-oOo-

  Chapter 53

  -oOo-

  Cyril watched a carriage emerge from the tunnels, its wheels rumbling over uneven ground. Three lamps fought against the dark. Two blue-colored lights hung from the front, a third green lamp resting at the driver’s side.

  The minotaur’s eyes shifted to the vampire. Omor offered a subtle nod. Regal vampires were sensitive to the foundations of life, whether they were blood or psychic. Normally, the ghouls would serve as scouts. But that was impossible right now because –

  There’s nothing wrong. Focus on the business.

  It wasn’t important. He should focus on the business.

  Cyril stepped through the foxfire screen. With Nils’s illusion nestled against the burning rocks of Tartarus, it was especially hard to detect.

  “You’re late,” the minotaur’s deep voice rumbled.

  “The paths changed,” the driver replied.

  The driver was a wight in a black cloak. The bottom half of the man’s face was pale and cracked like that of a corpse. The rest was hidden by his hood and magic.

  “The paths are always changing,” Cyril said in retort. “Next time, come early.”

  Cyril was nervous. A deep sense of dread lingered in the minotaur’s gut. It felt as though something was about to go horribly wrong. The sense left him on edge, wary of everything.

  Relax.

  Cyril forced the emotion down. Things were going according to plan. This trade was exactly the same as all the ones before it.

  “That’s not how this works,” the driver said with cold tones. “You’re the one who comes early, never us.”

  The minotaur glowered. Then he gestured. Zarek emerged from Nils’s illusion, carrying a large metal box. The hogmin popped the lid open, showing the glowing lamps inside.

  “I want twenty thousand for each,” Cyril insisted.

  The driver spoke, words even and unhurried. “The agreement is for fifteen.”

  “The guard has been breathing down our neck,” Cyril said. “You asked for more witches. I got you witches, but now that hag Tau – ”

  “Don’t speak her name,” the wight said sharply. The glint of his icy gaze pierced the veil of his cloak.

  The minotaur’s mouth snapped shut.

  “We’ll compensate seventeen for your trouble,” the wight continued. “But there will be no replacement lamps. This is our last transaction. Understand?”

  Accept it.

  “Fine by me,” Cyril said gruffly. “I’ve had enough of this business.”

  Trade in souls was good money, especially when the souls came free and easy. But it was risky. If the guard caught him, he’d spend a century in the box. If the witches found him first, he’d get far worse.

  Far, far worse.

  Witches liked to remind foolish demons that, just because some of them were pretty, they weren’t merchandise. Touching witches in Pyrkagiás had a second danger. If the princesses got involved….

  Shudder.

  The driver made a motion with his hand. A dark shadow peeled from the carriage, carrying with it the glint of metal. A small chest was set in between them. Cyril gestured. Zarek stepped close, checking the contents. Bars of silver. The hogmin took a moment to count before offering a nod.

  Cyril retreated through the veil of illusion, ducking into the short tunnel behind. They’d lie low for a few months. Then they’d keep their noses clean. The guard and the witches would never find out what happened.

  So why did the dread in his heart grow with every step?

  Good boy. Now come to me.

  -oOo-

  A vile intrusion stirred Sylvia’s soul.

  Wisps of psychic ether were drawn from a jar nestled in the depths of her being. Clarity flowed, giving birth to cognition. Sylvia woke, her mind dull like she’d gone days without sleep.

  Something pushed against the edge of her existence. An object slipped through the outer membrane of her soul, magic melting through the barrier, soft and gentle. A foreign mind followed. It pawed about, searching the false compartment created by Hidden Hut.

  Mind obscured, Sylvia watched it happen.

  Soon the intruder found the items left inside. One by one, the foreign will threw them beyond her soul’s boundary. A cheap staff. A set of robes. Several score of loose soli. A space bag filled with knicknacks. Trash Sylvia had prepared for exactly this occasion. An empty soul was suspicious. Every denizen carried a few useful things in their inventory. It was too convenient not to.

  Minutes later, the magic withdrew. The false compartment had been wiped clean. In the empty space was left a pair of cursed items.

  Sylvia’s mind poked at them.

  Then she shuddered in disgust as a sudden, slimy feeling swept over her.

  Having finished their looting, the slavers dumped Sylvia’s soul into a pool of putrid blood. There were no words to describe the sensation. It was like eating moldy ooze, except she had no mouth and no tongue. Then foul essence soaked into her being, loathsome tendrils touching the boundary of her soul. Her spirit trembled. Even as she shuddered, the blood was influenced by her essence. It transformed, forming a kernel of life.

  The seed from which would be born her new, phantasmal body.

  With an emotional grimace, Sylvia tasted the grotesque blood. The gears of her digital mind turned. Moments later, the System translated information into understanding.

  Insidious. Sylvia didn’t know whether to praise her captor’s ingenuity or to vomit her guts out. Well, seeing as how she was disembodied, she only had the one choice.

  The asteri pondered her situation for a long moment.

  With the help of her digitized soul, Sylvia could easily overcome her instinct, preventing this foul essence from seeping into her new form. However, if the core of flesh didn’t develop in this disgusting pool, the slavers might grow suspicious. Realizing this, she ordered her System to absorb the blood until her overall corruption level was fifty percent.

  Hopefully, she’d pass inspection.

  With the distraction set aside, Sylvia’s attention returned to the items the slavers left behind. The first was the expected collar.

  The primary function of any slave collar was to mark an individual as a slave. Few demons had any reasonable way to know whether a collar had been placed legally or illegally. Many witches in her situation had little recourse but to appeal to a magistrate.

  Assuming a magistrate was willing to listen.

  In Sylvia’s case, she could just snap the collar off. The asteri had learned the method when dealing with Gavin’s shackle a few years back. The System had even provided the key code for her.

