time weakening the tunnel. When they came back, they were smushed." "Smushed?" "Like smashed." Angra snickered. "But way worse! The ceiling collapsed, and three were caught under the rock. The rest were trapped in the tunnel. You will see them when we go out in the caves, oh yes. Only she and another escaped." Her face broke into a gleeful grin as she shared her secret with Abad. So, that''s what the tinking noise was. He couldn''t decide whether he would strangle her or kiss her for her efforts. He breathed deep and let it go. "Impressive, little friend." "Really? Oh, thank you, thank you!" She started to get carried away again, so he placed a hand on her bony shoulders and pinned her against his neck. "Yes, yes," he nodded, holding her. He had heard enough praise and oaths and crying for a lifetime. "Don''t worry, little one. You have sworn your oaths. Stay on my shoulder." She practically cooed. His mind quickly wandered to something else. Someone else. Abad turned to look at the imp on his shoulder. Her yellow eyes, puffy from crying, were an inch from his own. "Now, tell me about this woman." "Horrible, evil, rotten, no good¡­" The imp hissed, trailing off into a stream of invectives before she continued. "When she entered here, she kept telling everyone what was real and what was an illusion. She pointed to your enchantments and showed them how to get around them." Angra fluttered to the ground and imitated a person walking, her clawed fists rising to her hips. She exaggerated every movement and made her voice lower, smoother, swaying her hips as she did. "''Brother'' dearest built this vault, but I know all of his tricks. Now that he''s dead, the least we can do is liberate his ill-gotten treasures." She scrunched up her face, puffing out her chest and dropping her voice as low as she could. Then, she ran forward a few steps and kicked out her leg at one of the few remaining illusions. "This! Is! Not! REAL!" Abad listened quietly as his servant paced back and forth on the ground, stomping and strutting as she spoke. He knew exactly who she was talking about. So Selene had discovered his vault. Why wouldn''t she? She knew him better than most and was clever enough to figure out most of the traps here on her own, given enough time. It seemed fitting that she would be the one to rob him of his most prized possessions. Selene had always been a pain, but Abad never considered her an enemy. Even during the War, she¡¯d remained mostly his ally and self-proclaimed rival, save for a handful of instances near the end. In the aftermath of his seeming death, it seemed the rivalry that existed between them had continued in her mind. Still, Abad couldn''t help but chuckle. She was just as fiery as he remembered her. It figured that it''d take someone with such intimate knowledge of his nature and tendencies to see through his illusions and puzzles. After a few moments, images of their past trysts began filling his mind, but he shooed them away. He would find her, if she was still alive, and he''d make her regret her choices. Abad examined his scroll again. As a Warlock, his primary skill involved summoning objects and entities from other planes. While it would take much time to regain his former power, and it would be much longer before he could summon much of anything, he was confident he could muster some of his former power in time. But first, he''d need to kill some things. All Thats Left Chapter Three: All That''s Left The cavernous vault echoed with every step he took. Despite the time he had spent away and the slowly corrosive effect of the Depths, the walls of his most sacred place still seemed to pulse with magic. Though robbed and ruined, it was still teeming with enough power to prevent monsters from forming within its walls, something rather unheard of for a demesne so deep in the Depths. With each step, the sigils carved into the walls nearest him shimmered in response to their master''s presence. He knew that without maintenance, they would slowly fade away, but his past self had done much to ensure that they would last. That, at least, gave Abad some comfort. He was, if nothing else, home. His vault was still a memento to his past power, and being there made him feel rejuvenated, if only slightly. He had spent several hours examining the vault''s state, but there was little left to learn. The main hall had been sacked, and he hadn''t had the emotional fortitude to explore the back rooms as of yet. So, after sulking, he finally meandered to the large hole in the southern side of his vault, ready to face his new reality. He started by inspecting the large crack in his vault wall. He ran his fingers along the edge, tracing the line between his immaculately carved vault''s inner walls and the crude hack job beyond. Pick axes and magical scoring marred the edges, revealing a deep, narrow tunnel extending into the Depths. Curiously, a sigil, glowing with red light, shone above the hole. While it didn''t affect him, he knew it would prevent others from accessing the vault. A half dozen abandoned pickaxes lay on the ground just inside the tunnel, and hundreds of chipped rocks made it obvious that someone had spent much time trying to carve their way around the enchantment. They had failed. Angra, having remained silent for much of the time, leapt from his shoulder, forcing his weak body to take a step back to brace itself, lest it topple over. "This is where they are, master. What''s left of them at least. Come." Her eyes glowed with delight as she waved to him. Abad stared into the dark tunnel. He could almost taste the lingering desperation of the men and women that had been trapped within by his precious servant. He smiled. They must have died slowly, struggling to move rocks and debris as they slowly starved. "How long ago was this?" he asked his familiar, whose head had peaked around a large boulder, eyes eager for him to follow. She tapped her chin with a clawed finger, counting on the other hand. "Ummmmm...." After some time, hear head bobbed in a nod of finality. "Ten thousand four hundred twelve days." Her eyes glanced to the stone wall of the tunnel. Abad realized that much of the scoring on the surface of the stone was actually lines. She had been counting the days. For years. "...that means absolutely nothing to me." "Wait a moment! Let me think." "Angra," he sighed. "In years, please." "No no, I got this. Alrighty then..." She held up a single finger. "One... two... almost three decades." "That''s... pretty impressive math, actually." Abad chuckled as he reached her, patting her head as he did. "Not bad, my servant. I might be proud." His insides churned. He had forgotten about his previous vow to stop praising her. He locked her fingers into her shoulder before she could put her head into the dirt again. Another thought nagged at him, too. How long had he been dead? If it had been three decades since the thieves had entered the vault, it would have taken them years to actually find it, even with Selene''s guidance. A few hundred more steps led the pair to the cave-in. The collapsed tunnel was lit by green glowstones, small rocks native to the Depths that glowed with a variety of colored lights. The sickly pale light illuminated ten or so skeletons, their clothes ragged and rotten. He could also make out at least one crushed figure underneath the rubble, their bony arm sticking out of the many tons of rock. The stench of rot that had to have once filled the space was barely detectable, replaced with a dusty heaviness that permeated the air. "Oh master, you should have seen their faces," she giggled as she floated up to the corpses, waving her hands like she was splatting water onto a window. "Smush, squish, crack." She popped her tiny fist into her other hand, wiggling her tail, before turning to face Abad. She pointed to another broken arm he had missed hanging loose from beneath a massive rock on the far side of the collapse. "Like I said, three are under there. And when they were split up from that whore of a woman, they couldn''t enter your vault again. I made sure of it." The little imp looked so smug. "The sigil above the tunnel, then?" "All me, master. Once I got strong enough, I was able to charge your sigil. Then, they were stuck." Her fangs gleamed in the pale green light. He smiled at her, impressed with his servant. He had chosen her essence and shaped it well. There were eight bodies in total outside the rubble. Some of them were whole, resting where they eventually died. Others were dismembered, their bones piled on the far side of the tunnel, teeth marks running up and down them. Another had its hands tied behind its back, the torn skirt and ruined blouse suggesting what its ultimate fate had been. The group had carried equipment and tools with them¡ªpickaxes, shovels, hammers, and rope¡ªthat sat against the walls. Each showed clear signs of heavy use, and many were broken. Their remains told stories of struggle, of desperation. They were willing to do whatever they needed to get out of their situation, and as the realization dawned on them that they would die, they devolved into the monsters that mortals so desperately despise. Stepping between the bodies, he let the image of the desperate mortals trying to claw their way to safety linger in his mind for a moment before letting it fade. What truly mattered was not the demise of these pitiful beings, as pleasing as it was; it was the restoration of his rightful property. He began searching the bodies, looking for anything that could be of use to him. