-oOo-
Chapter 51
-oOo-
“I think you’re worrying too much, little sis,” Belkis said.
The girls were in the sky above Pyrkagiás.
Asmodeus’s capital was on the fourth layer of Tartarus. Here, the Asphodel Meadows gave way to massive caverns. The ceiling was kilometers above and thick with ash, the roiling black clouds glinting with smoldering embers. There was no sun. Instead, the land was cast in the deep reds of burning smoke and the orange illumination of the Phlegethon.
The Phlegethon was a river of magma winding its way through the middle layers of Tartarus. Thousands of tributaries poured into the broad expanse, sometimes pooling into lakes, other times seeping through the walls in a trickle.
Pyrkagiás was built over one such lake.
The metropolis sat atop a massive column of basalt, the stone itself rising half a kilometer above the bubbling magma. Thin, spindly bridges stretched across the gap to land upon distant shores. The core of Pyrkagiás housed two million. Another three million lived in the outskirts on the other side of the lake.
Pyrkagiás owed its success not only to its prince, but also to its position. The city was built near a nexus. On the western shore, a cavern led to the third layer of Tartarus. Fifty kilometers to the south was a path to the fifth layer. A highway linked one cavern to another, the road tracing halfway around the lake.
As expected, the city was hot.
Here, high in the air, Sylvia felt as though she were being baked in an oven. This was a dry heat, lacking the mugginess of Starlight’s jungle. Yet, the intensity was on another level. If a mortal was exposed to such fire, they’d surely die within the hour. In the netherworld, however, the world logic insisted this heat was unpleasant but not deadly.
At least, not while flying above the basalt column supporting the city. If Sylvia were to skim the lake instead, she’d slowly cook.
To keep this unpleasantness at bay, Sylvia casually filtered water ether, using it to cool the air around her.
Belkis, an elemental witch oriented toward metal, had no need for such efforts.
“There’s two to three million followers of the flame in Tartarus alone,” Belkis continued. The dark-skinned witch floated at ease, her broom – Raven Wing – beneath her. “Many demons have sympathy for the Devil. The Third Piece was the second Emperor of Hell and died a hero during the Utopia War. Others honor the Fifth Piece, who arrived like a savior near the end of the Blood Crusade. There is even a temple dedicated to Prometheus three streets from my old apartment.”
The witch flashed a smile, golden-brown curls glinting like dull embers in the Phlegethon’s orange light.
Around them shimmered a boundary of law. Private booth. To be extra thorough, Sylvia had cast secure link. This was an interesting magic. Superficially, it acted like a telepathic connection. To be more technical, the spell directly teleported information from one mind to another. It was somewhat similar to the System’s phone feature.
In part, because Sylvia had cribbed notes from the System.
Beyond allowing distant conversation, secure link had the quality of allowing psychic communication without leaks. Better yet, the spell made use of the System’s encryption algorithms. A form of information protection with which demons had little familiarity. Sylvia didn’t doubt fate magic could crack it, but a mage would have to know what they were dealing with first.
Between secure link and Anbaht, Sylvia felt safe enough to reveal Moswen’s revelations. Clouded Face had already passed into Belkis’s hand.
But she didn’t share everything. Belkis didn’t know the source of the ‘shady organization’. Therefore, Moswen’s story had been altered. Even the gull’s identity had been changed, rendering him nothing more than an informant attached to the System.
“So many?” Sylvia said with surprise. “I thought he was hated.”
“He is, but he isn’t. You haven’t spent enough years in Hell, otherwise you’d understand,” Belkis tried to explain. “Look, there are a lot of cult groups who venerate Lucifer. A decade back, one of the big ones, Firestorm, made the news by capturing a dozen astralships trading between Heaven and Hell.”
Sylvia snorted. Trust Lucifer to be an icon of terrorists.
“I assume there are a lot of groups like that?”
“Last Beacon, the Clockwork Men, Undying Embers, and the Prosecutors,” Belkis ticked off. “Though, the Prosecutors aren’t so much a Promethean Cult as they are anti-Heaven extremists. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask someone else. I never really followed day-to-day politics. That was Phoebe’s thing.”
The prisma’s expression fell, thinking of her old circle.
No wonder Moswen encouraged her to continue with her work. With so many troublemakers running around, it was less a risk Heaven would target Sylvia in specific, more that they might grab her in the hope she might know something worthwhile.
“What about the Academy?” she mused.
Belkis shook her head. “The Academy’s disappearance is weird, but not that weird. There are a lot of shady organizations in the netherworld. If it weren’t for the fact you met with Lord Potami at exactly the wrong time, everyone would assume Esmeralda struck a deal with a powerful noble and leave it at that.”
Sylvia let out a breath. Belkis might be right. She was worrying too much. Then again, her senior sister didn’t know that Sylvia was the Apostle of Fire.
“Regardless, we need to talk to the others,” Sylvia said. “And make sure they keep their mouths shut. If at all possible, I’d like them to wear anti-divination tools as well.”
Belkis pressed her lips. “That’d get expensive.”
“Better expensive than the Inquisition,” Sylvia said in retort. “And they don’t need to be good. Just enough to scramble information in their wake.”
Too many good tools would attract the wrong kind of attention for different reasons. People would start to ask, what’s so important that a group is willing to spend half-a-million soli to hide it? It was normal for the upper class to wear anti-divination accessories. Less so for their servants.
“Between Emmy’s account and mine, we should have enough for cheap tools,” Belkis accepted. “I’ll ask around at the coven. But you’ll have to reimburse me.”
Sylvia grimaced, thinking about the money. “We’ll have to sell everything within the month.”
“So long as it’s just your money, little sis,” Belkis teased.
Sylvia glowered. Belkis hadn’t forgotten how Sylvia had raided Esmeralda’s funds.
With a gesture, Sylvia dismissed her magic. As the walls of the private booth imploded around her, the asteri directed her broom down.
Belkis flew beside her.
Sylvia’s Stella Iecit was the best Swift Brooms had ever made. The cloud essence had been drawn from a powerful storm, while the wood had undergone another cycle of refinement. Though the underlying code hadn’t changed, the improved materials boosted performance at the margin.