  Or, seeing as how the collar was isolated by Hidden Hut, she could just casually dump it on the ground. Yvonne’s realm ring array had some nasty tricks. As expected from a witch who specialized in curses.

  Next was the mana tap.

  Mana taps were simple yet effective. Thankfully, Hidden Hut’s false compartment rendered the item useless. Otherwise, this cursed item alone would’ve brought Sylvia to ruin. Though, given her current power, Sylvia might’ve been able to jam the tap thoroughly enough that her pool would regenerate regardless.

  Which would provide a nasty turnabout for the guards.

  Curiosity sated, Sylvia turned her thoughts to more important matters. After a second’s search, the witch found her mirror pad. Focusing her consciousness, the disembodied asteri flipped through the pages to read Belkis’s latest note.

  Sylvia,

  The exchange was completed without issue. We followed the slavers after. It wasn’t easy, they made use of many false trails and anti-divinations. Without the pings of your System, I fear we would’ve lost sight of you. Currently, we’re on the third layer of Tartarus. It looks like they have a staging house here to check souls. We believe yours passed inspection, as you were loaded onto another carriage a few hours after your arrival.

  I’ll send another message when we have more information.

  Your sister and supporter,

  Belkis von Vallenfelt

  …

  Belkis did realize she didn’t have to write her letters like letters, right? If Sylvia had lungs, she would’ve sighed. Instead, the witch used her will to scrawl a quick note before burning the paper.

  I’m in the process of resurrecting. There’s a regal vampire involved, possibly several. I should be mobile in roughly a week. Alert me if anything’s wrong and I’ll teleport out.

  See? It was simple. A couple lines and she was done. Anything more was wasted words.

  With little left to do, Sylvia drifted back into sleep.

  -oOo-

  Rough hands grabbed Sylvia’s arm then wrenched her from the water. The witch was thrown onto cold stone. The suddenness of it left her shocked and dizzy. Her muscles protested, slow and sluggish. Amniotic essence evaporated off her back. The refreshing chill was eclipsed by nausea.

  The System flashed a warning.

  She grimaced. Wonderful. This was exactly what she wanted, a debuff while infiltrating a group of slavers. What else could go wrong?

  Resurrection sickness was most often experienced by the poor. By leaving the pool early, demons could save soli. The result was this, a miserable period of weakness. She’d read plenty of posts on the forums where players groused about the ailment. Not that it changed their behavior. A dozen silvers saved was nothing to scoff about. Particularly if the gamer in question could work while recovering, earning income while sparing a bit of cash.

  Not that Sylvia had ever done so. She was a wealthy lady. Why would she ever leave the pool early?

  A hard boot jabbed her in the ribs.

  “Get up and stand with the others,” a high voice ordered.

  Sylvia pulled herself to her feet, wobbling. A pale-skinned elf leered at her, blue eyes lingering on her naked flesh. She felt like a piece of meat. Shuddering at the slimy gaze, Sylvia used an arm to cover her chest then hurried over to where the other women were gathered.

  The witch was in a large room.

  There were no windows and only one door. The floor, ceiling, and walls were solid stone. At the far end of the room, a basin was cut into the floor, stone steps leading into the thick green water. There, amniotic essence pooled. Sylvia was surprised by the lack of enchantments. Then her gaze swept up, spotting the pipe cut into the ceiling.

  The real pool was elsewhere, Sylvia realized. Good design. No sense putting sensitive equipment close to the prisoners.

  The elf reentered the pool. Sylvia recognized his bloodline. The bastard was a ljosalfar. The light elf paid her little attention. Instead, he snagged the last of the prisoners, a two-tailed kitsune.

  The System tagged the elf C-II/High.

  But the light elf wasn’t the only man in the room. Near the door, observing with cold, orange eyes was a dark-haired vampire. He had pale skin and handsome features. Sylvia felt drawn to his presence. Her body warmed. Her pulse quickened. She felt a shy, girlish attraction.

  The rotten, alien emotion curdled in her gut. She wanted to retch.

  Fighting against her revulsion, Sylvia eyed the man. He was C-III/Low. Her nose wrinkled. She had a desperate itch to kill the vampire on the spot. Instead, the asteri turned pastel pink eyes toward her companions. Three women were huddled up in the corner of the room next to her: a siren, a prisma, and a zoi. All three were witches. Two were in the first consolidation, while the last was unconsolidated. Actually unconsolidated, not consolidated then transmigrated.

  A child by netherworld standards. Sylvia felt her hatred burn hotter. Ironic, because it was kids like the zoi who were most likely to serve as slaves in Hell.

  She didn’t miss that there were only five girls in the room. Eight lamps had been in the box. Were the others elsewhere? Or were they being resurrected in lots? If the latter, Sylvia was lucky she was in the first group. Hopefully, they hadn’t been sold to a different slave house.

  “How dare you!”

  The fox woman’s screech broke Sylvia’s reverie. The kitsune tore her arm from the light elf’s grip, her expression twisted by rage.

  “Do you know who – ” Crack! “Eeeaaa!”

  A sharp whip cut across the woman’s face. She screamed. The pale-skinned elf laughed, his psychic lash held high. The ljosalfar’s face was twisted with glee. With sadistic joy, he struck the woman twice more, the barbs of his lash ripping bloody lines along her delicate flesh.

  Crack! Crack!

  Her screams turned to whimpers. Sylvia shuddered. Belkis was right. Sylvia hadn’t understood what she was volunteering for.

  “Stupid bitch. Do you think you’re special?” the elf gloated. “The only thing women like you are good for is fucking.”

  The bastard gave the fox woman a good hard kick.

  Quivering, the kitsune remained curled on the ground. Sylvia’s hand shook, her teeth grinding. Not yet. It’d be so, so easy, but it wasn’t time to strike yet. First, the asteri had to contact the others. Once she’d confirmed everything was in place, then it’d be time to set the stage.

