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Netherwitch - 39
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 20:00:04 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 38 | Table of Contents | Chapter 40 >>
Roisin Owsley
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Chapter 39
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The first thing Sylvia witnessed after exiting the Academic Building was a comet crossing the sky. The searing flame flashed through the air before smashing into a curtain of clear water above her. Broom-room-room. The sky rumbled with the impact. The water barrier wrapping the Academic Building rippled, the thickness thinned by the heat.
Deep flows of ether were pulled from beneath, restoring the drained enchantments.
Sylvia scowled. “That’s not good.”
Two more mortars traced through azure sky. Meteors of fire that rose up over Vallen’s walls like baleful bounders before plunging down with terrible fury. Lightning cannons cracked in retort, unleashing bangs and thunder as though the world was in the throes of a violent storm.
The siege had taken the worst turn.
Belkis had presented two possibilities. The rebels would either attack within the hour or wait for Esmeralda’s retreat. Sylvia had felt the second more rational. Baron Ishii didn’t need to capture Lady Vallenfelt. All he had to do was take her fief. Waiting would preserve a greater segment of his force.
Apparently, she’d been wrong.
“Did someone from the Hoga clan force the issue,” Sylvia wondered. “Or were they afraid Lady Vallenfelt would escape with her forces intact?”
Not even a great demon could single-handedly defeat the combined rebel army. Individuals had limits, whether in terms of hitpoints, mana, or ki. But individual power was well-suited for asymmetric warfare. A guerrilla force of elites was a terrible enemy to have. Especially, if led by a witch like Esmeralda. A mage with time and opportunity had a bottomless bag of tricks.
Sylvia could only imagine the terror and misery her master could invoke if she set her mind to it. And this was particularly true if the baroness broke through to the fourth consolidation or waited a few centuries to Transcend.
Lady Vallenfelt was a great talent, sometimes this inspired fear.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvia muttered, ending her conjecture. “The walls just have to hold for another hour.”
The silver-haired girl hurried on her path.
Hand on her crooked hat, Sylvia swept through a suspended pool of water. The cool liquid of the barrier soaked her Witch-Princess Dress. A skintight force field left clothes and flesh hydrophobic. The water beaded off, rivulets dribbling from the ruffles of her skirt.
Without a firm body, it wouldn’t take more than a minute for the water to evaporate into ether. In some ways, the netherworld was so real. In others, it was similar to a video game.
But Sylvia didn’t want to wait.
“■.”
A collection of runes helped ether hold form. Fire ate at water. As the ethers annihilated, they dissolved into a neutral substance, the energy dispersed in a subtle wave.
The witch continued toward the Academy’s back.
“Hey, you!” A voice called out. “Yes, you. What are you doing here?”
Sylvia had just breached the line of trees when she was interrupted. The asteri looked east to see a patrol of demons approaching, two beast-kin in Vallenfelt livery backed by a pair of gargoyles.
The first was a dogman with ruddy red ears. Tufts of mossy green clung to his head in a mohawk. Beside him was a wolfwoman sporting patches of gray fur along with her gray hair. Both showed a symmetry of form rarely seen outside of those who had entered the first consolidation of the Ouranious Thirio Anthros bloodline.
“The baroness says you girls are supposed to be in the Academic Building,” the dogman barked. “This is no time to be running around causing trouble.”
Esmeralda had set aside five patrols to maintain security, Sylvia remembered. The demons were there to provide smarts. The gargoyles were the muscle.
Even for a witch as strong as Sylvia, this was a deadly combination.
“I’m here on a mission,” Sylvia answered, pointing at the golden pin attached to the left shoulder of her shrug.
The wolfwoman cringed.
Finally, she was recognized. Though, Sylvia didn’t know how anyone had mistaken her identity given she was sporting a pair of silver twin tails and wearing a flashy, magical girl themed dress.
…
Err, in reflection, had she ever worn her armor around the troop?
Sigh.
Sylvia half-anticipated and half-dreaded whatever Emily had waiting for her in the Cloud Island Wilderness.
“Pardon us, Lady Swallows,” the wolfwoman said quickly, bowing her head. “We didn’t recognize you.”
“Not your fault,” Sylvia dismissed. “You were just doing your jobs. What’s the front look like?”
“Our apologies, but our patrol is on the back end of the Academy so we haven’t seen it,” the wolfwoman replied with as much etiquette as she could muster.
“The ballistas aren’t firing, so they must be a while off,” the dogman commented. “And don’t worry your pretty head. This demon will proudly die for you beauties.”
