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Netherwitch - 38
🕑 Added 2025-04-19 16:00:13 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 37 | Table of Contents | Chapter 39 >>
-oOo-
Chapter 38
-oOo-
BOOM!
The air shook. A pillar of flame burst from the Junior Dorms. The second and third stories exploded outward, sending timber, glass, and wooden shutters flying. The blaze devoured the structure, fire spreading across the wooden beams. Smoke poured from the ruins as the flames fed upon the essence of wood, growing ever stronger.
Sylvia felt the inferno’s heat wash over her face, the glow casting her silver tails in orange and gold.
“Today, I’ve become human garbage,” she said to herself.
Sickness roiled in her stomach. Intellectually, she knew it needed to be done. But the vestige of her mortal life was an anchor dragging her conscience into an abyss of anguish and uncertainty.
This was cruel murder. A betrayal. Somewhere within the dorms confines was Riley Smith, perhaps screaming before her corpse fell into smoldering ash.
Sylvia reminded herself that death was meaningless. The plan must be carried out. All would be forgiven when the truth was revealed.
It didn’t help.
While she watched, the building continued to burn. A whirl of water sputtered, a shield trying to rise. The wards should’ve taken form long before the ‘mortar’ had finished its plummet. When the magics met, the barrier would’ve held. As it had a dozen times before when Baron Maxim snuck his weapons close.
Except this time, it didn’t.
Because Sylvia had sabotaged it.
“I better clean up,” Sylvia sighed. The witch waved her staff. “■■■■, ■■ ■ ■■■.”
Water wrapped the asteri. Sylvia stepped inside. The top two floors had crumbled, but the first remained mostly intact. A haze of fire lingered in the air, clawing at her shell with hunger. Where flame met water, both elements were snuffed.
They were opposites. When fire ate constructs of water, it did so twice as fast. When water guarded against fire, it had twice the effect.
“Not that it matters,” Sylvia muttered. Then her voice rose in a shout. “Hey! Anyone alive in here!”
Her call could barely be heard over the crackle and roar.
No answer. Better there wasn’t. Sylvia already felt sick enough with her task.
The silver-haired girl pushed deeper into the halls.
With a choking gasp, a survivor appeared. Camila Powell stumbled through a door followed by Natalie Ward. The green-haired witch was covered in burns, but her dark blue eyes remained firm. Both girls had stretched water shields above them, treating them like exaggerated umbrellas.
“Mad dog,” Camila sounded with relief. “It’s good to – ”
“Sorry,” Sylvia apologized, pointing her staff. “■■■ ■.”
An explosion of fire cut the witch off. The meteor blast hit hard enough to make the building buck. Wooden beams trembled above. The attack’s power, however, was swallowed by the ether of their shields. Leaving the witches shaken and bereft, but mostly unharmed.
“■■■ ■.” The second shot hit clean.
The blast ripped through the witches, draining Sylvia’s staff to empty. The heat set more wood alight, making the blaze all the brighter.
The witch waited long enough to confirm their death. Soon their spirits would swept up by the Academy’s soul beacon. Then they would be shunted from the trap into their burial urn. No resurrection would follow. The witches would remain in oblivion until their phylacteries were brought through the interplanar gate and into the Cloud Island Wilderness.
“Ke ke ke, you got the two that slipped away,” a witch cackled.
Glenda Fischer floated down through the broken stairwell.
“Clear?” Sylvia asked all business. She wasn’t in the mood.
“Unless someone snuck out, we got every last one,” Glenda supplied with a wicked grin.
Sylvia nodded. Since that was the case, she emptied her water palace. She swished her staff, channeling the energy with scattered runes. “■.”
The room suddenly cooled, coiling flame reduced to mere ember. C-creak. The heavy beams overhead swayed ominously.
Time for the better part of valor.
The silver-haired witch hurried out, Professor Fischer in tow. Once free of the fire, Sylvia found an atmosphere with a more appreciable balance of ethers and drank deep, filling her palace.
“■, ■.”
While Sylvia calmed the blaze into a dull glow, a crowd of gawkers arrived. A few witches from the Senior Dorms and Academic Building were at her back. Soldiers and demons from Vallen stood further away, watching with interest but knowing they had no business on the back half of the Academy.
Professor Myers was the first authority figure to show.
Neglecting Professor Fischer, as everyone should.
“Stand back, stand back,” the teacher called. She quickly approached the pair. “Glenda, what happened here?”
Allison Myers was wearing her classic skirt and jacket combo. Her black hair was in a fashionable bob cut shoulder-length. Her violet fox eyes flashed, their vivid color sharp enough to cut through teenage dreams. To Sylvia’s disappointment, the witch wasn’t rocking high heels. What a pity. Clearly, Professor Myers was trying to stick to reasonable flats.