  And once everything was in order, she’d burn the building down around them.

  With seething breaths, Sylvia’s heart calmed, her rage reaching a controlled simmer.

  “Enough,” the vampire cut in. “Get her up then take the girls to their cell. You can play with the witches later.”

  The vampire’s gentle smile was like sweet poison.

  Sylvia’s cheeks warmed, a pleasant trill running through her body. The mirrored mind of her digitized soul made the falseness all the clearer. The witches around her didn’t notice. Instead, they ducked their heads, blushing like schoolgirls.

  Even Sylvia had to fight against the urge to think of the handsome man as ‘nice’.

  The elf scowled. He kicked the kitsune a second time. “You bitches heard Vadim. Get your useless asses moving.”

  A few seconds later, the men marched them out the door.

  The group emerged into a hall that ran to her left and right. In alcoves cut into the corridor, ghouls were placed like statues. The humanoid creatures were stooped, their skin dark and cracked like a decaying corpse. All of them were dressed in simple livery. Instead of hands, they had claws. The talons extended ten centimeters further than human fingers ought.

  C-II/Mid, Sylvia noted. These phantasms were stronger than the ones commanded by Omor. Which indicated the level of the vampires who’d birthed them.

  Not that it mattered. A single scythe or an arctic gale would wipe them all out.

  Head lowered, Sylvia blended with the women around her, afraid to peer too close. Ghouls were familiars. A regal vampire could watch through their eyes or listen through their ears. A worry fluttered in her heart. Maybe, her eyes too? No. That couldn’t be the case. Though her husk had been born from the same rot, there was a distinct difference. She had a soul and her soul had shaped her body. It wouldn’t be so easy for a vampire to intrude.

  And she might well notice if they did.

  They turned the corner. There was only one path to the right. Sylvia made use of her time, her mirror pad flipping to a new page. She scrawled a few quick words.

  I’m alive. Resurrected early. Ping me. If you’re close, I’ll contact you.

  They continued through the dull, gray hall. The empty space was illuminated by ether light lamps set in the walls. No windows, like before. They were underground, Sylvia concluded. Eight ghouls were positioned along this path. For a witch without magic, escape was impossible. Only a mixed species, like the kitsune, had a spark of hope.

  For what little good it would do them. Disturbing the ghouls would only serve to alert the family of vampires who owned this place. And Sylvia was fairly certain it was a full family and not a loner like Omor.

  Cautiously, Sylvia wiggled her fingers.

  The tiny motions were a gesture releasing runes into the world. To keep the spell’s flux hidden, Sylvia cupped her hand, holding it near her hip. The essence of her phantasmal body was a shield, obscuring the faint hints of her magic. This trick Sylvia had learned from Quiet Curses. The skill book had cost her seven hundred merit points. When combined with the three spells she’d taken from Yvonne, the technique became quite useful.

  A rat’s nest of runes grew in her palm. Pure mana was catalyzed into fate. The spell drank the energy, releasing weak ripples. One fragment sank into Sylvia’s flesh. The other melted into the world, utterly invisible even to the asteri’s starlight eyes.

  Obscured approach took hold.

  A pressure fed into Sylvia’s mind, an omen of danger arising from the objects around her. The vampire, Vadim, radiated mild warning. Fainter threat rose from the blue-eyed, blond elf. The ghouls, by contract, gave only the slightest hint of hazard. The true peril came from the building itself. The walls. The floor. The ceiling. The doors. The alcoves.

  Everything was a threat.

  The silver-haired witch nearly missed a step.

  Obscured approach was a prophesy combined with wish magic. Like fated request, it altered the probability of events. Its influence, however, was narrower, leaving spells more powerful for it. Obscured approach stifled any alarm that might interfere with the caster’s action. The neat twist was how the spell provided feedback. Everything that might reveal Sylvia’s plot radiated an omen of danger. This gut feeling would grow stronger as the danger drew closer.

  The light elf threw open a door. “Get inside the room.”

  Wearing an evil smile, the ljosalfar tapped his psychic lash against his palm. The lash was similar in shape to a riding crop, though a crop wouldn’t have razor sharp thorns on one end. Err… the ones on Earth didn’t anyway. Or, at least, Sylvia presumed so. She wasn’t an authority on horses.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Frightened and confused, the women piled in. Sylvia moved with the mass. They crowded into a ten-foot-by-ten-foot cell. Three dull-eyed slaves were already present: a succubus, a yuki onna, and a sea nymph. Sylvia had never seen a nymph before. The woman had scales around her fan shaped ears.

  Bang! Shunk.

  The door slammed shut behind them, bolt sliding into place.

  “They can’t do this to us,” the zoi whimpered. “It’s against the law.”

  “The law? You think they care about the law?” the kitsune spat.

  The fox woman took a few short steps only to be stifled. With two fluffy tails thrashing behind her, the kitsune turned back then leaned against a stone wall, her face a mask of fury.

  Kitsune were from the Katergaris lineage. They weren’t, technically speaking, witches even if they were schooled in magic. That left the tailed woman as something of an oddity. Everyone else in the cell was a witch, including the three present before their group showed up.

  Somebody must’ve grabbed the kitsune and sold her by chance.

  “Next time they open the door, we should jump them,” the fox woman suggested.

  “It’s useless,” the yuki onna said. She had pale skin and silvery-blue hair. Her eyes were a chilling lavender. “There are ghouls in every hall.”

  “Then we fight them,” the kitsune insisted. “Worst thing that happens is we die.”

  The statement drew two bitter, broken laughs.

  “We don’t have any mana,” the prisma murmured. Her golden hair was streaked with luminescent white. An affinity for lightning, no doubt. “There’s nothing we can do against them.”

