Hastum
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141. And into the fire
🕑 Added 2026-01-07 22:43:01 +0000 UTCAuthor's note!
Hello everyone. I'm back from holidays. I went over the chapters posted while I was on break and made slight adjustments, since they were edited in row, and I think I missed some things.
One, I'm not sure I got it through that the sabbath technically ended for Sam with the vote for the cats proposal. The rest would be boring legal proceedings that, if not for the attack, would be skipped to the final part.
And two, I went over the last chapter and removed the part where Sam hesitates about holding the room, as it was established that there were enemies in the corridors already, so it didn't make sense to stop there. I also changed the last line. When they were talking about gods at the chessboard, they meant their leaders, so reworded it to make it make sense.
And as always, thank you for reading!
***
“That’s no—” I exploded into motion mid-sentence, stopping my stealthy mana manipulation and hurrying the spell’s completion, still dragged down by tiredness.
My attack was accompanied by the man’s hands rising to draw a rune in the air. Before I dematerialized from where I stood, I noticed his twin also moving his hands. Their gestures were strange, the runic patterns incorrect by themselves, but together they completed one another, melding into one whole.
Blink.
The strategy was the same as for the duel. The spell brought me right in front of the man who spoke. I expected surprise—a flinch, a pause—but he just continued casting as if nothing had happened. In the same movement, I pointed my hand at his forehead, bringing it close so any shield would need to adjust to appear between my fingers and his skin, and released the second spell.
Pierce.
A missile spell cast with second-circle mana, adjusted to a thin, see-through needle, maximized for penetration, was activated. No shield appeared, no armor to block the attack.
My spell hit the man’s forehead and went in without issue, lodging itself between his eyes.
It worked.
The man I killed stood between his twin and me, blocking any retaliatory attack. Now, just fling myself away with Force Control from the staff—
I took a step back, activating the spell, just to notice the other man had fallen to the floor with a hole in his forehead while the one in front of me—who had taken the attack—was still standing, calmly finishing his casting without a twitch.
“How—?” was all I managed to think as Force Control activated alongside the opponent’s attack.
I didn’t recognize the spell*,* as magic in the air coagulated into two massive scythes. I flung myself back, but the attack was faster, bordering on the third circle. Or rather attacks, as I realised it was a dual cast of two identical spells.
It would lop my head clean off.
In the split second, all I managed was to bend backward, trying to get my throat out of the blade’s path, sacrificing my ribs in the process.
The attack landed while I was still mid-air. It was exceptionally well placed, using a similar strategy of materialising too close to the skin to be blocked by instant shielding.
I was too slow.
I felt the upper scythe almost bite into the thin skin of my throat. If it were to sever the artery, I’d be a dead man. I felt the armor spell give way as the second blade cut. It tore into my side, changing my trajectory. The blades entered and exited my flesh, flinging me into the wall in the process, right next to the entrance into the back room.
I willed the staff to activate a Shield by instinct. Then pain in my side assaulted my senses, while my right arm hung limply—muscles likely severed. Thankfully, my hand seemed to have saved my flank as the edge bit into the rib bone but stopped there. My throat was a problem too. Judging by the pressurized blood squirting, it had nicked an artery.
My vision swam as I brought my left hand up to my throat to stop the bleeding. At the same time, something slammed into the shield—something death-attuned—but I didn’t have the presence of mind to check. I needed to get out before I lost consciousness, and the abyssal song wasn’t helping.
I staggered toward the exit, forcing out another Shield by pure will—only for it to shatter under a projectile spell.
He wouldn’t let me get down there, I realized.
“So. This is goodbye,” I heard the mechanical voice from my side, devoid of emotion. I looked and saw the man finish casting, taking his time to complete a more powerful cast of a spell I was sure I didn’t want to witness.
Unwillingness surged—my strange brand of desperation accompanied by a flood of adrenaline that sharpened my thoughts for a second.
I needed to get down those stairs before him.
The man raised his hand and pointed at me.
Well, there was one way to buy time. I let the heaviness drag me down, deep into myself. My consciousness arrived in the gray field, and I could see how much of a mess I was. Here I had no body, just a shape made of mental power, and it was barely there: a see-through ghost, parts like legs completely gone, my form flickering and weak. Worst of all, the abyss loomed behind me, coming down on my tired mind like a black, pulsating avalanche, making me feel like a bug under a giant’s boot.
But I needed it. It was the only cast that could turn this around.
But how?
Any attempt at the spell calling the Young would kill me for sure. The Last Syllable was the fastest to cast, but it wouldn’t buy me enough time in this state. Squirming Void came to mind. But how many tentacles could I manage? One was a stretch.
My mind was slipping. I had never used Eldritch Magic three times in a row without rest.
I could use Squirming Void, but the problem was the command needed. Eldritch magic was fast, almost instant, with much of it being completed in this space, but Squirming Void needed another command to act. I didn’t have time to make a sound, let alone in two tongues—and what would I tell it? “Attack”? It would be too weak.