A real lady would learn to waltz.
Clicking her tongue, Sylvia flicked her gaze back up before admiration turned into a faux pas.
“A flame mortar hit the building,” Sylvia answered when the blonde professor did not. She gazed back over her shoulder. “We checked the interior. No survivors.”
Violet eyes tightened.
“No survivors.” Professor Myers’s tone was filled with doubt and suspicion.
Glenda Fischer grinned, ruby lips showing a broad smile. “Like she said. No survivors. A very tragic story.”
Sylvia tried to keep her face straight. Why not throw a cackle in there, Glenda, and make your statement even less believable?
“Glenda, if you’d please show some respect for the dead,” Professor Myers returned with exasperation. “And why did the wards fail? The dorms shouldn’t have been lost to a single mortar.”
“The water shell sputtered,” Sylvia inserted. “The triggering sequence must’ve been damaged. The mortar hit before the shield could rise. The shock and the fire finished them off.”
Professor Myers frowned, her eyes on Sylvia. Sylvia had an urge to adjust her hat, making her rank clear. But, even if Allison had missed the coat of arms, the professor knew Sylvia’s status. All the Academy’s teachers had been informed.
Yet hearts weren’t swayed easily. Professor Myers didn’t see a peer. She saw a child.
Because, in a sense, that’s what Sylvia was. She was a junior student just entering her third year. No. Even that was generous. With two years of schooling lost, most of the professors saw Sylvia’s group as first years ready to enter their second.
Sylvia, however, didn’t think of herself as a child. Eric had been thirty years old before entering the nether. The halls of the Starlight Nether Witch Academy might’ve tugged her back toward the days of her youth, but Tartarus and the Cloud Island Wilderness had returned the full lot of adult responsibility.
Miss Myers turned violet eyes on Professor Fischer. The blonde witch just smiled. Allison sighed, looking defeated.
If Sylvia was a student in Allison’s mind, then Glenda Fischer was her superior. Professor Myers was simply a teacher, while Glenda was Esmeralda’s retainer. The blonde witch had access to the dean’s inner circle. She had authority and privilege which extended well beyond that of a mere professor.
Also, Glenda was a few years older by demonic reckoning.
Knowing this, Miss Myers turned around and addressed the crowd.
“The Junior Dorms were struck by a flame mortar,” Allison said firmly, tone brooking no nonsense. “All the occupants were lost. The Academy will give an official account later, after this incident has been investigated. For now, I’d like you all to return to your duties. We’ll see about arranging resurrections later.”
“What incredible spin,” Glenda said, clicking her tongue. “People always trust Allison more than me.”
“Have you tried not cackling in the middle of your speech?” Sylvia commented blandly.
“Ke ke ke,” the blonde professor laughed.
She’d take that as a no.
Professor Myers worked the crowd with a firm hand, shooing the gathered demons. Lady Vallenfelt really needed to trick this woman into becoming her vice-dean. While Sylvia waited, Professor Fischer took off. The blonde witch swept around the evaporating ruins to make sure nothing of import had been missed.
Sylvia tossed another wave of water ether in the building’s direction, leaving the evaporating frame muddy and wet.
A few minutes later, Miss Myers returned.
“Glenda, inform the dean of what happened.”
“Never fear, we will see these vile perpetrators brought to justice,” Professor Fischer proclaimed with all her heart.
Allison’s violet eyes were full of doubt. As one of said perpetrators, Sylvia kept her mouth shut.
“Someone should check the wards in the other buildings to ensure there are no other incidents,” an old, crackly voice broke in.
Roisin Owsley walked closer, hunched frame leaning heavily on her cane. The professor’s muddy eyes observed in the smoldering remains. Then her sly smile fell upon Sylvia.
Professor Myers’s expression turned to one of worry. “I’ll contact a few graduates to see if anyone is able.”
The silver-haired witch groaned, then raised a hand. “I can do it.”
This wasn’t laziness speaking. Sylvia had been working sixteen-hour days since returning from the Cloud Island Wilderness. When she wasn’t in the library reading books, patrolling the skies with Belkis, or doing secret tasks for Lady Vallenfelt, Sylvia was working small jobs all over the Academy.
There was a lot of work that needed doing. And portions of this work had to be overseen by someone who had the baroness’s absolute trust. Sylvia was a natural pick, especially given she was reasonably good at enchantment and construction thanks to her skill books and the experiences of her last year in the wilderness.
Also, Observe Item was a giant cheat when it came to checking enchantment codes.
If it weren’t for the fact she could survive on four hours of sleep, Sylvia might’ve collapsed.
“Oh?” Roisin Owsley noised. “Esmeralda’s instructions must be very impressive if a third year can be trusted with such important enchantments.”