The five percent gain wasn’t worth the additional cost, but it wasn’t nothing either. Having fought in a war, and being a rich lady, Sylvia was willing to splurge. She could’ve gone for a Lunam Fuga, but she preferred the Stella Iecit’s weight.
The city grew beneath them.
Even more than Iacchus, Pyrkagiás was akin to a modern metropolis. Giant towers and magnificent buildings rose from the dense city core, every meter of the basalt column converted. Near the western side was the Prince’s Palace, its turrets rising high in the skyline. The white castle was an impossibility, a fairy tale paradise betwixt a world of obsidian and fire.
The witches avoided the noble district. Instead, they flew toward the northern city. Here could be found The First Coven of Pyrkagiás. The FCP was a large coven serving six thousand witches. Having four layers of circles, the FCP suffered from bureaucracy. Belkis’s Deep Seekers were a quaint speck of dust in comparison.
The First Coven of Pyrkagiás was only one of the many covens in the city. There were well over eighty thousand witches in Pyrkagiás, more than twice the usual concentration. The mix leaned heavily toward magissa and xemyalistra, a lingering influence of the Prince’s love life.
The main office came into view.
A spire of andesite rose from the pillar, the peak over a hundred meters in height. The stone was dark and spattered with gray. Halfway up, flying turrets broke from the building’s center. Around them swirled the elemental ethers fire, air, water, and earth respectively.
Belkis settled in the courtyard, landing lightly on one of the six round pads. Sylvia hovered nearby, floating close to her senior sister to avoid traffic.
The elemental witch looked up. With Belkis’s appearance still in her mid-teens, the witch’s war robes half swallowed her form. It granted the prisma the amusing image of a young girl trying to look cool.
Sylvia felt a spike of jealousy. Why did all of her clothes have to look cute?
Sigh. Because she let Emmy choose them for her.
“It’ll take a few hours to confirm my prior registration,” Belkis said. “Then I’ll need to check on Esmeralda’s old connections.”
Sylvia raised a hand. “I’ll take a look around the city then. We’ll gather up and discuss things later. Let’s say, five hours? I’ll throw you a secure link.”
Silas Wells and Brianna Schultz owned the phone feature, so all Sylvia had to do was call. Josephine would be with Silas while Isabella was at the warehouse keeping an eye on the crates. They’d paid good cash for a safe place, but Sylvia felt better knowing her people were also watching.
Plus the snake. A big old rattlesnake.
Belkis shot her a look. “You have to teach me that spell.”
“It’s not finished,” Sylvia rejected. “And it’s realm magic combined with the psychic element. How are you going to use it?”
“I can catalyze the element,” Belkis grumbled.
Sylvia gave her the side-eye. Belkis should buy the phone feature. Also, was she planning to cast the spell catalyst circle every time she used secure link? She couldn’t even nature space and void directly!
Sylvia knew the truth. The prisma was a grubby little spell stealing thief!
“Later,” Sylvia said.
“Be careful out there, little sis,” Belkis returned.
Sylvia flew away from the tower, sweeping over the breadth of Pyrkagiás. Demons whipped around her, traveling to various destinations. Though most of the netherworld’s denizens were ground bound, in a city as large as this, the fliers numbered over a hundred thousand.
Eventually, the silver-haired witch found a nice place to float, well away from the flows of traffic. She gazed down at the metropolis in thought.
Her lips quirked.
“Since I have a few hours to spare, how about I try a little fate magic?”
Her mana pool was near full, so Sylvia was free to weave something big.
She gestured. Each hand seal was like a syllable. With every motion, the witch released a set of runes. Then, adding a swirl of intent, the asteri tied the long lengths into a chain of complex knots. Finally, Sylvia catalyzed pure mana into the element fate using her true cosmic core, the advanced element forming from causality and void. The energy sank into the spell, giving it life.
She spoke. It wasn’t an incantation. Instead, her words were a wish. “Let me meet the one who will buy my brooms.”
Magic reverberated. The spell sank into chaos, blending with the rules that formed the world.
This was fated request.
Fated request was a kind of wishing magic. Wish spells manipulated luck. For the next seven days or until the energy was exhausted, events which led to the desired outcome would be made more likely.
But the neat thing about wish spells was how they stacked.
“Let me meet the one who will buy my brooms,” Sylvia intoned again, completing a second set of seals.
In theory, Sylvia could cast fated request a hundred times. While the accumulation would be sublinear, the more wishes she made, the more powerful the distortion of fate. The only limit was Sylvia’s patience and her supply of mana. For this reason, serious wishes would always be cast in a place with thick astral ether. Preferably using a tower or a tool to better blend the magic into the world’s firmament.
Alas, Sylvia had no such instrument.
“Let me meet the one who will buy my brooms.”
After her fifth cast, Sylvia stopped. “That should be enough for now. I wouldn’t want to have a hundred spells circling around me.”
Demons were sensitive to magic. And while fate was elusive, enough power made any force readily apparent. If Sylvia cast fated request too many times, the locals would act as though the asteri were surrounded by a swarm of flies.
-oOo-
Sylvia wandered the streets of Pyrkagiás, craning her neck to admire the architecture. Incredible, gothic buildings rose around her. Most were structures of stone, standing three to six stories tall on average. A few threatened to pierce the sky, rivaling the skyscrapers of Earth.
As her eyes wandered, Sylvia found her gaze landing upon a billboard. The image drew a snort.
Smoldering Lake Getaway. Let the flames of love burn hot this evening!
The billboard depicted a cruise ship sailing atop the magma surrounding the city. Humans. Humans never changed. Not even after becoming demons in the netherworld.
“Hey, beautiful lady,” a voice called.
Sylvia’s pastel pink eyes flicked toward the man in annoyance. He was a handsome fellow with blond hair and crimson eyes. His skin was pale, barely within a shade that could be called human. A vampire, Sylvia guessed. The asteri had seen enough of them in Orasul Lunii to spot one at a glance.