No, I needed something else. I needed…
A reverberation hit me, a deep sound from behind, like a thump heard underwater. Something stood right behind me, edging me on.
Silent casting—I needed to perform a silent cast for the entirety of Squirming Void. With mana, a deep connection sufficed. But for the unknown itself?
I had no choice.
Invoking the Name, I felt the magic flow and willed it to appear behind me.
Squirming Void
I snapped back into the world and saw the man flinch the moment the strange energy burst from me alongside one pitiful tentacle.
Now—to command it.
I let it sing. I connected to the strange music, the sleepiness and weakness oddly helping, muting the world and sharpening the song. I felt everything around me in a way I never had—its origin in the Void, its disgustingly defined forms. I went beyond merely letting it into my body and formed a small bridge between it and my mind. I ignored my hatred of how mathematically correct everything around me was and showed the magic what I needed done.
The whole process was done at a speed of thought, no sound needed. The black, squirming mass moved as the man regained his bearings. He didn’t let the sudden presence of the unknown disturb his cast. His attack materialized. A stinger-like construct rose from his hand and shot for my heart—
Only to miss by millimeters as a mass of entropy filled with gnawing mouths wrapped around my torso and threw me. Like a ragdoll, it hurled me into the room behind and onto the stairs, then kept the motion, slamming into the cracked wall that supported the massive carving over the podium. In one movement, it flung me, hit the wall, and wrapped around the supporting column, trying to continue.
Whether it succeeded, I didn't know. I hit the floor hard. My hand slipped from my throat, and blood flowed. A crash boomed behind me—I prayed the wall with the carving came down.
My body was giving up as I tumbled down the stairs. I cut myself off from everything around me and used the new strength I’d bought to cast Armor to let me survive as I slammed down the long flight of stairs.
But I had more pressing matters. And that was the eldritch magic and its flow. I’d connected—and now it wouldn’t stop. It was like trying to plug a leaking pipe with bare hands, the water soaking me, filling the room until I would drown.
A new pain bloomed—not from any wound, but from my entire existence. My cells wanted to join the music, rearranging to match it, listening to the shapes it described and yearning for them—strange, abhorrent shapes.
I stopped—either on a landing or at the bottom—uncertain of anything around me as I used every ounce of power to stop the leak.
I couldn’t—not with brute force.
In a last-ditch effort, I deepened the connection, fell into the rhythm, and then, with both tongues, screamed at it.
“Stop!”
And as if cut by a knife, it did.
It obeyed in a way I never knew possible.
I lay there, my world full of pain, blood seeping through my fingers, which I once again wrapped around my own throat. The ache drifted away as my body grew lighter. Footsteps. Someone approached. My hand tried to reach the hook at my belt, but the limb didn’t move—muscles severed.
“It’s okay,” a whisper came.
To my absolute relief, I recognized it. Luna. She moved my hand from my throat and yelped in surprise. Then flesh twisted together, and the bleeding stopped. Thankfully, from all possible wounds, this one was a vein—best case for Luna’s brand of healing.
I fumbled for my belt, and a massive hand guided mine, helped me fish out the potion, and poured it into my mouth. Darius, judging by the palm holding the back of my head. After a few seconds, the constant swirl eased, and I opened my eyes. With vision, voices also rushed in.
Judging by the confused faces, I’d crashed into the middle of an argument—people frozen mid-shout. The room where I lay was a defensive position. The twisted staircase opened into an elongated space with openings in the walls to fire from a connecting corridor. Further in stood something like an arcane gun emplacement. Whatever weapon had stood here was long gone, but runes and parts of the mounting remained, along with complicated shielding arrays.
Three groups filled the room. One was the Church, with two popes, paladins, and a few priests. Another was the nobles who’d run with them—some of Riswalt’s people, among them. Finally, the Third Chamber: warlocks, hussars, a few druids, fighters, and ward wizards, plus a handful of small two-person teams—other races and outsiders.
Most of all, four people bent over me with deep concern etched on their faces: Luna, Will, Darius, and Ophelia. And Astrid—I realised—stood farther ahead, head turned, eyes wide.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Luna asked, voice tight with worry as she looked at my neck.
“You don’t wanna know.” I half-groaned, trying to sit up, only to be pushed back and scolded. Not that I needed the reminder—my flesh protested on its own.
“You see?” the mortal-world pope said loudly. “They are right on our tail. We should move!”
I looked. They were mid-argument with Astrid, who stood in the group’s way. She was distressed, and I doubted it was because of me, but my thoughts still dragged.
She tore her gaze from me back to the man before her.
“I’m telling you, we shouldn’t!” she shouted.
“Propose another way,” the man said.
Astrid’s eyes darted. She glanced at the staircase, but everyone seemed to know that wasn’t an option. Finally, the Pope nodded and walked around her as she stood helplessly, searching for words. I forced my head to tilt, wincing, and saw the man pull something from his robes and approach a massive gate at the end of the room.
Comments
Jonny Mad
tyftc
Hastumo
Which one...
Amelia Gaughan
I feel like the pope is in on it
