Xylix
patreon
Netherwitch - 45
🕑 Added 2025-07-19 16:00:11 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 44 | Table of Contents | Chapter 46 >>
-oOo-
Chapter 45
-oOo-
It was late morning. Rays of sunlight filtered through the lush leaves of Yaalon brightening the land. Beneath the branches of world tree, the day was shadowed. The intensity of noon was less than that of Pyrinas proper, as though the sun had been obscured by a haze of clouds.
Yet, with this light came warmth. Temperature was more a notion than quantity in the netherworld. Still, the plane followed the classic logic. The heat of morn burned away the night’s fog. The mist had already been driven from the village. In the forest, however, wisps of gloom still clung in the gaps between trees protected by the canopy.
But not for long. In another hour, perhaps two, the mist would vanish entirely. Then the eerie woods would be wrapped in frightening cheer instead of haunting drear.
Sylvester Swift indulged in this perfect day.
Sylvester was a short man, dressed in a dapper, pinstriped suit. On his head rested a top hat, an ode to gentlemanly fashion, while in hand he held his cane. This was staff of sorts, capable of guiding mana and channeling ether. The butt of the weapon clacked atop the stone walkway as Sylvester traveled along Adventure Road.
Ahead loomed the town square, a block no more than thirty meters in breadth. To the left lay the Guild Hall and to the right, the Item Shop. Ahead was the stone bridge that divided town from forest, the only safe path across the river.
That was, unless, you were a witch who owned a broom.
But the gamers of this world did not yet command such wealth.
Sylvester came to a stop, lips curling in disgust.
“Pretentious,” he spat. “To think that woman regards herself so grand simply because she was here first.”
At the center of the square, surrounded by beds of flowers and stone benches, was a dais and statue. The figure was of a witch, ten feet tall with a crooked hat. A staff and book were held in hand. A plaque identified the idol: ‘Sylvia Swallows, founder of the Cloud Island Wilderness and first governor of the plane.’
Sylvester turned his crimson eyes from the sculpture, gazing instead at the group of seven gathered near the base.
“Pardon my lateness, good sirs and ladies,” he said suavely as he joined them. Sylvester doffed his hat and offered a bow.
“I don’t recognize you,” A lanky, brown-haired warrior spoke. Sky blue eyes showed a touch of suspicion. “Which group are you from?”
“Sylvester Swift,” Sylvester answered with a haughty tone. His hair was short and silver-white. His eyes a deep red, like jasper jewels. “And you wouldn’t recognize me. I was brought directly to Starport after my arrival, so I could attend the Moonlight Academy.”
With an angled look, the suited man displayed his sense of superiority over these ‘lesser’ gamers.
“I’ve never heard of it,” a warrior snapped.
Sylvester gave the new speaker a glance. He was a swordsman with a wooden shield lashed to his back. The warrior glowered, seeming put off by the red-eyed man’s arrogance.
Henry Taylor, the brown-haired warrior who spoke first, frowned. The lanky man looked over at the freckled blonde that stood beside him.
“I can’t say I know much about Starport,” Henry said gruffly. “Riley?”
The witch let out a heavy sigh. A few moments ago, she had dropped her face into her open palm.
“It’s real,” Riley ground out. Her bright green eyes fell on the gentleman wearing a pinstriped suit. “But I’d heard the academy only takes girls.”
The petite witch stressed the word almost playfully. Sylvester scoffed. Riley smirked, revealing her cute dimples.
“A common misconception. While the Moonlight Academy was created by witches and mostly serves their numbers, it does, in fact, enroll men,” Sylvester answered returning hat to head. His gaze switched to the brown-haired man. “And it is of little surprise you haven’t heard of it. The Moonlight Academy will only open its doors to the public as the new year dawns.”
Sylvester left unsaid the politics of the matter. Moonlight Academy was led by Allison Myers not Esmeralda Vallenfelt, and Miss Myers was more accepting of mixed gender classes. Furthermore, by taking students of both sexes, the school had garnered the System’s support.
This was quite important. With the System’s endorsement, hours spent on classes and homework counted toward completing daily quests. What’s more, students could earn audit tickets should they perform well. An audit ticket being a System item that instantly granted 100 hours of study in any class.
These enticements made the academy alluring even to players who could purchase skill books.
That was not to say the baroness held no sway. Lady Vallenfelt had simply opted for a more remote influence as a member of the board. Further, she’d organized a set of scholarships that could only be granted to enterprising women.
“Can you handle yourself in a fight?” Henry asked.
“Of course I can, good sir,” Sylvester retorted.
Riley sighed. “Since he came from the Moonlight Academy, he’ll be competent.”
Henry glanced back at redhead who was sitting on the stone dais, half shadowed by the statue’s robes.
“As long as he pays, it’s on his own head,” the man answered, golden eyes glinting in dark. “Two silver. Take it or leave it.”
“Is that all?”