The woman drove an elbow into his ribs. Sylvia’s eye twitched. In a different situation, she might’ve slapped him down. Given the circumstance, and the likeliness the dogman would die, Sylvia put on a polite smile.
“Thank you for your sacrifice, and please continue your good work,” Sylvia said, offering a small curtsy.
“We’re not worthy of the honor,” the wolfwoman said hurriedly.
With a small wave, the witch walked off. She could hear them muttering as she left.
“Do you think she likes me?”
“She’s a lady. And I’m pretty sure she wanted to snap your head off.”
“Yeah, but that means she’ll remember me. Gotta get yourself in their minds first.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Ugh. Men. Sylvia was glad that her next destination was a wilderness. She’d rather deal with monsters than flirts.
The band of forest at the Academy’s back stretched for two hundred meters. It didn’t take more than a minute to push through the brush. Sylvia emerged on the starside ridge. Even here, the heavens were filled with blue sky. Only when gazing down off the cliffs did azure give way to black.
Today, the stone daises were empty. The air rumbled with the thunder of war. To the west, Sylvia could see streaks of light. The east was quieter, the land sheltered between the Academy and the Fortress of Dawn. Still, there were faint flashes as the rebels struck, if only to pin down the fort’s troops so Gavril Ghimpe couldn’t offer reinforcements.
In this lonely space, the only demon to be seen was her.
“Let’s hope this crazy plan works,” Sylvia said. “■■■ ■■ ■■■■.”
Runes sung magic into existence. The spell spread through the air, resonating with the crude enchantments Sylvia had carved into the astral channels. Thick ethers of space started to move, pressed by her mana. A faint curtain, invisible to the ordinary eye, stretched from the Academy’s ridge, expanding across the astral sea.
Then, all at once, it fizzled.
Sylvia felt the shudder in the air. Frowning, the asteri knelt. Hand against the ground, she extended her ki to probe the buried line.
“The flow is wrong,” she muttered before standing. Pink eyes flashed. “Was the channel severed?”
Not good. Time was already tight. She hoped whatever went wrong wasn’t too severe.
Sylvia took off at a jog. A ray flashed through the sky, a beam of magic cast by Lady Vallenfelt. The first bolts whistled through the air. The rebel force was pressing in hard.
Her expression tightened as she hurried.
A quarter kilometer down the line, Sylvia found the source.
Along the cultivation path, a stone dais had been shattered. A powerful blast had dug a crater into the earth, splintering the wooden channel beneath.
“A flame mortar?”
Sylvia’s jog slowed into a walk. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Flame mortars were precision weapons. For one to hit the back of the Academy was highly unlikely. A more reasonable possibility was….
Track Threats.
Causality pinged. Nothing. The absence only made Sylvia more wary. With pastel pink eyes, the asteri scanned the woods.
“■■■■, ■■ ■■.”
While the witch searched, she chanted. The elements space and void were woven into an intangible sphere. After, wind and water were spun into ice. A curved shield, like the scale of a dragon, formed in midair. For now, Sylvia mounted the spell on her barrier frame, approaching the break with the upmost caution.
Then she stopped.
With eyes like a hawk, Sylvia’s gaze snapped to a figure in the distance.
“Are you coming out, or do I have to make you?”
An old witch appeared from the woods. Roisin Owsley leaned heavily on her cane, wrinkled hands gripping the crystal crook. Sylvia wasn’t deceived by the apparent weakness. Roisin was a second consolidation witch marked C-II/High by the System.
Which was to say, she’d formed her third core in a prior life.
“Care to explain what you’re doing here, Roisin?” Sylvia asked sharply.
The asteri’s pure starlight eyes quickly found Lyam Gris creeping behind the trees. The magics that hid the assassins from her divination only made them more apparent to her vision.
“Is there anything to explain, Esmeralda Vallenfelt?” Roisin retorted, her old crackly voice dripping with venom.
The hexe’s dark, muddy eyes showed a glint of hate. Robes of pure black wrapped her hunched form, the fine fabrics laden with enchantments. Sylvia felt a stab of envy. Why did every witch have armor cooler than hers?
Sylvia had chosen her ‘friends’ poorly.
“Indulge me,” Sylvia said haughtily, as though she were the baroness.
“You really don’t know?” Roisin sneered. “Despicable thief. Did you think you were the first to discover ‘Yithmafar’? You stole what should’ve been mine. False laureate. I have dreamed of your downfall for a century.”
Sylvia’s eyes darted through the woods. If the charcoal werewolf was here, then there was a threat far more dangerous. The devil, Pierre Buahin.