The demon’s elegant bow only made her more certain. Vampires loved their etiquette. A vampire without etiquette was a dog.
“Pardon me, beautiful lady, but I can’t help but notice you seem a bit lost,” the vampire said smoothly. The blond-haired man rose. “My name is Omor, and I am your guide to the wonders of Pyrkagiás.”
Gorgeous eyes of fractal pink showed all the charm of a dead fish.
“I would prefer to show myself around, thank you,” Sylvia said with dull politeness.
She would’ve been harsher, but Emmy would murder her if Sylvia let her manners slip. Or worse, shudder, lecture her on the subject for an hour then spend the next week helping her practice.
Love made a person endure terrible things.
So spoken, Sylvia turned. The feathered skirt of her dark, Void Raven’s Vestments fluttered with her motion.
“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, beautiful lady,” Omor insisted, hurrying beside the witch. “There are many great sights in this city. Places difficult to reach on foot. For only sixty soli, you can see the splendor of Pyrkagiás from the back of my carriage. A grand tour with all the comforts befitting your station.”
The vampire gave two quick, golf claps. Clop, clop, clop, a dark steed brought a white carriage into view.
Hmm, a carriage ride did seem more enjoyable than walking through the city. In fact, Sylvia could sense the dense water ether filling the interior, warding off the city’s heat. Perhaps she should let this handsome fellow show her –
Her eyes narrowed.
A subtle influence was spreading through her mind. Faint tendrils of psychic energy shifted her thoughts and impressions. Now that she noticed, she could see the distortion in the air passing over to her from the vampire. If the difference in her level versus Omor’s wasn’t so extreme, the silent whispers might’ve guided her into the carriage without a second thought.
After all, the cool interior was rather enticing. Psychic magic was far more effective when it pushed the victim in the direction of their preexisting desires.
A smile grew on Sylvia’s lips. How delightful. Now she had an excuse to kill the man.
Just as she was about to stir her mana, a thought crossed her mind. Was this fate? On second thought, perhaps Sylvia should play along and see where the scheme led.
“That does sound rather enjoyable,” Sylvia said after a moment. She offered a tiny half curtsy, pinching her skirt with her right hand. “Then I’ll be in your care, Mr. Omor.”
With a dashing smile, the vampire took her arm and helped her into the carriage.
“May I know your name, miss?”
“Sylvia,” she answered, taking a seat.
There was a common refrain: those who use fate, must trust in fate. Wish spells decided the outcome first, then the cause second. That meant it was necessary to grant leeway so the magic could work. Fate-based divinations were even worse, often offering cryptic answers with little mention of where the information came from.
Therefore, Sylvia went against her instinct. It was clear Omor was a creep with ulterior motives, but Sylvia was a third consolidation witch. What could a C-II/Mid regal vampire even do to her? Why, if Sylvia were lucky, she might happen upon an entire squad of criminals, then slaughter the lot of them.
Better yet, she’d get a free ride and tour of the city before doing it. Also, the carriage had air conditioning. Honestly, the air conditioning might’ve been what sold her on it.
Omor took the driver’s seat. With the flick of the reins, he urged the horse forward.
“Miss Sylvia, if you don’t mind me asking, are you a witch?”
Oh. He wanted to talk. Maybe she should go back to the original plan and kill him now?
Sylvia relented. “Did the hat give it away?”
Sylvia had paired her Void Raven’s Vestments with the hat stolen from her old Witch-Princess Dress. This one had a bent cone with a silver moon ornament hanging from the crook. To free space, the asteri had left Spring Blossom in the closet of their temporary housing. Then she’d stuffed a couple brooms into her inventory, just in case she ran into an opportunity to show them off.
“Few demons are willing to risk wearing a witch’s hat,” the vampire agreed. “Rumors say that a terrible curse will befall anyone who dares.”
That… was exactly the kind of horrifying atrocity she’d expect from Hell’s covens.
Also, Sylvia hadn’t worn enough berets lately. Next time she was with Emmy, she’d just casually mention that fact.
There was a soft th-thump as the carriage wheels passed over the giant tiles that made the city streets. Omor drove them onto the main road then down the path toward the Prince’s Palace.
Soon a large building came up on the right. The body was smooth, dark stone highlighted by golden metal. The entryway showed sharp contrast, sporting pillars of the purest white. The rich features were a display of culture and wealth.
“This is the Third Street Theater,” Omor introduced with a grand gesture. “His Grace’s princesses come here often. At times, even Asmodeus himself will attend. For this reason, the theater is considered the most prestigious in all of the fourth layer. The best troups play on the seventh of every week, while the greatest orchestras can be heard on the sixth. Groups of less renown have shows on the others.”
“I imagine it’s expensive,” Sylvia commented.
She’d make time to see a play. While Hell’s literature had proven lacking, she’d heard its theater was magnificent. It’d be a shame to miss an epic.
Especially when she could record the show, then post it on the forum.
“Very,” Omor agreed. “Tickets start at a thousand soli and can reach ten times that. Rarely will those of our station even have a chance to purchase one before they are sold out. Even the less famous troups are difficult to see unless you’re willing to buy weeks in advance.”
The vampire had underestimated her wealth.
No, he’d underestimated her.
Sylvia was wearing Anbaht, an artifact which rendered her immune to nearly all divination. Those who sought information on her would only see the reflection of their own desire. Apparently, this extended to judgments of her strength.
Omor likely thought her a foolish girl of the first consolidation. A classic blue-blooded magissa favored by her master. An easy victim from out of town wandering the streets.
When they met later, Sylvia would let Josephine know she should be careful.
“And to our left is the Cathedral of Light,” the vampire said, pointing out a massive building cast in an almost surreal white glow. “But to those of us who live in Pyrkagiás, it is better known as the Cathedral of Love. It is here that every one of the Prince’s marriages have been hosted for the last one-thousand years.”
“How romantic,” Sylvia commented blandly.
Disgusting more like.