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Rifling through their ragged clothes, Abad found little of use. Some of their pockets had coins, which he in turn tried to pocket, only to realize his own clothes were little more than rags. Finding a leather coin purse on one of the bodies, he slowly collected their currency. Mostly copper mixed with a few silver coins. Other than their money, there was little of value. He found a ring with some promising runes, but his [Elven Senses] told him that its magic had long faded from the item. He threw the ring back onto the corpse. Nothing much of worth remained. The Depths, as always, were merciless. He glanced over at Angra, who sat perched atop one of the skeletons like it was her personal chair. She tilted her head, anticipating his next words. "I am ready," he said flatly. He hadn''t been able to bring himself to truly inspect his vault''s inner rooms before. However, there was little to be salvaged out here, and he had gotten some small satisfaction in knowing that the mortals had died pitiful deaths in the dark. As he walked back towards the hole in his vault, he hesitated for a moment before adding, ¡°Let''s go inspect what¡¯s left of the house proper.¡± If there was anything left to scrounge for, it would be there. Her scrunched face made his heart drop. *** Abad sat on the edge of his coffin again, feeling like he might just lay back inside and close the lid. His armor? Gone. His favorite cloak, the one he had layered his best enchantments into? Stolen. His scepter? Missing. His spellbook? The good one that contained all of his spells? The one he kept on a dais in the center of his spellchamber? Gone forever. So were the spare traveling spellbooks. And his collection of enchanted rings. And his statuettes, the ones that transformed into beasts when you said the correct trigger words. His favorite was a black panther. Gone, gone, gone. Selene, you bitch. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Everything that meant anything to him was simply taken from him. The bitch and her bastards had plucked everything of value, leaving him with barely enough material wealth to live like a peasant in some backwater town for a few months. He gazed down at the sackcloth bag he found that he''d fashioned into a makeshift pack. A single silver necklace, tarnished and blackened from decay, weighed it down, along with a pair of bronze bracers, their enchantments still surprisingly active. Angra said she had recovered those when she had hunted down the thieves. Most of the other belongings had lost their potency, courtesy of the Depths seeping into his home through the ruined wall and weakened enchantments. Luckily, he had found some more coins hidden behind pedestals and scattered on the ground. Including the small number of coins he found on the bodies, he had managed to scrounge up 76 copper, 23 silver, and 4 gold coins. They jangled inside the worn leather pouch he''d found among the thieves'' bodies. For his purposes, this would have to do. He managed to look through several of the inner rooms but lost all motivation after the fourth, his enchanting room. All he could do was sit and sulk until, finally, after what felt like an eternity of sighs, he picked himself back up. "Well. Good news, I suppose. We have enough money for some necessities once we get out of here." He flashed a half-smile. "This is wonderful news, master!" Angra cocked her head to one side, a thin smile pulling on her pouty lips. She leaned closer to him, almost purring in delight. "I promise you I shall not disappoint you when we leave. I will serve you dutifully, even if we must live like poor slobs." With a quick wave of her hand, she performed a curtsy, bowing before her master. "Whatever you wish of me, I shall carry out." He pushed himself upright, using the lip of the sarcophagus to steady himself as he rose. "Well, that leads us into the bad news." The warlock took a deep breath. His ribs expanded, pushing out his thin frame and pressing against his shredded tunic. He felt a chill from the stagnant air rush through his lungs and into his veins. "My spellbooks are gone. Without them, we can''t leave." She smiled brightly. "But surely there is some kind of brilliant plan in that cunning skull of yours!" She practically bounced as she leapt to his shoulder, clasping her little claws around his neck. "Soon, we will be far from here, slaying heroes and eating monsters." "If I had my scepter, I could have you cast my teleportation spell for us. Alas, someone stole that, too. Without my spellbook or scepter, we''re stuck here. And now that I''m alive again, I''ll eventually need to eat, so unless you''ve been practicing necromancy behind my back or know how to turn rocks into meat..." Abad paused for dramatic effect, smiling at the idea. With his full power, he was certain he could make it work... "I''ve got a few days, a week at the most." His stomach growled, backing him up. "And then...?" Angra fluttered her wings nervously. He took a deep breath. "Then I''ll die." She shrieked. "No, no, no! You won''t die again. I don''t want to wait again until you come back together! We have so many things to do!" He frowned. "Not like that. I''ll need you to kill me. I refuse to die like a caged animal. I''ll go out on my own terms." The look she gave him hurt almost as much as her nails digging into his neck. "NO! I''ll feed you, keep you healthy!" Her wings fluttered wildly as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. "I cannot stand by while you waste away!" "Ow ow OW. ANGRA. Get. Off!" He peeled her claws from his skin. She wriggled free, jumping into the air before landing in a heap at his feet. "I would rather have a loyal servant kill me quickly than suffer slowly." "Master, I''ve been eating well for years!" She twirled, and for the first time, he realized what she was wearing. A rat loincloth. The nappy looking grey fur covered her lower half, the dead rat''s empty eye sockets decorating her left thigh, and her tiny bust was wrapped by woven rat tails. Disgusting, yet oddly creative. She must have really hated being alone... But still. "I''m not eating rats." Abad swept his arm across the ruins of his once-glorious vault. "I''m a lord among men! I refuse to eat rats." He set his jaw and glared at her out of the side of his eye. "But... but... they''re tasty..." "Enough." He let the command sink in, watching as she shrunk into herself. The idea of his ultimate demise made him grimace, but he wouldn''t lower himself to eating rats. "Does anything remain in my library?" "The books were stolen too, Master." "What about the hidden drawer under my bed?" He really hadn''t want to see his bedroom yet. "She knew about that one too." The imp looked sheepish. "I told you not to bed her. That she was no good." Then she snapped. "How many times did I tell you not to trust her, that she shouldn''t come here?!" He rubbed his temple. "Yes, I get it, I made a mistake." "Many mistakes," she spat. "Sure, sure. I get it. But was it all taken?" "No... One book remains. The metal one that talks." Her voiced dropped low, her face twisting with disgust. "The grimoire?" The grimoire!" He stood up in excitement, his weak legs popping as he did. "Yes, master, the grimoire." She pouted. "But I don''t think we should grab that one. It''s awful. Scary, even..." Abad let out a long sigh. His muscles relaxed as he reached down to pat his familiar''s shoulder. He forced a smile as she looked up at him. "I don''t like it as much as you, but it''s our only choice." He picked her up and pulled her onto his shoulder as he marched back into the backrooms of his vault. His bare feet pressed against the stone floor, the sound reverberating through the vast great hall as he made his way through the grand chamber and into the living space beyond. Nothing Is Given for Free Moments later, he was in a small room lined with ruined bookshelves. Torn papers were scattered throughout the room, and his furniture, once lush and regal, had largely rotted to nothing. Abad headed straight for a shelf on the far side of the left wall. Once there, he pulled aside a piece of wood to reveal the door to a secret compartment. He inserted his index and middle fingers into a pair of holes drilled into the wood. When he applied a bit of pressure to the surface, the door popped open with a metallic snap, revealing an obsidian cube no larger than a fist inside. It fit perfectly in his palm. Despite its smooth surface, it was cold, unnaturally so, against his skin. There was no latch on it, no seam or lock indicating how to open it. It appeared perfectly uniform, without any discernible opening mechanism. "Unlock." The cube floated up out of his hand, began to glow, then dissolved into a thousand motes of light. A minute later, a book fell into his hand. The book was unique. The was bound in what looked like leather, but on closer inspection, there were pores and small hairs that looked suspiciously like human skin. A stitched face decorated the top cover. Its eyelids were tightly drawn and the mouth of was permanently stuck in a macabre grin. Its nose had a metal ring stuck through it, from which a chain was attached that wrapped around to the book to the back side, binding the covers shut. Seeing the book again sent shivers up Abad''s spine. He hated this thing. "Grimoire. I need your counsel." After he spoke, the book''s eyelids began to twitch. Slowly, ever so slowly, they fluttered open, revealing twin white orbs. There was something so unnerving about those blank white irises staring unblinkingly into his own. Still, it didn''t respond. Abad swallowed. Even in the best of times, he struggled to speak to the tome. The moody thing likely felt abandoned after he had been away for so long. Inhaling deeply, he placed his fingertips onto the face and said, "Grimoire. It has been many years. I apologize. I have need of you now." There was silence, the eyes gazing at Abad as they considered his words. Then, the mouth opened, the lips parting to reveal a row of sharp teeth set into the cover. When fully opened, they revealed