“A Laureate of Magic rewards those who have advanced the knowledge of the netherworld,” Sylvia spoke on her master’s behalf. “You accuse me of theft. May I be so bold to ask, how long did you sit on your discovery?”
The hexe’s face took on an expression of hideous fury.
“I see,” Sylvia sounded. “What you wish for is a crown of glory so that you might strut around like a peacock.”
A Laureate of Magic was rewarded by the Collegium Magicae. This honor fell upon the person who brought forth a discovery. Those who choose to keep magic secret were ineligible, regardless of who was first. Enemies of progress. Slime that only crawled out of the woods, crying for grandeur once their mysteries were made public.
If Roisin’s claims had merit, she had only to show them to the college. That the witch stood here, accusing Lady Vallenfelt of theft, was evidence enough on whose contributions were real and fake.
“Arrogant witch. Even if I’m struck down by lightning, I’ll sell your soul to the outsiders,” Roisin spat. Feeding mana into the soul lamp at her waist, the crone slammed her cane into the dirt. The wood element surged through the earth, ripping through the soil in barely seen spindles. “■■■ – ”
Sylvia was faster.
“■■”
Lightning sparked in her pale staff’s quartz. A bolt flashed. Searing bright electricity crossed the gap in an instant.
The pendant on Roisin’s chest glinted with ethereal life. A plane of force sprang into existence. Lightning smashed into the shield, space shattering like glass. Electric claws extended into the layer beyond, crackling over the armored barrier cast by the hexe’s robes.
“ – ■■!”
Having tanked the interrupt, Professor Owsley unleashing her spell. Thick vines tore through the earth, strings of black and brown covered in wicked thorns. The rising bramble reached for the silver-haired witch. Sylvia jumped, then jumped higher. Knowing her ascent couldn’t out speed Roisin’s magic, the asteri drew great gulps of water ether from her palace.
“■ ■■■ ■.”
Sylvia’s chant remained steady even as powerful stems wrapped around her legs. Spikes tore at her dress’s barrier. Other strips of black bramble stretched higher, threatening to swallow her within their deadly weave.
Then her spell finished.
Pure, clear liquid was conjured out of nothing. Water swept out, expanding into a shimmering bubble. The vines that grasped limbs and flesh were shoved aside by the veil.
Roisin gestured.
Vines moved according to the hexe’s will. Stems wrapped around the shell, thorns digging into liquid for extra grip. The plants tugged. Sylvia and her barrier were pulled down toward the dirt. The magissa responded in kind. Her barrier frame wiggled. The shifting shape made the shell slide. Suddenly, Sylvia was squeezed up instead of down, shooting from the bramble like an egg from a tube.
A charcoal-gray wolf blurred in.
Sylvia’s glacial scale, half tangled in the vines, spun. The slick scale slipped between the thorns. Lyam jumped, claws of ki stretching from his hand. Sylvia’s shield snapped into place. Chink. The werewolf swiped. Spectral nails dug deep into thick, frosty ice.
Instead of deflecting off, Lyam yanked himself up and over.
The six and a half foot wolfman twirled overhead with supernatural grace. He punched. Externalized ki pierced through water as though it were a can opener. The tip of the spear suddenly bent, hooking on the barrier’s lip. Secured, Lyam landed on her aqua shell, left arm reared back.
Sylvia went head over heels. The sphere of water turned with her.
The wolf was whipped around. Halfway through her somersault, Sylvia released her spell. Runes unraveled, letting Lyam fly free with the evaporating spray.
The asteri skipped back, passing beyond the Academy’s ridge. The starry void was revealed beneath her, gravity fading away with the world’s logic.
Only for the ground to yank back.
“ – ■■■!” Roisin crowed.
A sudden weight fell on Sylvia’s shoulders, pulling her toward the rocky surface of the plane. The silver-haired witch strained against the force, a wave of petals beneath her feet. Her staff swung, carrying with it a wave of wind. Her chant had not slowed for an instant.
“■■■ ■■.”
A scythe ripped through the sky, but Sylvia had no time to witness the buzzsaw’s flight. In the moment of distraction, Lyam Gris had hit the ground, legs sinking into a crouch. Then, in a shocking burst, he sprang back into the air.
“■~■”
Instead of ice, Lyam’s claw struck water. The scattered liquid transformed into a sudden torrent, throwing the soggy dog back.
Sometimes, oldies are goodies.
With a flick of thought, Sylvia tagged the werewolf with a divination.
Observe Opponent.
Ding!