And what did love have to do with anything? Marrying Asmodeus was marrying into the government, given how attached to political power the archdemon’s harem had become. That said, Sylvia found the scenario rather humorous. The Church of the Benevolent Light worshiped the Heavenly Will. Its chief commandment was to accumulate karma and seek the grace of the great soul.
The doctrine was almost Christian in nature.
To have an archdemon enter this cathedral and make his vows to his seventieth mistress would truly be a sight to behold.
Though demons wouldn’t see the irony in their practice. Christianity? What absurd mockery was that? Mortals knew nothing of the afterlife. They were just narcissists parading holy books, proclaiming false truths which themselves were twisted, self-serving corruptions of Heaven’s propaganda.
Why, it was demons who were the truest adherents to the Heavenly Will. Heaven was just a country of traitors who’d blasphemously transformed the Will into a tool of their government.
At least, those were the words Sylvia would expect a practicing demon to speak.
“Rumor on the streets is that the Prince has found a new fiancée,” the vampire said, sharing the latest gossip. “If so, it won’t be long before wedding bells toll and the roads fill with flowers.”
Sylvia listened with bored disinterest. Who cared who Asmodeus was marrying this time? The archdemon had more women than Sylvia had hats. What appalling debauchery.
“And here we have the House of Silver,” Omor said, pointing out the latest sight. “This is the largest auction house in all of Tartarus. It’s owned by the great goblin, Hywel Silvertooth. All manner of rare treasures can be found within. An auction is held daily, with a major auction held on the first of every month.”
Sylvia perked up. “Do they sell jade scrolls?”
The vampire laughed.
“If you have a spare million soli,” he sneered. “Even the daily auctions are too rich for us denizens. The Treasure House, however, has manuals and curios. Just walk up and put down money for anything in a case. Bids close at the end of the week. I know a fellow who makes good money buying and reselling precious tools and resources.”
“Interesting,” Sylvia mused.
“Don’t be too eager,” Omor warned. “Acting as a reseller is a faster way to lose money than to gain it.”
The witch nodded. Such a business demanded a firm understanding of both market and price.
A pity though, a place like the House of Silver wouldn’t buy goods in bulk. Otherwise, Sylvia would’ve hopped out of the carriage on the spot.
The Treasure House, however, would be a good place to visit when she had money in hand. She was very interested in manuals of all sorts, especially those for rare skills and the high-level arts. There were plenty of books that might be found here which couldn’t be bought in an ordinary store.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Also, she needed a drom of aetheric gold. This might be a good place to source it. Sylvia would let Silas Wells know about the auction house later. Though, this place might well refuse entry to a person of Silas’s level.
The carriage turned down a road. The broad streets gave way to a dingy alley.
“Pardon me, Miss Sylvia,” the vampire said. “The next part of our tour takes us to the south side of the city. The way forward passes through a less savory part of town. If you don’t mind, I’ll raise the roof so you won’t be bothered.”
Her gaze sharpened. Crimson eyes looked into a universe of fractal pink. Sylvia felt the soft brush of psychic magic, encouraging her to relax. Go with the flow. There was nothing strange about their situation.
“I wouldn’t mind some privacy,” Sylvia accepted, gently grinding away the spindles of the sorcery trying to spread through her mind.
Omor was from the bloodline Nox Sanguis Rex. Commonly, his type were called regal vampires. Regal vampires had a natural affinity toward anima, an advanced element of life combining blood and psychic. The most famous ability of the regal vampire was the creation of ghouls. Their second most notable trait was their enchanting gaze which could suborn the minds of others.
“It will only be ten minutes, Miss Sylvia,” Omor said. “Then I will show you the splendor of the southern side.”
Flashing a smile, the vampire triggered some of the carriage’s enchantments. Walls of wood took form while a roof grew overhead. In mere moments, Sylvia was enclosed. Two small windows to the left and the right were the only view onto the streets, half shrouded by decorative curtains.
Sylvia gazed through one. She snorted. With her pure starlight eyes, the illusion was made all too obvious.
Well, well, well. The game was afoot.
Time for her own preparations then.
Before starting, the witch scanned the interior. The carriage contained several enchantments. One for a cool ride. Another to raise or retract the roof. Finally, nestled in the floor was a nasty trap. Once triggered, this would make the ether vibrate. Unless a mage was powerful or skilled, it would disrupt all spells.
“How cunning,” Sylvia murmured.
She checked the space a second time. There was a simple divination to alert the driver if Sylvia started casting spells. Anbaht would probably block it, but…
“■.”
A spark of fire pierced through the runic frame, breaking it entirely.
Leaning back in her chair, Sylvia lazily completed a chain of seals. The air hummed with the power of realm. Barrier frame. A second set of gestures and her mind was guarded by crystalline heart. After, the asteri summoned her staff. The haft was a dark, craggy brown. At the crown, an orb swirled with dark clouds, lightning flickering between them.
This was Esmeralda’s staff, White Heaven. Sylvia had borrowed it before heading to Tartarus.
As the weapon took form, Sylvia stopped, not sure what she should do next.
The witch shook her head. “I need to take the time to learn some real curses.”
A good hex was a subtle way to prepare an ambush. If she slipped a few curses into Omor’s blood, all she’d have to do is snap her finger and watch him die.
Alas, Sylvia’s interests had always played toward the primordial. There was something just so satisfying about throwing a lightning bolt.
Bereft of further action, the witch relaxed. The asteri stretched her mana, wiggling a strand through the grain of the wood. The energy wrapped itself around the core of the carriage’s trap.
A few minutes later, they came to a stop.
“■.”
After consulting her Networked Grimoire, Sylvia evoked another spell. Air stirred to her will. It slipped through a gap in the carriage’s frame, a microphone of magic hiding between the wheels.
“– appening here?”
The trailing question came from the vampire, Omor.
“We’re packing up,” a deep, rumbling voice said. “The guard is onto us. We’re selling this batch then lying low for the next year.”
“Shit,” Omor cursed. “I just brought a new acquisition. Should I – ”
“If anyone followed, it’s already too late,” the deep voice interrupted. “We’ll kill her quickly. Nils. Zarek. Get into position.”
