Book Three - Chapter Nineteen (Patreon)

When Alarion was younger, he’d been a lot… louder when it came to his incantations. There was Sympathetic strength in calling out spells and skills, but the more he fought, the less Alarion valued that shallow boost when weighed against surprise.

Declarations of war were for the Celesians. If he wanted to kill someone, it was best that they never saw it coming.

“Void Burst.”

The lightless pulse of Alarion’s newest spell flooded the arena with a pressure wave that folded reality down to nothingness as it passed. Bergman’s wards caught it before it reached the crowd, screaming a high-pitched metallic whine as the arcane lattice flared white against the magic.

Anastacia flinched to one side to ward off the brunt of the attack. Only for a breath—but a breath was all Alarion needed.

It was one thing to see Alarion’s inflated AGI on paper; it was another to experience it. He was fast, so much faster than he had any right to be—especially with that oversized mace. The damn thing was almost as large as he was, but Alarion swung it down as if it were made of air.

Surprisingly, though, she still saw it coming.

At their level, a single hit wouldn’t end the duel—not even from a weapon such as Isha—but it was hard for any fighter to make a fully rational choice when faced with what looked to be impending doom. If she were in her right mind, she might have dodged neatly to the side and perhaps even punished him for over-committing. Instead she flinched a second time, scampering to the left as his mace descended.

Isha cratered the dirt where she’d stood, but the miss cost him nothing. Alarion was already inside her guard. He turned the momentum of his swing into a step, and then the step into a shoulder check that finally took her feet out from under her.

She hit the ground hard, tumbling one end over the other. One gauntleted hand clawed at the dirt beneath her, not to arrest her fall, but to redirect it. That was good instinct, and the only thing that saved her from another of Alarion’s wild overhand swipes.

He pounded the dirt thrice more, always one step behind her as she skittered and rolled out from under his assault. The girl was as insightful as she was quick. Or just very lucky. He doubted even Kali could have recovered from such an unfortunate position without damage, but somehow she managed it.

Anastacia’s recovery was an attack. One moment she was rolling away from a near miss, the next she was on the balls of her feet, the point of her rapier racing toward his eye.

It was a shaky counter, but Alarion gave ground all the same. It was that or bleed. He rocked back off his lead foot—Isha too low to parry—and felt the wind of the swordpoint as it passed his cheek.

Anastacia wasn’t the only one who could feel fear.

A second thrust followed, then a third, a fourth and a fifth—a few of them scoring minor scratches and gouges on his hands, wrists and shoulders.

You have suffered slight piercing damage. HP -74.You have suffered slight piercing damage. HP -96.You have suffered slight piercing damage. HP -61.

Such was the advantage of her slender weapon. Alarion smashed, while Anastacia pecked. Three, four attacks against one of his own, each hunting for gaps left behind by his wide swings. If he hit her, the damage would be severe, but would it be enough to overcome the slow, steady depletion of his HP?

The difficulty lay—as it so often did—with the Inva-Maie. Isha’s long haft offered Alarion the obvious range advantage, putting her well within his killing distance at the start of any clash, but even in his expert hands the mace was slow and cumbersome by Awakened standards. He struggled against her Maie—her living distance—the agility, poise and aggression that she used to rebuff any attempt to batter her into the dirt.

Options existed to offset his disadvantage, but none without their own risks. He could close the distance and turn it into a brawl, but doing so would put him in the path of that gleaming offhand saber. He could force an opening with another spell, or turn things into an arcane duel, but he was even less confident there. Alarion was a warrior first and foremost, but he wasn’t sure the same was true for her.

No, best to keep this in the realm he was most comfortable, which meant only one thing.

He would have to use a skill.

Alarion disliked the conclusion the way he disliked most sensible things. In a duel between peers, it was expected that the participants would eventually dig deep into their toolkits, but each escalation was a small moral loss—an admission that she’d pushed him up against his limits.

That she’d forced him to do so this early rankled him. There was information in dragging an early skill out of him that he couldn’t buy back, but the slow red arithmetic of her rapier made it a necessary bargain.

It was time for either a skill or Echo, and she hadn’t earned the latter.

[Foresight], then.

Foresight [Rare]

Description: While most Unravellers focus their vision on the horizon, a few have been known to turn away from the grand tapestry in favor of individual stitches. Trading depth for precision, these immediate visions make them a force to be reckoned with.

Requirements: None

Type: Active/Vision

Effects: When active, this skill allows the user to see a number of possible futures related to the actions of a selected target. The user may specify a time up to thirty seconds in the future and see possible actions that person is likely to take at that time, as well as potential consequences of their actions in the intervening thirty seconds. The further into the future the user specifies, the less accurate the predictions will be. The higher the user’s LUK attribute, the more accurate the predictions will be. This skill cannot predict the actions of third parties that the user is unaware of.