A pair of silver coins appeared between Sylvester’s fingers. He let the currency run between his digits before throwing them in Henry’s direction. The lanky warrior caught the virtual objects, the projections disintegrating into polygons in hand.
Henry nodded.
“Then we’ll begin.” The warrior’s sky blue eyes swept the group. “I’m Henry Taylor, a level 169 barbarian. I’ll be team leader for this adventure.”
“Silas Wells,” the redhead supplied. “Level 162, shadow hunter. Second in command.”
“And I’m Riley Smith, level 242 common witch,” the freckled blonde greeted.
It had become normal, in the Cloud Island Wilderness, to introduce oneself with both class and level. For an asteri, the meaning was straight forward. Class advancements were linear. For gamers, however, class advancements branched into a complex tree.
Genetically speaking, gamers were members of the Ouranios lineage. The Ouranios lineage was famous for its adaptability. The beast-kin bloodline made use of this feature to accommodate the chimeric taint left in their souls. The common celestial used this feature in reverse, by adding to their code with every consolidation. This technique of disseminating bloodline keys was the cornerstone of Heaven’s caste system.
Particularly in the Modern Era after the tribulation had been ended.
Lucifer had rather shamelessly duplicated Heaven’s approach. The difference being that gamers received a bloodline key automatically upon class advancement, courtesy of their System. A bloodline key was a patch to the nether code, adding genetic depth and diversity.
The nature of this change was shown in the name of a player’s class.
In their first tier, gamers could be warriors, hunters, or mages. In their second tier, the options expanded. For instance, warriors could diverge into barbarians, fighters, or martial artists.
Henry Taylor had introduced himself as a barbarian. This meant he’d have traits focused on durability, stamina, or strength. By contrast, Silas was a shadow hunter. By taking this route the redhead gained the natural magic wielded by Iulian Codrin, the shadow vampire of Nox Sanguis Umbra bloodline.
“Don’t look down on Riley,” Henry said, offering the blonde a friendly smile. “We’re lucky to have her. The only reason she’s not leading this party is that mages can’t command while they cast.”
“Damn straight,” Riley responded with a grin.
Sylvester’s eyes narrowed. Those two… were standing a little too close.
“Before we head out, I’d like to lay down some rules,” Henry continued sternly. “First, always do what you’re told. If I issue a command, there’s a reason for it. The Beginner’s Forest is dangerous. There’s a real chance we get wiped before making it to the end and back. I have no patience for troublemakers.
“Second, stick with the group. No wandering off. No poking the wildlife. Phantasms are aggressive enough as is. They don’t need encouragement. Remember, this is a guided tour, not a hunting expedition. Our goal is lead you through woods so that you can get a taste of the world. We’ll be avoiding the monsters where we can, and if we can’t, only then will we fight.
“Third, and most importantly, don’t bring anything you’re afraid to lose. If the majority of our members survive we’ll try to carry your equipment back, but I won’t make promises. So, if you have anything valuable on you, I suggest you store it in the Guild Hall.”
Henry’s gaze fell specifically on the short man wearing a pinstriped suit. Sylvester huffed.
“I am quite confident in my ability to survive,” Sylvester retorted. He tilted his cane in the barbarian’s direction. “The better question is, are you?”
Henry stiffened. His sky blue eyes showed a hint of anger. Sylvester’s gaze didn’t waver. Did this bastard think he was worthy? Henry was just a little brat playing house, not even one year old.
“Oh god,” Riley mumbled. The blonde raised her voice. “If everyone’s ready, we can enter the forest together.”
Henry let out a breath, pushing his emotions aside. “Silas.”
The redhead stood. His golden eyes flashed toward Sylvester.
“No refunds.”
“I can only hope this tour is worth the price,” Sylvester said snidely.
The ugly looks he earned were delicious.
In a mob, the party left the square.
Silas flitted ahead at a hurried pace, vanishing into the trees within moments. Henry led the rest at a steady march, prodding the gaggle forward and over the bridge. There were five low level players on this expedition, if Sylvester included himself. Two warriors. Two hunters. One mage.
Sylvester pointedly placed himself at the back.
Clack. Clack.
His cane rung as he strolled over arched stone. Water burbled beneath, rolling around the stone pillars set in the bridge’s base. The Westlake River was fifty meters wide where they crossed with a deep and powerful flow. In the dark, turbid waters shimmered a glint of sapphire. An emerald eating crocodile that would happily gobble any girl foolish enough to take the dive.
As they entered the woods, the air grew cooler. Mist clung to the roots of trees, split by rays of sunlight slipping through the forest canopy.
Far away, a wolf howled.
Henry spoke, tone hushed. Without the bustle of the village he was easily heard.
“We divide the Beginner’s Forest into two section. River side, which covers anything within two klicks of the Westlake. This part of the woods is considered reasonable safe, especially near the bridge. If you pick up a daily that calls for lumber, river side is where you should go to complete your quest.”