Almost lazily, Sylvia stood. The witch took a moment to smooth her skirt.
Then she spoke.
“■■ ■~■.”
Water ether boiled from her palace as the first syllable left her lips, energy melting into the chain of runes. At the same moment, her left hand flicked through a pair of seals. A second set of runes blended with ether wrenched from the earth. She poured the forming magic into the carriage floor.
Earth spike and aqua shell. Both spells triggered in the same instant.
Bang!
The carriage shook. Planks splintered. A flower of stone tore the carriage bottom apart, growing down instead of up. Undeterred, the magic crashed into the ground beneath, causing the carriage to buck. Sylvia rode the force even as a wave of water whirled around her.
Whoosh!
The deluge spiraled out into a wide sphere. With the carriage enchantments disrupted, Sylvia’s aqua shell pushed out with enough force to shatter the fragile interior into splinters.
This was dual casting.
Ordinarily, magic relied on incantation. Runes drawn internally were released into the external world through the phenomenon known as spirit speech. With training and practice, spirit speech could be conveyed by gesture. If a mage mastered this art, then they could take it one step further, casting one spell with their voice and a second with their hands.
In extreme cases, a witch could even learn to multicast, unleashing three or four spells at the same time. But that was more a party trick than anything practical. A mage had finite strength. When evoking multiple magics, that strength would be divided among them. So too were there limits of the mind. Thus, the value of each new spell diminished rapidly into nothing.
Dual casting, however, was a major jump that was the calling card of any master level duelist. To be able to cast spells as an interrupt was a massive tactical gain that removed a mage’s primary weakness. To learn this art, Sylvia had sacrificed three skill books.
With the first, she’d learned gesture magic. With the second, she’d learned to dual cast any instant. With the third, she’d extended her mastery so that she could interrupt her main incantation with multi-syllable spells.
This wasn’t without cost. During her gesture-based interrupt, her primary casting rate would fall to half. Or, to reverse that logic, Sylvia could now cast one and a half times faster.
Damaged by her magic, the essence of the carriage evaporated around her. The asteri floated in the air, suspended on a platform of petals. With utter calm, her pastel pink eyes swept the warehouse, taking in the dangers found inside.
Her opponents stood stunned.
Straight in front was a minotaur. The demon was eight feet tall with dark, red-brown fur. In one hand, he held a giant battleaxe. C-III/Low. To her right, a hogmin. The pig demon was lightly armored and wielded a long spear. C-II/Mid. Omor was to her left. The vampire was slinking back, trying to create more distance.
As for the rest of the room? It was shrouded by illusion. Fox fire. The heat, void, and psychic presence were telltale. Her starlight eyes revealed all even as the magic itself urged her to ignore what she’d seen.
A fotia then, but while Sylvia could see the illusion, she couldn’t see the demon hiding behind it. Nor the ghouls. There had to be ghouls. A regal vampire would never enter a fight without ghouls.
Numerous enemies, most of them weak. Given the situation the best spell was –
“Kill her!” the minotaur roared.
The demon threw himself forward. Whomp. His great axe cut through the air, haft reverberating. Spurred by his shout, the hogmin burst into motion. Ki uncoiled beneath the demon’s feet, flinging the pigman forward.
Omor added his own strike to the fray. A pulse of invisible magic shot across the gap. Psionic spike, or some natural variation thereof. The psychic spell hit first. Guarded by crystalline heart, it splintered on Sylvia’s mind like a wooden stake driven into a steel plate.
“■~■~”
Sylvia’s free hand flicked into a pair of seals even as she started a new incantation.
Thick frost was drawn from Emmy’s staff, White Heaven. This energy joined with the power pulled from her elemental palace. The first swirled into a shield. The glacial scale took form a moment before the minotaur’s blow landed. Thunk, hiss. The blade punched through the plane of ice, twin heads glowing with molten fury.
Sylvia’s shield held even in the face of its elemental opposite.
Unnoticed, the hogmin’s spear skittered off her aqua shell.
The world stopped.
Fierce eyes of solid black froze. Something glimmered beneath. Realization dawned, then turned to horror. The energy in Sylvia’s shield was too great. Her defensive spell was cast too quickly. He knew. The minotaur knew from just those facts that the woman before him wasn’t some frail, first consolidation witch. Instead, Sylvia was a creature of a different magnitude entirely.
The stillness broke. The minotaur’s eyes went wide with fright. Muscles constricted in sudden reverse. A deafening roar blasted from his lungs.
“RUN!!!”
Too late.
“-■ ■■!”
Ninety-three runes were woven into a single sigil called icealtop, a pure rune meaning: a piercing chill. The spell was given life by a pool of frigid ether. A terrible frost gathered into a misty ball which hovered at the tip of Sylvia’s craggy, brown staff.
Then it exploded.
Wind howled. Glacial cold swept the room filling the warehouse with a whirling blizzard. The chill pierced through everything, crawling through flesh with ravenous, white fingers.
Arctic gale. No other spell in Sylvia’s grimoire was better for culling the weak.
The cold front smashed into illusionary fire. The veil melted under elemental contradiction, revealing the swarm of ghouls rushing toward her. The firefox swung his tail, sending a second wave of heat toward Sylvia’s magic. The crude measure worked, forcing the arctic wind back.
The ghouls, however, had run too far. Frost wrapped their flesh, turning their dark, rotten skin into ice. Omor and the hogmin, on the other hand, were headed toward the door. For them, the firefox’s magic was a breath of relief.
Casually, the witch stepped off air letting herself rise higher.
Screaming, the first ghoul leapt. The humanoid beast’s long talons clawed at Sylvia’s aqua shell, motions already growing sluggish. Another raised a hand, each finger a spindly dagger. Then the creature stopped, frozen to the core like all his brothers.
The witch didn’t spare them a glance. Instead, she walked forward, leaving a series of ice statues behind her.
“You think you can run?” she sneered, as the distant door slammed shut ahead of her.
Observe Terrain. Track Targets.