an obsidian tongue hiding within. "How can this old book be of service to you today, young master?" The mouth''s exaggerated movements made the hairs on his neck stand up. The voice sounded raspy, gravelly, like rocks scraped off the bottom of a dungeon floor, yet, its tone was cordial, almost gentle, not matching its fearsome face. "Grimoire, I have..." Abad hesitated, not knowing how to frame his words. The book looked impatient as it waited for him to finish his sentence. He decided honesty would be best in this instance. "I have just awoken since my untimely death, and I have lost all of my power and spells. All of them, even my very weakest." "You''ve died, hm? I bet it felt wonderful. Such pain and pleasure..." It purred. Abad suppressed his disgust at the being. "Indeed. Quite lovely," he agreed hastily. "However, I am alive again, and I am in need of your aid." The book stared back at him, expressionless, the chains clinking together as it moved its obsidian tongue around its teeth. "Explain to me what it was like. Tale me tales of your ordeal, and perhaps this old book will decide to come to the aid of the one who abandoned it for so long." Abad took a deep breath and readied himself. He hadn''t planned on placating the book''s interests ever again. The ghastly thing practically lived on morbid fascination. "Well, it started when I infiltrated Saern''s court..." *** "... and that''s when I finally woke up and came to you for counsel." The grimoire stared back at him for a long moment after Abad finished telling his tale. Its black tongue ran along its cracked lips hungrily. Slowly, it''s half smile, half grimace stretched, growing wider, and wider, until a rumbling began to emanate from the book. At first, it was soft, like stones falling down a mountain, but slowly the rumbles became chuckles, then the chuckles became more and more violent until its chains clinked with laughter. Then, it was vibrating and shuddering as it laughed, so much so that he had to release the foul object. It flopped unceremoniously to the floor, face down, but still the muffled cackling emitted from the book. The chain on the book unlinked, and the book opened, flipping itself over so that the laughing face could continue looking at the grey-skinned elf. Abad gritted his teeth. Despite sounding nothing like her, the book had the same biting sense of humor as his late teacher. Nothing was ever good enough for the old mage. Every spell could be improved. Every movement could be sharper. Every word could be further shaped to execute our will. Even when he had embodied every lesson perfectly, mastered whichever theory or spell she had been teaching him, there was never any praise. A lack of criticism maybe, a subtle nod, sometimes a "that''s not terrible"¡ªthose were the only hints he ever received to know he was making progress. And then, when her death approached, she wrote a book, containing in it all of her spite and bile and perfection, and then she died, the book grinning on her lap as her soul left for the underworld. And now it was laughing at him. *** The book laughed, and laughed, until it slowly got it all out. "It wasn''t that funny." Abad sulked. That seemed to irritate it. The book shifted on the stone floor, angling itself toward Abad before snapping its jaw shut. "Then perhaps the former warlock needs a better sense of humor." Its eyes narrowed on Abad, and the corners of its mouth tightened. "But I suppose we all know why you have no sense of humor, little abandoned orphan boy." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Abad pursed his lips, trying to stop himself from rising to the bait. Instead, he crossed his arms defensively as he waited for the tome''s to continue. "All this time, all this energy and talent... the one who wished to be the greatest Warlock in five centuries gets cut down by some brat plucked from another world. Oh, how the mighty fall and the ambitious fail." Its lips curled upward again in a mockery of a smile. Angra hissed at the tome and flew over to smack it. "Silence, worm form. He IS the most powerful warlock... Or was. And will be again!" She talked herself out of the circle. "Oh ho! How cute! The little imp still protecting the delicate feelings of its master, longing for him to look at her the way¡ª" She cried out. Her tail snapped, striking the book with her stinger, aiming for its right eye. She shrieked as the tip of her tail burned as it touched the book, black smoke billowed out, engulfing the room in acrid fumes. She and Abad coughed as the book glared at them both, no worse for wear. "Insolent familiar." It spat. "Learn your place and grovel." A pulse of forced emitted from the book, and the little red creature was brought to her hands and knees. Despite her best effort at resisting, her head thumped onto the hard ground with a loud cracking noise. "A¡ªAbad! It''s mocking you!" Angra cried out as she struggled to resist it, her head pressing into the floor. "Kill it! Use your powers, master! I know you haven''t lost them all!" Despite her struggles, the creature couldn''t lift her head off the cold, unforgiving marble. Without thinking, he dashed to the diminutive creature, but the second he touched her, he, too, was caught in the book''s spell. "My my my. Your power has indeed lessened, Lord of the Vault." Abad winced at the sarcastic tone as he was driven to his knees. "The once-proud mage has been reduced to a worm crawling on the floor of his former empire. Let us hope there are no mirrors nearby, else he''ll be forced to see how far he has fallen." Abad tried to rise, to resist the effects of the spell, but it was impossible. His body was weakened. He lacked the strength to fight back. His head planted into the stone next to his familiar''s. Resisting the pressure enough to look at her, he could see the tears of frustration streaming from her yellow eyes, her fangs bared in defiance. The grimoire laughed harder, louder, deeper than before. Bitter laughs. Mocking laughs. It''s laughter echoed throughout the empty chamber of the vault as Abad knelt there, helpless, his face buried against the unforgiving stone. His heart filled with shame, his pride broken. "Why, then, oh mighty Abad, should I, the great Grimoire personally crafted by the most glorious mage this world has seen, help someone as insignificant as you? Why shouldn''t I wait for another more powerful than you to come claim me? The depths hold no risk for me. I can wait as long as I need to." Silence. The echoes faded to nothing, leaving the three beings in the cold quiet. Abad licked his chapped lips as he struggled for words. "I... because..." "Oh my, the master of masks is at a loss for words. What happened, little immortal?" The book taunted. "You used to speak with such eloquence, such grace. Was all that simply a facade?" Angra''s little hand reached out to touch his. She gave his index finger a little squeeze. The gesture helped him collect his thoughts. "I admit defeat. You win, Grimoire. You are right. I am nothing now." He bowed his head as much as he could with it already planted on the ground, yielding. As if a weight was lifted off him, the force pressing his body to the ground vanished, letting him raise himself up, only for him to lean forward again into a supplicant kowtow. "As was your creator, you are the greater of me. I submit to your power, oh great Book of Shadows, wondrous legacy of the Archmage Aughra." He saw his familiar blink at him out of the corner of his eye. Her mouth hung open in surprise. She trembled in fear and rage. "You are wise beyond my ability to comprehend. So please, instruct me." The grimoire was quiet for a moment before its chains rattled in arrogant pleasure. The chains unlatched from the back cover of the book, and it opened, its pages fluttering slowly on an invisible wind as if in thought. "Intriguing," it finally stated. "You would have never submitted before. No, you would have killed anyone who suggested that another could be better than you. You would force me to submit, to open my mysteries to you," The book paused dramatically, allowing the words to hang in the air. "Yet here you are, sitting in the dust and dirt, humbled and pleading for guidance. Very intriguing. If nothing else, your growth pleases me." There was another pause, during which Abad felt the tension grow. Finally, the book said, "Perhaps this book should lend its wisdom and power to such a willing, pliable pupil. You are no longer full of self-will. Now, you can learn. Yes, yes. I see why the ancient hag chose you." Angra and Abad both breathed sighs of relief. "Stand." It commanded. The warlock was picked up off the ground by the same force that kept him pressed to it moments before. Next to him, Angra fluttered into the air, her wings twitching as she was magically lifted. The book snapped shut, then floated upward, its face rising to eye-level, its chain dangling beneath it like an umbilical cord. "Answer my question, student of my creator. Why do you deserve this boon?" The grimoire eyed Abad suspiciously, its lips turned downward stretching the already tight flesh of the cover. "Speak truthfully; don¡¯t try to fool me. Remember, my secrets are valuable, and my creator knew you well." "I want revenge," Abad said simply. "For the ones who robbed my precious vault." He spoke with conviction. He''d make them pay. "Not good enough, young one." His mind raced. How was that not good enough? How else was he supposed to answer? "The one who murdered me must pay. I cannot allow others to believe I can be slain with impunity, nor can I allow others to steal from me and live." "So you seek vengeance?" "Yes." "How does revenge make you worthy of my knowledge? Hundreds seek revenge daily. Every day, someone somewhere seeks bloody payment for a perceived wrong. Revenge does not make you