Lyam Gris C-II/High
Species: Werewolf Lv: 366
Hp/Mp: 1,111/340 Atk/Def: 313/129
Celerity: 239% (258% movement speed)Traits:
Vigorous Core, Monstrous Strength, Grace, Swiftness I
The asteri didn’t spare the window a glance.
Sylvia hit the ground in a stumble, dragged down by distorted gravity. No sooner did she land than did a long vine slap in her direction. Sylvia danced to the side, petals floating around her high-heeled feet. Though her cursed weight was too great to stand in the sky, her demonic strength was more than enough to move along the ground with preternatural grace.
Her opponents had their own troubles.
Sylvia’s scythe screamed toward Professor Owsley. To save herself, the hexe conjured a wall of wood. The buzzsaw ripped halfway through it. Wood disintegrated into a spray of splinters. Unable to pierce, the spell bounced. The silver-haired witch tweaked the trajectory, sending the scythe flying toward Lyam Gris instead.
The werewolf was still recovering from Sylvia’s water torrent.
Undeterred, the asteri rolled into her next spell, quick steps carrying her along the ridge. “■■ ■ – ”
While she chanted, the wind scythe continued its reign of terror.
Realizing his plight, Lyam lurched. The sudden dodge saved the wolf from being torn in half. His right hand wasn’t so lucky. To defend himself, Lyam raised his arm in a hasty parry. Air sawed through ki, bone, and claw slicing the werewolf’s wrist straight off.
“– ■■■■.”
The last rune fell into place. Wind and water coiled into ice. A ball of frigid mist hung in the air. Sylvia sent it toward her foes. It made it all of five meters before Professor Owsley finished her chant.
“■■■■■!”
A surge of wood passed through the earth. A new bramble of vines exploded from the ground beneath. Sylvia changed her plan in an instant. Instead of seeking the hexe, the ball of mist exploded into a blizzard right in front of her.
Frozen wind teased her silver tresses, leaving Sylvia untouched. To the vines new and old, her arctic gale wasn’t so kind. White frost crawled through black stems and wicked thorns. The plants froze, crystallizing into hardened blocks. Hoarfrost stretched from their bodies, horizontal icicles growing faster than seen in a time-lapse.
But the gale’s frigid winds inflicted their chill over the course of seconds. In the brief moments before they froze, the corded lengths whipped through the air. Sylvia dodged, but the brambles were too many in number. They wrapped around her like grasping hands, leaving the witch entangled.
“■■■ ■.”
But only for an instant. Void sank into Sylvia’s flesh, her physical form melting into illusion. With a skip and a step, the silver-haired girl escaped the vines, curly tails dancing beside her.
Though she’d failed to press her assault, Sylvia’s arctic gale bought the precious seconds she so desperately needed. Lyam Gris stood back, fearful of the snowy swirl. Further away, Roisin Owsley dove behind her wooden wall once more, fleeing Sylvia’s scythe.
But those same seconds had brought with them a greater danger.
Pierre Bauhin had arrived.
A giant wolf with fur like midnight exploded from the forest. He was fast. Terrifyingly fast. The massive beast ate a fifty-meter gap in a fraction of a second.
Sylvia’s casting speed was just as frightening. “■■.”
A lightning bolt split the sky. This spell wasn’t aimed at the new arrival. Basic magics were just a mild threat to the Awakened wolf. Instead, Sylvia’s bolt struck at Lyam Gris, aiming to snuff one foe before a third could be added.
Obscured by frozen vines and whirling white, the charcoal-gray wolf missed the telltale flash. A finger of death stretched out, aiming for the demon’s heart.
Only to meet Sir Bauhin’s arm instead.
Sugar Plums.
The devil blurred from wolf to man with impossible speed and precision. Lightning crashed into Pierre’s coat, electricity crackling as it crawled along a hazy aura of reinforced ki. Swarthy flesh was seared black.
Pierre Bauhin turned.
Smooth and swift, the werewolf’s sword left its sheath. The blade carved through the air with horrifying sharpness, splitting Sylvia’s wind scythe in half. The whirlwind of motion wasn’t finished with just that. Bauhin completed his flawless circuit. Before she could blink, the devil’s blade flew from his hand, tumbling end over end.
To land perfectly in Roisin Owsley’s heart.
…
Sylvia stood stunned.
Not just her, the hexe stared down at the broad sword planted in her chest, blade sunk to the hilt. Even Lyam Gris paused in shock and confusion, his missing hand slowly regenerating.
“What do you think you’re doing!” Lyam shouted, snapping back to awareness.