With dark eyes, the hexe studied the silver-haired witch.
“Lady Vallenfelt spared no expense on my behalf,” Sylvia excused blandly.
“What a shame I only had one year to teach a genius then,” the old witch said with a dry, crusty laugh.
Professor Myers frowned. “Sylvia, are you sure you can handle it?”
“Yes,” Sylvia returned firmly.
She had plenty of experience with more sophisticated enchantments. And she’d dare say, when it came to diagnosing problems, she might be better than Esmeralda Vallenfelt herself.
Plus, wards weren’t something they could let just anyone touch. Why, some evil witch might just sabotage them.
“Then allow this old woman to watch and make sure,” Professor Owsley said, voice crackling. “I want to see how much Miss Swallow has learned.”
-oOo-
The days passed quickly.
Well, technically, they didn’t. Vallen remained frozen in time, the sun hanging forever on the same spot of the horizon. White clouds crossed the blue sky, the only hint of the changing weather. Every hour was the same as the last, sometimes a touch cooler and others a hint warmer, but that was it.
Though the world stood still, the Academy did not. In the shadows, Esmeralda’s retainers moved, making ready for the grand evacuation. Fifty junior witches had already been transferred to the Cloud Island Wilderness, souls bound to their urns before being stored neatly in Sylvia’s home.
Others were being moved in secret. Phylacteries had been stacked in the Academy’s underground, waiting for their own deposit.
From now on, when an unimportant witch died, they’d find their way to another world. Sylvia felt bad for those jerked from their life without a chance to reach a decision, but the best they could do now was query the sleeping souls with magic.
The change hadn’t gone unnoticed. A disquiet had fallen upon the Academy. The walls and the front were still fine. There demons bustled, working, building, and training when they weren’t fighting against Clara Arbores. But the back of the school held an eerie silence. The Academic building was too empty. The Senior Dorms, readied for homeless juniors, bare beyond expectation.
The witches could taste the conspiracy in the air. One by one, their friends were vanishing. As the numbers piled up, the theories and rumors grew. Already, there were whispers that Baroness Vallenfelt had struck a deal with Baron Gris and girls were being sold to the werewolves.
Sylvia believed Lyam was behind the rumors, intentionally leaking bits of conversation so the Academy would be stirred.
Nowhere was this hollowness felt more strongly than on northern strip where asteri once cultivated. War, worry, and disappearances had left the chain of stone dais empty. With no witches feasting on the ether, the air had grown thick with astral wisps.
Though some might’ve called the silence harrowing, Sylvia found it peaceful. Working well out of view reduced the number of distractions.
“■■.”
With the swish of her earth scepter, the silver-haired girl peeled back a block of dirt. Running through the mud was a thick, wooden channel. Sylvia could see the hue of astral ether flowing through it.
Once upon a time, she had contemplated ripping the whole length up and sending it through the gate to the Cloud Island Wilderness. Decades had stained the wood with the character of chaos. Beyond anything Sylvia had worked with, this material was the best for gathering astral ether.
Alas, it wasn’t in the cards. Bulk transport was too tight. Now these channels would be put to a different use.
The witch stepped into the hole, probing the length with her ki.
“No signs of erosion or deterioration.”
Time was both boon and bane in the nether. As phantasmal objects aged, they lost to entropy and gained from recognition. As the years passed, the essence within these channels had thickened, making it more durable and more effective.
Yet, those same years wore at the enchantments. Runes broke and faded. Sometimes, though an object’s existence deepened, it moved in a trajectory which undermined its purpose. A wooden channel might decide it was better off a tree, or maybe it would choose to hold and congeal astral ethers instead of letting them flow.
For this reason, tools and infrastructure required maintenance. At least, this was the case for the first few centuries. Truly ancient structures became fixed objects in the world’s logic. Crystallized. While this could be advantageous, it might well drive a craftsman mad should the structure need changed.
“Once I finish up here, it’ll be twelve sections down and fifty-seven to go,” Sylvia cheered.
Her heart didn’t share her false excitement.
The witch fished out a rune stylus, then swirled it in the air. The elegant lines were drawn tight then pushed through a magiscope. Half an hour and five hundred runes later, Sylvia crawled out of the hole.
“■■.”
An earth moving spell put the dirt back where it came from. Magic was so convenient.
Sylvia walked down the path, stopping when she caught Pierre Bauhin standing further down the way. The swarthy werewolf gazed out into the astral sea, his midnight-blue hair catching the morning light. Under the bright glow, the shades of blue were made distinct from black.
He needed a fedora, Sylvia realized. It’d go great with his leather coat.
…
Dratted Charm Club.
“Sir Bauhin,” Sylvia greeted with a curtsy. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
The wolf grunted, pitch black eyes shifting in her direction.
