Chapter 143 - TFF (Patreon)

Alan felt excitement. He usually did before a fight, but this time it was not his alone. Once again, his now constant companions startled swirling like ribbons of darkness around him, bleeding from his skin and coming out with his very breath. An air of thin darkness that melted away only to reappear again. The shadows reflected his emotion and cheered along. Their whispers were a symphony to his ears as if he had an army of voices egging him on.

Their words came from afar, echoing through the eons of time only to crash into a barrier of linguistics that even [Shadowspeech] was yet to breach. From time to time a word would echo louder than the rest. An idea, or guidance. Simple directions. Warnings. It was not so much as understanding the meaning than feeling it.

They were not distracting or annoying at all though. They didn’t take any of his senses away, nor did they occupy his mind. It was as if he had grown another part in his brain specifically dedicated to listening and processing the whispers of the now constant [Monochrome Armor].

It didn’t worry him, as creepy as it would probably look from the side. He was a [Scion], and with that, came newfound pride. The feeling was a surprise to even himself, but it was there and it was loud.

“What are you grinning at, Alan?” Feyrith asked. His eyes took in the swirling wisps of shadows and he took a step back as he met Alan’s eyes. “You’ve changed. There’s something about your presence… Someone’s growing up, huh.”

“Don’t we all, given enough time?” Alan responded.

“Look at you, talking all mysterious-like. Hahahah.” Xil mocked. His voice stood out among the shadowy whispers in his mind. It was separate from them, more present and real. They didn’t clash at all.

“We all have a role to play in this game called life,” Alan responded, then burst out laughing making Byrr and Feyrith glance at each other with worry. “All right, I might be taking things a bit too far.”

“No, no! Keep going! I’m all for drama, as long as there’s proper slaughter after it.”

Zirida only shook her head with a smile. She seemed accepting, unworried. Then again she was the one with a literal god whispering in her ear. At least it’s what Alan assumed was happening. He wasn’t very sure how her thing worked.

“You haven’t tiered up,” Byrr noted. “It’s a big change. We won’t pry, but good for you.”

Alan shook his head with a smile, “Thanks. How long do you think the barrier will hold?”

“Hopefully a bit longer. I need time to prepare my summons,” Feyrith said and sat down on the ground right in front of them. “Don’t mind me.”

Byrr sighed at that and a green glow spread over him and Feyrith. A barrier of sorts, Alan assumed. He didn’t need it. The shadows would protect him as long as he had mana for them. And he had plenty now. It was a churning maelstrom waiting to be unleashed upon the world.

Only if I had the right skills to do so. [Shadow Creation] was far from enough.

Few things remained to be done, among which was for him to get his tome back from Odu, and finally manage to do something with [Mana Zap]. While it seemed to have value as a blueprint for long raged skills, and also as a breaker of channeling, the skill was simply too weak for the current him.

Maybe I can do something like Master Wilbis? And explosion of shadows like the one during my first run with Byrr and Feyrith. It was quite strong, although it drained my will. Or a storm, similar to the thing we witnessed from afar. I should visit the Exploding Library one day.

A loud burst of fire that bathed the surroundings in red drew their attention. There was a loud crack from the barrier. Was it truly glass? It was behaving like a solid material rather than simply shaped energy.

“Oh, fuck.” Byrr said.

“Fuck yeah!” Xil yelled.

“It’s almost time,” Zirida said and fell silent. Her robes disappeared into whatever spatial item or skill she was using. She was once again wearing only a chest binder and a pair of baggy pants that were tightly wrapped below the knees, revealing parts of her toned and scarred body.

Her eyes closed, and she whispered words only she could hear. Many of her scars went from pale lines to open wounds and thin tendrils of blood started forming marks upon her skin and fusing with it. It was a strange sight as if she was using her blood to tattoo herself. The markings were thin things, that blended nicely with her scars and gave her an even more savage look.

Her two sickles formed in her hands and as she opened her blood-red eyes a strange aura washed over the battlefield. A few scary-looking guards looked over with squinted eyes, having sensed the change. Alan assumed those stood at the top. It was difficult to judge from their uniforms alone as each had modifications aiming to make them stand out. It felt wrong to even consider them as soldiers, even if that’s what they effectively were.

Alan had sensed it too. The flow of savage mana that smelled of iron and slaughter that was rampaging around Zirida was a thing he hadn’t sensed before even when she had fought tooth and nail. It reminded him of what he had sensed while trying to curse her. Had she not gone all out before this? That was a scary thought. What level was she, then, and what was the limit of her strength?

“The dragon is too important. Blood magic always has a price, but for a time, I’ll be very, very strong,” she quietly said, as if having sensed his thoughts. “I suggest you go all out too. We cannot delay this. My sister is doing something that will anger the Blood God and the Dragon Throne. It cannot be allowed, or no one will survive.”

Well, that doesn’t sound good.

“Do you think she’s being controlled?”

“I doubt it. It is hard to brainwash anyone sharing a connection with a literal God. Impossible, even.”

“So… a traitor?”

“Possible.”

Alan nodded and got to do his own preparations. Zirida would do the right thing. With her powerful aura right next to him, the shadows became even more excited. Their enthusiasm for action was like an evergrowing tidal wave. However, Alan felt they were also like children looking forward to a playdate. It wasn’t bloodthirst, but something else. A desire to be better. A desire to be superior. He liked it. He wanted it.