“Just don’t forget the foresting rules,” Riley chimed in. “Only trees with five or more droms. Cut down anything else and you’ll lose more merit points than you gain.”
Henry nodded. “The dangerous part is the deep forest, which we’ll be entering shortly. Most of the high level phantasms are found there. Group size and encounter rates also go up.”
“Are we allowed to hunt the other animals?” A woman carrying a glaive asked.
“They’re figments,” Sylvester interjected. “Creatures with little essence quickly fade into nothing when slain.”
It wasn’t impossible to hunt figments so long as they had a thread of deeper existence, but it demanded real skill to keep the meat. Also, their parts were generally useless. And it was easier to find profitable true phantasms.
“Same with most of the plants,” Riley added. “If you’re planning to run harvesting quests in the Beginner’s Forest, buy Observe Resources. Or join a party with someone who has. That way you can save time.”
“Track threats is equally important,” Henry grunted.
A quiet settled. Trees rustled with the wind. The Beginner’s Forest was a silent wood having few birds and insects. This added to the haunting atmosphere, dreariness clinging to the group like a fog.
But this gray haze wasn’t enough to stop players from gawking like tourists at their surroundings.
Henry took it slow, allowing half an hour to pass before traveling a single kilometer. As the minutes passed, curiosity faded. The eyes of the low level gamers grew sharp.
A voice broke the silence.
“What kind of monsters can we find in these parts?” a hunter with a bow asked.
“Blood wolves, dodos, blink lizards, and the red-eyed raven,” Henry answered. “Blood wolves are the easiest fight, but they travel in packs of three to eight. The dodos stick near the water. There’s a few ponds and creeks in the woods, so you can find them even here in the deep forest. The governor cleans up the large flocks regularly near the river. But when you get near the mountains, don’t be surprised if you run into ten or twenty.”
Several gamers in the group shuddered, reminded of their introductory trauma.
Sylvester smirked.
“I’m curious, who among our group survived their greeting.”
The swordsman with a shield scowled. “Did you fight one? Or did they take your pansy ass straight to Starport?”
Eyes like jasper turned toward the warrior. Sylvester’s smile resembled a sneer.
“I’ll presume you were gutted like a fish then,” he said.
The swordsman’s hand fell to his hilt. His was not the only dark glower directed at the man in a pinstriped suit.
“Enough,” Henry barked.
Cowed, the group settled.
“I hope he dies,” a spear carrying hunter whispered.
They marched on. Sylvester continued proudly, heart feasting on their hatred. When the bitter quiet drew on too long, Riley decided to break it.
“The wolves aren’t native to the plane. We reconstituted some cores from the Timeless Beryl Wilderness then added them to the world logic. It took some doing to keep the first of them from getting eaten, since the beryl blood wolf is weaker than most of the creatures here,” the asteri explained. “That was one of my early quests, Howls of the Forest.”
“Did you complete the quest with Governor Swallows?” the glaive warrioress asked eagerly.
Riley’s bright green eyes veered toward the silver-haired man briefly.
“That’s right,” the freckled blonde answered. “I was partying with Natalie and Willow at the time.”
“Chances are we’ll run into a group before we reach the mountains,” Henry added, smashing aside a bush. “The woods are lousy with them.”
With the barbarian at the lead, they continued through the forest. The sun rose higher, burning away the last wisps of the morning mist. This, however, did not make the woods feel any safer. Henry’s expression was grim. Riley, from time to time, would let loose a pulse of causality, magic pinging off distant beasts.
Only Sylvester seemed untouched by the seriousness of it. Instead, the red-eyed man watched Silas’s shadow, capturing the brief glimpses slipping between the trees. The shadow hunter used his magic sparingly, no doubt fearing his pool would empty.
Sylvester’s gaze veered off to the freckled blonde.
The starlight witch held a long staff in hand, an amber crystal at the tip. Green robes hugged her figure, showing a hint of the shape hidden beneath. A strip of sunlight struck the girl, refracting off a subtle barrier in a rainbow glimmer.
Only the asteri was well-equipped. The other gamers wielded weapons of stone.
Stone didn’t mean weak. The netherworld was an ethereal universe. Through forging and magic, stone could be gifted strength surpassing steel. Weapons could be laden with concepts or enchantments granting supernatural powers.
This wasn’t the case, however, with the weapons found here.
No, these swords and spears were exactly as they appeared. Complete and utter garbage.
There was no helping it. A good staff cost two gold at a minimum. An excellent sword, fit for a second consolidation warrior, commanded a ransom of fifty. Even if the oldest players could afford this price, which they most certainly could not, they wouldn’t dare make the investment.
Because such a weapon was easily lost.
Unless soul bound, equipment worn outwardly would drop upon death. Space bags were no substitute, because who’d keep their weapon in a space bag during a fight? What good would it do there? Not that space bags could be purchased either. They were unavailable for the exact same reason soul bound equipment was missing.