  Sylvia spared the conversation half an ear. Her attention was focused on the walls. Why did they radiate an omen of danger? She placed a hand against the surface. Th-thud. Th-thud. Faint and barely detected, ether pulsed through the stone.

  The building was alive. Sylvia grimaced. Great. They were inside a territory phantasm.

  She was tempted to hit it with an observe. Wary of detection, Sylvia tasted the air instead. Chaos. She knew the ineffable allure. The astral ethers were thicker than they ought to be on the third layer of Tartarus. Law, in particular, was denser than the rest. No. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t the law element she was scenting. This was something related. A complicated aspect with law as the main constituent.

  Her expression turned grim. Sago pudding. The slavers had a hobgoblin.

  Energy stirred in Sylvia’s soul. All at once, words were written on a note.

  Little sis,

  We’re in the city of Ypnos Skiás. Unless we made a terrible mistake, we should be close. Call me when you’re ready. If not, I will send the information we’ve gathered. Be safe. And if you’re too far away for a secure link, that means we lost sight of you. In which case, you should flee immediately.

  Your loving sister,

  Belkis von Vallenfelt.

  Yeesh. What was up with writing everything like a letter? This misbehavior was clearly Emmy’s fault.

  Pastel pink eyes flickering in either direction, Sylvia wiggled her fingers. Realm was catalyzed from space and void. It bubbled in her palm, her ki holding the signature tight. To this mix she added a touch of psychic. The asteri pushed the runes through her flesh, letting them bubble up into her mind.

  A line was cast out into the world. Belkis. Sylvia thought her sister’s true name. In her mind, she saw a lonely yellow flower growing on a crag jutting from a molten lake. Encircling the flower was a crown of gold.

  The connection locked into place.

  “Belkis,” Sylvia mentalized. “Can you hear me?”

  “Little sis,” Belkis’s voice echoed into her ear. “I’m so happy to hear from you. I was worried we’d lost you.”

  “You didn’t,” Sylvia replied.

  The words were a psychic vocalization in her head, more than a thought but not sounded out loud either. The omen of danger didn’t shift in the slightest. Secure link incurred no new risk.

  No surprise there. Sylvia’s spell was designed to be hard to detect. What’s more, hobgoblins were demons born from a human soul. While they could sense everything in their domain, their mind couldn’t process the deluge of data. So just as an insect could crawl unnoticed along human skin or a snack could stay hidden in the refrigerator, the hobgoblin might see her while being unaware of her presence.

  “Is everything in place?”

  “We’re in position,” Belkis confirmed. “And the anchor has been planted. You should be safe now. Isabella, Silas, and Josephine are with me along with Elroy and that goblin you call friend.”

  Sylvia wanted to smile. She stopped herself.

  “As for Egushawa and Yvonne, they left to scope out the villa. I hope they’re planning to help, because without them this is going to be a serious challenge.”

  “We can handle it,” Sylvia dismissed. “And if we can’t, I’ll retreat. Since you’re in the right place, I assume you’ve learned a lot while I was out. Tell me what I need to know.”

  Belkis paused. Sylvia imagined the prisma sorting through her notes.

  “We believe you’re in a villa owned by Baron Dmitry Naopte. He’s a regal vampire who lives a dozen kilometers outside of Ypnos Skiás, a small town on the third layer. He has no authority over the town itself. The fief belongs to Viscount Khalid.”

  By small, Belkis meant Tartarus small. Thus, the territory would have a population in the tens of thousands. It’d dwarf Vallen, Starport, and Viridian City for sure.

  “A baron?” Sylvia questioned.

  She pressed her lips. A baron meant power and resources beyond their expectations. It was good that this wasn’t Lord Naopte’s fief, but it raised the danger level considerably.

  “He’s the only major figure of the right bloodline in the area, but you’ll have to confirm before we’re sure.”

  “I need to reach the upper floors first,” Sylvia replied. She paused, then asked. “Why would a noble involve themselves in a trade like this?”

  In the cell, Sylvia watched the kitsune cajole the others in helping with her mutiny. It wouldn’t work. Dying, though, would waste some of the slaver’s time and money. Sylvia approved. Not that she’d join them. She needed a stealthy way out of this prison and into the villa proper.

  “From what we can tell, Baron Naopte had a fief in the White Mountain Expanse. A couple decades back, they found a vein of ice crystal in his territory. A viscount in the area decided the windfall should be his. Lord Naopte bet big on the war, thinking he could earn it all back after. He lost everything.”

  Debt then. As a member of the noble class, Lord Naopte would be afforded every chance to avoid slavery. However, much of his wealth would be repossessed to cover his default. And, if he dragged things out long enough, the courts might seize his retainers and eventually his person.

  In desperation, the Baron had turned to the illegal slave trade hoping for fast cash.

  This was a dangerous business. The profits weren’t great either. A common slave sold for a hundred thousand soli. Pretty girls could go for twice that. But slaves had to be trained, and that cost money. Acquisitions would run a pretty penny too. What’s more, there was no way people would pay auction house fees for a slave bought under the table.

  Hence, his decision to target witches. Witches were exotic goods. It’d be hard to sell them to brothels. As strange as it might sound, the brothels liked to be on the up and up. They weren’t short on slaves either, though they were always on the look out for more beautiful girls. No. Magissa and xemyalistra would be sold to upper class contacts. The wealthy always wanted to have what the plebs could not.

  And a baron was exactly the right sort of person to make the sale.

  “How many supporters does he have left?” Sylvia questioned.

  “Not much. The Naopte family and a couple of retainers outside of it.”

  Not too bad, then. Lord Naopte’s retainers would be second consolidation demons for the most part. A few might’ve Awakened. Older nobles tried to keep devils by their side to exert influence. Only young nobles, like Lady Vallenfelt, would stoop to having first consolidation peasants in their inner circle.