Growths: STR +4. AGI +4. VIT +4. INT +4. PER +4. WIL +4.

The future unspooled in front of Alarion as a ghostly wall of blades, each representing a possible line of attack. They were clustered together, three futures where she drove for his chest, two more at his throat, another pair at his thigh, along with a smattering of others. In the past, the mass of ever-shifting outlines had made [Foresight] almost worthless against an equal, but experience had taught Alarion how to narrow those possibilities, and his ever growing luck had made it even more powerful still.

He shifted his weight to the back foot and saw the thrust at his thighs shimmer and vanish in favor of an attack on his shoulder. A twist of his shoulders narrowed the options even further, until only the stabs at his heart remained.

Steel cried out as an unexpected parry sent Anastacia’s rapier wildly off course. She did her best to respond to the sudden development, backpedaling to the right to bring her saber into play, but her options to respond were so limited that Alarion didn’t even need [Foresight].

He stepped into her broken guard and drove a fist into her solar plexus.

As clean a body blow as Alarion had ever landed, the punch emptied her lungs and folded the girl double, but she was far from beaten. Her hands tightened around her blades, and Alarion pushed aside any pangs of chivalry as he struck her again with a wicked inside leg kick, buckling her knee, then drove a knee of his own into her.

The combination would have laid out half of the 238th, but flat on her back in front of him, Anastacia seemed more angry than hurt.

He hefted Isha, knowing he still had a chance to deal real damage. “Void—”

“—Spirits of Water, Flow!”

The impact came from nowhere, a hard lance of pressure that reciprocated his nasty knee strike twofold. His ankles clapped together, his stance collapsing as the void energy above his mace guttered and dispersed. He hit the ground with a splash, the packed dirt already growing soft and slick beneath him.

“Spirits of Fire, Dance!”

This time Alarion was ready for it. He felt the strings of her mana flowing out before she’d even finished the incantation, gathering together into a primitive Thoughtform. It wasn’t a fully sentient creature like Nessa, or even Kotone, but more the idea of one tied to a single imparted will.

In this case, explode.

Alarion gave the strange creature the back of his hand, unmaking it with [Shatter Magic] just as it tried to fulfill its purpose. The result was a puff of flame. Enough to scorch a few mundane eyebrows but nowhere near enough to prompt a damage notification from Alarion’s filtered system.

“Did you just punch my…?” Anastacia trailed off, her voice incredulous as she regained her footing, rapier in one hand with her saber left in the dirt.

“Not something they teach in Secta?” Alarion asked, following her example.

The girl laughed, then scowled as if angry that he’d broken her composure. “You are not taking this seriously.”

“I am winning.”

“Are you, now?” Anastacia paced a lazy circle around the edge of the training yard, like a prowling tiger trying to decide if it were worth pouncing. “I think I have dealt more damage.”

Alarion considered the words, then responded with, “Intermediate Mend Body” the worst of his wounds already starting to heal.

“You are not funny. You know that, right?” Anastacia asked, though she was struggling deeply not to smile. “I feel it is important someone tells you that.”

Though the spectators were lukewarm to Anastacia—at least, the ones who hadn’t bet on her—the woman’s words still stirred something deep and primal within them. They had cheered when Alarion struck her, but now a chorus of jeers such as ‘We have!’ and ‘It gets so much worse!’ came in support.

“Traitors,” Alarion muttered. He took stock of as many grinning faces as he could for future punishment, then turned his attention reluctantly to Anastacia. “You are one to talk; you haven’t used a single active skill.”

“Then make me.”

With an invitation like that, it’d be rude to refuse.

This time the clashes were faster and far more violent. They each had a feel for the tempo, and for the other’s strengths and weaknesses, and together they built toward a new status quo.

[Foresight] continued to provide Alarion with dominance in physical combat, but that advantage did not translate into victory.

Anastacia wasn’t stupid, no matter how much he wished she were. The gap in strength between them had widened, and she’d already learned the price for pushing her luck. Her swordsmanship had become reserved and defensive, meant to keep him honest while her magic did the real work.

“Spike! Flow! Slice! Collapse! Dance!”

Gone were the full incantations, replaced by single commands and complex one-handed gestures. An elemental cacophony followed each word. One spell peppered him with a barrage of sharpened stone, the next a rush of water, then a barely perceptible blade of air.