The plane lacked soul-space silver.
Though, recently, there had been progress on that matter.
“Look, we’re getting close,” the hunter with a stone spear said excitedly.
Smiles grew on multiple faces. Through the canopy, could be seen the mountains surrounding Axis. Here, to the west, they were squat and rounded. But to the north and especially the north-east, there were peaks so terrifying they threatened to split the sky.
“I thought we’d run into monster by now,” the swordsman grumbled.
Sylvester sneered. “Be careful what you wish for.”
The warrior shot Sylvester a dirty look. They continued forward. Five minutes later, Riley unleashed a wave causality.
The witch suddenly stilled.
“Enemies,” Riley mouthed. She held up three fingers.
Henry nodded, unholstering his weapon.
The expedition group looked around, nervous. The warrioress clutched her glaive while the swordsman flipped his wooden shield off his back and into his offhand. The hunters gazed out into the woods, one carrying a spear and the other a bow, arrow notched but not yet drawn.
“What kinda monster it?” the swordsman asked eagerly.
Pop.
The sound was faint, barely heard over the rustle of the wind. A noise like a bubble burbling up from the bottom of a still lake. Sylvester’s lips quirked. Sly, red eyes found a creature clinging to a tree, a flat-bodied lizard with a curled tail. Sharp claws dug into the trunk, rough, scaly skin blending with the bark.
The blonde witch was the second to spot their attackers. She whirled, pointing her staff. Ether surged around her.
“■ – ”
As the first runes fell from her lips, the world exploded into motion.
A lizard opened its maw, tongue shooting from its throat. The limb flew with the swiftness of a bolt cast from a crossbow. The air whomphed, the appendage piercing through eight meters of space in an instant.
Calm and cool, Sylvester met the blow. His cane swept out, the rod impelled by ki. Tail whip. Wood met tongue even as the silver-haired man slid to his left with smooth, unhurried steps. The hard parry smashed the appendage aside, sending it swaying to his right.
The tongue curled, wrapping around his cane.
Sylvester’s eyes narrowed.
The phantasm sucked its tongue back, threatening to tear the weapon from Sylvester’s grip. The silver-haired man gave slight push with his life force. Ki expanded out in thin halo. Then it rolled.
The tongue slid from the pole as though it had been oiled.
“■, ■,” Sylvester spat in retort.
Two strings of runes curled, merging with the ether of air. Wind hardened into a steely blade. The two curved swords flashed out, bodies but bare ripples.
But the weight of their magic was ample warning.
Pop.
The reptile vanished. Ch-chunk. The wind blades tore a cross-cut into the tree behind, slicing a quarter of the way through the trunk.
A man screamed.
The second lizard hadn’t been so neatly handled.
Sylvester looked back to see a pink line punched straight through the spear hunter’s chest. The length of flesh curled. Then, almost as fast as it appeared, it drew back taking the man’s heart with it.
Tch.
Sylvester clicked his tongue. Blink lizards were Class II, mid-ranked phantasms. Low level gamers were not their match. Not because of the gap of power. What these dull-witted tourists lacked was experience.
This wasn’t a video game. Phantasms didn’t play fair.
“■■!” Riley shouted.
The blonde witch gestured. Stone exploded from the ground in a deadly flower. The second lizard vanished before the sharp rock could draw more than a few bloody scars, the hunter’s heart already in its gullet.
“Blink lizards,” Henry announced, deep voice raised in warning. “They can teleport anywhere within fifteen meters. They have a rhythm of sorts, as they pause between blinks to refill their ether. If you can force them to teleport fast, they’ll empty their mana pool quickly.”
Riley said nothing. A clear plane of ice floated at her side while her bright green eyes scanned the area. Blink lizards blended naturally with their terrain, but that kind of camouflage provided only marginal advantage against an asteri’s starlight eyes.
Against the other gamers, however….
“Stay together and keep your eyes peeled,” Henry commanded. “Defend when they attack. Silas and Riley will flush them out. You pressure them when they appear, but don’t go more than a dozen meters from us. You’ll fall into a trap.”
The two warriors nodded nervously. The last living hunter clutched his bow.
As for Sylvester? He leaned on his cane, wearing an amused smile as though he were watching a show.
Riley stopped, gaze fixed in the distance. She raised her staff, draining ether from the crystal up top. “■■”
A stone flower bloomed. Rock tore through wood and trunk. A tree was uprooted in an instant. A terrified lizard jumped from his perch before skittering across the ground at an amazing speed.
Riley pointed. “■■”
The third flower was born. The frightened phantasm vanished.
Riley drew ether to refill her staff. Slow and steady. Sylvester nodded in approval. A fine tactic.
A tongue lashed out. Pink flesh struck from behind, targeting the witch. A plane of ice whirled. Pa-chink! The beast’s tongue hit with the fury of thrown spear. Clear crystal shattered. The limb punched through then skittered off Riley’s shoulder.