The System spells pulsed. Causality crawled over the land. The map filled in, showing the surrounding city. The spell, however, broke on the four demons without gaining purchase.
All of them had anti-divination equipment? Unbelievable. Seriously? Who would insist on giving all of their minions anti-divination accessories? Sylvia certainly didn’t know any such person.
Annoyed, Sylvia turned her walk into a run, letting her aqua shell disintegrate around her. With the barrier’s drag dispersed, the witch reached out. Giant flows of earth ether were torn from the land beneath. Elemental energy was filtered according to her will.
Her hand turned then clenched. With this natural gesture, she unleashed a chain of sixty-two runes.
Grave maw.
The spell took form on the far wall. Three pillars erupted, turned outward instead of inward. The ragged, rocky teeth pierced straight through the building and into the alley beyond. Then, like the maw of a colossal beast, they closed, tearing through stone with the ease of a can opener.
Sylvia dashed through the opening on a wave of petals.
“■■■ – ”
Lightning crackled around her staff. The stormy orb at the tip glowed with electric light. Fire, wind, and water were catalyzed into the element sky.
The four men were brought into view.
The criminals had stopped at the mouth of the alley. Not by choice. Blocking their path was a pair of demons, both sporting uniforms of black and red. The first was a white-furred werewolf, a giant hammer gripped in both hands. The second, a black-skinned goblin hanging a few steps back.
The minotaur glared up at them, his left leg twisted and splintered. His companions seemed frozen by indecision, not sure whether to force their way forward or turn back and retreat in the opposite direction.
Not that they had a real choice.
“ – ■■■■■ ■■ ■■!” Sylvia finished.
A jagged chain of brilliant blue sprang from her staff. The twisting bolt tore through the alley. Lightning ripped through Omor before taking a sharp turn toward the hogmin’s chest. Then, having pierced the demon’s core, the spell bent like a wire. The thread of spiky blue rose three meters before plunging down straight through the firefox’s skull.
Yet, the path was not complete. The bolt whipped along the alley floor, passing through the minotaur before dissipating in the sky above.
Bang!
Thunder echoed. Chain lightning was so awesome.
Sylvia cradled White Heaven lovingly. Surely, Emmy would give her the staff as a wedding gift.
The witch approached the guards.
“Now, there’s a sight I never expected to see on this side of Tartarus,” the goblin crowed. The sharp nosed man grinned, showing his pointy teeth. “Sylvia Swallows, a pleasure to remake your acquaintance.”
“Gavin the Black,” Sylvia greeted, offering a tiny dip. She smiled. “And Elroy of Est Somber. What are the two of you doing here in Pyrkagiás?”
“I’ll have you know, I go by Gavin Thiefcatcher these days,” Gavin returned.
The werewolf grunted, granting the witch a nod. “Souls first.”
Elroy fished a black lamp from his belt. Mana stirred the enchantments. Runes extended their fingers, grappling with the minotaur’s soul. There was a pulse of ether. The soul slid in the lamp’s grip, nearly breaking free. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed.
The minotaur had a slip ring.
How annoying.
“Let me help,” Sylvia interjected. A query of her Networked Grimoire found the spell desired. “■ ■.”
Using her own spirit, Sylvia’s mana was natured with the element soul. The spell took form, releasing a splatter of invisible threads which filled the alley. The four souls were caught in place, a fly in a spider’s web. The minotaur’s slip ring pulsed. The soul wiggled free.
But by then, Elroy had brought his lamp closer. Shoomp. The minotaur’s disembodied spirit was sucked into the lamp.
A hazy, red flame lit as Gavin captured a soul of his own.
“Do you have enough for the four of them?” Sylvia questioned.
“I always keep three lamps on me,” Elroy rumbled.
Even as he spoke, the werewolf pulled a second lamp from his soul. With it, Elroy snagged the spirit of the vampire. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
“Personally, I stick with two,” Gavin said, handing his spare to the werewolf. “They don’t hang quite so well from my belt as they do from the big fellow’s.”
No surprise. The goblin was nearly a foot shorter than Sylvia herself. And he wasn’t wearing high heels.
“Thank you for the assistance, Miss Swallows,” Elroy said politely after securing a third black lamp on his belt. “We wouldn’t have been able to fight the four of them on our own.”
Sylvia studied the pair.
Elroy towered over her, his fluffy white fur contained within his black constable’s uniform. On the wolf’s head sat a tall, rounded hat with a red sigil. With the feedback of the System, Sylvia judged his strength as C-II/High. Elroy was just a touch short of the second consolidation, an incredible achievement given his youth.
Gavin had also grown in power, having barely reached the standard of C-II/High. The redcap was exactly as Sylvia remembered. Emerald eyes without a hint of white. Dark, knobby skin. A long, sharp nose with even sharper teeth.
“They would’ve run us over and, if we were lucky, we’d be waking back up in the precinct pool a week from now,” Gavin interjected. The goblin gestured toward the giant hole cut through the warehouse. “Any surprises still waiting for us in there, Lady Swallows?”
“Ghouls,” Sylvia answered. “I froze them to death. I didn’t see anyone else, but I wasn’t exactly looking, either.”
The silver-haired witch paused, expression grim.
“They knew you were coming.”
“Shit,” the goblin spat. He looked up at the werewolf. “I told you someone was leaking.”
Elroy frowned, the expression on his canine muzzle was very human.
“Doesn’t matter,” the white-furred werewolf declared.
Shaking his head, Elroy pushed through the alley, heading for the warehouse. Gavin and Sylvia followed behind.
“It matters a lot,” Gavin returned. “Complications mean danger. And danger means money.”
The goblin pinched his fingers, eyes of solid emerald glinting with greed.
“What’s going on?” Sylvia questioned. “If you don’t mind me asking?”
“There’s an idea,” Gavin said. “How about we cut the lady in?”
The group entered the building. Crumbled stone marked the hole Sylvia had hewed, the rubble only half of what was needed to repair the wall. The ruins of the carriage remained where they were, the wheels tilted and the center broken. Sylvia’s earth spike was already fading, leaving a great rent through the center.