special, Abad-Shai." "That''s not¡ªI also want..." Abad swallowed. What did he actually want? The exercise of power over the weak had its appeal. To make the powerful crawl and fawn and supplicate had been an exquisite joy that he deeply savored. However, so much of his life before was dull and hollow. All the power in the world had simply led to his death. He spent all of his time manipulating his enemies and plotting against his friends. Now that he had been granted a new chance, what did he actually want? What was he doing? After what was likely more than a century, did any of it even matter anymore? Who was even left alive from his time? "Hmmm," the book interrupted, "you are unsure of yourself. Doubt is the poison that plagues the weak and powerful alike. Yet doubt also can guide us to new paths. Could it be that you are destined to walk a new path?" The book released them. Abad fell to his knees while Angra landed on her butt. "Death has allowed you to abandon the frivolities of your former life, but it also has stolen from you your purpose." The book watched silently as it waited for his response. "Master. Abad." Angra whispered as she landed next to him. Placing her hand on his arm, she looked up at him. "You are still strong, no matter what happened." He turned his head to gaze into her yellow eyes. The creature believed in him far more than he did himself. The Warlock thought for a long moment before he finally spoke up. "Grimoire, I don''t know what I want. I can''t answer your question." Something Gained He continued, speaking as much to the book as to himself. "A part of me wants to say that I won''t stop until I kill Selene and burn her followers to ash." A brief vision of his old companion''s corpse lying at his feet flashed through his mind. He smiled at the thought. "And I''d like to say that I''d track down the Thirteen and the Seven and take from them everything that should be mine." He imagined the thirteen, the true children of the Dark One, kneeling before him as he sat on a great throne, the other members of the seven serving him as he looked down upon them. "I can definitely say that I feel the urge to slay the hero and take the kingdom of Saern." His blood boiled thinking about her. "But a thought occurred to me when I slept: how much of how I feel is me, and how much of me is the Dark Lord?" He wondered aloud. "Were all of my past actions mine to choose? Was I actually the master of my fate? I''d like to say a lot of things... but I don''t know how I feel anymore. I don''t know what to do." He could see Angra tense as he spoke. She had never heard him be unsure. "Finally, the little orphan boy speaks with honesty," said the book as it stared at him. "So, what do you do when faced with such uncertainty?" the book asked in a voice filled with anticipation. "I¡ªI don''t know." "You do know. You just won''t admit it yet." "I suppose I need to find my place in the world. I know nothing about the world now, so it''s impossible to make firm goals. I want to experience it, though, and see what there is to see. And to do that, I need to be strong." He spoke with more confidence than he had felt in some time. "The goddess''s world will never accept us. To carve a space out for my existence, I have to have power. To see it all, I have to be strong." He thought for a moment longer, then added, "and I want my stuff back." His scroll appeared in the air, and three entries burned themselves onto quests section of the translucent page:
[Walk a Thousand Miles] (Personal): You have lost your sense of purpose, and the world is now a mystery to you. Travel the land and discover your path. [Power Lost, Power Gained] (Personal): You have lost your former power. Regain your former glory, that you may reclaim your place in this world. [Finders Keepers] (Personal): Your personal belongings have been stolen. Of them, your cloak, your scepter, and your spellbook are most precious to you. Take them back.
"Power for its own sake is a worthy goal, young one, and the desire to see more, to take stock before acting, is wise." The book frowned. "And the goddess''s system, abominable as it is, agrees." The grimoire''s words echoed with power. "The world has changed much since you left it. Perhaps we should go see it. Then, we will discuss your plans once your travels are complete." "You... will help?" Abad was surprised. "But of course." It''s horrible smile grew large. "It is what my creator would have wished." "Your price?" He''d known Aughra well enough to know her creation would expect payment. The book snapped shut. "For now? Nothing. In time, once you have traveled enough, I shall tell you what I desire." The book''s chain locked the cover shut once again. "Now, you will take me to the grand hall. I wish to see the death the little one wreaked upon those who entered here." With its final word, it flopped onto the ground, face up. Abad reached down to pick up the old book. For a moment, he stood there, considering it in his palm. It''s presence felt almost reassuring somehow, like an echo of the past returned to him. However, after what he experienced earlier, he knew he needed to be careful with the tome. He turned his attention back towards the ruined room. "Filthy book. I wish we didn''t need it." Angra growled as she alighted on his shoulder, crossing her legs as they dangled down his chest. "I''m not so sure, Angra. I think that maybe my old master may have seen a little further than I could." He looked over at her, noticing that she had started twirling his long black hair between her claws, her brows knitted in thought. Her forehead was bruised and bloodied, and one of her eye sockets was growing dark. She had taken the brunt of the book''s anger because of him. That''s when he noticed that odd feeling again. His heart hurt for her, and he didn''t know why. It was a familiar''s place to serve their master, to bleed for them, to die if need be. Why did he care? He reached over and placed his hand on her head, his thumb over the broken skin on her forehead. Her eyes asked what he was doing. He had never considered her needs in the past. It was always expected that she serve. She was confused. "Be still, Angra." He closed his eyes and concentrated. He let his awareness sink down into himself, deep into the darkness within. He felt for the boundaries of his spirit, which he soon found. They were far closer than he remembered. Then, he let his essence bleed out from his spiritual body into the darkness beyond. Here, he could feel how much he lost. There were many gaps in his memories, devoured by the void. The world between worlds claimed so much of him when he drifted between life and death. Being back in that place, he could intimately feel the holes in himself. He willed himself to remember, sinking his mind down, down, into that dark, empty space, searching for any parts of himself that still remained. He could feel it. He could feel the void all around him. He could sense his lost memories and the fragments of power, but each was at the very edge of his awareness. They were unreachable now, but he could sense them, like shadows in the corner of his eye. He tried to call upon his lost memories. He waited, hoping that something of his former self would come back to him... The little imp shifted under his hand. "Master?" Her voice was soft. Her little hands reached up and grabbed him, gripping his fingers softly. His eyes shot open as his scroll unfurled.
[Essence Transfer I] (5 HP/MP): The user can transfer a small amount of health or mana to or from a willing target.
His hand began to glow red as his life essence flowed from him to her. His body wobbled as he felt his energy bleed out, restoring his little familiar to full health. His vision darkened, and he felt himself stumble. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Master!" The familiar leaped from his shoulder, flapping her small wings to catch him in mid air as he started falling backward. Her heard her grunt under his weight until he was able to brace himself. "Thank you, Angra." His voice sounded hollow. He was exhausted. "What did you..." She landed on the ground and furled her wings. Tentatively, she reached up and touched her head, then squeaked. He smiled as she realized what he had done. "You... you didn''t... you shouldn''t... you idiot." Her red cheeks grew darker, and she shuffled. "You got injured because of me. It''s only fair." He patted her head. Taking a final look around his old library, he gave himself a moment to collect himself. Then, turning on his heel, he walked out, but instead of heading back to the great hall, he turned left and marched down the hallway. "I have one more place to look before we leave. Book, please be patient a while longer." The old book didn''t speak or move, which he hoped was a good sign. *** His steps echoed down the wide hallway, doors passing by on either side. He had explored half of the rooms before he gave up earlier. Each was ruined. He desperately hoped that his own quarters were still intact. He didn''t have it in him to explore them before, but now it was time. He continued forward until he reached a large stone wall with doorways on either side. Reaching his hand out, he pressed into the center of the wall. The stone shifted, bending and warping until two large wooden double doors appeared. Stuck onto the left door was a dagger, a note pinned to the door by its tip. His heart dropped. Abad reached out and pulled the knife from the door. Pulling the note off, he unfolded it, ran his fingers along the page, feeling the writing on the page. "Book, might you be willing to lend me a spell? I can''t cast light spells anymore and also can''t read in the dark." The book was quiet a moment, then grumbled. A moment later, a ghostly candle appeared in the air in front of him. His eyes scanned the page.