Power drained by the first defense, the phantasm’s attack was too weak to break her armor’s barrier.
Henry lunged.
Ki uncoiled beneath his feet, launching him forward with incredible acceleration. Three meters were erased in a flash. Before the tongue could withdraw, the barbarian snagged the wet flesh in hand, twisting it in his grip so it wrapped around his palm.
The lizard pulled back. Henry slammed his feet onto the ground, ki spreading out in a network of roots that left him anchored. He leaned back, jerking in the opposite direction with all his weight.
The phantasm squealed. “Keee!”
Then it jumped.
Propelled in by its tongue, the lizard flew across the clearing. A clawed hand sliced through the air. Henry dipped, tilting his head while tanking the blow. Sharp talons struck, cutting bloody lines across his face.
With the blink lizard so close, Henry punched up. The pommel of his sword smashed into the beast’s gut. The lizard bent, spine taking the shape of a U while its eyes bulged out.
The barbarian released the shocked phantasm’s tongue.
Gripping his sword with both hands, Henry adjusted his stance. Then he slashed down with the force and fury of a mountain.
Pop.
Only to strike empty air.
The lanky barbarian whirled, left eye dulled and squinted.
By pure luck, the bow hunter saw the creature first.
The man drew his weapon, bow bending into a crescent moon as he aimed. Living mana melted into the notched arrow, leaving it haloed in gleaming light.
Thft!
He released.
The projectile flashed, a beam of light curving by three degrees per the hunter’s intent. The lizard wiggled, hoping to evade. Too late. The projectile hit, the arrow’s head exploding through scales and flesh. The shock and power was no less than that of an anti-material rifle.
Not to be out done, the other warriors charged. Realm ether sparked. Pop. It was gone.
Disappointed, the man and woman came to a halt.
Sylvester wasn’t interested. Instead, his gaze was turned up. “Oh?” the silver-haired man noised. “You noticed it.”
In the canopy above, Silas Wells crept, a hunter stalking his prey. The target? A dark-feathered raven with three, ruby eyes. Unaware of its opponent, the vile phantasm stared down on the expedition team.
The air pulsed.
Psychic magic, its energy weak and dispersed. Even with Sylvester’s eyes, he only caught the motion because he was looking right at the bird when it happened. An evil whisper slithered into his ear. Kill. Murder. Betray. Hatred stirred in his heart, an angry beat carrying putrid desire.
Sylvester wobbled his ki, stirring the ether in his head. The buzz vanished.
But he’d never been the raven’s target.
Instead, the bulk of the spell sank into the glaive wielding warrioress, an invisible giant closing its claw upon unwitting prey.
The woman stilled. Her eyes went red.
Then, with sudden manic energy, she swung her weapon. Her stone glaive struck flesh, carving a thumb deep wound across her companion’s back. The swordsman staggered. Driven by madness, the woman attacked again, screaming at the top of her lungs as though she were a wounded animal.
Thud!
The swordsman managed to raise his shield in time.
“Are you crazy!”
Rather than answer, the warrioress stabbed at the man’s exposed thighs.
Right then, Silas pounced.
The canopy burst into motion. With impossible perception, the raven leapt from its perch. Silas adjusted his course, daggers wrapped in a haze of black. The hunter slashed through the air, cutting the raven in half.
Except, before he hit, the phantasm melted into illusion.
“Caw! Caw!” It cried angrily, fleeing backward.
Undeterred, the shadow hunter lunged after.
“With that, I suppose this game is finished,” Sylvester commented to himself.
The silver-haired man sauntered forward, lazy steps holding surprising speed and grace. His cane whipped through the air. Clunk! The shock blew the warrior’s sword to the side, the suddenness leaving him staggered. Sylvester adjusted his grip. With one, smooth motion he slipped closer to the warrioress.
She flailed in his direction.
Sylvester ducked. The glaive whooshed over, knocking hat from head. Jasper eyes narrowed in anger. Sylvester thrust. Ki spiraled through his body then out through the tip of his cane. The strike took the woman straight in the skull, hardened life force softening into a blunted pillow.
The woman reeled back.
With a casual parry, Sylvester beat the swordsman’s blade aside a second time. Then, flipping his cane, he used the handle to hook his top hat and put it back upon his head.
“Murder is best saved until after we kill the deadly beasts,” Sylvester tutted.
The swordsman glowered. “She tried to kill me first!”
“Have you never heard of the red-eyed raven,” Sylvester sneered in retort.
“You!”
“What happened?” the warrioress mumbled dizzily. Then she snapped to awareness, her expression turning to one of horror. “I… I didn’t mean too!”
Shaking his head, Sylvester ignored them both. The battle in the canopy had come to its inevitable end, the raven’s essence rendered into pulp by the violent power the shadow hunter’s daggers.
The lizards, however, remained.
But not for long.
“■■!”