“Cleaning up trash,” Pierre Bauhin grunted.
In the background, Professor Owsley collapsed. Her corpse disintegrated. With her faded Pierre’s sword. As the weapon’s shadow vanished, a figment of its existence grew in the devil’s sheath.
“We had a plan,” Lyam said, gnashing his teeth. “Capture Esmeralda’s clone and sell her to rebels. She’s right there!”
The charcoal-gray wolf thrust in angry stump in Sylvia’s direction. Sir Bauhin remained silent, pitch black eyes on the Gris pack young master. Then the devil’s gaze shifted to the witch.
“Lady Vallenfelt, how do you wish to punish this dog?”
“I’m not Vallenfelt,” Sylvia replied, knowing she wouldn’t be believed. “But since you’re asking, I say we cast him into the void. That’s what he planned for his rival and who knows how many who came before.”
Pierre grunted. A black lantern took form in his hand. The devil tossed the lamp her direction. Sylvia caught it by the iron chain as it flew past. Then she clipped the tool to her belt, leaving the black metal dangling just below the hem of her skirt.
Lyam’s steel-blue eyes jerked between the two of them. His canine muzzle twisted with fear. The werewolf took a step back.
“Baron Gris will never forgive – ”
“Rupert is my brother in arms,” Pierre interrupted. “You are a hyena. Rupert loved you. He raised you like a son. Since honor binds my hand, I will let Vallen’s lord see justice for your treacherous trespass on the rules of hospitality.”
The midnight-haired man turned back to Sylvia.
“Witch, as a lady of this house, do as you will. My hands are washed of this matter. Let fall whatever consequence you deem fit.”
With that said, Sir Bauhin’s human body melted into that of a giant wolf. The beast’s back stood taller than Sylvia’s head. Its length rivaled a car. Draped in midnight fur, the wolf looked back. Its giant eyes gazed into those of pastel pink.
“Elroy?” the wolf rumbled.
“Tartarus,” Sylvia answered.
Pierre gave Lyam one last glance then vanished into the woods. How nice. It’d been a long time since Sylvia enjoyed a manly conversation.
Lyam turned and ran.
Sylvia raised her staff. “■■■ ■■■.”
A jagged line of blue ripped through the sky with the finality of a guillotine. Lyam jerked to the side in the last instant, ki hardening. The slight shift was all that kept the Sylvia’s lance from tearing straight through his heart.
But it didn’t stop the crackling lightning from searing a hole through flesh and chest.
The blast sent the wolf to his knees. Lyam swayed then tried to rise. Sylvia drew bands of water from her elemental palace.
“■■, ■, ■.”
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Three water knives punched into matted, gray fur like bullets fired from a pistol. The spurts of blood were tiny beside the hulking gap in Lyam’s ribs.
The werewolf fell. This time for good.
Wisps of essence rose from the corpse, experience trickling into Sylvia’s gullet. The witch approached, soul lamp in hand. There was a grim weight to the instrument. A portent of doom and destruction that couldn’t be found in mere death.
Yet, Sylvia approached. She guided her mana through the tool, catalyzing the spells within. The air wavered, hued by the glow of the soul element. Sylvia saw as much as felt the invisible arm reaching out, grasping Lyam’s specter before it was caught by the Academy’s beacon.
Then the lamp pulled.
A luminous ball was pried from Lyam’s corpse. A second later, the black lamp lit. The soul within shed a white glow like moonlight reflecting off a stormy cloud.
Sylvia let the lantern fall. The chain swayed at her side. For good or ill, Lyam’s fate was hers to decide. Her eyes flicked. Roisin Owsley soul had already vanished.
“If she’s trapped by the beacon, we can deal with her later,” Sylvia said.
She didn’t have much hope. Unless the hexe was a fool, the professor must have spells prepared to ensure her escape. A witch with time was never short on means.
The asteri spared her mana pool a glance: 1,078 / 1,550.
“It’s going to be tight and I’m already behind schedule,” she grimaced.
If Sylvia had known she’d encounter this much trouble, she would’ve prepared a mana potion.
Keeping an eye out for threats, Sylvia checked the damaged. A two meter crater had been blasted out of the ground. The explosion had shattered the astral channel beneath. A good meter of wood beam was missing, an equal length ravaged by the flames.
“Right on the enchantment node too,” Sylvia noticed. “They must’ve been watching while I worked.”
Luckily, Professor Owsley didn’t go all out. If the witch had dug up a dozen meters of length then destroyed every inch, Sylvia would have no way to repair it.