“Strange work to be doing,” Pierre commented.
“Lady Vallenfelt has me checking the Academy’s security,” Sylvia lied. There were detection wards set along the butte’s boundary, but they had nothing to do with the astral channels. “I apologize, but I cannot share any more details until the fief has been purchased.”
In fact, if the devil tried to poke further, she’d have to intervene. Their relationship was cordial on the surface, but they were enemies underneath. It was already a risk to keep the werewolves around. A risk they accepted to avoid tipping their hand too early.
“Hmm,” Pierre sounded. The werewolf’s eyes returned to the sea of stars.
Pierre Bauhin, Sylvia had learned, was a man of few words. Usually, he interacted with Belkis or Lady Vallenfelt while Sylvia was gifted the dubious pleasure of escorting Lyam Gris.
She supposed she should be glad Lyam thought her a clone of Esmeralda. Otherwise, the arrogant young master might well presume her presence included duties more intimate.
“The baroness negotiates in good faith,” Sylvia replied pointedly. “And who is to say how many months Vallen will have to stand before the deal is sealed?”
Pierre Bauhin remained silent. Sylvia waited for a few more minutes before moving on to the next section. No sooner did she turn her back than did the werewolf speak.
“I heard you were teamed with Elroy of Est Sombre.”
Sylvia shifted, eyes of fractal pink gazing into the pitch abyss.
“I was,” Sylvia answered firmly.
“Elroy was an honorable man.”
“He is an honorable man,” Sylvia corrected. “If you’ll pardon my presumption, Baron Gris would’ve been far better off with Elroy as young master than this Lyam Gris.”
Pierre stared, grunted, then left.
What was that about?
Know what? She didn’t care. They weren’t expecting anything but trouble from the wolves at this point. Things were coming down to the wire. If Pierre felt insulted and did something untoward, it’d give them an excuse to throw the devil out.
Turning on her heel, Sylvia continued down the line. The silver-haired girl got through three more sections before she was interrupted.
“Professor Myers,” Sylvia greeted, trying to hide the edge of annoyance. “Does Esmeralda need me? Or perhaps Belkis.”
Out of the way was supposed to be out of the way. As in, no one there to bother her.
Violet eyes studied her for a long moment. Sylvia gazed up from her position in the hole.
“I apologize if I am bothering you, Miss Swallow,” Allison said after a moment.
Sylvia sighed then hopped out of the hole to sit on the rim. One nice thing about the netherworld, she didn’t have to worry about mud or dirt. Her uniform would remain pristine unless subject to a more powerful force.
The witch could only pity the women of Earth. It must be real tiresome to take care of a fancy dress in the material world. Though, if Sylvia were on Earth, Lady Vallenfelt would surely permit the silver-haired witch to wear more comfortable clothes. And Sylvia herself would strongly to object to wearing heels while digging in the dirt.
…
Peering down, Sylvia observed her Blood Bone Heels. It was well past time for a new pair of shoes.
“Since you’re here, you may as well say it,” Sylvia stated, prying herself free from her internal dialogue.
“Thank you for your time,” Allison Myers said politely. “I know we were never on the best of terms, but I didn’t know who else I could ask.”
“I thought we got along fine. You’re a pretty good at teaching, though a bit strict,” Sylvia said confidently.
“Even after I forced you?” Professor Myers’s expression showed a twinge of regret.
“Lady Vallenfelt forced me,” Sylvia rejected. “You just made sure I didn’t get myself into extra trouble.”
Plus, with Glenda Fischer and Roisin Owsley as teachers, it was hard to hate a professional like Professor Myers. Also, Allison had killer legs. Sylvia would admit, Allison’s killer legs left her a bit biased.
Humans were such shallow creatures.
Though these days she was a demon and a witch.
“Piper and Brianna died last night,” Professor Myers broached, voice heavy. “Belkis took them out on patrol. Neither came back.”
Sylvia stared at the teacher, questioning.
“Three days prior, seven witches were killed while working to bolster the walls of Vallen,” the fox-eyed woman continued. “Assassins in white cloaks, or so I’ve been told.”
What a classic. Sylvia wanted to give the killers a thumbs up. She did hope the murderers had fun.
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,” Sylvia said slowly.
Professor Myers pressed her lips.
“Glenda won’t answer my questions. Zoe appeared then disappeared in the same week. Dianna just brushes me off,” Allison explained. “People are getting worried.”
“Miss Myers,” Sylvia said firmly. “You should know that you are neither Lady Vallenfelt’s retainer nor her apprentice.”
“There are rumors claiming the baroness is selling girls debts,” the dark-haired witch said. The professor’s violet eyes held a hard edge to them. “I just want to know, should I be worried?”