Stone tore through the earth. This time, the phantasmal beast was not so quick on its feet. Hard, sharp rock ripped through the creature’s belly. Wounded by the hunter’s arrow, the damage proved too much. The blink lizard twitched twice then slipped into death.
Henry and Riley stood close, searching the woods for the last monster. Silas watched from above, perched on a thick branch.
Moments later, the remaining blink lizard struck.
A tongue flashed from the woods.
Henry jerked Riley to the side. The barbarian swept his sword through the air. Too early. Instead of parrying, Henry missed. Pfft. Pink flesh pierced through the lanky man’s lower ribs. Henry let out a pained grunt.
Despite being pulled, Riley was unflustered.
“■■■■, ■■, ■■.”
A fast chant conjured three marbles of water. The bullets flew as though fired from a pistol. Pfft. P-pfft. The first punched through the lizard’s scaly head, shattering bone and tearing flesh. The second and third hit shoulder and chest, leaving bloody holes in their wake.
Realm ether flashed.
Too late.
Pop. Thud.
The blink lizard vanished. Then, a second later, the corpse fell to the ground unable to cling to the tree to which it had teleported.
“You big buffoon,” Riley growled, moving closer look at the barbarian’s wound. “What were you thinking, jumping in front?”
“That taking hits is part of my duty,” Henry answered, teeth gritted.
The brown-haired man looked at the blonde, blue eyes tender. Sylvester’s expression sank into a scowl.
“Don’t act so tough,” Riley said. The witch smiled before slapping the man on the shoulder.
“Sorry,” Henry apologized, his own lips quirked.
The barbarian’s ki flowed into his wound, stitching broken flesh. Warriors received the trait overflowing life with their initial class. This gave them the ability to convert ki into blood essence at a reasonable clip.
Silas descended from the upper branches, as graceful as a ghost.
“Sorry for being late,” the redhead interjected, slipping knife into sheath. “I saw the raven and thought it took precedence.”
Henry nodded toward the shadow hunter.
“That was the right call, Silas,” Henry replied. “If the raven escaped, it’d keep feeding us mobs until we died.”
Red-eyed ravens were nasty creatures. Their innate psychic attack could manipulate gamers and phantasmal beasts. If a raven couldn’t kill its enemy directly, it would fly off and use its magic to cajole the wildlife into doing it for them.
Sylvester stepped closer, his cane thudding heavily against the dirt.
“What a beautiful display of foolishness,” Sylvester interrupted snidely. His jasper eyes swayed to the blonde. “Is this thick skulled neanderthal worthy of your attention?”
Henry’s sky blue eyes hardened. The brown-haired man straightened his shoulders, glaring down at the silver-haired mage opposite. Silas studied the situation for a moment, then stepped back.
“I think I’ve heard enough,” the barbarian grunted, hand tight on his sword.
Riley grabbed his shoulder with her left hand, then pinched the bridge of her nose with her right.
“Could you please lay off the protective big brother act Sylvester,” the freckled blonde groaned.
“So you admit your crimes,” Sylvester accused, slamming his cane against the dirt.
“Yes,” Riley said dryly. She snaked an arm around Henry’s waist. “I admit my terrible taste in tall, strong men.”
Disgusting.
Henry frowned. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“Sylvester and I go way back,” Riley griped.
Henry’s blue eyes narrowed. “Is he harassing you?”
“No,” Riley ground out. “He’s harassing you. Can the both of you please not start anything.”
“It’s not a matter of what I’m starting that’s relevant here, but what he’s starting,” Sylvester said sharply.
The crimson-eyed man glared, daring Henry Taylor to do more. Tch. This rock-headed man didn’t even look like a proper barbarian. He was tall enough to be sure, but he was all thin and gangly. A real barbarian should have biceps thicker than his head and a chest like a barrel.
“If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you spend then next hundred years regretting it,” Sylvester warned, cane extended in threat.
“I should say the same to you,” Henry retorted.
With a pair of angry glowers, the expedition continued.
-oOo-
“Did you have fun?”
Riley’s tone was dry. The sharpness in her green eyes revealed the witch’s exasperation.
The sun had set an hour past, the last vestiges of twilight already faded. Now Axis owed its light to the rainbow hue cast by Yaalon and the ether lamps dotting the streets. Sylvester leaned back in a wooden chair, a white clothed dining table between the two of them.
Two stone plates sat empty and discarded. They were clean. The grilled chicken he’d ordered was long since devoured. Without the support of the dish’s essence the sauce, bones, and other remnants had evaporated into nothingness.
The meal had been satisfying. That was the best praise Sylvester could offer. This wasn’t the cook’s fault so much as the plane’s lack of development. Given a few years and this restaurant, The Taste of Adventure, could grow into something amazing.
Until then, Sylvester would continue to serve as a patron of the arts.
“I did indeed,” the silver-haired man confirmed, unabashed.
Sylvester’s cane was propped against the chair to his right while his top hat was hung on the post. The silver-haired man still wore his pinstriped suit, legs crossed in a lazy manner.