  Though desperate men did strange things.

  Sucking in a breath, Sylvia told Belkis the bad news.

  “He has a hobgoblin.”

  Katergaris Xotiko Spiti was the bloodline better known as the hobgoblin. Hobgoblins had a powerful form of territory magic. Over time, they could convert their house into a magical extension of their body. Hobgoblins outside their domain were weak. Within it, they should always be treated as a titan one class higher.

  Hobgoblins were a rare species of demon. Few produced progeny of their own will as hobgoblin magic put the demons in competition with their brother. Rather, it was the nobles who added the code to pure souls to spawn goblins of this sort. A friendly hobgoblin was a noble’s best friend.

  A hostile one, however, was a noble’s worst enemy. So hobgoblins had to be raised with care.

  “What!? He has a hobgoblin!?” Belkis’s voice rose on the other side of the line. “Little sis, get out of there immediately.”

  “We need to confirm I’m in the right place first,” Sylvia refused.

  Bang!

  Her eyes jerked to the door.

  Wearing a smarmy smile, the blond elf entered. Beside him was a raven-haired woman in a cute, red dress. The design was reminiscent of a maid uniform, with a few obvious differences showing unknown cultural origins.

  “Hello again, ladies,” the elf crowed.

  “If there’s a hobgoblin then this villa has a heart. I want it and I want their bloodline code too. Stop being a worrywart. If things turn south, I’ll have plenty of time to run,” Sylvia pushed quickly. “What I need you to do is get everyone ready for action. If I don’t check in within the hour, assume the worst and tear this place apart.”

  The ljosalfar’s sadistic blue eyes swept over their naked forms. The putrid, leering gaze made Sylvia’s nose scrunch in displeasure. The elf licked his lips, taking joy in the girls’ discomfort.

  “Congratulations, one of you little sweets is going to volunteer to be today’s good girl,” the elf said. His smile was vile. “That lucky thing is going to get some very, very special training. As for the rest of you? Heh heh. Bad girls have to be punished.”

  The ljosalfar bent his psychic lash, pressing the object into an ‘n’. This whip was a common tool of punishment. The Academy kept a few for especially unruly girls. Demons were resistant to pain. Sylvia could easily endure extreme tortures like evisceration. The psychic lash struck the mind as much as the flesh, delivering agony like mortals suffered when flogged.

  Sylvia wasn’t sure it would work on her. Most tools were built expecting first or second consolidation targets. As a third consolidation witch, there was a good chance the pain would be blunted. For all she knew, the impact would be nothing more than a casual slap.

  Not that she planned to test it. Not even with Emmy. Sylvia wasn’t that kind of girl.

  “Good luck, little sis,” Belkis whispered into her mind. “And whatever you do, don’t force yourself. It’s not worth it.”

  Her secure link disconnected. The spell dissolved into nothingness.

  “So who’s it going to be?” the elf questioned. He licked his lips, striding to the left and right as though observing a buffet. “No takers? Spoiled bitches. I guess I’ll just have to start beating you until someone wises up and accepts our friendly invitation.”

  Grinning, the ljosalfar stepped forward. The frightened zoi opened her mouth.

  “I – ”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Sylvia cut her off, hand raised to call attention. The silver-haired witch wanted out of the room, and the elf’s offer sounded like a good way to do so without attracting attention. Nearby, the nature witch lowered her head. The zoi bloodline was attuned to the life domain elements. Fiia from Belkis’s circle had been a zoi. Countess Chanlina was also a zoi.

  “Looks like we have our volunteer,” the elf laughed. His vile smile returned. “Now, the rest of you, get on your knees. Five lashes for refusing our kindness.”

  The kitsune gave a subtle nod. A couple of others glanced in her direction, returning the gesture. Then, all at once, they attacked.

  The tailed fox took the lead, her hands extended like talons. Nails slashed across the elf’s face, skittering off an invisible barrier. The siren struck from the side. Useless. The light elf triggered a medallion with his mana. Vines ripped through the floor, grabbing the naked women in their spindly grip.

  With a hideous laugh, the blond man lifted his psychic lash and brought it down on the siren’s back.

  Crack!

  The woman screamed.

  Sylvia’s teeth ground. She wanted to kill him. Instead, the asteri wiggled her fingers. One hundred and seventy-three runes were born from eleven secret motions. The single strand was tied into a complex, composite knot. A rune was woven from runes. Virlithmalt, a flesh aspect sigil meaning: ‘an entrenched rot’.

  Worms of rot was an evil curse Sylvia had pinched from Yvonne. Like its namesake, the hex slithered. The spell slipped along the ground, the glimmering glyphs barely visible even to the witch.

  Then the hex pounced on the elf’s ankle. It sank into flesh, wriggling through his veins before curling near the fey’s despicable heart. There the curse would incubate. After five minutes, it would be ready to erupt. Then, at Sylvia’s trigger, the spell would devour its host from the inside out.

  Sylvia’s lips curved. Her fingers fiddled again, casting the spell a second time. It was better to be sure.

  “Stupid bitch!” the elf screamed. Madness filled his blue eyes. His lash came down again and again with a sickening crack. The siren’s back became a horrible, patchwork of blood. “This is what happens when girls raise their hands against their betters.”

  The silver-haired witch averted her eyes. And to think, people said the light elves were the good ones.

  “Please come with me,” the maid said softly.

  The woman’s face was dull and empty, her eyes a verdant forest behind still glass. Josephine had a blank face as well, but this raven-haired witch was very different. The maid wasn’t just vacant on the outside, she was just as hollow within. This wasn’t a person. This was a walking, talking husk.

  Baron Naopte’s training had scooped out the woman’s mind, leaving nothing behind but a pretty toy.