Sighing, the silver-haired girl stood. How should she answer this?
“The first time we met, you laid down the law and told me to suck it up and live as a girl,” Sylvia began. “You even forced me into Charm Club when I stepped over the line.”
Miss Myers winced. “I’m sorry.”
“I already said I don’t blame you,” Sylvia waved off.
“But it wasn’t right.”
“It wasn’t,” Sylvia confirmed. It wasn’t right to force a person to live according to a society’s arbitrary definition of male or female. This was true whether one was cis or trans, princess or tomboy. “But you told me to do it anyway. And despite knowing what Lady Vallenfelt is like, you stayed on as a professor of the Starlight Nether Witch Academy. Why?”
Professor Myers let out a breath.
“Because I believed that, despite the Academy’s flaws, it was the best way to lead the girls to success.”
Sylvia nodded. “You weren’t wrong.”
Without another word, Sylvia hopped back into her hole and got to work. The asteri swished her rune stylus, paying no attention to the professor above her.
Professor Myers watched for a long moment.
“I suppose, I can only have faith.”
The teacher left. Ten minutes later, Sylvia finished another section. Walking along the northern ridge, the witch gazed out into the starry void beyond.
Her lips quirked.
Life was a sea of uncertainty. Sometimes people were forced to choose their destiny without knowing which decision was right or wrong. To dither, to waffle, or to flip-flop would only make the outcome worse. In these cases, the only thing to do was to pick a side and hold faith their choice was right.
But to speak of faith as witch in Hell was truly amusing.
“I, too, hope it all works out in the end,” Sylvia murmured to herself.
For while faith was a necessary component of life, there was nothing more damning than faith poorly placed.
-oOo-
“How long do you think we have?”
“If they want to catch us before we leave, an hour at most,” Belkis answered. “If their aim is to minimize their losses, they’ll give us a day to pack up then hit Vallen after we strip it bare.”
Sylvia nodded.
The asteri and prisma hovered in the sky above the Academy. A lens of water sat before their eyes, drawing close the image of the rebel force. Far on the plane’s horizon were three warships. Two bore on their masts the banner of Baron Ishii. The other, Tadc Cair.
Between them was a small airship without a single cannon. This one displayed the colors of Baron Nightstalker, the dokkaebi who once ruled Bam.
The goblin was present in person, standing on the bow of his ship. A flew fliers hung in the sky, safe at the rebel’s side. Observers gathering their own intelligence.
From below echoed the voice of Esmeralda Vallenfelt. The baroness had gathered witches and soldiers for a final speech. Her amplified words reached even here, a half-a-kilometer into the sky.
Though, if Sylvia flew with speed, the roaring winds would leave the dean silenced.
“I know many of you are scared.”
A raucous cry of hoots and howls sounded as though in retort. Strangely, it was the demons who would be left behind that gave the strongest cheer. Perhaps, this was a part of demonic culture Sylvia had yet to grasp. Maybe a last stand was proof of loyalty and strength, an advertisement to their new master.
The students and graduates lined up in front, looked grim. The thin grouping made obvious that half their number had been scrapped away. In the crowd, not a single emerald dress could be seen.
Most, Sylvia knew, were safe in the Cloud Island Wilderness. A few girls, however, had disappeared on their own accord. Sylvia could only hope their decision was the right one for themselves.
The Cloud Island Wilderness was also a prison of sorts.
“The enemy stands at our gates. I will not lie. We have no hope of victory.”
“So they won’t try and bull their way in with their ships,” Sylvia concluded.
Her gaze lowered. With so many rebel phantasms gathered into formations, the carpet of beryl leaves could no longer hide their presence.
“But we also need not the ghost of fear. Though Vallen crumbles, its light still shines bright. Those who are dear and loyal, I invite you to follow me to a new fief. A safe place far from these unstable shores.”
“Not worth the risk,” Belkis agreed. “They’re flyts, which are clunky trade ships. None of those hulls were built for war, and two of them are sporting jury-rigged upgrades. Though the rebel force has more cannons, ours have a higher rate of fire and a fixed defense. Plus, Master can pick off airships at twice their reach. At most, they’ll advance as part of the rear after the ground force has entangled our army.”
Sylvia nodded. Her sister was a thrill seeker. Sylvia wasn’t surprised at all to hear the prisma had fought in multiple wars. On this matter, Belkis had more experience than Lady Vallenfelt.
Though, Esmeralda had been less than pleased to learn how little about enchantment Belkis remembered.
“For those who stand strong on these walls, I promise you’ll not be forgotten. On this very morning, I gave to the Heaven Will a decree in my name. For those that fight for Vallen, debts owed to my house are hence forth severed. Let not the lodestone of slavery weigh upon your soul. As for…”
“How many have you spotted so far?” Belkis asked, scanning the canopy.