A second carriage, less fancy but still in good repair, was a few meters from the first.
By size, the warehouse was akin to a large garage, ten meters wide and ten meters deep. The walls were assembled from giant stone blocks, the material poorly smelted into a single solid. On her left was a stack of boxes and chests. Two others had been placed in the second carriage already.
As for the ghouls? They had transformed into an amazing collection of ghoul-sicles. Their terrible expressions were frozen, their hands clawing uselessly at the air. The poor steed that pulled Omor’s carriage had met a similar death.
Sylvia couldn’t resist. Taking control of the System features with her digitized soul, the silver-haired witch snapped a few pictures. Her mechanical mind whirled, finding a good image before adding a topic to the System forums.
? Netherworld >> Tartarus >> General Chat
Topic: How demons chill in the depths of Hell
CutestSilverBird (Original Poster) (Planar Governor)
Posted: 7 seconds ago
[Pic: Selfie of a cute witch next to a horde of frozen ghouls]
Did you ever wonder how demons endure the terrible heat and the magma lakes? Question no more, this intrepid witch has the answer. Ghoul-sicles. Just snap off a limb and stick it into your mouth. Crunch. Crunch.
You can find stands selling these treats everywhere in Pyrkagiás. Ghouls, particularly frozen ghouls, are considered a delicacy in these parts. I even bought a few to show them off to all my loyal followers.
(Showing page 1 of 1)
Elroy stooped near a crate and pulled back the lid, unaware of Sylvia’s brief distraction.
“Miss Swallows has her own business,” Elroy said gruffly. After a moment, the werewolf reconsidered his words. Rising, the man offered a bow, arm crossed over his chest. “The debt we owe cannot be easily repaid. There is no need for you to divert yourself from your current tasks.”
“Then you’re in luck, because your business has crossed mine,” Sylvia returned deadpan.
Meeting Elroy and Gavin was too much for pure chance. Fate was at play here. Or so she assumed. Fate magic was annoying like that.
The short goblin hopped up on the carriage and kicked open a chest. He let out a whistle.
“Lookie here,” Gavin crowed. “I found the real prize.”
Inside the box were six soul lamps set on a bed of hay to keep them from clinking. Each glowed with ethereal light, a soul in every single one of them.
“Check the building for more,” Elroy said. The werewolf frowned. “Miss Swallows, how did you end up here?”
“I took a carriage,” Sylvia said, gesturing to the broken remains of her ride. “The vampire, Omor, was offering tours. Once I was inside, he brought me here.”
A disembodied soul was easily captured. Afterward, it could be sold to parties of interest. Omor seemed particularly keen on knowing Sylvia was a witch. The trap in his carriage was likewise aimed at demons of a magical nature. From this, Sylvia guessed these men were specifically targeting witches.
Sylvia felt this was rather foolish. Covens often sought justice on behalf of their members. An angry witch had a lot of ways to make a demon’s life miserable. An angry coven….
Yeah.
But, she could see the interest. Formal casters were especially vulnerable to ambush. Magissa slaves were rare. Xemyalistra too, ignoring the succubi. They were also beautiful. This made witches highly-sought exotic goods in certain markets.
Elroy grunted. Golden eyes judged her for a long moment.
“We’re working a case on behalf of High Witch Yvonne Taubert,” Elroy explained. “She runs a charity house for young witches. When a few of her girls went missing, she asked the guard to look into it.”
Gavin offered a sharp, pointed smile. “Yvonne is a guest elder from The First Coven of Pyrkagiás. A very important person.”
Oh. There was an interesting connection.
A coven, by definition, consisted of two or more layers of circles. Those who were part of a circle were called members.
However, covens often had personnel outside the circle itself. These could be guests, servants, apprentices, or elders. Guests were individuals with notable abilities who’d earned the coven’s respect. They could be visiting witches or demons from other lineages. If Sylvia had remained with the Deep Seekers for months on end, she likely would’ve been called a guest.
Elders were representatives of the coven. They were the witches who served in the uppermost circle, or witches who presided over a circle one layer beneath. A guest elder, therefore, was a guest whose reputation was so great the coven treated them like an elder.
High Witch Yvonne was a very important person indeed.
Not only that, she was powerful. High witch was a title granted to skilled mages of the hecates lineage. Only those of the third or fourth consolidation were worthy of this honor. After a witch Transcended, they’d be known as a great witch instead.
If the System hadn’t labeled Sylvia a magical girl after Awakening, she would’ve been titled a high witch. Clearly, she had been cheated.
“She runs a shop, I take it,” Sylvia interjected dryly.
“Yes,” Elroy answered. “For special clientele. She sells powerful items, potions, and curses.”
Curses, huh. If Sylvia was lucky, Yvonne would buy brooms.
“I’d like to meet her.”
-oOo-
Private Booth
Runes: 197
Mana: 99; 33%
Radius: up to 10 meters
Duration: 30 minutes
A law element spell that prevents information from exiting its domain. This magic blocks nearly all forms of data transmission, whether written, visual, or spoken. Outsiders gazing in will see a mosaic. Words would be rendered into indecipherable noise. Even those spells used to spy will lose their function after crossing the veil. Simple techniques like teleporting information won’t work either.
Only divination magics specifically made to escape the power of law can slip through the boundary.
What’s more, when private booth reaches its end, the spell will implode. During this collapse, the threads of causality will be reset to their origin. This effectively deletes information that might be divined after. The impact is similar to the combination of anonymous presence and tangled weave. However, private booth is more thorough in its cleansing.
Due to the greater energy contained within, private booth has a stronger impact on physical evidence than anonymous presence. Further, private booth is broader in nature. It doesn’t just amend information related to a person or a set of persons, rather it strives to reverse all imprinted data within the scope of the barrier, regardless of nature.
Like anonymous presence, private booth will not affect memories. Invited parties and records are immune to the effect.
Sylvia’s Notes: I’m still fiddling with this spell. There’s a fair bit of optimization that can be done, but before I go further I want to war game this magic with Emmy. Informational warfare is not my expertise.