  Sylvia followed.

  The door to the cell shut. The screams, however, echoed in her ears. They’d get theirs. These bastards would get theirs soon enough. But first, Sylvia had to prepare their ending.

  Without a word, the maid turned. Sylvia trailed behind her.

  Hand cupped, the asteri’s fingers moved again. Psychic energy gathered in her palm. Crystalline heart. The maid was a warning. With the vampiric bloodseed polluting her body, Sylvia wanted another layer of protection.

  The hollow woman led Sylvia into a well-furnished room.

  “Today’s volunteer, master.” With curtsy, the verdant-eyed maid greeted the man inside. Her delicate cheeks showed a touch of color.

  Vadim studied the silver-haired witch.

  The orange-eyed vampire was cold, his grim face showing not a hint of emotion. Sylvia felt a pull from his presence. A desire to serve. To supplicate herself. The urge was coupled with an alien warmth that crawled through her body. Attraction. Until this day, Sylvia had never once been attracted to a man. Occasionally, she might reluctantly note their handsome appearance, but never had she felt anything akin to arousal.

  Not even when meeting a man as dashing as Malik Nychta.

  The sensation made her guts twist. She was disgusted. Disgusted by the feeling and disgusted with herself for feeling it.

  Psychic magic was insidious. Overcoming the spell didn’t erase the incurred emotions any more than surviving a fireball meant feeling no heat. With her level, her awareness, crystalline heart, and digitized soul, Sylvia could ignore the impulse to serve.

  But these layered defenses couldn’t remove it.

  Yet, Sylvia had the salve of knowing her emotions were false. The deceit would vanish the second the vampire was gone.

  Girls caught unaware, however….

  The netherworld undersold the threat of psychic magic. It was hard not to, when the danger was eclipsed by the element dream. But souls were not static things. People learned. Minds grew. Long-standing mental effects were like a vessel. The longer a witch spent under the Naopte family’s perverse power, the more their personality would conform to that intangible shape. If they were kept long enough then, at some point, no magic would be needed to compel that witch to serve.

  Perhaps something of the original person would be restored with time or transmigration.

  Sylvia could only hope.

  “A volunteer from the new batch,” Vadim observed. He snorted. “Your eyes are sharp, girl. You came here thinking you could get the better of me. You were wrong.”

  Sylvia remained silent. The dark-haired vampire watched. His orange-eyed gaze on her skin and breasts was all the more uncomfortable because magic forced her to enjoy it.

  “When I speak, you will respond with: ‘yes, master.’”

  …

  “Yes, master,” she replied.

  “Today, I will test your subservience,” Vadim continued. “Escalating tasks will be given for an hour. Defiance will be met by the psychic lash. Ten failures and you will be left in the punishment room for the rest of the day. We will begin simple. Put on your uniform.”

  “Yes, master,” Sylvia accepted.

  The asteri approached the table as ordered.

  With her back to the vampire, the witch’s lips twisted into a cold smile. She could feel the man’s psychic magic feeding her mind with pride and pleasure. These alien layers of thought were made clear and distinct by the combination of digitized soul and crystalline heart.

  In front of her was a blue uniform. The outfit’s design was similar to the one worn by the glassy-eyed maid. Sylvia scanned it. No magic. No enchantments.

  Sylvia slipped into clothes.

  The asteri didn’t need Vadim’s nudge to feel good about it. Though short, the dress’s skirt and the uniform covered more than nothing at all. However, as soon as she donned the garment, a subtle, slimy spell oozed into her skin. Not the power of psychic or blood. This was the power of law.

  She had unknowingly acquiesced to the hobgoblin’s rules. The villa’s domain was now exercising sovereignty over her.

  Ding.

  Sylvia grimaced. She’d underestimated the degree to which these crumb muffins would try to control and manipulate women. Psychic magics to play with emotions. Laws to crush them into a specific shape. She wondered what the Naopte family did when the girls got into the latter parts of their training.

  Would the bonds become harsher? Or, perhaps, they would reverse. The baron would loosen the shackles, molding the maids with less magic so that the unnatural distortions could be folded into their natural selves.

  Sylvia made use of the time gifted while she dressed. Her fingers wiggled, weaving a law of their own. One hundred and ninety-seven runes seeped into the room, spreading along the walls. Private booth took form, slicing this space from the rest of the house.

  The omen of warning suddenly dropped to fearless clarity.

  Sylvia straightened her skirt, magic dancing on her lips. With a sudden swirl, she faced Vadim.

  “■~ – ”

  Mana pulsed, natured into psychic energy by her will. While one spell stood on her tongue, Sylvia’s hand flicked. A chain of runes flew forth, melting into the rush of power. Vadim’s orange eyes went wide, psychic ether gathering around him.

  Sylvia’s psionic spike struck first.

  The mental blade slammed into the vampire’s brain. Unready, he staggered, his thoughts turning to slush. Sylvia continued her chant, winding sixty-eight runes into a ball.

  “~■ ■■.”

  The spell swept around Vadim’s body, whirling tighter and tighter around his head.

  Sylvia preferred to kill. Murder was faster and surer than a soft take-down. And, in the netherworld, there was little reason to hold back. Even if she slaughtered the innocent and guilty alike, Sylvia would have plenty of time to sort them out later.

  But right now, she didn’t dare let a soul enter the villa’s resurrection pool. The mere thought of it summoned a gut-wrenching omen of danger.

  Thus, Sylvia was forced to use tricks. The spell wrapping Vadim’s mind was called unbroken slumber.

  The vampire’s eyes drooped. Instinctively, he fought the magic, his consciousness squirming as it tried to escape Sylvia’s lullaby. Unbroken slumber wasn’t designed for combat. The primary use was capturing stunned or sleeping beasts. A resisting mind could claw its way free, particularly if the target in question was a regal vampire schooled in the psychic arts.