“Twelve legions, half of them short,” Sylvia replied. Helheim legions tended to lose their shamblers first. Weakened legions retaining a good core were labeled short by convention. “They also have a few thousand blood wolves, a flight of hawks, and maybe half a century of golden arktos.”
“They’ll send in the wolves first,” Belkis said. “Differing species of phantasmal beasts rarely play well together. The legions will march in after, supported by the demons. As for the hawks, if the rebels know what they’re doing, they’ll hold them in reserve.”
“Sir Lebas, Sir Carmody, please step forward. I present to you your letters of recommendation. May the Ministry of Ceremonies grace you with the title of official devil.”
Music sounded, a small band of witches playing instruments. The tune reminded Sylvia of her high school graduation. Both men knelt before their lord, accepting from Lady Vallenfelt’s hand a letter bearing her seal.
“Thank you for your most diligent service. Though soon I will be your lord no longer, I ask one last commission. Hold the line for as long as you can, then distribute the monies set aside fairly to all those who stood brave in our stead.”
“The speech is coming to an end,” Sylvia commented.
“Then we have to split,” Belkis said. The prisma flashed a grin. “See on the other side, little sis.”
Sylvia nodded, expression serious. “See you on the other side.”
Belkis took off, flying for the Academy gates. Her task was to support the army during the evacuation. Sylvia guided her broom toward the Academic Building instead.
The silver-haired witch passed though the first floor, her Blood Bone Heels clicking on the tile floor at a brisk pace. The witch swung through a door, entering the Academy’s underground. Two guards watched the entrance, beast-kin in Vallenfelt’s livery. Sylvia paid them hardly any notice.
Instead, the witch descended a spiral staircase. She traveled for six or seven floors before reaching the door to the basement.
The Academy underground was a hollowed out space wide enough to host multiple football games. The territory was thick with astral ether. The entire butte sat on an upwelling of chaos generated by the plane scrapping against Unus Mundus. This natural force had driven the land above to break away, leaving it floating higher than the territory surrounding.
Over the eons, this powerful flux had stained stone and rock, the strongest currents carving tunnels through the butte’s base. Esmeralda had filled many of these paths, channeling ether through wood rather than atmosphere. Thus, the underground had become a cauldron of astral ether. The dense chaos was half as thick as the primordial energies in the land above.
Lady Vallenfelt had then transformed the caves into a series of fields. Here she’d grown selinofoto flowers. In this environment, flowers could be planted and harvested five times a year. The gathered essence was processed into astral dew. Nearly a hundred tons were produced every year.
This restricted space also served as a fortress, a protected domain in which the Academy held its most precious defenses. The backup wardroom was found here. Also, the reservoir for Vallen’s resurrection pools. Only Esmeralda’s trusted servants were allowed within, along with a group of slaves who tended to the crop.
Sylvia was greeted by two women the moment she stepped into the cavern.
“Ke ke ke, we finally get to learn the grand plan,” Glenda cackled.
“I’d rather be up top killing things,” Isabella muttered.
The silver-haired witch nodded to both, pausing momentarily on the redhead. In the past few months, Sylvia had often worked with Professor Fischer. Her path and Isabella’s, however, had rarely crossed. The dragonling had been busy overseeing the many demons within the Academy’s walls.
“Follow me,” Sylvia ordered briskly.
The teachers fell in behind her.
“To think, I’d be taking orders from an Origin brat,” Isabella muttered.
“Ke,” Professor Fischer noised. “What does it matter? She’s already in the second consolidation.”
The silver-haired witch didn’t slow, her curly tails bouncing behind her.
They passed by barren fields, the flowers stripped away. No harvest was planted after. The Academy’s stores of astral dew had been sent to the Cloud Island Wilderness ages ago. Materials with a chaos lilt could be cheaply transported through the maw of a gate.
After half a kilometer, they turned into a fenced off tunnel. The stone here thrummed with magic. Thick, hidden channels drew ethereal energy from all around the butte. Enchantments were laid into the reinforced rock, guarding against void and causality.
Soon they entered an antechamber.
The floor and walls were polished, the essence heavy and dense. A dark, metal door stood at one end. On either side were shadowed cubbies. From within them, six gargoyles glared. A threat doubled when Sylvia considered the insidious magics in the spell circles hidden above and below.
“Oi filoi.”
Sylvia spoke the command word, holding a finger sized cylinder above her head. Mana filled the crystal interior, shedding a pale green glow. The light reflected in the red eyes of the phantasms. Hissing, the creature rose in their cubbies. Then, with a series of cracks, they emerged from their holes, heavy bodies hitting the earth.