“I’ll have to merge the two sides and hope for the best,” Sylvia decided.
Nothing to do but work. The witch chanted, using earth moving to magic to reveal more of the channel’s breadth. This was the easy part. The hard bit came next.
But before she could put plan into practice, movement attracted her attention. Her spike of worry melted away. It was the demon patrol from before.
““Lady Swallows.”” The dogman and wolfwoman greeted her together with a firm salute.
“We meet again,” Sylvia said, gazing up.
The beast-kin swept the area with wary eyes. The corpse of Roisin and Lyam had already evanesced, but the broken land made clear they had missed a brutal fight. In fact, the sounds of battle were likely what drew them here.
“Is there anything we can help you with, Lady Swallows,” the wolfwoman asked, tone delicate.
Sylvia waved a hand in denial.
“Unless you know how to enchant or work wood, I’m good,” she said, glancing back at the broken channel.
“I – ”
The dogman started to speak only to be cut off when the wolfwoman rammed an elbow into his gut.
“We’ll check the cultivation line east then west for you, Lady Swallows, unless you have another task.”
“That’ll be very helpful,” Sylvia thanked. “You may carry on with your duties, but tell me if you see anything suspicious.”
The demons gave another salute. The two passed by, followed by a pair of gargoyles. What a pity. Sylvia could’ve used those phantasms in the fight.
She got back to work.
Using her ki, the witch melted the essence of the wooden channel, stretching it like taffy until it met the other side. With her will, she guided ethers of earth and water to restore the damaged crust.
Then she went over it again.
Sylvia swept the length three times, distributing essence from ten meters east and west so that the density was even. The witch considered the merits of reapplying her enchantment then decided not.
“I’ve wasted enough time already.”
The roar of battle was growing louder and louder. Two airships were creeping dangerously close. Sylvia could see the flash of their cannons as they tore at the wall. The Fortress and Academy fired in retort, but the four beams had already been reduced to three, and the ones coming from the fort showed an anemic pace compared to their prior fury.
Hold a little longer. Just a little bit longer.
“Don’t break on me,” Sylvia pleaded while climbing out of the pit. The witch took a deep breath and started to chant. “■■■ ■■ ■■■■.”
Astral ether resonated. Power flowed through the wooden channel, realizing the crude enchantments Sylvia had engraved. A faint curtain of solidified space stretched from the Academy’s bluff, sweeping a hundred meters into the astral sea.
She could feel the weight of it. Though her mana was a light touch compared to the massive flows of ether, it was being sucked away at a hundred points a minute.
This time the construct stayed steady. Sylvia glanced at the repaired channel. The heavy currents were wearing through the wood essence, but it should hold for a good hour.
Which was a lot longer than she could.
Sylvia let out a breath. It was working. With her intent, the witch adjusted spectral sails. At the same time, a prewritten page burned in her soul. The signal had been sent.
Powerful currents of chaos ran along the eastern coast of the Timeless Beryl Wilderness. Beneath the Academy was a particularly powerful tow. This thick astral energy fed the students’ cultivation and helped drive the harvest of astral dew and amber.
Today, they were put to new use. With sails of space, Sylvia caught the astral wind. The wooden channel creaked as it bore a portion of the butte’s colossal weight.
Boom! Rumble, rumble. B-boom. Rumble.
Deep, distant explosions shook the butte. To the east and west land broke away setting off quakes. Sylvia felt the Academy mesa sink, ground trembling beneath her as rock slid over rock.
The witch held the sails tight.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. It felt like nothing had changed at all. Four minutes. Five minutes. Did she see the distant trees move, or was it just an illusion? Seven minutes. Eight minutes. Finally, there was no doubt. The Academy’s butte was slowly drifting from its land locked crevasse.
Still, she could feel the rumble and grind as the island rubbed against the plane’s outer edge. A force of friction and entropy stealing what little velocity her magic had imparted.
Nine minutes and near empty, Belkis swooped in. The dark-skinned witch hopped off her broom, golden-brown curls spilling down her back.
“I seriously didn’t think it’d work,” the prisma commented.
“Shut up and help, I’m almost out,” Sylvia groused.
“Sure thing, little sis,” Belkis answered before flowing into a chant. “■■■ ■■■■ ■■■ ■■.”
Sylvia’s magic fell away. Belkis seized the sails instead. For the first few seconds, the prisma held the trajectory well. Then the silver-haired witch winced as lengths of space went slack.
“No, no, not like that,” Sylvia said hurriedly. “You need to spread out more to the west. Catch the current!”