Dearest Abad-Shai, Lord of the Vault. It was with the heaviest of hearts that I received news of your passing. To the divine hero, no less. I don''t envy you, my dear friend. Word has it you were nearly cut to pieces! When I tell you that I wept for hours, I mean it. It is not often that I cry. It''s not in our nature. You should be honored. After the horrible emotions passed and with a clearer mind, I realized something. You would never wish for your belongings to rot away in the dark, forgotten to time. I hope you''ll forgive me for assuming, but I felt like you would have wished for your dearest companion in our little band of malcontents to have all that you left behind. Thus, I made it happen. Do not worry, my friend. My life is now wondrous as a consequence of your most generous of donations. I live in a manor. I have all kinds of servants. I even have a dog. Me! Who would have thought I''d have a pet after all the things I''ve done? Of course, I will eventually have to move to a new city, or country, or whatever. But, with the money you''ve provided to me, I will weather these challenges well. Thank you again, dear friend. Not all of us are gifted with the ability to disguise ourselves as you do, and while my corruption is entirely internal, unlike our brethren and even you, I still have an unaging body. And, unlike you, I was born to a human mother and father. I do not get the gift of longevity as an excuse as you do. Thus, I suppose by the time you read this letter, I will be far, far away. Likely a good thing, knowing your temper. However, please, let me explain my thoughts before you hunt me down. I''d rather you understand how we got here. I did, in fact, believe you to be dead. Thus, after thirty years (well done hiding your vault, sir!), I breached your lovely vault with a band of useful idiots, and we took everything we could. Having been there many times, I knew where your most potent enchantment lie, making it possible for me to disable them. Most of them, at least. After several trips, your vault was nearly empty. With you not present and Angra not there, I assumed you were truly gone. That is, until my men started dying. Your little pet (hi Angra!) is quite resourceful, I have to admit. I neither sensed nor saw her. However, while weak, my men were loyal, and they died for their loyalty. No great loss, but still frustrating. It took me a week to get new ones. But in realizing that she was still on this plane, I realized you were still alive. Or something like it. How my cold heart quivered at the thought! Thus, I set up one final expedition. I gathered a group of weaklings and guided them to your empty vault. The night before we arrived, I even snuck away. See, I was determined to leave this letter for you, along with a little gift in your room beyond. Never say I didn''t think of your needs, dearest. I don''t know what your little pet has planned for tomorrow, but I''m sure it will be marvelous. I saw several things had changed since I was last here. I''m sure the idiots I brought here will fall right into the rather obvious traps. So please, enjoy the snack. Their essence will be a bit bland, them being so weak and common and all, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. May it help you recover. When you awake, I pray that you think of me. While my real brothers never let me play in their bed when I was a girl, I was always grateful that you never deprived me of the fun as a woman. You will forever be the man who provided me much entertainment, as well as my newfound life of luxury, and for that, I am eternally grateful. With love and gratitude, Selene.
She even ended the letter with a lipstick kiss. Angra''s entire body shook on his shoulder at she read the words with him. "Bitch," she hissed, her eyes glowing bright enough to illuminate the door. "I''ll kill her." "Yes, she really is." Abad answered back. He folded the note and placed it in his sack. His mind roiled. "I want to her essence, master. You can have most of it, though! You''d be as strong as before, and the world would be rid of that rotten whore." Angra giggled as he pulled the doors open. Abad stepped into his old bedroom. Everything was mostly how he kept it, except all of the drawers were open and empty. The bed was still made, though the sheets were rotten. The walls were lined with hooks and racks and displays, but everything that belonged to him had been stolen. However, he could feel some presence coming from the bed, something that weighed down the sheets, but it was invisible. "Shut the door behind you." The book demanded, sending Abad scrambling to comply. He slammed it shut with all his strength and locked it. [Produce Flame] A wave of magic flowed from the book into the room as the candles lining the walls lit themselves, bringing warm light to the space. And then the book began laughing. "I remember this place. You used to read me here." "That I did." A faint smile appeared on his face as he recalled those old memories. He wasn''t exactly a sentimental man, but nostalgia was a curious thing, filling him with unexpected warmth. "Now, show me what is hidden here." [Dispel Magic] A light appeared in the air around them, causing the air to shimmer. The hidden thing slowly revealed itself. On the bed rested a skeleton, its arms and legs shackled to the four posts, wearing nothing but tatters. From its shape and size, he knew that Selene had bound a female mortal to his bed. His senses told him the corpse still had some essence left in it. There was barely any left, but even the slightest bit of nourishment sounded delicious. His scroll unfurled, opening to his quest log.
[Consume the Pain] (Warlock): You have found the remnants of a tortured soul¡ªits body chained to a bed, its empty eyes seeming to plead for release. The corpses suffering lingers, trapped in the essence that lingers in its old bones. Consume it, and grow strong.
Placing his hand on the corpse''s skeletal leg, he closed his eyes, focusing. He had to search deeply, as the spark of vitality had nearly expired. Eventually, he found it. It was weak, faint, barely a whisper in the vastness of the universe, yet it was there. "Come here, my meal. Give up what little remains in you and grant me sustenance." [Essence Transfer] A soft red glow emanated from his hand and flowed out into the corpse. Motes of red began to seep out from every crack in the dusty old bones. He could feel himself become more nourished, and as he did, the skeleton shrank inward, losing mass until only dust remained. When he removed his hand, he licked his lips in satisfaction. The quest faded from the scroll, replaced with new words.
A small measure of you strength returns. You have reached Warlock level two.
As he waited for the feeling of invigoration to settle within him, he looked around the room. His desk''s drawer was slightly ajar. He could just make out an object inside. Standing, he walked to the desk and opened the drawer. Clothes Make the Man (and the Familiar) Inside the crumbling wooden dresser, he found a thin silver ring etched with runes. Beside it was another note.
Abad, This is a ring I stole from you years ago, shortly after we first met. I remember laughing to myself when you tore the vault apart after "losing" it. While it held little power for you back then, you may have need of it again. I wish you the best on your journey, and if you come to my doorstep once again, I will welcome you with open arms if you call yourself friend. -Selene P.S. I hope you enjoyed the snack.
He shook his head in disbelief, rolling the ring around in his hand. It felt exactly like it always had. It was the ring he had crafted during his apprenticeship with Aughra. He had killed people trying to find it. That woman was a menace. Absentmindedly, he pulled the ring onto his finger. It was a little loose now, but he could feel the swell of power flow into him. His scroll, still unfurled from his level up, burned with a new entry:
[Ring of Wizardry II] (Fine): Grants the user [Essence II] [Essence II] (Enchantment): Your mana flows strongly, providing enough reserves to cast moderate spells several times before fatigue sets in.