The gargoyles gathered, crawling on all fours. Each beast had a head high enough to reach Sylvia’s chest. Stone wings lingered behind, as much shields as instruments of flight. Tails whipped at their back, jagged lengths like serrated swords. Their ugly, twisted faces turned from Sylvia to gaze in the direction of Glenda and Isabella.
“Release your essence so they’ll know your scent,” Sylvia instructed. “Once I issue the lockdown command, they’ll kill anyone they don’t recognize.”
“Ke ke ke,” Glenda cackled, drawing a knife. “How interesting.”
Isabella just huffed then unsheathed her sword. With a jerk, the demon slashed her arm across the bone blade. Thick, gelatinous blood oozed from the wound. Sylvia gestured. The gargoyles moved closer, stone claws clicking on the floor. From a maw extended a long, fleshy tongue. The appendage swept over a droplet of blood, taking in the taste.
Sylvia watched. When every phantasm had settled, the silver-haired witch released a second pulse of mana. The crystal key flashed. The gargoyles jerked, hideous leers turning toward her.
“Teliki kleidaria.”
Deep red eyes were hued with fire and crimson. The beasts scampered across the room, returning to their cubbies.
“No one is allowed into the room from now on,” Sylvia reminded. “When supplies are brought, the professors are to leave them at the mouth of the tunnel.”
With that said, Sylvia inserted the crystal cylinder into the black door. “■.” A click of her tongue manifested an ephemeral blade, opening her palm. She pressed bleeding flesh against dark metal. Enchantments sang, pale blue lines spreading over shadowed steel.
Chong.
Metal rang. The door opened. The backup wardroom was revealed beyond.
Roots of wood spread through floor and ceiling like a petrified relief. The limbs gathered around twenty-four crystals set in carved nooks. The waygate that once rested inside was gone, the body dismantled for its materials. Some had been used to reinforce Esmeralda’s interplanar gate.
Isabella paused as they entered, slit eyes on the racks of phylacteries.
“We’re shipping all these out?” she questioned.
“I told you, it has to be a gate. A gate to Sunlight Harbor,” Glenda speculated. “That’s why Esmeralda sent Sylvia to Tartarus to learn how to sail a ship. Esmeralda must’ve bought one from the faeries. Load everyone up, fill the hold, then we sail away to another plane.”
Isabella scoffed. “Even if the brat knows how to pilot a ship, how would we get past the blockade?”
“There’s no need to guess,” Sylvia said bluntly.
“I have a hundred soli on a gate,” Glenda contradicted.
“A hundred soli on a gate and a ship,” Isabella corrected. “I bet Lady Vallenfelt was hiding a gate into the wilderness. She’ll bury everything there, then wait out the war, no one the wiser.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes.
Rather than entertain this discussion, Sylvia fished a second key from her soul. This was glowing a red-orange. “■.” Five loose runes served as the password. Her mana was a biometric key. The wards reacted. The wall where the waygate once stood, unraveled. Stone bricks shifting through the air. Behind was revealed a deeper arch. Within it sat a thick and heavy frame, the elegant shape made ragged after Sylvia had buffed it up.
This was the door leading to Esmeralda’s micro-plane, Faded Star.
“You both lose,” Sylvia said blandly. “It’s an interplanar gate.”
Glenda’s cunning blue eyes gleamed. “How spectacular. Ke ke ke, it can’t be easy to operate.”
“It isn’t,” Sylvia said bluntly. She still had a lot to do after setting the teachers to their task, so Sylvia was all business. “As you can see, we’ve already gathered the phylacteries. All the students have likewise been sent. Once we confirm the final list of graduates, we send the rest of the urns through. Then the souls. Then the loyalist. Finally, the extras.”
“Extras?” Isabella questioned.
“Books, equipment, materials, and other nice to haves,” Sylvia said. “Professors Myers and Wright will be in charge of bringing them down here. They stack them at the start of the tunnel. It’s your job to move them the rest of the way here. Nothing gets close to the gate other than Esmeralda, Belkis, and me. The rest of the staff crosses when they’re dead, just like everyone else.”
“Aye, aye, aye,” Professor Fischer sneered. “Manual labor. I was hoping we’d get to do something exciting.”
“Who is allowed in the underground?” Isabella questioned.
“Allison, Abigail, Dianna, and Chloe. Anyone else, even another teacher, kill them,” Sylvia answered. She paused. “Bring two gargoyles with you when you leave the room, just in case. But one of you should be monitoring the gate at all times.”
Chloe Foster was another of Esmeralda’s retainers. Sylvia had exchanged no more than five words with the woman. Normally, Chloe worked with the graduates. Before the war, her responsibility was helping asteri find jobs and ensuring they were up-to-date with their debt. This was similar to how Zoe Marshall’s acted as a political proxy in Orasul Lunii.
