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Chapter 77 - Arcanum Vault, SC
🕑 Added 2024-06-28 20:48:38 +0000 UTCNOTE: As announced 2 weeks ago, I'm starting the 3 chapters a week schedule. I'm also considering changing the days I post to Mon-Wed-Fri for both stories since that seems like a much-preferred schedule overall.
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It was quite strange how quickly things turned from being questioned and scrutinized to being buttered up and praised for work well done. Sunday was truly and utterly lost. It was as if everyone had a different agenda to push, but didn’t know how to go about it. Or perhaps, they knew what he was, and they were testing his responses in various situations, gathering clues about his personality and how to manipulate him.
Tough luck. If one thing could be said about Sunday, it was that he did whatever he wanted. Mostly.
He didn’t complain though. Elora had been sent home after some more questions. Sunday noticed everyone treated her very nicely, and they let her go under the pretext that her family had grown worried.
On the other hand, he was led to yet another floor of the Arcanum. One that could be reached only by a quasi-spell powered lift that required the essence signature of two Rank Two or higher registered and trusted members of the Arcanum. It was an impressive thing and broadened his understanding of quasi-spells woven into the structure even further.
“S-So, you got attacked by believers like… four times?” The still-shaken Zihei asked, while they were slowly rising upward, and passing by more levels than Sunday had thought the Arcanum held. Either it was some visual illusion, which was the most likely answer, or he was getting confused with all the twisting passages and moving walls. He had been mostly silent after his questioning, but whatever conclusion Kloud and Ironbond had reached was obviously positive since he was en route to checking out the very thing he craved so much of – more spells.
“Yep.” I think that makes five, but who cares? “So, you’re terrible at your job just as I suspected? Huh?”
Zihei flinched while the Adept Ironbond, who had decided to accompany them chuckled, making his stiff beard move strangely. “Now, Sunday, don’t be too hard on Mr. Aturi here. He’s a valuable member of the Arcanum, and his literary talent is nothing to scoff at. Plus, he has spoken quite highly of your character and prowess… Although I now understand he hasn’t witnessed anything beyond what I have.”
He was leading them to one of the smaller vaults per his words since Sunday, as an exception for his contributions to the common good and order, was allowed to pick a spell in exchange for the art before even revealing the art. Of course, he had been warned that if the art he offered was worthless, the spell wouldn’t be given to him. That was fair. Sunday trusted in Jishu’s taste.
He was quite excited about it, especially since rank two was just a few tiny practice sessions away. He had to be smart about it though. While it was another major step towards the power he desperately wanted more and more with each day, it was also an opportunity to unleash a rabid beast made of shadowy nightmares on those who pissed him off. He had to be strategic about it.
Zihei looked around nervously as the lift finally stopped its ascend. They were in front of a large platform, leading to an even larger closed door. It was made of silver and steel and the two wings intertwined like weeds, leaving no gap.
“I… Listen, Sunday, I simply lacked the time to properly guide you through the place,” Zihei mumbled. “I respect you, and I recognize your potential.”
Adept Ironbond spoke before Sunday could. “I’m sure you do. Mr. Aturi. Now, Sunday. It is my understanding that you wish to see if any of the spells we can offer you will catch your eye, before allowing us to see your awakening art. We spoke about this, but it needs to be reiterated again. You’re not stupid, and I’m sure you understand, at least partly, the reasons why such a thing is never allowed in the Arcanum.”
Sunday was about to frown and start figuring out what the old fossil was on about again, but Ironbond waved his hand dismissively and his eyes grew serious.
“It is also why I think you’ll understand why we’re making an exception in your case. In your short stay in Blumwin, you’ve done more in the fight against the Divine than we, holding all the power of the Arcanum in our hands, have managed to do for the past few decades.”
Sunday’s gaze softened. Is that right? Either they are extremely inefficient or me being a crazy cultist magnet has something to do with it. Giving me spells in this case is the smart thing to do since I’m proven to be on the right side. And also… just like Mera and company, they must’ve taken some of the ones I slap exorcised and seen that they’re turning out fine. It seems there’s some sort of unspoken competition between the two groups, and this time it’s the Arcanum trying to gain my trust. Perhaps the one being played is me? Showered with gifts like a naïve maiden, and buttered with complicated words and explanations too large in scope for my tiny little mind.
Sunday didn’t speak out any of his thoughts, opting to remain more passive for now. It was obvious that each of his words carried weight, and considering how many times he had slipped up due to his emotions, silence was the only correct choice.
The door took a while to start the opening process as Adept Ironbond took a strange silvery disc and began whispering strange words underneath his nose. This was the first time Sunday had seen anything of the sort, but it felt almost impossible to follow what the Rank Three mage was doing.
“What was that?” he asked when Ironbond grew silent, the first piece of metal moved and the wings of the door started untangling.
“A tongue used to work the quasi-spells woven here. Back in old times, there were no spells as we know them, or at least the most ancient of records claim so. I’m speaking of the times before the Fall, when the Divine were there to serve and protect their followers, rather than drive them to unspeakable madness. Quasi-spells, or as the olden tongue often calls them – enchantments and magic – were gifted by the generous gods to aid the world. Of course, this is just one of the many versions we have. Some claim that it was spells that came first, but it was only after the Fall that we were able to finally see and sense them. That the crumbling of the Divine realm and the destruction of balance had done something irreversible that had brought mortals to godhood. And that it is perhaps the reason why we, undead exist.” Adept Ironbond spoke.