  At least, he could’ve if the power of Sylvia's magic didn’t vastly exceed the vampire’s spirit. If not for her resurrection sickness, Vadim wouldn’t stand a chance.

  A chance Sylvia ruthlessly ended. The asteri’s hand formed a seal. A second psionic spike hammered into the vampire’s mind. The demon’s thoughts shattered a second time. Unbroken slumber tightened around Vadim’s fragmented thoughts. The vampire flailed, but the spell had sunk too deep. With her absolute dominion over ether, Sylvia crushed his weakened will.

  The orange-eyed man collapsed onto the floor.

  “Ah.”

  A soft cry escaped the maid’s lips. The raven-haired girl quivered. For a brief moment, a spark of light appeared behind the dull glass of the maid’s eyes. Then it vanished. The hollow woman straightened, prim and proper.

  “Good girls do as the masters tell them,” the maid said with a placid voice. “Bad girls must be punished. Please follow me to the punishment room.”

  The omen remained weak. This broken thing wasn’t going to alert anyone.

  Sylvia sighed.

  “There’s not much left inside of you, is there?” she murmured.

  Perhaps, as Eric, she would’ve found the image stimulating. No. Not even then. There was a disparity between fantasies displayed on a computer screen and the horrors experienced in real life. Sylvia had learned this viscerally when she’d killed Natalie in the Academy. The feel of her spear piercing flesh. The sound of guts shuffling. The spray of blood. The expression of pain on Natalie’s face.

  How many bandits had Eric killed while playing video games? A million dead sprites couldn’t equate to a single, physical corpse.

  Eric – for all his faults – would’ve felt the same fury, which went to show how sick the Naopte family must be. And how diseased the morality of their buyers were.

  “Please follow me to the punishment room,” the maid repeated. “If you do not comply willingly, a harsher punishment will be delivered by the masters.”

  Sylvia shook her head. Instead of answering, the asteri gathered psychic ether. Energy flowed from three minds: the maid’s, the vampire’s, and her own. Ethers of life were rare in the atmosphere. Soul and psychic were especially so. But these energies were released continuously by living, thinking beings.

  She just needed to put aside the time and effort to claim it.

  “Please follow me to the punishment room,” the maid said a second time, like a faulty robot. “If you do not comply willingly, a harsher punishment will be delivered by the masters.”

  Sylvia stretched out a hand, then placed it on the woman’s skull.

  “■■■ ■■■■■ ■■ ■■, ■■■, ■■■, ■■■.”

  A long chain of runes created a frame which was pressed into the maid’s mind. To it, Sylvia attached a triplet of threads. Marionette, the third magic Sylvia had harvested from Yvonne. Marionette could take control of a person, forcing them into any action including suicide or betrayal.

  The only trouble was, the more forceful the compulsion, the clearer the threads would be and the faster they’d break. Against the powerful and the skilled, this was a worry. Against the weak and the broken, if three threads wouldn’t do, Sylvia could keep adding them until she had twelve.

  “Please follow me to the punishment room,” the maid said with the same empty smile. “If you do not comply willingly, a harsher punishment will be delivered by the masters.”

  “Quiet.”

  Sylvia’s words reverberated through the psychic threads, tugging on the maid’s mind. She expected the woman to make a token effort to resist. Instead, the maid’s consciousness capitulated, willfully embracing Sylvia’s suggestion. The witch realized, with disgust, that the maid had been subject to mind control for so long that surrender had become her natural instinct.

  Smile frozen, the hollow woman remained in place.

  Sylvia watched her for a moment. When she was sure the maid would do nothing, the asteri marched over to the vampire, then dragged him under the table and out of sight.

  “Forget about Vadim. Forget what I did. Forget the spells I cast. Forget everything. Focus on me. The only important thing is me,” Sylvia commanded.

  This time there was a shudder of resistance. The maid’s mind fought against the threads but it was useless. Soon the woman’s thoughts settled. She wouldn’t actually forget, of course. Marionette wasn’t that kind of spell, nor did Sylvia know any memory magics. But recent events would be put out of mind, and with them out of mind, the maid’s tendency to subservience would be all the stronger.

  Pastel pink eyes sharp, Sylvia pondered her first question.

  -oOo-

  Realm Skip

  Runes: 116

  Mana: 60 + 30 * Consolidation; 33%

  Range: 25 * Mysticism meters

  A realm element magic which lets the caster blink to a new location within the range of effect. The mage does not require line of sight for this teleportation, instead they may feel in a direction during the moment after casting. That said, teleporting using line of sight is faster and more reliable.

  Realm skip incurs a mana burden according to the spiritual mass of the caster’s body and soul. This spell can only be used on oneself and never others. In combat, teleportation spells like this are incredibly rare until a demon’s wealth is great enough that realm catalysts become easily accessible.

  Sylvia’s Notes: A year back, Glenda asked for a bunch of blink lizards to vivisect. Since we had a few in captivity, I decided to reverse engineer their magic.

  Obscured Approach

  Runes: 307

  Mana: 200; 33%

  Duration: 2 hours

  A fate element magic that suppresses the chance of an enemy being alarmed by the mage’s presence. What constitutes an enemy or an alarm depends entirely on the caster’s intent. This could be as bold as invading a castle or as mild as sneakily preparing a surprise birthday party.

  Obscured approach is narrow in its effect. As a result, the distortion of luck is far stronger. However, because the time frame is shorter, more complex chains of events will not occur. Further, in high risk scenarios, the spell’s duration will wane rapidly. In extreme cases, the duration might be reduced to fifteen minutes.

  Interestingly, this spell only prevents ‘alarm’. It doesn’t prevent discovery. Persons who would not trigger a ‘hostile’ reaction to the caster’s intent will not have their observations affected in the slightest. This can result in a mage striding past a group of distracted guards, only to be casually noticed by a surprised servant.