Much like her rapier, none of Anastacia’s spells were particularly dangerous or threatening on their own, but as parts of a greater whole they were maddening to deal with. Every time he pressed an opening, a cascade of rocks fell between them. Every time he tried to position, a gust of wind buffeted him, or a burst of fire blocked his retreat. Neither fighter landed a clean hit for several minutes, but the slow, steady chip damage was heavy in her favor.

Something needed to change, but Alarion would be damned if she forced a second skill out of him before he managed to pry one out of her. It was time to trade damage.

“Void Burst,” Alarion growled with barely restrained annoyance. The inken darkness consumed Anastacia’s most recent spell with ease as it rippled outward, giving him the space he needed for a full frontal assault.

He paid the price for his recklessness. Even with [Foresight] feeding him visions, there was no version of the future where Alarion engaged unscathed, only different levels of wounded. He settled on a cut below his left eye. Deep enough to sting, even with [Reject the Pain], the wound did no more to impede his progress than Anastacia’s last desperate attempt at a spell.

“Danc—”

Isha struck her on the hip with bone-crunching force, flinging her halfway across the arena.

If the angle had been a few degrees better, the fight could have ended with a ring out. As it was, Anastacia called on her spirits to slow and soften her landing, but still hit the ground in a heap.

“Are you done?” Alarion asked, more an offer of mercy than a question about her HP. No one had called off the fight, so she was still above 25% HP, but it was hard to miss that her right leg was bent the wrong way. There was no way she’d be standing without healing. The fight was over.

“Four mighty spirits, in your covenant I stand—”

“I am guessing that is a no.” Alarion sighed. She’d dropped her rapier when he’d struck her, and he made a point of kicking it out of the arena before advancing on her.

“—Depths, Pyre, Mountain, and Storm—” Anastacia continued, her hands working through ever more intricate patterns. And as she cast, spirits gathered around her, dozens of the weak little half-Thoughtborn like those she’d been summoning throughout the fight.

No, not like. Each was unique in its own way, and though Alarion hadn’t studied them in detail, he recognized a few among the masses. They’d lingered after being spent, each glittering with a small fraction of remaining mana.

“—drown, melt, quake and whip.”

Was it a bluff? She didn’t seem like the type.

“Spirits of Elements—” she gestured toward Alarion, and he felt his heart stop. “—Ionize.”

As creatures of pure thought and emotion, nascent Thoughtborn didn’t play well with one another. Without a firm sense of self to anchor them, unsolidified thoughtforms tended to get tangled when they encountered one another. The resulting mess of contradictions rarely survived long, and was rather… volatile.

And she’d just shoved them together by the dozen.

Like all artillery magic, the resulting beam of white-hot plasma was inaccurate, to put it mildly. It fired up and over Alarion’s head, crackling against the overhead ward then scattering back down into the arena like scalding rain.

“Empowered Void Crush!” Alarion shouted in sudden desperation, slamming Isha down toward the sprawled Vitrian girl. It was among his strongest attacks, something he’d never expected to use in a Three-Quarters match—especially against a wounded opponent—but Anastacia had moved them far beyond playing it safe.

Besides, it was just to buy time anyway.

With great effort, Anastacia redirected her attack to intercept Alarion’s oncoming spell. The two clashed briefly, darkness engulfing and being burned by the light in equal measure, but the outcome of that duel was never in doubt. [Void Crush] ran its course, but Anastacia’s spell was far from spent.

Isha was the next to feel its wrath. Thrust toward the spell like a spear and empowered with [Shatter Magic], Alarion’s implement scattered Anastacia’s magic across the arena in more than a dozen spiraling rays. Some burned furrows in the dirt, but most lanced out toward the barrier and fractured again, burning both caster and target in equal measure.

For a few seconds it seemed Isha might hold the line, but sadly, [Shatter Magic] knew the difference between an attack and a block. The skill faded away and with it the mace’s protection. The metal heated quickly, the tip shifting from grey to red in barely a heartbeat.

“Empowered Solar Burst!”

The HP-draining spell was more powerful than its Void counterpart—particularly against fiends—but unfocused as it was, [Solar Burst] bought almost no time at all. Just barely enough to gather his wits and concentrate.

Alarion let Isha fall and lashed out with his fist instead. HP could be restored, skin healed and bones re-knit, but Isha was priceless and irreplaceable.

Then he caught the sun in his hand.

There was no elegant way to describe the pain, but Alarion’s string of profanities was the next best thing. His fist drove into onrushing plasma, [Shatter Magic] flaring across his knuckles. The skill dispelled what it could, but it was outmatched. The sleeve of his uniform burst into flame, the skin beneath blistering and popping.

But enduring.