He created two curse marks at once and swayed a little as his vitality was drained to feed them. Only a few drops of blood were enough for him to feel faint. It hadn’t happened in a while, but the effects of his trait or whatever hid underneath it were apparent. The large parasite was almost on his last legs though. He had used and abused the creature’s life energy and no matter how much it seemed to harvest and grow, it couldn’t outpace his consumption of it. It still felt vile, but he stomached it with no other choice. There was only a slight ache in his bones as the life energy replenished what was lost. The shadows were not happy at the intrusion, but all they did was increase their murmuring making it sound more aggressive.

Alan smiled at their unintelligible curses and rage.

It was a price he had to pay. And the crazy idea of slipping a mark on the dragon still existed in his head. It would be silly, and whatever protections the creature had would probably not allow it. It might as well lead to his death. However, there were bound to be other good targets in such a large-scale plot and it was always good to dream.

Another explosion rocked the surroundings and a piece of dirt crashed into Alan’s armor. The shadows reacted as if they had always been there, appearing a few centimeters above his skin and intercepting the attack. It took him less mana than before to recover what was lost.

Like a glass house, the barrier started crumbling. A cascade of crystal the barrier that seemed to stretch between earth and sky fell and pieces of it shattered into the ravaged ground only to dissipate into thin air.

The hooded figures behind it stood still. However, as the barrier fell Alan’s eyes widened. And so did everyone else.

It was no more monsters on the other side, much to the group's surprise. The fractal’s endless hordes of creatures seemed to pop up in random places, but now all that awaited them was a much smaller army.

A large number of hooded figures bursting with mana. They were less than the guards, and if the rest of the outpost made it, they would be outnumbered at least three to one. However, each one of them made Alan’s stomach sink. It was like staring at an angry Kalyntha.

There were some large parasites positioned among the group, standing still as if awaiting orders. They were set an even distance from one another like one would position cannons.

And far behind all of them, rose a circle of earthen pillars. The red soil seemed to be moving on its own, glimmering and shifting. The air was hazy as if space itself was struggling to hold on, but there was no doubt as to what was lying in the circle.

The dragon.

Its body was black and sleek, swallowing each speck of light that reached its mighty frame. It was a massive thing, but it was also barely breathing and seemingly asleep or unconscious. A few more figures stood there, but they were hidden beneath the strange dark green robes too.

One stood out though. The only one with its hood down. He had a dark featureless plate for a helm that revealed only a mummified jaw beneath.

Looking at him felt odd.

Had Alan seen him somewhere? Or was it something else? Alan couldn’t feel even a hint of presence, as if the person wasn’t there at all.  

Master Wilbis yelled something out and another explosion sounded out, however, it was stopped not far from the outpost master himself, forcing him to protect himself from his own skill. One of the hooded figures rose to meet him in the air without hurry, one arm raised. A terrifying aura reached them.

Space shook once again and the formation glittered above.

A frightening thought made its way into Alan’s mind and he looked toward Zirida. She was frowning too.

“Those are some strong fuckers.” Xil said in his head. He sounded… tense. “You’d never again catch me saying something like this, but… I suggest you run. Run far.”

“Tier two,” Zirida whispered.

***

Riaskoritam Zrivanda was beside himself with worry. This had escalated to a point he was not comfortable with, and to a point his clan wouldn’t be comfortable with. They had worked for months to get a follower of the Blood God on the fractal, and when they had finally managed it hadn’t been one. So they killed until only the suitable candidate for their plan remained. That bitch Zirida had somehow lived through it all, but he didn’t worry about her. He had done his due diligence and she wasn’t the strongest of them by far. She wasn’t even of noble upbringing.

Those shady bastards his father had hired had assured him that they had a way to force a [Red Cleric] into guiding the ritual without attracting the ire of the Blood God. Not surprising, considering how much they charged.

Then, they had used insanely expensive artifacts to teleport hordes of monsters around, as if this was some sort of an elaborate game of chess. Destabilizing the fractal they had said, easier to hide evidence after all was done.

Even poisoning the dragon wasn’t as stressful as all the running around they had done.

It was all a bit much, but all Riasko cared about was getting the void dragon bloodline. A unique bloodline with untold potential. There were no other Void Dragons anywhere in the realm!

All he had to do was hide for a time after he was done here until things calmed down. No one would blame them a hundred years later if he showed off his bloodline then. The fractal and the dragon would be long history and the Thelyra Dynasty and the Dragons would be at each other throats due to the loss of the Death Plate and the Void Dragon.

However, now they were facing the ire of the outpost master. Furthermore, the barrier he had been assured would hold out until he was ready to receive the bloodline had shattered under the gnome’s strange might… Riasko was growing unsure. Their whole clan could be implicated if word got out and he was found.

And that newcomer…

He glanced at the strange person with the featureless helmed. He was not someone he had seen before, and the bastard was not even listening to him no matter how much he threatened or used his father’s title. An undead? Or something else? Who did he think he was?

At least, the mercenaries had sent two early-tier twos. That had to be enough against Wilbis.

The [Red Cleric] behind was softly chanting as the blood left her body like a flowing river and drew marks upon the black skin of the dragon, just above the heart.

She was hidden from sight still, and the tier two pulling her strings had assured him of success. A [Puppeteer] of that level was hard to find.

Soon, all would be over, and he would be set for a bright future.

Future of power.