While Sunday had never worried much about history, as the present had proven to be much more important, hearing the man speak like that was quite interesting and drew him in. However, it seemed that everyone had different views and understandings of why the world was the way it was and the truth was hidden.
“What are spells?” Sunday asked. The questions slipped past his lips without intention.
“Ah. The grandest wonder of them all. Spells. There are many theories about it, but I’ll only share my favorite one in this instance since going through them might take a lot of time, and since I find it the most credible due to some factors. Let’s speak about what happens to a mage’s spell when he or she falls to the Divine corruptions since that’s the topic of the day; when they choose to fall.”
Sunday felt Zihei shift next to him as yet another part of the door became a gap. The process was strangely slow, and it would’ve been excruciating if not for Adept Ironbond’s words. Even if the doors took a few hours it would be worth gaining just a little bit more understanding and knowledge from the old mage.
Sunday had come to realize something. It was as if the more one got to know the world, the easier reaching higher ranks became. Expanding the mind expanded its ability to put the soul-forging arts to use and elevate the body and soul to the same level. It was something Sunday had learned from the few notes left by Jishu on the copy of the Black Breath he had been able to decipher. The old bastard had spoken of the worth of knowledge and that a true mage sought it with as much passion as they sought the power of spells.
He finally understood the idea better, as he learned more about the world and the processes guiding it.
“You should know that even a spell that heals,” Ironbond said without breaking eye contact with the door, “will never heal one serving the Divine or even one simply suffering from their poison. Neither your strange moths nor the few healing spells we have and seldom put to use are capable of that. No spell will willingly aid a Divine even if it's commanded to do so. That is the truth for all spells, no matter what they do.”
“For a mage to fall they first have to establish a connection with a Divine capable of corrupting the spells in his soul space, profaning and twisting them them. From our understanding that is a slow and painful process that can take years, since spells inherently despise anything connected to the power of the Divine. During that process, they are stripped apart, broken down, reassembled, and changed. Oftentimes their effects are amplified and altered, but they could also remain similar. However, a fallen mage doesn’t need essence and doesn’t run out of power. They are almost inexhaustible machines of destruction. So naturally, the spells grow stronger the more corrupted they grow while drinking from the source of the Divine’s power unceasingly, just like the mage. It is why fallen mages need to be stopped as soon as possible before they can grow.”
Spells can grow stronger with normal mages too. Sunday thought. His Phantasmal Fall was proof of that, although until he actually learned some proper fighting techniques, the spell would be on the back burner. It was still great as a crowd-control and making sure the moths landed. He had yet to use it at full power since usually he had allies around and it would be a hard power to control. Depending on what spells he got after ranking up, things could go many different ways.
“That is also why spell-fused,” the Adept paused, and Sunday could hear the hidden meaning slip by his ears and sink into the chasm below the platform, “are the only ones we can fully trust to never betray us. They’re not mages, and they inherit the disgust spells feel, since their souls and the spells become one, permanently.”
That’s good to know. I’ll need to confirm it though. But if it's true, then Mera is the only one I can ever fully trust. Everyone else could be reached, corrupted, and brainwashed. He was not going to take things at face value, but the fact that his soul moths were such potent weapons against the laughing horrors proved the old mage’s logic.
The door's complicated dance of metal and silver finally ended and the two wings slid open enough for the trio to go past.
“Have you come here before?” Sunday asked Zihei.
“Recently, when I was granted the Fast Thoughts spell for… signing you up.”
Sunday snorted. “Is that one good for combat situations?”
It was Adept Ironbond responding, as he led them through yet another narrow corridor. This one however was of the same make as the door and looked almost futuristic compared to everything else. It was most likely the work of a spell that allowed one to use metal. He wondered how many spell slots an Adept had, but asking seemed like a bad idea.
“Such spells are good for the creative arts. They operate in tandem with other spells affecting the thought process or in a Scribe’s case, one that allows thoughts to be manifested directly onto paper. There are many spells that are worthless alone.”
Tell me about it. The Vision of the Berserk Moon came to mind. What it had done to Elora was too much, even for Sunday. He briefly envisioned himself training a squad of loyal warriors to turn into berserkers, ready to tear his enemies apart. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The synergy between the Omen of Duality and the Vision of the Berserk Moon was off the charts. He hoped to keep that streak going.
Adept Ironbond led them through a door that hadn’t been visible until it was right under their noses, and Sunday squinted as the bright light of the sky assaulted his eyes.
“This is a Vault specifically curated for you, and your needs.”
Sunday wasn’t even mad that curating anything toward him was possible only because they had spied on him all this time. Before him was a very strange sight. It was a room with a glass ceiling and about a dozen strange crystal cubes sat on pedestals, shining with different lights.
He had expected habitats, like those Mera kept, not this. Still, he stepped toward the nearest one and almost cursed out loud. He hadn’t thought the Arcanum would give him their best, but this was on another level... Inside of the crystal cube was the weakest and smallest of spells. He recognized the Lampyria immediately.