Belkis shifted her spell. Too late. Bang! The butte, now an island, slammed against the shore. The land jolted, shook, then groaned.
“Oops,” the prisma laughed.
The sails tightened. A minute later.
“Watch out, now you’re sliding to the east!”
With Sylvia’s guidance and Belkis’s mana, the island pulled out. As the land rubbed against the plane, the mesa rolled. A slow spin that put the Academic Building’s face south-east instead of true south.
Yet, with each passing minute the void between butte and plane yawned wider.
Before Belkis came, Sylvia had eased the land two hundred meters from its start. Now that gap had reached four hundred. Freed from the confines east and west, the island picked up speed. Five hundred. Seven hundred. A thousand.
The island started to sink. A well of chaos bulged where the butte once stood, shoving them deeper into the void with more force than the sails they had cast. Without the support the plane, the land fell slipping into the sea of stars. Soon Sylvia saw the trees of the Timeless Beryl Wilderness rising above the ridge. Then she watched as the plane itself turned into towering cliffs.
Suddenly, the rebel army came into view. A chain of phantasms remained on the ridge above, stretching from east to west. The spin brought Sylvia closer, swinging her around so she could glimpse the belly of a lone airship. A few mortars exchanged fire. Two cannons shot down, smashing into the land as a final farewell.
Then the ravine was too large for even that. The Academy island floated kilometers away from the plane’s edge. The starry void had become an obstacle to the rebel’s army, no different than an ocean. Even if they had a warship in the area, it’d be a waste to send it against the Academy’s petering strength.
Belkis relaxed. The sails faded away. The land continued its drift, deeper and deeper into the starry void.
Sylvia gazed up. Blue sky melted into black.
“After an eternity of morning, night falls upon the Starlight Nether Witch Academy,” she murmured.
How poetic. Sylvia had dreamed of sunset for all of first year. In the Academy’s final moments, her wish came true.
“Did you ever think we should just sail this land to a new world,” Belkis said with a grin. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Sylvia walked over to the world’s edge then sat on it. Below, frail earth was evaporating into ethereal mist. Bereft of the plane’s world logic, the thin essence could not stand.
“The whole thing will crumble in a few days. A week at most,” Sylvia said.
The elemental witch popped the cork on a potion, gulping the blue liquid before sitting beside her junior sister.
“Master dreamed of this Academy for her whole life.”
“Dreams pass the moment you awake,” a new voice interrupted. Esmeralda Vallenfelt dismounted her broom not far from the two of them. “And when the day is done, you will rest your weary eyes and a new dream will come, no less beautiful than the last.”
“Master,” Belkis said happily, eyes gazing up. “Still, it’s a shame. Though I never saw it as it was meant, your Academy was everything you dreamed it’d be.”
“And I am glad you saw what you could before even the memory fades,” Lady Vallenfelt sighed.
“Don’t worry, Belkis won’t be able to run away this time before you finish building the next,” Sylvia quipped.
The prisma directed a molten eyed glower at her sister. Sylvia smirked.
“It will be quite lovely to have my apprentices at my side and unable to run rampant,” Esmeralda confirmed. “And this time will also serve as a chance to correct follies in your educations. Magic is a power of creation as well as destruction. It seems these teachings have been forgotten.”
A gorgeous nebula, as hard and cold as the vacuum of space fell upon the prisma. Belkis sank, her expression like that of a chided child.
“Now then ladies, as much as I would like to enjoy the splendor the moment, the evacuation is not yet complete. There are many tasks to handle and priorities to be sorted. Not the least of which is the destruction of the beacon so the souls of those who will remain will safely reach the distant shore,” Lady Vallenfelt said.
The green-haired witch paused, her flawless locks shimmering with starlight.
“And Sylvia, if you would please explain your possession of the soul lamp and your future intentions with it.”
The silver-haired girl glanced down. A wicked grin spread on her lips.
“Ah. Yes. That,” Sylvia began. “Well….”
The world grew darker as the Academy drifted. Yet hearts grew lighter as the worries of war were left behind.
