BT - Book 1 - Chapter 35 (Patreon)

The five Brensen flitted about the Decrepit Behemoth, digging their skeletal claws into dark red armor and ripping it off piece by piece.  The gigantic monster tried to swipe at its assailants, but they easily hopped out of the clumsy monster’s way with a series of angry squawks.  

The flames powering the beast stoked higher, bringing the temperature in the room to a sweltering level.  The daemons didn’t seem to notice as yet another plate of armor clanged to the ground, hints of the Behemoth’s blood visible where the plate had been bolted to the creature’s bone.

It screamed, a sound more of frustration than of pain.  Surely the Behemoth was in pain, but more than anything the humiliation angered it.  It was supposed to be the master of the Cavern of Rust, apex predator and feared by everything it saw.  Even if something were capable of defeating it, the battle would be dangerous and the victor wouldn’t emerge unscathed.

Instead, the daemons were toying with it.  Piece by piece they ripped off its armor, taking chunks of bone and flesh with it.  Periodically they would pause their torment to swoop at the Behemoth and rip another furrow in its comparatively thin flesh, but it was clear to everyone in the room that they were enjoying themselves.

Micah knew that he should be troubled by the Brensens’ bloodthirsty nature, but truth be told it barely bothered him.  He could feel their excitement as they inflicted pain on the creature.  He could almost taste the rich copper of its blood on his beak.  

He shook his head briefly.  Ever since his excursion to Elsewhere he’d found himself becoming more and more in tune with the daemons.  They were far from being able to converse with each other, but more and more Micah found their alien emotions and senses bleeding over into his own.  

Strangely, when he picked up feedback from the daemons it wasn’t anywhere as disruptive as it should be.  Seeing flashes of an object from five different directions simultaneously, festooned in purples and reds that shouldn’t be visible to the human, should’ve turned him into a gibbering wreck.  At a minimum, he should be suffering from migraines.

Instead, his feelings were more paternal.  He disapproved of the Brensens’ actions.  There wasn’t really any reason to torment the Behemoth like this.  That said, the daemons and he walked a very solitary path.  Blowing off steam every now and again wasn’t the worst thing on Karell.

Telivern grunted worriedly, pushing its head against Micah’s shoulder.

Discontent. Wrongness.

“Okay,” Micah responded, not looking away from the battle.  “I get it buddy.  I’ll tell them to hurry it up so we can get back to the grove.”

Micah took a deep breath and centered himself before casting haste on his daemons.  Even after selecting chronomancer as his level twenty class specialty, the fifth tier spell drained almost a third of his reserves.  

Even so, it was worth it.  A smile blossomed onto Micah’s face as the daemons blurred into motion.  Their strikes came faster and harder, ripping great gouts of flesh and ichor from the Behemoth as it tried to defend itself by spitting a stream of metal quills.  The Brensen easily flapped and jumped aside, squawking and cackling at the boss as their brethren continued to tear deeper and deeper.

Finally, the Behemoth slumped to the ground, spilling its life into the dungeon floor.  Almost immediately the Brensen began wetting their beaks in its flesh as they ripped off and devoured strips of its flesh.  Micah tried to ignore the slimy taste of the dungeon boss in the back of his throat as he turned away from the grisly buffet.

Disgust.  Repulsion.

“I know buddy,” Micah replied as he walked toward the dungeon’s altar, eager to see what he’d receive this time.  For the past couple of weeks they’d raided the Cavern of Rust every other day.  Not every reward was useful to Micah, but he’d gained experience and a handful of higher tier spells.  He still wasn’t a battlemage by any extent, but another third tier spell and a pair of fourth tier spells certainly helped round out his repertoire. 

Telivern snorted behind Micah.  He looked back at the deer.  It stood tall in the dirty chamber, pure white and glowing faintly, a halo of energy rippling around its horns.  It cocked its head slightly, concern in its large black eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Micah replied, running a hand through his hair.  “There’s just so much going on right now between the level ups, the summoning and dating Jo I just haven’t had the same sort of free time.  I swear we’ll have a chance to hang out soon.  Just you and me, like the old days.”

It snorted, pawing the dungeon floor with its hoof before it looked back up at Micah.

“I don’t like the Bresnen that much either,” Micah leaned against his spear, making eye contact with the deer.  “It’s just that we need them.  There’s a storm coming.  Monsters by the hundred if not the thousands.  If we don’t stop them they’re going to overrun everything.  What they don’t kill, they’ll warp and twist into mindless abominations of magic and fell alchemy.”

“I don’t have the power on my own to fight them,” he sighed.  “Even with the Bresnen it probably won’t be enough.  I’m going to need more of them.”

“Hells,” Micah shifted slightly, “I’m probably going to need to up the ante and summon a Luoca.  Maybe two or three.  I just don’t know if I have it in me to tackle the ritual.  A couple more levels and my mind attribute should be where I need it.”

Telivern walked toward Micah.  Its hooves clattering against the dungeon floor the only sound over the noise of the Brensen devouring the Decrepit Behemoth.  Micah closed his eyes as Telivern approached.

The five daemons shone like stars, orange and red with tethers of ephemeral fire connected to Micah himself.  He willed his perception downward, to the small swirling portal of energy and flame deep within his chest.  The chains of power flowed directly into it and back into Elsewhere itself.

