67. Gelid Winds (Patreon)

“Over half an hour and it still hasn’t detonated.” The woman sighed while looking at the sunset. Even with the High Arcanist dome over it, the city still had a charm nowhere else in the world to be seen. “I hadn’t had hopes in the babbling buffoon since the begging, but I didn’t expect him to be this useless.”

It was an easy job, throw the ball in there and run away. It couldn’t be any easier, yet the psychotic soldier failed at that.

“It seems we no longer have a scapegoat.” She talked to herself. “Not that we needed it, to begin with. Still a shame, though.”

At best she only needed to kill the useless peon and do the work by herself. Looking at the timetable, it was most likely that the hemomancer had a change of heart at the moment of truth. She couldn’t blame him; casual genocide was still a hard pill to swallow. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t kill him. No loose ends were allowed.

“I suppose I must track him down now. I wouldn’t want the Sergeant Major to be informed of the plot. And by extension the Ceaseless Storm.” She sighed once again, this time in tiredness. “If this information reaches him, the situation will complicate very quickly.”

Her thoughts were interrupted when a fast projectile came flying toward her. It was easily blocked by her reactive ice shield. “Arcane magic? Is the Arcane Veil attacking me?” She thought as he readied herself for battle. “No, it doesn’t make any sense. She’s known for being extremely passive. And the time doesn’t match, she can’t have found me this quickly.”

This time a bigger projectile came to her. Not a ball-sized, but an ellari-sized one. She evaded to the side as it looked extremely dangerous. The figure stopped millimeters before the wall, clearly possessing some force shield allowing them not to tear through the stone.

“Who did this?” They, no… he spoke. The voice was ragged as if he hadn’t had anything to drink for days. “Who ordered this?”

His eyes had no sclera nor pupils, only a glowing violet iris that engulfed the surface of his eyeballs. Whoever was he, he had discovered their plans.

“Who knows?” She deflected his question as she readied spells of her own.

The power behind the man’s magic was undeniable. Her reactive shield was meant to stop a single powerful attack, and while it did its job, the fact she needed it, in the first place, was a problem.

“Who are you?” She asked to make time for herself. Judging by its impromptu attack and lack of courtesy, he was alone.

I’m the one who asks the questions here.

This time, he spoke without moving his lips or making a sound. Her danger sense increased tenfold. It was some kind of psychic attack, and it had bypassed all her mental defenses.

ANSWER!

The ever-present voice inquired. She felt her heart tighten at his shout. She needed to answer him, to satisfy him. ‘NO’. She needed to kill him and fast, that’s what she made from the situation. If she let herself be overwhelmed by the unknown mage’s compulsion, all would be over.

She unleashed an overloaded Permafrost Lance, one of the most powerful single-objective attacks in her repertoire. Its speed and penetrating power were even respected in the higher leagues.

Yet the unknown figure blocked it with a single shield. A simple omnidirectional shield blocked one of her most powerful attacks. While it did make some cracks on it, they quickly healed as if nothing had happened. The barrier shone with a deep violet; she had never seen such arcane mana before.

“What party do you belong to?” She now asked with a hint of fear. An arcanist as powerful as the one in front of her should be well-known like the Arcane Veil.

Silence.

His voice penetrated deep inside her, colder than any gelid wind she was able to produce. He had run out of patience. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a dark orb floating behind the accumulation of mana that was the man. ‘What’s the artifact doing here?’ The mana capacitator floated behind him, emitting sparks of mana so concentrated that eroded the stone around it. ‘That must be the source of his power, I need to take it away from him.’

State who ordered this attack or perish.

It was obvious by now that this arcanist had stopped the leyline from overflowing, but that wasn’t new information. ‘Maybe this is my chance,’ the woman pondered. ‘This man seems even more unstable than that soldier. He can be my new scapegoat.’

“Who not but the mighty overlord!” She exclaimed in half-truth. “The one who began it all!” She knew psionics and neuromancers had retorted ways of identifying the truth, but with such an incomplete answer she could aim the loose arrow at someone else.