-oOo-
Bestiary
Pierre Bauhin C-IV/Mid
Species: Werewolf
Lv: 532
Hp/Mp: 2,282 / 724
Atk/Def: 481 / 188
Celerity: 299%, 344% movement speed
Dominion: 72
Traits:
Enduring Core, Monstrous Strength, Grace, Transformation, Undying, Instinct, Swiftness II, Hardy I
Roisin Owsley C-II/High
Species: Swamp Hag
Lv: 328
Hp/Mp: 518 / 1,170
Atk/Def: 125 / 35
Celerity: 155%, (217% mental)
Dominion: 171
Casting Speed: 9.4 runes (normal), 14.1 runes (wood, water, earth)
Traits:
Bog Heart, Wood Mastery, Mystic Touch, Ether Affinity (wood) I, Deep Reservoir I
Grimoire:
Grasping Thorns
Runes: 62
Mana: 80 to 320; 33%
Attack: 75 to 150
AOE: 5 meters radius
Penetration: 0 to 150
Max Range: 25 meters x Mysticism
Duration: 30 to 120 seconds
A wood elemental control magic that conjures a series of vine figments in an area. Roughly thirty vines will emerge with lengths ranging from 1 meter to 10 meters. These vines will automatically attempt to attack and grapple any being moving within the territory, excluding those designated by the caster’s intentions.
In terms of strength, each vine is able to apply a force between 100% to 500% of a mortal human, depending on length. For powerful demons, multiple vines will have to grapple in order to maintain a hold.
Once grasped, the vine figments will attempt to squeeze the life out of a target. For this purpose, the thorns act as slow saw blades. In effectiveness terms, this is equivalent of one attack every second with the penetration raising for the first five seconds held as the vines obtain a better, more destructive grip.
The vines created by this spell are elemental figments and interact with forces in the same manner a plant would. Damaged or destroyed vines will not recover unless the spell is cast again.
Void Slip
Runes: 58
Mana: 90 to 270; 33%
Duration: 1 to 3 seconds
DR: 50%
A void elemental support magic that reverses truth and illusion to transform the caster into an intangible ghost. During the duration of the slip, the mage may pass through physical objects such as walls, dirt, or even phantasms. If, by chance, the caster turns ‘real’ inside an object they will be thrown to the nearest empty space. If there is no nearby empty space, the caster will be made real inside the physical object with all the consequences thereof.
Void slip does not grant immunity to supernatural energies. Instead, ki arts and spells will have reduced effect. In general, ki arts below enlightenment will have their impact halved. Those which reach the enlightenment realm and above are reduced by a quarter. Truth realm arts completely ignore void slip.
High magics, much like enlightenment arts, will typically suffer a lesser 25% DR as most spells in this category have runes sequences set aside to defeat ‘tricks’.
Arts and spells made specifically to target void magic will ignore void slip’s effect. As void magic is not exceptionally rare, walls to secure locations are nearly always enchanted against this spell.
Chains of Earth
Runes: 79
Mana: 60; 33%
Duration: 0 to 300 seconds
Max Range: 50 meters x Mysticism
Chains of earth is an earth elemental curse. Unlike most curses, the impact of this spell is very obvious and direct. Those subject to the curse will feel an increased gravity toward the ‘ground’ as identified by the plane’s world logic. The effectiveness of the spell depends on the distance between the target and the earth. Those standing directly on the ground will experience twice normal gravity while those with 100 meters of altitude will experience nearly four times normal gravity.
Interestingly, this curse loses effectiveness if the distance between the target and the ground is too great. Over 500 meters in height, the impact of the spell begins to decrease. For those with an altitude of 1000 meters, chains of earth has no effect.
While this curse is often thought of as a gravity amplifier, this is a false perception. Chains of earth will apply gravity even where gravity does not exist. Inversely, on a plane with stronger than usual gravitational force, the impact this spell will be weaker than expected.
Comments
awelonblue
Makes me wonder if Xylix's next fic will involve space and mecha.
Mr NerfGun
Now that I think about it, the boom in Archdemons that will appear because of the System will not just affect the Netherworld, but also the Material one. And massively at that, considering many scientists would reach those heights, they would be able to terraform many, many more worlds into inhabitable ones. The galaxy and perhaps beyond would 'quickly' be completely colonized by humanity.
Jayem
What a brilliant end to a great arc. Thank you for everything you’ve produced so far and I will eagerly await the release of the next! Also lol she finally got revenge on the evil teacher for being terrible XD
Milandaanza
I’m sad to have caught up. The end is both wonderful and horrible because readers know they can now evacuate, but we will need to wait for the next book to see them on their new home. Either way Ty for the story!
awelonblue
Sylvia is lucky Pierre held a little honor in his heart.
Steve Barbour
This is the last chapter of the arc. I'll post up 'thoughts and plans' message tomorrow. Then probably a teaser in middle May for the next arc.
Katherine
Yay! Empress Sylvia defeats her enemies. :D
Brantal
How many chapter left in the arc? (Is it already finished...?)