“At least show a little remorse,” Riley groaned. The witch paused, before shifting her focus. “I thought the whole point of transforming yourself was to get in touch with old Eric.”
Romantic, yellow lights illuminated Riley’s blonde hair, transforming it into molten gold. This was an outdoor table, the cool night’s air carrying a pleasant chill, a great improvement over the restaurant’s stuffy interior.
“No. The point was to remind myself of what I liked about being a man,” Sylvester corrected. “There is a subtle and important distinction. Eric Swallow was the man I was and a man I had never enjoyed being. Sylvester Swift is more akin to the man I’d be if I’d been born a warlock instead of witch.”
Masculinity and femininity were vague concepts. They were more a product of society than emergent traits of nature. When he’d contemplated them in seriousness, Sylvester discovered that the notion of the ‘real man’ was an ideal more absurd than the ‘angel of the household’.
Men, it seemed, were expected to be strong, tough, and domineering. They were to be warriors or kings. Preferably both.
But can a man be a warrior without a war?
And how can there ever be more than one king?
It was no wonder masculinity tended toward the toxic. To strive for this illusion meant grinding society beneath your boot. It was a recipe for selfishness and ruin.
That was not to say the extremes of femininity were better. They were simply different. Any woman could conceivably become a beautiful wife or a gentle mother. It was just that the feminine meant oppressing oneself rather than oppressing the other.
“An asshole?” Riley questioned.
The silver-haired man smirked.
“I’ll admit, I took some inspiration from a man I despise,” Sylvester said. He leaned forward gripping his chin. “What do you think? Is this face more handsome or punchable?”
Riley snorted a laugh.
“Just don’t go too far with your trolling,” the tomboy reminded. “There’s a fine line between prankster and bully.”
“Then I’m sad to say, I might have to save ‘Sylvester’ for my enemies,” Sylvester lamented.
Well, it wasn’t as though there was a shortage of them around.
“So… how long do you plan to stay like that?” Riley asked, gesturing at the man.
“Another hour,” Sylvester said. “I brewed a potion for this transformation, so I have to wait it out.”
Spells slipped into the body would be ground down by the spirit. Only superficial effects, outside the reach of the core essence, were lasting. Like curls added to hair.
As with many things in life, there were several solutions to this problem.
Longer sequences of runes tended to survive better in the body, so higher level spells generally had greater duration. Tools, such as a visage, could recast the transformation continuously granting the effect so long as a mage’s mana could last. Then there were potions. Potions buried magic in a substrate. Once imbibed, this essence would not only fuel the spell but also shield it from erosion.
There was, however, a hitch. Magics cast by the self carried intent and were easily canceled. Spells bound to a potion were far harder to dismiss.
“I never got to that unit,” Riley commented.
“The Moonlight Academy has opened its doors,” Sylvester pointed out.
Riley grimaced.
“I’d rather use a skill book, to be honest.” Then her eyes sharpened. “You brought that up to keep me away from Henry, didn’t you?”
“He’s a pedo,” Sylvester said unfairly. He put on a wicked grin. “Did you see how tiny you looked standing beside him? It was like an adult beside a child.”
“Oh please,” Riley drawled. “You of all people, with your 300 year old girl friend, shouldn’t be throwing around the word pedo. And don’t think you can get me with the short jokes. I discovered something amazing recently. When a man picks you up and holds you in his arms it’s just, wow.”
Sylvester made sure to show his revulsion. The blonde’s green eyes gleamed.
“You know, maybe I’ll tease him until he picks me up and throws me onto a bed.”
“I’ll kick down your door,” Sylvester threatened.
Riley laughed. “Tiffany never stops complaining about that.”
“Good,” Sylvester said firmly. “The more she gossips, the more girls will know I’m serious when I say ‘no men in the Starlight Residence.’”
“Henry’s a good guy,” Riley said. “Give him a chance.”
Sylvester sighed.
Time never stopped moving. If not Henry, sooner or later some other slimy boy was going to steal Riley away. He finally understood how Emily felt.
“I won’t interfere,” Sylvester promised.
Unless the bastard went too far. If that happened, Henry would join Lyam Gris.
“Since you changed into this,” Riley said, gesturing, “You must be getting close.”
“Close enough,” Sylvester confirmed.
Riley’s bright green eyes twinkled with curiosity. “So what did you learn?”
“People are a lot meaner when I’m a man,” Sylvester said bluntly. Then he smirked. “But it’s also a lot more fun to mess with them.”
As ‘Sylvia’, half the population treated her trolling as flirting. As for the other half, they downplayed ‘her’ behavior on account of the fact ‘she’ was cute. Which was nice, in the right circumstances. It was also real annoying when ‘Sylvia’ wanted to be taken seriously.
“Are you sure that’s because you are a man?” Riley said dryly. “Because you were laying on the arrogance real thick.”