“What do we do with any phylacteries left behind?” Glenda asked.
“Break them, then scattered the ashes,” Sylvia answered. “If the situation allows, take them top side and fly up until you hit empty void then spread them there. If not, throw the ashes into an astral current.”
A phylactery was a powerful tool. With the urns, witches could resurrect faster and cheaper. But it was also a weak point. A demon’s mortal corpse could be used to divine their location or curse them by remote. The greater risk was that every phylactery was an anchor. Thus, it could be turned into a tool to facilitate a witch’s capture.
With the rebels all around, it was too much of a risk to distribute urns to their owners. Better they were destroyed than they fell into the hands of Baron Ishii or Lyam Gris.
The gate sparked. Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to see a swirl of light fill the frame. The final transport had begun. Sylvia just hoped the nine thousand droms of cosmic sap she’d purchased would be enough.
“Every three urns or five hundred droms of mass, give the gate a minute to relax,” Sylvia added.
“Will it break if we put in more?” Isabella questioned.
“It shouldn’t,” Sylvia stressed. “But if too much ether is drawn too fast, the portal might close. Every time that happens, we leave another two thousand droms of materials behind.”
An interplanar gate channeled a huge amount of energy. The biggest kick came when the gate opened. There was a similar jerk when the gate was shut, driven by the ether’s sudden absence. Pushing goods through was comparatively gentle. But they were moving a lot of droms. So it wasn’t impossible the gate would break.
Particularly if the frame was repeatedly stressed by openings and closings.
“Three hours then, ke ke ke,” Glenda cackled. “What a tense wait. I can only imagine all the things that could go wrong.”
Isabella gave the blonde witch an ugly look. “Are you trying to jinx us?”
“We’ll get our three hours,” Sylvia assured. “Belkis and Lady Vallenfelt are fighting on the front. We have walls and weapons. And, if that doesn’t work, we have a back-up plan.”
-oOo-
Staves
Mass: 20 to 200 droms
Potency: 130% to 175%
Charge: 200% to 500%
Ether Store: 50 to 5000
Cost: 3,000 to 5,000,000,000 soli
A staff is a common casting tool used by mages throughout the netherworld. A good staff serves multiple functions. First, it works to amplify a mage’s power, letting them place more energy into a spell in much the same way a sword exaggerates the force behind a warrior’s strike. Second, it serves to filter, combine, and transform ether. Finally, it acts as an ether store, providing a repository of energy for quick casting.
All staves consist of two major components. The rod and the orb. The rod provides the first two functions, magical leverage and ether gathering. The orb acts as the store. The combination works to filter or transform. As wood has a strong natural ability to drink ether, most staves use wood for the rod. Elemental crystals typically provide a store of energy, with extras are added to facilitate transformations.
Staves are the most common casting tool in the netherworld, followed by a simple ether source. In combat, the biggest gain form using a staff isn’t power, it’s reduced mana cost.
Canes and Scepters
Mass: 15 to 150 droms
Potency: 120% to 160%
Charge: 125% to 400%
Ether Store: 50 to 5000
Cost: 3,000 to 10,000,000,000 soli
A cane or scepter is just a staff with a shortened rod. Canes usually stand no higher than the hips. Scepters are never longer than an arm. By eschewing the length, these instruments save on spiritual weight at the expense of a slower ether draw rate and reduced filtration. Though notably less popular than a staff, both of these tools see wide use as they are more convenient to carry in hand.
Tools with a handle or channeling frame shorter than a scepter are referred to as an ether source. Sources are especially common for the chaos elements, as on plane ether recharge rates are terrible regardless.
Wands
Mass: 3 to 8 droms
Potency: 100% to 110%
Cost: 4,000 to 20,000 soli
A wand is a specialized casting tool commonly used by mortal mages. The purpose of a wand is to mimic spirit speech. Humans do not have the natural ability to speak runes into existence, therefore a wand is used in conjunction with a chant to help channel the inner world into the outer through physical gesture.
Netherworld mages often see wands as a crutch. At best, they are tools used to assist gesture based magic, an item that belongs in a training hall and not a field of war. Carrying one outside areas of study is practically an invitation to be bullied by other witches.
Though similar in shape, wands are not to be mistaken for a rune stylus. A rune stylus is a tool designed to help draw runes in the outer world with neutral mana, and are used extensively in enchantment.
Sylvia’s Notes: Emily tells me she’s quite good with a wand, but when I asked her to show off she refused, saying I’d make fun of her. Which I totally would… not.
Comments
Brantal
"Now get to work."
awelonblue
Sylvia murdering Camilla Powell just after being thanked by her hit hard.
Katherine
Yay! Empress Sylvia signals a tactical withdrawl! :D