"How does it feel, knowing the one who stole from you lives in luxury while you crawl in the dark, powerless?" The book rumbled. Abad grabbed the discarded book off the bed as his familiar fluttered back onto his shoulder. He turned the book so he could see the face. "I can''t say I blame her. I would have done the same thing in her shoes. The only difference is I wouldn''t have written a letter, nor would I have left her a dime." A laugh escaped his lips as he walked toward the door. "I suppose, in that small way, she was always better than me." Angra''s eyes almost rolled out of her head, and the book was silent. His hand touched the door''s handle. He gave a last glance back at his ruined bedroom, then turned the nob. He had taken everything he needed. It was time to go now. The second the door opened, the book spoke. "I find your lack of anger to be most strange, student of my maker," the tome rumbled as they exited the room. "Your past self would have been livid with rage; however, you seem almost indifferent to the actions of one who wronged you. Is your lack of negative emotions due to your past relations?" Abad thought a moment, then shook his head. "No. We were only ever a means to an end for one another. There were no feelings between us." His heart felt hollow. "I don''t know why I don''t care." Abad admitted both to himself and the book, looking down at his bare feet as he spoke. "I''ll have to think on it more. I feel as though death has made me reconsider some things." "Mm. Interesting." The grimoire hummed in the crook of his arm. "I will not pry further. Now, student. Lead us toward the entrance. There are corpses to inspect. I can feel them." Abad took several steps down the hall, but every step felt heavier than the last. Finally, after a dozen steps, he hesitated. He turned back to the twin doors lining his bedroom, and he knew what he had to do. "Sorry, book. I just realized I have one more stop." He turned, marched down the hallway, and entered one of the rooms that flanked his bed chambers, revealing a massive closet. Rows and rows of clothing lined the walls, all in pristine condition. He smiled as he took it all in. It looked just as he left it. He thanked the Dark One, the Goddess, his past self, and even Selene for this one small blessing. Despite all the devastation, all the loss, all the miserable emptiness he felt, his closet was still intact. He remembered his former priorities. He had woven enchantments in this room so that they were much more powerful, preventing both the energies of the Depths and anyone but himself and guests he welcomed in from entering. Unfortunately, his past self only kept his favorite clothing in this space, opting to put all the good stuff on display elsewhere in the vault. But it was no matter. He wouldn''t be forced to wander the realms looking like a vagabond. He''d feel more like himself if he were dressed well. Turning around, he walked to the other side of the hallway and opened the opposite door. Steam billowed out as the door, this one metal, groaned open, revealing a massive bathroom, styled after the bath houses of Xaos. Clear, rippling water beckoned to him from the doorway, his countless bottles of soaps and ointments lining the small ledge on the far wall. Hundreds of small glowstones were set into the walls, illuminating the room in a rainbow of colors, causing the walls, ceiling, and surface of the water to look like a sea of stars. The sight filled him with more joy than he''d felt in... since he died. The steam proved that his old enchantments were still active in this room as well. He hadn''t lost everything. He could bathe. He could dress himself like a civilized man. He almost cried out in joy, but he caught himself before he lost control. He coughed, concealing his joy the best he could. However, his familiar''s gleaming eyes showed that she, too, was as ecstatic about these findings as he was. "Angra..." He whispered. "Master..." She breathed back. "Our baths..." "Our baths?" "Should we?" "Yes." Before the words left her lips, he was fumbling to peel away his ruined clothes. "Great grimoire, please be patient. Angra and I have something we need to take care of first." He stepped into the bathroom, his clothes tearing more than stretching as he removed them. The imp leapt from his shoulder and did the same. Looking down as she did, he marveled at how she seemed to so often reflect his thoughts. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Then, his blood froze. The little red creature was stripping off the rat clothes, its empty little rat eyes staring into Abad''s soul. "Don''t you dare take that disgusting thing off in this sacred place," he snarled. She froze. "But master..." "Outside." His tone promised violence. "But¡ª" "Now." She pouted, head down, as she shuffled out of the room. A cold rush of air followed as she opened the door again, but he didn''t care. He was already descending into the warm water, ready to wash away a century of dirt, grime, blood, and worries. *** A small splash followed him into the water a few moments later. They took turns shampooing each other''s hair, washing one another''s backs, and pulling the tangles out with his collection of brushes and combs. Looking down into the water, he couldn''t begin to process the amount of filth that flowed off of them. After multiple rounds of shampoo and hair oils, they soaped and lathered themselves, scrubbing the dirt and grime away. The book began to grumble. Not willing to listen to the thing in this most sacred temple, Abad marched out of the warm water, picked the old book up, and threw the old thing out into the hallway, slamming the door behind it, the imp giggling as he did. Then, the two floated in the soapy water for what had to have been hours. His fingers and toes were completely wrinkled, but he didn''t care. He was clean. He thanked his past self for reinforcing the enchantments in these rooms. If there was anything he would have protected, it would have been his closet and bath. His mind drifted as he bobbed with the lapping waves of his bath, his head nestled in a small flotation device he had found in the north. He had always been vain. Baths, clothing, hair, nails¡ªhe had once heard that one''s body is one''s temple, and he took it to heart. He was happy those feelings remained. They were something he liked about himself. Sure, he was fussy, but he knew what he liked. He deserved the finer things. It''s why he almost failed his apprenticeship. Most mages summoned familiars that matched their personalities. Little dragons, fairies, a variety of woodland critters¡ªmost familiars were either cute, fearsome, or at the very least bland enough to be unoffensive. Like attracted like, so the essence that most matched a mage''s nature responded to their call and was then shaped by the mage''s will. The resulting creatures then took on elements of their masters'' personalities, making them particularly suited for their roles as servants. But, because the Dark One had decided to poison his mother when he was still unborn, he was limited to only the essences tied to monsters and dark beasts. Which meant he had one real option: an imp. Normally, imps were foul. They had gangly, misshapen bodies, large fangs with lips too small to cover them, and all manner of lumps and bruises and sores that never seemed to heal. They were disgusting. When Aughra told him summoning a familiar was a mandatory part of becoming a mage, he refused. She beat him badly for that. When he finally healed, he was determined to do it, but had decided he would do it his own way. He summoned the dark essence rather easily, being a prodigy and all. However, when it came to shaping the creature, he used every ounce of power and will he had to prevent it from taking the shape that came most naturally to it. Using a rather expensive mana charge and his ring, he succeeded at halting the process. But, it cost him. He struggled for days against he will of the dark essence he called forth. After three days of bitter struggle, he was fully drained, at the edge of death, and in desperate need of food and water. However, he was victorious. A little red imp in the shape of a miniature woman, tiny and cute, was laying in his summoning circle, her yellow eyes hazily locked on his. Then he blacked out. Three weeks later, he woke up with the little creature resting on his chest, her head nestled in his neck. When his master berated him for his recklessness, he named his new servant Angra in honor of his master''s temper. It wasn''t his best pun, but he was young, and it pleased him immensely when the old orc''s eyes nearly fell out of her old skull from the massive eyeroll she gave him. His training tripled after that, but it was all worth it. He smiled as the imp''s songless humming reverberated off the bath''s stone walls, pulling his mind back to the present. "You seem happy, master." She was oiling her red skin, which glinted in the light of the glowstones. "I was just thinking of old times." "Which ones?" She smiled at him, her small fangs gleaming. "Was it the time we burned that town to the ground? I still remember their faces when you marched them to the fields to watch their nasty little huts burn. Served them right for not paying tribute." She was always the more bloodthirsty than him. "No, I was just thinking of when I summoned you." "Oh..." Her yellow eyes gazed down on him. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but a small shake of her head cast it away. "Thank you for that. Risking your life for me, that is. I would have hated to be gross. Like Pelwar. He''s foul." She shuddered. Pelwar was the imp servant that served Zaros, another one of the seven. Foul didn''t describe it. The thing was disgusting. It drooled everywhere. "He really is. Or was. And you''re welcome." Taking inspiration from her, he climbed out of the water and began tending his skin, hair, and nails. *** When they were done, they marched across the hallway to get dressed. The book tried to get their attention, but the pair ignored it entirely, slamming the door as they entered their closet. After running his fingers up and down the rows of clothes several times, savoring the feeling of the fabric beneath his fingertips, Abad chose his favorite traveling clothes: a black quilted vest and red tunic paired with loose, comfortable pants. He threw a fine weatherproof cloak over his shoulders and packed several other outfits into his favorite pack, which he had luckily stored in the closet before his untimely death, then fished out a pair of sturdy black boots from behind a stack of shoes he never put away. He finished his outfit by putting on the bronze bracers he had gathered in the great hall. He couldn''t exactly remember what they did, so he pulled up his scroll.
[Bracers of Resilience I] (Fine): Grants the user [Resilience I] [Resilience I]: Your body endures like that of a seasoned traveler, capable of withstanding minor injuries and fatigue without slowing down.
