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Chapter 91 - Baron and Spells, SC
🕑 Added 2024-07-31 16:51:43 +0000 UTCSunday grabbed the Shield spell from the Arcanum first. He didn’t care how Mera had gotten ahold of it so quickly but hoped it involved a deeply traumatized Zihei. His dislike for the guy was only growing by the minute, without proper reason. He seemed secretive and self-serving behind all the smiles and help he offered. Even if that was all untrue, Old Rud had proven time and time again that it was absolutely all right to dislike people without proper reason. Hate knew no bounds and it was an essential human right.
Not that I’m much of a human nowadays. Still pretty close though.
The spell resisted just for a few seconds before it dissolved and appeared in his soul space in the shape of a light blue stone resting in the grass next to the yew tree. The Shield spell was not Sunday’s favorite choice initially, but it was his by right, and he planned on making full use of it for the time being. He needed some way to protect himself from getting crippled, especially since his next enemy was bound to go for the soul. He still remembered the teeth of the hound, scraping his bones and somehow injuring his very being’s core.
With a whisper, the golden page unfurled before him.
Spells 4/5
Phantasmal Fall (Bonded)
Omen of Duality
Visage of the Berserk Moon
Essence Ward
Essence Ward? That sounds much better and more promising than a simple shield. I doubt the sleazy fucks in the Arcanum don’t know what they’ve given me, but if spells can grow with their casters… then maybe there are no useless spells. Is it up to me to unleash their potential? Is it why Arten was hellbent on keeping the worthless Lampyria spell?
Sunday willed the shield into being, excited to cast a new spell for the first time. Just like before, the feeling was intoxicating and rivaling the greatest pleasures of the flesh. His essence poured out, taking the shape of a small circle resting just above his forearm, hovering less than an inch over his skin. It was dark grey in color with hints of something blue beneath, perhaps due to the practice of the Black Breath, which made most of his essence suitable for death spells. Thankfully the yew tree in his soul space took care of that hurdle. He hadn’t observed his essence like that before, at least not in the waking world. It was swirling like storm clouds and the color only accentuated the likeness. He wondered if he could get one of the vampires to attack it as a test… probably not. The darkness was still around.
He willed the ward to bend and it slowly did, coating his arm like a cut pipe. Trying to achieve more or turn it into something as a bracer proved impossible at the moment, but Sunday was hopeful for the future of the spell.
Casting it was also cheap, especially compared to the moths or what it took to use the Visage of the Berserk Moon along with them. He briefly wondered what would happen if his Essence Ward was used with the moon… or perhaps in the red world.
Sunday blinked as his vision clouded for a second. There was a craving inside of him. A desire just under the surface of his conscious thoughts that whispered to him how great it had been to lose himself. How much strength it had given him.
Fuck that noise.
It was bullshit. He was the first to admit that listening to quiet subconscious urges and the voices they brought along was a fun way to spend time, but there were clear limits. Magic was dangerous. Losing himself as he had without the supernatural protection of whatever entity the Hunter was the stupidest thing he could do. Absolutely suicidal. Whatever the boosted moths had done, he didn’t plan on repeating it soon. Losing control was scary, even if it felt good, and power one couldn’t control was not power one could rely on.
I should try with a single one next time.
The second spell was also enclosed in a cube, but not one of the Arcanum’s. It was a cube of Mesmer Steel that slowly unraveled, revealing what was inside.
Sunday hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in his choice. He had looked down on it the first time, but it was better than the alternative of learning how to flesh-shape himself in a few hours. However, facing monsters with teeth that could rip out his soul with a sword that was on the shorter side was the dumbest thing Sunday could think of. Plus, no matter how special true-silver was, it was just a metal.
The Fearful was a spear, but also a spell. If it had half the strange effects of the Berserk Moon, then things would be smooth sailing.
Sunday wrapped a hand around the shaft of the undulating needle-like spear and poured his essence into it. For just a moment, he felt pain. Stabbing, searing pain, that traveled from his hand to his very soul. It was like the spear had its own will that raged against the idea of serving him. Sunday understood why the spell was named as it was. It was terror akin to the one he felt each time something was threatening his soul. Not as dire, nor as strong, but nevertheless impressive.
As the presence reached his soul space, however, the surging will calm down on its own. For a whole minute, his essence tried to wash over the spell, before finally it seemed to allow itself to be taken. Prideful, aren’t we?
As he succeeded, Mera smiled.
“That was difficult,” Sunday said. I’ve never had a spell resist for so long. Glorified toothpick. I’ll show you who’s the one who should be feared. Or perhaps it is the spear that is afraid? No, what a dumb name that would be.
“I’ve heard it is a picky spell,” she said. “The Fearful served well during my friend’s lifetime, and I hope it will serve you well in what is to come. I’ll help if things go dire, but…”
“No. Don’t help.” Or both of our asses will be history. “I need to prove myself.”
Sunday once again summoned the golden page and made note of the true name of his latest spell. The sight of his five spells distracted him for a moment. This was power. True power that made him more than he had ever been.
Spells 5/5
Phantasmal Fall (Bonded)
Omen of Duality
Visage of the Berserk Moon
Essence Ward
The Fearful Skewer
The true name made him frown but he quickly stopped his face from changing. He didn’t want to offend Mera’s friend. It spoke a lot of the person’s prowess since he had known the true name of the spear. However, the name was becoming more and more questionable after adding that second part.