Her spell was powerful. For her Rank, it might have been the most dangerous attack he’d ever seen. But it was still a spell, and those could only hurt him if he lacked the Will.

Act of Will [Ancient] (Merger)

Description: It is no easy feat to bring two paths together long after they have diverged, nor is it one to be taken lightly. Many have tried; through dedication, through tricks or sheer unbridled stubbornness. They have tried, and they have failed. You have not. Only an Indomitable Warrior could endure such difficult and painful training. Only an Unraveller could weave together that which stands apart. Only an Act of Will can bind them together.

Requirements: Class - Indomitable Warrior. Class – Unraveller. Upgrade at least 4 Unraveller skills, including one Spellcraft Mastery. Upgrade at least 4 Indomitable Warrior skills, including one Weapon Mastery. All Attributes 500+.

Type: Active/Will.

Effects: At a variable MP cost, the user may impose their Will on their surroundings, creating a Zone of Refusal. Foreign magic is heavily suppressed within this Zone and becomes substantially easier for the user to dispel. The MP cost of this skill will increase when attempting to suppress stronger spells or other impositions of Will. The MP cost of this skill will increase relative to the area covered.

Growths: WIL +14.

At least, that was the theory. Even after a year of training, Alarion struggled to utilize [Act of Will] proactively. While the skill was the one he understood most intuitively, it was also among his most complex. Easy to learn, difficult to master.

On its face, the skill seemed as though it would weaken any spell cast toward him, but Anastacia’s specialty was a perfect example of how that thought process was misleading. Yes, she would find it very difficult to conjure new spells if he’d extended his Zone of Refusal to envelop her, but what did it mean to ‘suppress’ a magically conjured rock being thrown at his head?

Functionally almost nothing.

To use the skill defensively required an act of will. It wasn’t enough to understand the magic assaulting him; he needed to dismantle it. Thankfully, [Shatter Magic] had shown him the exact path to follow.

Arm deep inside it, Alarion tore at the artillery magic at a fundamental level. He understood the base interactions between the five Affinities used to create the spell, how she’d used Spirit as an intermediary, strengthening Sympathetic bonds between the four key elements to prevent a death spiral of oppositional noise.

That was the Affinity he attacked, and like a bridge without its keystone, the underlying spell collapsed around the weakness.

Sadly, Alarion was too hard pressed to unravel the spell all at once. Perhaps he could have done it if he’d realized the danger before she’d finished casting—but then, if he’d been that proactive, he’d have thrown Isha at her.

Instead, he dispelled the beam as it reached him. It was sloppy, haphazard work that further scattered the magic and filled the air with heat and arcane byproducts almost as dangerous as the spell itself.

Alarion couldn’t keep this up for long. But he wouldn’t have to. Anastacia was as scorched and burned as he was, and her spell was petering out. He only had to hold out a few more—

“E-Enough!” boomed Bergman’s unexpected voice. “You are going to k-kill—”

“She can take—”

“He can take it!” Anastacia finished her own similar thought as her magic finally expired. “The duel ends—”

“I am n-not talking about you two!” came Bergman’s magically enhanced voice over the ringing in Alarion’s ears. “Look around you!”

Alarion looked.

Dueling of any sort always resulted in tunnel vision, and fighting someone of Anastacia’s caliber only intensified the issue. For the length of the duel he’d seen nothing but Anastacia—her blades, her spells and her smug expression. The world beyond had been an afterthought.

An afterthought that had, at some point, caught on fire.

Bergman’s wards were gone. Not flickering, not straining—just gone. The duel—most likely that last clash—had broken them so utterly that the sigils themselves were smoking. And that was the least of the damage.

A whole section of the eastern palisade was on fire, as was one of the carts that had been brought in to serve as seating. Martyrs were running this way and that, dousing various blazes, both large and small, while healers in the crowd attended to the unlucky few who’d caught strays in the fight.

There were no serious injuries, thank the Mothers, but Alarion knew that was more by chance. If the wards had failed a few seconds earlier, or if he’d dodged with Echo rather than foolishly taking the attack head-on…

“O-Out. B-Both of you.”

Alarion tilted his head in confusion. “What?”

“I c-can’t fix this m-mess!” Bergman shouted, pointing angrily at his hand-scribed wards. “And even if I c-could, you’d just w-wreck them again. So g-get out of the fortress if you are going to s-settle this.”

This time, Alarion laughed.

“I think we’ve had enough for one—”

“Speak for yourself, Master Sergeant,” Anastacia said. She was clearly worse for wear, wincing as she rolled her shoulder through a stiff rotation, but she was smiling nonetheless. “I feel warmed up.”