Secure Link
Runes: 122
Mana: 45; 33%
Range: 10 kilometers x Mysticism
Duration: 10 minutes
A mixed elemental spell relying on both psychic and realm. Secure link creates a communication channel between two persons. The experience is quite similar to talking on a phone. In fact, this spell steals much of its runic code from the System’s own phone feature. For this reason, the spell can benefit from the System’s data encryption, provided both parties have a System themselves.
Unlike an ordinary phone, secure link does not transmit through radio waves. Instead, it directly teleports information between parties. Better yet, secure link has an extremely weak ethereal presence. This resolves one of the few flaws in the System’s Phone feature, which is that while the System hides the path of communication, it does little to hide the act of transmission itself.
Most divinations will fail when attempting to pry into a secure link, as the information shared has no clear point in which it leaks.
Secure link requires a target when cast. This can be picked by line of sight. A person can also be identified by other means, such as a deep personal connection, a sample of their essence, or knowledge of their true name. The more identifying characteristics, the easier it is to link with the correct person.
Sylvia’s Notes: Thanks to digitized soul, I can directly hack the System’s phone directory and use it instead. Of course, I could save time by calling that same person instead. But only if they also own the Phone feature.
Fated Request
Runes: 163
Mana: 20 to 180; 33%
Duration: 7 to 21 days
Fated request is a type of wishing magic. Once cast, the spell will melt into the firmament of the plane, altering probability to make any chains of events resulting in the stated request more likely. This spell can be stacked infinitely, though magical efficiency falls off with every cast.
The duration of the spell and the energy it has to influence fate depends on the mana granted when evoked. In general, an empowered single strand is more effective at bringing about long chains of events whereas multiple smaller less energetic castings are better for producing more immediate, short term effects.
As with all wishing spells, the caster can only choose the outcome, not the means. However, the caster’s intent will linger in the spell, making undesirable solutions unlikely. Unlikely, but not impossible. If the request cannot be fulfilled except through means harmful to the caster, fated request will follow the only path given.
Demons are sensitive to magic. As such, they may become aware when placed under a distortion of fate. The more times fated request has been cast, the more likely it is to be noticed. As wishing magic is considered a nuisance, those subject to overpowering wishes tend to be avoided as though they had the plague.
Sylvia’s Notes: When making her invitations, Esmeralda would imbue many casts of fated request into a potion. Then she’d soak talisman paper in the substrate. The final letter consisted of seven smelted sheets, each bearing a different spell.
Whispering Wind
Runes: 16
Mana: 8; 50%
Range: 10 x Mysticism meters
Duration: 2 minutes
A sound aspect magic blending the elements wind and psychic. Whispering wind becomes a thread that extends from the caster, bringing sounds to their ear. This allows the mage to hear things as though they were nearby and unobstructed.
The real charm of this magic, however, is that it can slip through any gap through which air can pass. The spell is also subtle and difficult to detect. However, whispering wind has a flaw. It possesses no counters to common privacy magic and is easily stopped by silent boundary.
Grave Maw
Runes: 62
Mana: 160 to 500; 33%
Attack: 1200 to 2050
Penetration 160 to 500 pierce, 50% multiplier, 25% DRR
Max Range: 50 x Mysticism meters
Extra Teeth: 320 and 480 mp
When cast, three to five stone teeth sprout from the earth in an area four to six meters in diameter. Each tooth can reach three meters in height. These pillars snap shut on the target, adjusting their motions to catch the foe. As a result, grave maw is far harder to dodge than it would first seem.
Like most earth elemental spells, this magic has powerful penetration. The grinding, tearing motion can rip through armor and large structures alike. Grave maw is, therefore, highly effective at destroying siege weapons and fortifications. It can even be used as an anti-titan magic, albeit the range is short and the titan must be vulnerable to attacks from the ground.
Psionic Spike
Runes: 27
Mana: 20 to 60; 33%
Potency: 75 to 135
Range: 15 meters * Mysticism
A simple psychic spell that causes a mental shock or blow. The effect is similar to being hit upside the head very hard. This will leave the creature dazed and possibly directly knocked out. The impact depends on the power of the spell and the development of the target’s mind. This makes psionic spike particularly effective against phantasms, whose beast-like nature leaves them bereft of deep essence.
Multiple psionic spikes produce a build up effect. Through this means, a mind can be overwhelmed. This is often the most effective way to achieve a knock-out. The accumulated effect of psionic spike, however, cures quickly. It will only take 2 to 4 seconds for the mind to recover.
This duration is subject to Spirit: Resolve.
Power calculation: ((Potency * Multiplier) – 10 * Integrity)/Capacity
Strikes made against an unaware or unsuspecting mind are critical hits, boosting potency by 50%. Attacks meeting a guarded mind will be reduced by 20% to 50% depending on how well trained the victim is in resisting psychic attacks. Clean hits that slip through the mental defense land with full power.
Effect Based On Final Ratio
While psionic spike is a formal spell, many bloodlines with a psychic affinity can produce a very similar effect. This natural magic, however, will not be limited by the upper bound of psionic spike’s power. Further, they may well possess a sharpness that can pierce the integrity of the mind.
Ectoplasmic Web
Runes: 41
Mana: 30; 33%
Range: 25 x Mysticism meters
Duration: 3 minutes
A soul elemental magic which releases a sticky spray of spiritual threads. This acts as a web, slowing or stopping the movements of a disembodied soul. This can prevent a dead demon from sinking into Unus Mundus or reduce the effectiveness of tools like slip rings. Because it cannot be used to capture, ectoplasmic web is most often used in a supporting role, allowing more time to deploy a soul lamp.
While soul magic is rare, ectoplasmic web is common enough that most slip rings grant a degree of resistance to it. For such persons, this magic will only slow the slide into Unus Mundus, but cannot prevent it. It is recommended, therefore, that demons with such protections be prioritized for capture.
Sylvia’s Note: I pulled this spell from Emmy’s grimoire. Lady Vallenfelt had kept it from me earlier under the belief young witches shouldn’t play with soul magic.