Skewer just didn’t strike him as a weapon of war or anything of the sort. And the spear was quite strangely shaped too now that he thought about it. It had no ridges or prominent head. Just a long staff with sharp edges.
Like a skewer.
Sunday fed the spell some essence and it appeared with a delay of four seconds as if it had taken a few moments to think if it was worth it. It was full size now, reminiscent in length of some of the lances he had seen some of the guards carry. It looked more like a sharpened piece of silvery metal than anything.
The connection to the spell was faint, unwilling, and brittle. Nothing like the one he had shared with the Smash Ball. It took Sunday a few tries until the spear responded, as if it was a grumpy child, and followed his instructions. Its size changed slowly until it was almost double the length, while the thickness remained the same. Then, a couple of seconds later it was no bigger than a knitting hook.
Interesting. I wonder…
“Do you know what this weapon can do?” Sunday asked. He didn’t have much hope and Mera shook her head, confirming his fears.
“I know it’s unbreakable, and that it affects flesh it pierces in strange ways. Both undead and living. However, I’ve not used it personally to know the secrets to its strength.”
“I see.”
Sunday unsummoned the spear. He had some time before midnight, but the looming fight seemed unimportant now. Distant and like something secondary.
“I guess I should greet my host?” Sunday asked.
“The Baron is a reasonable one. He keeps everyone in check and that’s why we’ve managed to co-exist with so many vampires for so long. I’m near if things go wrong. Unlike his lords he knows what I’m capable of,” Mera said.
Well, that sounds fucking awesome.
Sunday nodded and stepped forward. He was planning on using the opportunity to get to know his enemies if they were to turn such in the near future. As he neared the palanquin the two goliath slaves moved, making him hesitate. The large men, at least assuming they were men, were intimidating beyond their simple size. There was something in their vacant gazes and movements that made Sunday feel like a child in front of an adult.
And then the Baron stepped out. The curtains that had barely moved since their first exchange of greets remained untouched. One moment he had been inside his palanquin doing god knows what, and in the next he was standing before Sunday.
His sharp features and presence were all that was needed to deem him dangerous, but once again his presence was nothing more than one of many. Even the lords registered better in Sunday’s mind. It was a strange feeling, almost as if his mind wanted to be distracted from the person before him.
“Sunday,” the Baron said with a smile. The name came out like a snake’s whisper or the dragging of dried leaves upon concrete. “Sunday,” he repeated.
“That’s my name, Baron…. Uh…”
“Lauden Bloodfang,” the Baron said.
“A bit on the nose, isn’t it?” Sunday laughed, then stopped himself. The vampires around had all silently risen, and about a hundred pairs of angry eyes were staring at him as if all that was stopping them from tearing them apart was the presence of the Baron.
Me and my big mouth.
Contrary to expectation, the Baron smiled. His sharp features twisted into something that was quite kind, and Sunday felt some of the tension in his shoulders flee. It was odd. Perverse in a way. How could a smile make him feel at ease? Was it a talent? But could vampires have talents? He didn’t think so.
“You’re as the rumors say. Rude, ambitions, strange. I see why the Mesmer values you so as to leave her abode and support you so openly… before me.”
“I try my best,” Sunday replied. “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”
“You will show respect you lowlife scum!” Rubien hissed from the side. He seemed angrier than Sunday remembered seeing him. Even their ‘sparring’ hadn’t brought so much anger out of the vampire lord. Was he pretending to get some red points with the Baron? Kissass motherfucker.
“You will stay silent, Rubien. We’ve already lost one lord. Let us not have to cull your number further…” the Baron gently said. It was almost like a snowstorm washed over the vampires, who froze as stone statues and didn’t seem to dare move a muscle.
“That’s a cool trick,” Sunday said. He was deeply impressed by the threat, and how casually it was delivered.
“As one lives through many things, they can turn that experience into a weapon. It is something few of humankind realize in time. All the suffering, all the pleasure, all the dullness… it has value. The short life span and the degrading minds, however, stop them from ever fully using them. Some humans are better at that than others, but… alas. Let us not speak of such topics,” the Baron said. “Tell me, young corpse…”
The wording sent a jolt through Sunday. Most assumed he had come from the burial grounds. One of the vampire lords had rightfully assumed who he was, an Sunday found his gaze. Had he told the Baron? But then… no one had referred to him as a corpse.
“For what purpose will you fight the darkness keeping watch over your soul?” the Baron slowly continued.
“To prove my worth.” And to satisfy a strange bastard that may or may not be a foreign god… Fuck, this is a mess.
“Ah, as you should. Well then, whatever offenses my kind has inflicted upon your honor, they end now. As for your friend… the brother of lady Halline… he shall be excused as long as he serves you. That is my decision.”
Sunday was surprised at that. Was it that easy? Should he have gone straight to the Baron? Damn.
“Thank you, I’m not sure…”
The Baron waved a hand and then he was gone, just like that. Sunday saw his silhouette through the thin curtains of the palanquin. A few words lingered behind. “Talking can wait. Prepare well for the fight to come. We shall stay to witness your glory or your fall.”
We sure will…