The deer stepped into the range of his minds’ eye.  Unlike the daemons, it shone a gentle green and blue.  Slowly it swam forward in the inky darkness until its snout was in his hand once more.  Looking down, he winced.  He glowed a dim orange.  A smoldering coal next to the bonfire of the daemons, but it would be a lie and an excuse to deny his senses.

There was no doubt that the ritual had changed him on a deep level.  Something more than just the night terrors that interrupted his sleep as he felt the fingers of a great and unfathomable mind reach out to mark him.  The taint of Elsewhere was upon him.  Otherwise, Micah would be completely incapable of maintaining more than a handful of simultaneous summons.

Concern.  Discontent.

“I’m worried too, Telivern,” he spoke quietly, running his free hand through his friend's fur.  “I’m changing and I know it, but I can’t find another way.  The levels I’ve gained are beyond anything I could possibly earn on my own.  This power I’m borrowing from Elsewhere isn’t without cost.  I know it.  You know it.”

Tears began to flow down his face as his hand balled in Telivern’s fur.

“I keep trying to tell myself that everything is normal,” he buried his face in the great buck’s fur.  “I keep saying that I’ve faced down problems beyond mortal comprehension.  That I’ve been broken down time and time again only to come out whole.  But this is different.  I can feel my humanity starting to slip away.”

Comfort.  Worry.

“You don’t understand Telivern,” he let out a shuddering breath as he tried to calm himself.  “I can understand them.  Their motives, their desires, it’s all beginning to make sense to me and that shouldn’t be the case.  I feel like… something human is slipping away from me.”

Comfort.

“But I can’t stop,” he smiled weakly.  “As much as this scares me.  As much as I can feel myself taking steps down a path that I might not be able to come back from, I have to keep going.  People like Jo and Esther deserve a chance to live and grow in peace.  If I’m to be the sacrifice that earns them another decade or so of peace, that’s a sacrifice I am obligated to make.”

Acceptance.  Friendship.

“Thank you,” Micah wiped the tears from his face as he took a step back from Telivern.  “I’m not sure any of my friends or family would understand, but you do.  It kills me to not be able to talk about this with Jo.  I’ve known her for years and yet to her, it’s just been a couple of weeks.”

“Well,” he painted a faint smile onto his face.  “Let’s see what today’s spoils are.”

He turned back to the altar.  There was a book sitting upon it.  Brown and made of twisted reeds.  Micah rested his hand on the cover, running his fingers gently over its cool surface.  Flipping the cover open he found a spell formula.  Poison Fog, a tier four wood spell that created a vast bank of toxic mist.

Micah flipped through the book, consigning its writing to the Folio for future use.  Quietly he put the book into his satchel.  Even if he wouldn’t be using it directly it would be a valuable addition to his collection.

He opened his status

Micah Silver

Age 16 [ERROR] / 26

Class/Level Thaumaturge 21

XP 3,400/19,000

HP 430/430

Class Specialty

Chronomancer

Attributes

Body 10, Agility 10, Mind 36, Spirit 36

Attunement

Moon 13 Sun 2 Night 11

Mana

Moon   350/971 Sun 949/949 Night  967/967

Affinities

Time 10

Tier V - Foresight 2, Time Echos 1, Temporal Transfer 2, Haste 2

Wood 6

Tier I - Refresh 10, Mending 9, Plant Weave 9

Tier II - Augmented Mending 10, Root Spears 11

Tier III - Heal 6, Paralytic Sting 3

Tier IV - Regeneration 2, Healing Wave 3

Air 5

Tier I - Gale 7, Air Knife 15, Air Supply 4
Tier II - Wind Shield 6, Sonic Bolt 8

Tier III - Updraft 2, Pressure Spear 2

Tier IV - Flight 1

Blessings

Mythic Blessing of Mursa - Blessed Return, Ageless Folio

Skills

Anatomy  7

Arcana   3

Enchanting  11

Fishing   1
Herbalism  5

Librarian  5

Ritual Magic  19

Spear   11

-Wind Spear 8

Spellcasting  24

Two levels in two weeks, including one in the last ten minutes.  More than anyone could reasonably expect, but still not enough.  The new spells were useful, but not any sort of gamechanger.  Flight allowed Micah or one of his summoned daemons to fly.  Not terribly useful for a Brensen, but amusing to say the least when applied to an Onkert.

Pressure Spear was little more than an upgraded version of air knife.  A thin jet of ultra pressurized air that could punch through all but the thickest of armor.  Regeneration on the other hand was a powerful supportive spell.  It lasted for almost an hour with each casting and greatly improved the rate at which its recipients recovered from wounds, almost to the point that the injuries would visibly close during combat.

The Arcana skill. That was a tougher addition to explain.  He still didn’t know what it did.  None of the books he’d read in any of his three lifetimes even touched upon it.  All he knew is that it appeared on his status once he returned from Elsewhere.  

Micah sighed.  The boosts to his mind attribute from the new level would have to be enough.  Even a dozen more levels wouldn’t be enough for him to stop the Durgh on his own.  He needed more daemons.  A Luoca or two would go a long way toward evening the odds.

He walked toward the exit to the boss chamber, whistling to grab the Brensen’s attention.  Their heads snapped up from the twisted wreckage of the Behemoth.  Chirping back at him, they fell into step behind him.  He needed to return to the grove.  He had a lot of research to do.