The shrouded man stopped dead in his tracks, along with his mana. It was unnatural. How did the mana that was flowing across the air and crackling like lightning stopped as if time itself didn’t exist? ‘Is he mana itself?’ That idea terrified her more than anything.

The cryomancer tried to shoot down the artifact whilst the arcanist was distracted, twelve Permafrost Lance. Most of them shattered upon impacting the violet barrier, but two evaded it. Those last two flew straight to the mana capacitor but once they got close enough, the orb moved out of the way, as if it had free will. None of the lances hit the target.

Names.

She had wasted her window of opportunity, the voice got sharper. This time she could feel it assault her whole body instead her mind exclusively. He wasn’t satisfied. And he needed closure. Closure she could give.

I want names.

She felt as if her heart was being held captive by him. A rope getting tighter and tighter. Everything was getting dizzier; she was compelled to tell him the truth. To obey him.

‘No… No!’ She fought against his mental control. If it got around that she leaked information, then… she wasn’t looking forward to that destiny.

“If that’s the case, I chose my own!” The woman shouted with steeled resolve.

The cryomancer began convulsing on the spot before she succumbed to the mind mage’s control. ‘Death before dishonor.’ That was her last thought before her mind shut down.

The paralysis choke on her body ceased as a soul no longer encapsulated it. The body fell loudly to the ground. The man got near her and examined her mouth.

“A suicide pill.” He commented nonchalantly ignoring the loss of life. “Why will no one give me the information I need?” The was no rage in his voice, only indifference. He couldn’t even bring to care who she was. He only needed to be satiated. “At least I have a new objective now.”

He commented as the sun began disappearing on the capital of magic. His eyes, the so-called gates to the soul, contained no ego, yet it couldn’t be denied the absurd amount of soul mana flowing around him.

He looked over to the dome with what seemed to be a tired gaze. His next objective was over the seas, and no measly wall would stop him.

Breaking through the High Arcanist’s city-wide barricade had proven an afterthought. The transformation of arcane mana had gone from a mildly complicated ability to second nature to him. It behaved as he commanded.

He soared across the skies under the dark and cold mantle of the night. It was an especially dark one. He couldn’t see himself if it weren’t because of the dim glow of his violet barrier, preventing the invisible razorblades caused by his infrasonic velocity to cut him into pieces. Not even the moon was reflected on the water under him.

He flew low and occasionally sea water splashed on him. Though at his speed it was no different than being shot non-stop by a firing squadron. Thankfully those matters were also handled by the overloaded shield around him. Mana no longer felt like an issue to him.

His arm felt numb, his face felt numb, the entirety of his body felt numb as a matter of fact. He had full control over his body and mind yet surrendered it. He chose it to be this way. Such… uncommon activities required ruthless efficiency. Suppression was mandatory.

With his newly acquired vision, he now perceived a new spectrum of mana. The colors flew around him, every spec a different essence of a different element in the infinite palette that surrounded him.

What guided him through the darkest night he had ever seen, with no streetlights to follow, was the occulted leylines underground. It was impossible to hide such a powerful concentration of mana from him. Because he now saw everything.

Recalling memories from Geography classes of the main leylines across the Tilean continent, he knew the thick stream of mana he was following was the main line that connected the ellari capital with the draconid one.

The cryomancer’s soul had slipped away from his grasp. Probably a secondary effect of the suicide pill. The soul had shifted too fast to the afterlife for him to be able to catch it. But the hemomancer’s soul still lay in his clutches. It would never be free. Only a fragment of its former self, the little soul only knew torment. And it will be kept that way.

It was a long and dull flight as the horizon was unchanged for hours, yet he didn’t waver for an instant. Questions required answers, and he wasn’t unbeknownst of the inner workings of the world. Answers required violence or they would never be acquired.

**********

The skies lost their darkness, slowly becoming clearer and bluer, and the below green as he got closer. For the first time, ever, he saw the familiar green flora grow under him, a sea of green vegetation instead of one with a pastel palette. A schism was formed in his very being. He ignored it.