Weak, but useful. He shoved the coin purse he had found before into his vest and made for the door, where his familiar was finishing getting dressed. His familiar had donned her favorite clothes out of the little wardrobe he had constructed for her. She had forced Abad to have them crafted for her after she had seen Selene in one of the thief''s more revealing infiltration outfits. The little red imp wore a leather bra with a golden buckle in the front and a small pair of matching shorts with a cutout for her tail. Long leather boots rose past her knees, and matching fingerless leather gloves extended past her elbows. She accented the ensemble with a thick black choker, which did nothing but was an accessory she particularly liked. She claimed that the outfit let her move freely, but he was sure his vanity had rubbed off on her, along with her jealousy of Selene. She was tucking little blades into her gloves as he watched her. He patiently waited for her to finish. When she finally turned and looked up at him, he asked the question burning in his heart. "How do I look?" "Like a man ready to conquer the world," the imp replied without hesitation. "Do I look okay?" Her brow furrowed. "Like an imp who can accomplish anything." Her cheeks grew dark again, and she shuffled like before. He didn''t understand what this new behavior was, but he''d have time to figure it out as they traveled. "Ready?" He asked. "Ready." She replied. The door opened, and they were back in the hallway, where the book was loudly grumbling. Act 1 Character Sheets Abad-Shai Shadowspawn Elf Warlock of the Mask Warlock 2 Talents [Dark One''s Shadow] (Shadowspawn): As an inheritor of the Dark One¡¯s essence, a Shadowspawn¡¯s primary attribute (Power) gains an additional point every level up. [Fey Senses] (Elf): Elves have superior perception, blending heightened physical senses with an intuitive connection to magic. [Mask of Many Faces] (The Mask): Enables the user to spend 10 MP to change subtle features of their appearance. [Familiar] (Warlock): The warlock has summoned and bonded with a mythical creature that serves as the warlock¡¯s familiar. Spells [Essence Transfer I] (1st Circle): The user can transfer a small amount of health or mana to or from a willing target. Equipment [Quilted Travelling Clothes] (Fine): A fine set of travelling clothes. [Waterproof Cloak] (Quality): A quality cloak designed to keep the wearer from getting wet. [Leather Coin Purse] (Average): A simple but functional leather coinpurse. Contains 4 GP, 23 SP, and 76 CP. [Ring of Wizardry II] (Fine): Grants the user [Essence II]. [Bracers of Resilience I] (Fine): Grants the user [Resilience I] Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Enchantments [Essence II]: Your mana flows strongly, providing enough reserves to cast moderate spells several times before fatigue sets in. [Resilience I]: Your body endures like that of a seasoned traveler, capable of withstanding minor injuries and fatigue without slowing down. Quests [Walk a Thousand Miles] (Personal): You have lost your sense of purpose, and the world is now a mystery to you. Travel the land and discover your path. [Power Lost, Power Gained] (Personal): You have lost your former power. Regain your former glory, that you may reclaim your place in this world. [Finders Keepers] (Personal): Your personal belongings have been stolen. Of them, your cloak, your scepter, and your spellbook are most precious to you. Take them back.
Angra Imp Familiar Imp 4 Familiar 5 Talents [Venom] (Imp): Imp¡¯s tails have a venomous tip capable of injecting a paralytic venom. [Bonded Insight] (Familiar): Allows the familiar to share its sensory experiences with its master over long distances, providing them with valuable reconnaissance. Prolonged use can cause strain. [Servant¡¯s Devotion] (Personal): Angra¡¯s unwavering loyalty to Abad grants her enhanced resilience and magical fortitude when acting in his defense or service. This talent allows her to maintain focus and durability during critical moments, driven by her bond to her master. Spells [Imp Invisibility] (2nd Circle): The imp can become invisible for a short duration. This invisibility may be broken by sudden, loud noises or rapid movement. [Familiar¡¯s Martydom] (1st Circle): The familiar can transfer a portion of their essence to their master, rejuvenating their master¡¯s health or mana. [Animal Shape] (2nd Circle): Familiars can shift into the form of an animal (Raven), enhancing their stealth capabilities and sensory perception. While transformed, offensive abilities are suppressed, but vision and hearing are significantly improved. Equipment [Infiltration Outfit] (Fine): A sleek, dark ensemble crafted from lightweight materials, designed to blend into shadows and muffle movement, ideal for silent entry and escape. Grants [Stealth I]. [Hidden Daggers] (Quality): A pair of well-balanced, easily concealed daggers, honed for swift and precise strikes without drawing attention. Enchantments [Stealth I] (Enchantment): You move with the quiet caution of a practiced hunter, able to slip through shadows and avoid notice in calm environments. Make the Impossible Possible A short while later, the trio was back in the tunnel that Selene and her men had dug. The half dozen skeletons were staring at Abad as he stood there waiting for the book to do something. "Book. What are we doing?" Abad asked with equal parts anger and confusion. The old book had grumbled the entire way to the tunnel, but now that they were there, it didn''t seem to have a plan. It just looked around in his arms, murmuring to itself. Abad sighed. "Do we need to leave you for a while? I don''t mind if you need some privacy." "Hush, boy," the book grumbled, "let me think." A pause. "I can sense remnants of magic in the wall, as if someone had used earth magic here, but it feels odd somehow." It was silent for another minute, until its pages began fluttering. "That woman. The magic doesn''t match her aura. Someone else helped her in breaching the depths." "Well, you are my teacher now," Abad said with a nod, smiling gently, "So what does that mean, oh great book." He bowed, hamming it up. "Insolent boy," the book hissed. "Why did Aughra pick someone like you to be her pupil. Imp. I''m starting to wonder if perhaps the wretch should be smothered to death. Perhaps I could teach you instead." The book wiggled in his covers threateningly. "Over my cold dead body," the Imp hissed back. "Oh noble book, I disagree with your assessment," Abad''s affected a broad smile. "While I am quite the wretch. Orphan. Scoundrel. Former master of the black arts. I am also a prodigy after all. One of the spiritual children of the great Dark One, no less! How great then would the teacher of such a prodigy be." He lifted his hands to his head and rolled his eyes back. "The visions, they come to me. I can see them so clearly. The great grimoire. Written down in the history books as the finest teacher to roam the ten kingdoms. The wisest of minds. The sage of sages. How else could someone like myself rise to meet my full potential without you to guide me and restore everything that I have lost?" He shuddered, pretending to come back to himself. "Yes, you are wise indeed." The book seemed to miss his obvious sarcasm. "You will grow very strong under my tutelage. Now, lead me to the source of the magic." The book moved in his arms, pointing its spine at a spot in the backside of the tunnel. "Right there. Take me there." They traveled over to the wall. The book murmured. "It is as I thought. This tunnel is sealed with both stone and magic. It seems as though the woman wanted to keep you sealed in. She used the imp''s treachery against us." The book''s brows furrowed. "Boy. Use this spell. Try to break the seal. I grant you a single use of it." The book''s covers opened slightly, and a piece of paper fell out. Snatching it out of the air, Abad felt a small bit of power pass into him through his hand, and his scroll appeared, and words blazing onto its ethereal page.
[Shape Earth] (3rd Circle, Gifted): You gain control over natural earth and stone within a short range, allowing you to shift, mold, or carve it to create basic structures, barriers, or pathways with ease. This spell is limited to simple shapes and small amounts of material, suited for quick adjustments to your surroundings.
"Book, this is a certainly at the edge of my ability right now. Are you sure that you can''t do it?" "I am sure." "Alright," Abad muttered, stepping toward the wall. He focused inward, dipping down into the waters of his soul and observing the essence he could feel there. While his life essence felt about the same as it did before, his mana felt stronger than it had earlier. It wasn''t overwhelming by any means, but between him leveling up and the ring that Selene had left him, he felt a bit stronger than he had. He reached down into his soul and pulled upon the mana within. Concentrating, he pushed the power through the atrophied pathways connecting his body and spirit. His mana refused to move through them at first, struggling against his will like water through a strainer, but after a few moments, it relented and moved from his spirit to his body and from his body to his left hand, collecting into his palm. He place it on the cold stone of the tunnel. As he did his scrolled unfurled again, and a new entry burned itself onto the page.
[Make the Impossible Possible] (Warlock): Only the daring reject common sense and drill their way to a greater tomorrow. Cast a spell you are sure you won''t survive casting. If you survive, grow strong.