“All part of the game,” Sylvester replied, spreading his hands.
Riley shook her head. “That can’t be all you learned.”
“It isn’t.” A scowl formed on Sylvester’s lips. For a moment, he held onto his thoughts.
Riley stared, waiting.
“Shoes,” he finally admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about shoes. After transforming, I came to realize that I use the waltz of flowers by habit. It was hard enough ensuring the art didn’t manifest, but I also had to deal with my ki flows being all mucked up because I was wearing the wrong kind of shoes.”
How had it come to this?
Hats were the crème de la crème of fashion, the true peak of style. This was a fact self-evident. So how had his heart been polluted by the basest of trends? Without question, this was the work of a devil. A vile imp was whispering into his ear, her words carrying the malicious intent to corrupt every corner of his pure and beautiful soul.
He was speaking of Emily, of course.
And his master, Esmeralda Vallenfelt.
When they next met, the two would be one and the same.
“Oh no. How dreadful,” Riley said dryly.
Sylvester glowered. Then his expression took a shape more serious.
“I’m planning to make an attempt tomorrow,” Sylvester said. “Once the process has started, I will remain out of contact for two to twelve weeks.”
Awakening was closer to transmigration than consolidation. During the Age of Myths, it happened naturally. A soul half dead and half alive would wake up, the self overcoming the rigors of the chimeric code tainting it. In the millennia that followed, the process had been refined.
The first step to Awakening was to die. Then the soul would be drawn to an anchor which was to be set in pool of psychic essence. This would provide the soul with a limited ability think while simultaneously depriving it of body, consciousness, and flesh. There, hovering between life and death, he would enter a hallucinatory dream.
Then all he had to do was wake up.
It wasn’t as simple as it sounded. To do this, Sylvester would have to find himself. To collect the Sylvia he wished to be from the scattered embers of the unconscious.
And if he failed?
Then he’d have to try again. If inspiration struck or clear lessons were provided, Sylvester might a make his second attempt a few months later. If he encountered a wall, all he could do was wait for his soul to mature and hope a new path opened.
No one could be certain they could Awaken. Not even the System could assure it.
“That’s pretty sudden,” Riley commented.
“Sometimes you must strike while the iron is hot.”
The blonde gave him a look of understanding. “Nervous?”
“Very,” he answered.
Tomorrow, if things went right, he would learn what kind of girl he’d be in the days to come.
Oddly, Sylvester was looking forward to it.
-oOo-
Bestiary
Henry Taylor C-II/Low
Species: Barbarian
Lv: 109+60
Hp/Mp: 729 / 217
Atk/Def: 168 / 31
Celerity: 166%
Traits:
Heart of Courage, Overflowing Life, Fluid Ki, Monstrous Strength I, Life Force I
Silas Wells C-II/Low
Species: Shadow Hunter
Lv: 101+60
Hp/Mp: 403 / 341
Atk/Def: 127 / 21
Celerity: 185%
Dominion: 52
Traits:
Heart of Harmony, Living Mana, Razor Sharp Senses, Natural Magic: Shadow
Riley Smith C-II/Mid
Species: Starlight Witch
Lv: 192+50
Hp/Mp: 358+70 / 735
Atk/Def: 89 / 26
Celerity: 160%, (176% mental)
Dominion: 117
Casting Speed: 6.5 runes
Traits:
Astral Core, Ultra-Fine Mana, Starlight Eyes, Elemental Palace: Water
Red-eyed Raven
Species: Bird Phantasm
Lv: 130
Hp/Mp: 151 / 468
Atk/Def: 71 / 20
Celerity: 175%
Exp: 178
A small black feathered bird, not much bigger than a raven in the material world. The red-eyed raven sports three eyes on its head, each like ruby jewels. This is a highly magical creature with great deal of animal cunning and an utterly vile nature.
The red-eyed raven attacks through psychic magic, triggering a murderous hallucination. While the creature prefers to use magic directly, inciting betrayal, it is also fond of using these illusions to goad phantasmal beasts into attacking invaders. The red-eyed raven has a petty and vengeful personality. If ‘defeated’ or forced to flee, it will restlessly gather weaker minded foes and send them towards its enemy.
Abilities/Traits:
Murderous Illusion – 45 mp – Causes the target to feel murderous hate for up to 300 seconds.
Foresight – The red-eyed raven is aware of any threats of harm 500ms before they occur.
Void Wing – 90 mp – The raven can vanish into illusion in a power similar to the spell void slip.
Small – This creature is small and relatively fragile.
Comments
Epsilon
In Emily's words... "Nnn," I do not like this male alter ego thing. Sylvester has in one chapter embodied a great deal of what I dislike in male web fiction protagonists.
Steve Barbour
I'm glad you enjoyed it! It's getting quite big for a binge though.
Brandon Lydick
Ahhhhhh I caught up ;-; Absolutely loving this story, binged it over a couple of days. Thanks for all your hard work!