  Unlike most fate magics, obscured approach provides feedback in the form of an omen. The caster will have a vague sense as to the probability of being discovered. This omen of danger will grow more intense as discovery approaches.

  Obscured approach should never be used against archdemons or great demons sensitive to fate. For such beings, the sharpness of their senses can easily turn the spell into a beacon revealing the caster’s approach instead of obscuring it. Multiple casts of obscured approach do not stack. The duration, however, will be extended to that of the latest spell.

  Worms of Rot

  Runes: 173 (18 trigger)

  Mana: 15 to 150; 33%

  Attack: 500 + 25% Max Hp

  Range: 3 to 15 meters * Mysticism

  Incubation : 5 minutes to 5 seconds

  Duration: 24 hours

  Worms of rot is a vile, blood element curse which plants a hex inside the body. The hex slowly incubates over a five minute period, after which it can be triggered for maximum effect. The curse will then turn into a figment devouring the blood essence of the target, dealing 500 + 25% of the target’s maximum hitpoints in damage. The base damage bypasses all defense. The proportional damage, however, is reduced by Vitality: Toughness.

  Damage: 500 + (Max HP) * (25% - Toughness/100)

  * Damage is not affected by the mana spent.

  In its lowest energy form, worms of rot is a sneaky spell which is very hard to detect. Few demons below the third consolidation can see or feel the spell, even if cast directly in front of them. Even a great mage might miss the curse if targeted while distracted. However, the caster should be warned that the more worms of rot placed in a body, the easier it is to detect.

  The spell is highly effective when used against weaker titans.

  Worms of rot may also be cast in a more blatant manner by placing additional mana or blood ether into the spell, reducing the curse’s incubation time. Additionally, the energized runes will have a greater velocity making the curse a better fit for direct combat. However, the more energy placed in the curse, the easier it is to sense.

  Once incubated, the spell may be triggered with an 18 rune incantation and a small amount of mana. When done, all the incubated worms within 5 kilometers will erupt at once. Unincubated worms can be set to erupt when the time is reached, or they can be made to stay silent.

  Marionette

  Runes: 244 (base), 61 (string), 22 (psychic knife)

  Mana: 100, 30, 30; 33%

  Range: 5 meters x Mysticism

  Potency: 200 per string

  Duration: 30 minutes (base), varies for each string

  Marionette is a psychic spell that can be used to subjugate others to the caster’s control. Commands are passed through the psychic strings to the target, compelling them into action. Commands do not have to be spoken out loud. These commands will feel natural and acceptable as though they are arising from the victim’s own mind.

  Generally, it is best if the spell is used as a soft suggestion. The more blatant the mental effect, the more aware the victim will be of the psychic strings influencing them.

  Struggles against marionette are a contest between the victim’s Magic: Dominion and the caster’s Spirit: Integrity. Even weak, unskilled resistance will snap a string after 60 seconds. Skilled resistance with competitive magical power can reduce this time frame dramatically. Spells cast using internal runes will work against marionette, they don’t need to be externalized. Indeed, the grimoire listing the spell provided a highly effective counter-magic, psychic knife, which easily severs a puppet string with each cast.

  That said, marionette is not limited to one string. The frame can support up to twelve psychic strings. Further, the caster need not pluck every string to influence their puppet. With proper technique, a victim can be tricked into thinking they’ve escaped the magic while remaining under control.

  The degree of influence is determined by Potency / Integrity. In general, this means more strings are needed to control more powerful persons. In theory, even an archdemon could fall under the sway, though they are likely to sense the spell and have techniques to break it.

  Unbroken Slumber

  Runes: 68

  Mana: 60; 33%

  Range: 1 meter x Mysticism

  Duration: 1 hour

  Unbroken slumber is a psychic spell that has the effect of putting the target to sleep. Once the rune chain is planted in the mind, the target will remain in slumber for the next hour. No ordinary action can wake them. Even stabbing them with a knife or lighting them on fire won’t disturb this magically imposed sleep.

  Generally speaking, unbroken slumber cannot be used in battle. For this spell to take hold on a resistant mind, the caster’s Magic: Dominion must be two to three times the victim’s Spirit: Integrity. However, unbroken slumber is highly effective against an unguarded mind. If the recipient is already asleep, then next to no protection will be provided.

  Unbroken slumber is often used to capture beasts. The common technique is to first knock out the phantasm with psionic spike after which unbroken slumber may be cast freely. However, full knockout isn’t necessary. Unbroken slumber can be slipped in through the gap while the target is stunned, provided the mage’s magic is comfortably stronger than their foe’s spirit.

  Starry-Eyed Hero

  by QuiteTheSlacker

  Ten year old Astra has always dreamed of reaching the stars.

  As a humble farm boy living in the countryside, Astra's been surrounded by forests and flowing rivers his entire life. It's a routine full of family fun, community, and good ol' hard work... but sometimes, he'd lay on the grass at night and gaze out toward those bright stars above.

  He'd reach out with his hands, and he felt a yearning to see them: to form a bond crossed in starlight, regardless of the vast space between. Thus was a wish sent to the cosmos. One day, he too would shine just as bright.

  That opportunity would soon come in the form of a galaxy-wide competition for the chance to enter the most prestigious school in the milky way, Excelsior Academy, where noble children from the kingdoms of the Twelve Constellations are raised to become leaders, scholars, and most importantly warriors against meteoric monsters from beyond the void. The encroaching slither of the Constellars.

  Astra doesn't have a special bloodline, belong to a royal house, nor is he the chosen one. But against all these kids with powerful backgrounds and fated destinies, Astra has only one wish.

  To shine bright as a starry-eyed hero.