The unknown green and tall trees called firs grew in the uncommonly common forest. He didn’t catch a lot of details as his vision tunneled. Leaves scattered away in his trail, the silhouette of a city creeping nearer and nearing.

The time was approaching.

The sun had yet to fully come out, but the capital of the dragons was made visible to him. For the first time in hours, he felt his arm again. It was palpitating, like a second heart. He sensed the arcane energies inside him and his surroundings. The drums had been sounded.

As a winged figure approached him, he noticed the flaws of his approach. Casting reduced detection spells only helped so much when nearing the speed of the sound barrier and being a mobile leyline.

“Stop right there!” A powerful voice shouted at him.

It came from a winged man in the skies, a draconid. Menacing-looking black horns erupted from his head, a powerful spiked tail, and enormous wings displayed on his back, and he wore armor of the blackest material he had seen.

Only one day and the rarest metal had become the most common. A sphere of the same deep shade orbited around him. He didn’t remember when it had appeared.

“Identify yourself!” The draconid wielded no weapons, but he didn’t need to, and the mage knew it. That wasn’t the soul of a common man before him.

“I’m here looking for answers.” His tone was neutral, not looking for conversation, just stating a fact.

“Identify yourself!” The flying knight reiterated. He wouldn’t let him leave without further discussion, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I am the arcane…” He told as his arm glowed once more. An unnatural and violent hue, not something a living being should possess or survive.

“I’ll be forced to take you down if you con-“ The draconid’s words were cut in half as a geyser sprung from the ground. It wasn’t one of water, but pure unadulterated mana.

Though the knight didn’t scream in pain, most likely thanks to its black armor and his natural defenses as a dragonborn, he could feel the draconid soul wane. The attack didn’t leave him unphased.

As he had tried once before, the soldier tried to move out of the leyline, only to feel first-hand how difficult it was to move in a river of mana. He was fast though, By the time the draconid finally got out the geyser still stood behind him in a fantastical imagery, only a few seconds of struggle when it had taken minutes to him.

Whilst his aspect was unchanged, no wounds to be registered, his mannerisms said otherwise. His expression was tired, his breathing rugged. His mighty tail had been pointing to the skies was now flaccid, and his open wings shrunk. The mana overexposure had taken a toll on him. But the truth behind such a look was that he was poisoned. An arcanist couldn’t hold the mana coming from a leyline very well. A non-arcanist? He was surprised the armored man had even stood in the skies alive.

Making use of the humanized dragon’s weakened state, he attacked his soul, unable to defend himself.

“Argh…” The grunt wasn’t of human origin, but a draconic one. “Who are you?” The menacing figure asked in pain, its glory and mightiness faded as he descended to the ground, his flying capabilities lost.

He looked at his hand, ignoring the fallen dragon, as it began to pain once more. Controlling a leyline, albeit a fragment of it, had taken a lot from him. He lost control of his arm as it shook uncontrollably.

“He took a leyline headfirst and then a charged soul attack and yet he lives…” He wondered as he still sensed the echo of the draconid’s soul dormant under the forest. “Who might be that dragon…?”

But he quickly discarded the issue, there were more prominent tasks to be fulfilled than finishing off a nameless soldier. He elevated to the skies, canceling the overloaded glowing barrier for an invisible one and reducing his speed to a normal flying level while also refreshing his stealth spells.

Two rugged and tall mountains loomed over the horizon, a plethora of edifications laying on their almost flat faces, a city based on verticality rather than expanding horizontally beyond the nearby plains. Such architecture would be dangerous to any other people, but to the flying draconids, the airborne city was nothing more than an advantage.

A grand palace could be seen separated from the city, atop one of the mountains peeks. Hanging gardens containing bright green vegetation fluttered with the strong currents of wind typical of that altitude. Coming up by the unpopulated face of the mountain, below the still dark skies, it proved quite easy to infiltrate the mighty structure.