He rolled his eyes at the ethereal thing. Pausing for a moment longer, he took a deep breath and cast the spell. [Shape Earth] He felt the spell leave his mind as magic poured through him, making every hair on his body stand on end. His essence tore from his hand into the stone under them, bringing with it everything else in his spirit. His mana rushed from his core, following his intentions as he commanded it outward. His power raced through him, until he could feel the world bending to his whim. He felt a surge of energy rush through him as the spell began to take hold, giving him confidence as he pushed his will into the stone, feeling it warp and bend under his body''s weight and the force of his will. His vision dimmed as the rocks and stones began to move and twist, coalescing, forming intricate patterns that danced and swirled beneath his touch. Then, he could feel his mana reservoir empty, and the spell began to eat away at his limited life force. The urge to vomit hit him hard, and his chest felt like there were claws of fire ripping him open. He doubled over, vision black and retching, but he managed to keep his focus on the spell. The rocks began to flow under his palm. "Master!" Angra cried out. The imp scrambled onto his back, jumped onto his shoulder, then placed her hands on the sides of his face as she called forth her power. [Familiar''s Martyrdom] Like an ice bath compared to the heat pouring over him, he could feel her energy race into him through their bond. As her mana and life force filled him, he could feel the searing pain dulling. He hands grew weaker on his face as her energy flowed from her soul into his, but he didn''t feel like he was going to die any longer. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. His lungs burned as he tried to hold the spell longer, his skin pricked as sweat covered him. Even with the borrowed essence, he was at his limit. If he gave any more energy, he would surely faint. He became aware of the pain wracking his body and how hard it was to breath. He quivered, trying to push the last bit of Angra''s gifted energy into the stone, but it wasn''t enough. He released the spell. His ears rang. Blackness filled the edge of his vision as his brain tried to remember how to hear, but, slowly, sounds began to make its way back in, and his vision returned in bits and pieces. He sat down. Through blurry eyes, he saw that he had managed to shift the stones and rock, opening up the collapsed tunnel slightly. The rocks around him crackled and popped, shaking violently as the spell''s magic faded. He could feel something buried underneath the rubble within with his [Fey Senses], some faint magic interacting with his spell, but he had no idea what it could be. "I told you I wouldn''t be able to do it. I''m not some apprentice who doesn''t know his limitations." The book laughed. "That is where you are wrong, apprentice. You did well and revealed that which I needed to see." "Great. Thanks." Abad said weakly, wiping spit from the side of his mouth. Abad didn''t have it in him to give a snarky reply, choosing to lay back instead. So much for his freshly washed clothes. "Mhm, your pain has served as a wonderful example. Imp, let your master rest. Pick me up and put me into the hole he made." He rolled his head towards Angra. She looked pale, and he could feel through their bond that she had been weakened, but she would be okay. Snatching up the book, she shoved its face into the small aperture he had opened in the tunnel, her scowl making her distaste apparent. He watched, exhausted, as the book''s pages rustled. "It seems that this wall was collapsed intentionally, but one of the corpses underneath the large stones has something peculiar on it. It is a ward of some kind that is designed to prevent anything from coming or going from your vault. It has also enchanted the stone with a similar, but far more powerful, spell, causing it to reform a new stone wall if disturbed. That is why I couldn''t open the way myself. I would have triggered the barrier, destroying myself, which I am loath to do. You were an acceptable trial." Abad wanted to say something, but he let it go. Angra, however, smacked the book. "A crude form of sealing magic," it rumbled. "Even so, very effective. It will quickly reshape the wall until the hole is gone entirely." Even as the book spoke, the hole seemed to have closed slightly. "So, my agony was completely unnecessary then?" Abad spat out sarcastically. "Yes." The book answered. "Well. No. Sort of." It said, being unusually indecisive. "I wanted to teach you something, student. See, this task was impossible. I knew that from the start. Yet, you must always push yourself to your limits. Otherwise, you will not grow." As if it heard the object, his scroll unfurled in the air.
[Make the Impossible Possible] Completed. You have reached Warlock Level 3. You have gained the spell [Burn the Weak I]. [Burn the Weak I] (1st Circle): You conjure a small, searing flame that can be thrown at creatures within sight, igniting and inflicting fire damage. This spell is especially effective against vulnerable or injured enemies, dealing additional damage to those already weakened.
Abad laid his head back and sighed. It was like training with his old master all over again. He watched as the small hole in the wall slowly closed itself up until, after a few moments, it was like it never existed. The imp jumped down from the ledge she had been standing on, threw the book to the ground, and spoke. "Okay, so we can''t leave, which means master''s going to starve to death. I''m not okay with that, not one bit. So you''re going to figure something out, book, or I''m going to find a way to pull your pages out one by one until you''re empty. You got it?" "Are you threatening your better?" The book sounded amused. "My better?" Angra growled. "Yeah right. You think I don''t remember when you were chained to a shelf with the other dumb grimoires? The only reason we kept you was because we found you funny to read when we were drunk. All of you books act like you''re so special, so smart and full of yourself, but you aren''t. You''re just paper and... and... all talk." She huffed. Abad knew her well enough to know she was frustrated she couldn''t think of something better to end on. "Yes, yes I am." The book said, its voice dripping with condescension. "However, I understand your concerns, small servant. Do not worry, we will not need to starve your precious master. I simply need you both to bring me to the great hall. I will grant you use of another one of my pages so that we might leave this place." "You want me to rip a page out of you?" The little imp hissed. "Oh, I''ll enjoy it." The words came out of her like the growl of a dog. Angra''s usual sweet demeanor disappeared like mist when confronted with the Grimoire. "No." It responded. "I shall remove it myself and infuse it with magic. And you won''t be touching it." "Sounds fine to me." Abad stood up. "Let''s get going." "Hold." The book "Let me survey the death wrought by the little one here." Abad picked the book up and brought it to the closest of the skeletons on the ground, allowing it to see the corpse. The grimoire mumbled to itself as it surveyed the scene. Seeing something, it began to flutter in Abad''s arm, until it violently pulled away from him. It flopped on the ground, and its chain unlinked, allowing it to crawl toward the body. After a few moments, it seemed to rethink itself and flopped toward another body. In this way, it went from body to body, murmuring to itself all the while, before stopping next to one that was relatively intact. Its pages fluttered softly as it thought. "This one," it declared. [False Body] A pulse of force filled the dusty air. Then, nothing happened. At first. Slowly, the skeleton began to twitch. An arm moved, then a foot. It moved methodically, each bone rattling as it slowly sat upright. "What are you doing?" Abad watched as the creature slowly stood, its dry bones creaking. After standing, it reached down, its bones rattling, and picked up the book into its skeletal hands, which clasped around the object lovingly. Twin red pricks of light flared to life in the creature''s eyes, and its mouth opened in a mockery of speech. "Ah, much better. No longer am I bound to be carried like some sort of manual in the hands of a child," the skeleton said with the same grumbling voice as the book. The red dots seemed to narrow in delight. "No offense meant, student, I am sure your hands are quite strong, but surely you see the benefits of my new state. After all, now I have limbs with which to wield the weapon that is knowledge!" The skeleton raised its arms, flexing its nonexistent muscles. Abad certainly couldn''t deny that being free of the heavy thing helped him. Even after gaining two levels, he was still far too weak to carry much more than himself. The skeleton shoved the book into its ribcage, causing the lower ribs to bend precariously. Then, it began walking around the other corpses. [Mass Animate Dead] Another pulse of force followed, and each of the other skeletons began twitching. Even the pile of gnawed on bones began to assemble itself, and the two arms sticking out of the rubble began clawing at the ground. Moments later, eight skeletons and two arms stood at attention, waiting for the book''s orders. A wave of nostalgia hit Abad as he remembered being able to perform similar feats in the past. "These minions will guard the tomb while we are away." The book-skeleton turned on its heel, brushing by Abad as he moved past him. The skeletons followed, their feet clacking on the cold stone. "Keep up." The thing called out over its shoulder as it walked into the darkness ahead. "It''s time we see the world."