091

Erick laid upon a fluffy white cloud in the middle of an endless sky. The air was cool. Calm breezes tickled across his legs and arms. Iridescent scales flickered through the soft expanse.

 

– – – –

 

A hard stone surface pressed against his back, while cold air touched his body. Pain was a distant fog, filled with a few unknown voices, until suddenly the world cleared, and Erick saw from his eyes, and felt from his body, and heard with his ears. Pain flowed everywhere, like a rapid tide.

“Pain response,” said a woman.

Ophiel trilled in nervous flutes.

Another woman, older, said, “Upping [Numb].”

“He’s coming around!” said a man. “My gods, what’s his Health Regen?”

“Classified,” said Poi, ever professional.

Blood and flickering magics clouded his vision, red, silver, and a slightly different silver, but the red vanished in curls of thick air, and the magic soaked in. Pain vanished, but light still clouded his sight.

Erick tried to ask where he was, but his voice was broken.

Poi said, “Don’t try to speak, or cast. I can relay your worries for now. We’re in the Church Hospital. High Priestess Darenka is here with the doctors—”

The older woman spoke, and this time Erick recognized her voice as Darenka’s, “Pain is vanishing. I’m guessing his Regen is higher than 10,000.” She said, “Tell me so I can do my job right.”

Poi said, “Higher than that.”

“Good. He’s fine, then.” Darenka’s voice turned to him. “You did some stupid shit again. The Storm Goddess is awaiting your response.”

A male voice said, “He doesn’t look fine.”

Erick tried to speak again, but nothing worked. He still couldn’t see—

Poi said, “His eyes are blind. His voice is broken.”

Darenka said, “[Greater Treat Wounds].”

Silver light flickered through his eyeballs, briefly blinding him, but the light died, and sight returned. Erick was on a stone surface in a white room, with his shirt removed. Darenka, the silverscale Head Priestess of the Interfaith Church glared down at him. She wore her usual silver, priestly robes. The doctors, Erick assumed, stood further down, wearing their white robes. There was a person behind him, but Erick couldn’t tell who it was. He couldn’t move. He tried to speak.

Behind him, Poi said, “Your voice should come back.” He said to the others, “He still can’t move.”

“It’ll come back. [Greater Treat Wounds] takes a desert minute.” Darenka said to Erick, “Try [Prestidigitation]. If you can cast that, then you should be good to return home.”

Right now, Erick couldn’t think to cast anything. He felt his mana inside of him, but it was a sluggish, weak thing. But [Prestidigitation] was one of the easiest spells he knew. Erick used it mainly for speaking through Ophiel, so he was well versed in this particular use of the spell.

He cast. Ten mana twisted into the air, leaving Erick like a bee stinging his heart, leaving pins and needles in its wake all across his chest. He conjured, “Oww.”

One of the doctors said, “He’s fine. Minor soul damage. Should heal up in a few days. Until then, no major spellwork. Don’t do whatever you did for at least another month. A week, at the minimum.”

Erick almost laughed, but that hurt, like a casual stomp to his chest from an overeager sparring partner. The doctor’s words were correct, though. He would try not to ever purposefully sing a song like that at the sky again—

He rapidly said, “Don’t tell Jane.” Tingles briefly stretched through his legs and hands.

Ophiel, who had been floating to the side of the room and as tiny as a parakeet, slipped down onto Erick’s bare chest. Erick smiled at the little guy, while everyone else glanced at him, then ignored the [Familiar].

Poi said, “Jane has not been alerted. You’ve only been out for ten minutes. Maybe twelve.”

Darenka reached over and tapped his chest with a glowing finger. Warmth spread across his body. He felt better than before, but only marginally. Good enough to sit up, though. Mostly. Erick struggled to get up while pain and needles spiked off in random parts of his body, but he managed to get partially vertical. He smiled, and sweated, as he sat there, on the edge of the stone surgery table.

Poi had to help him to stay vertical, but that was fine. And oh, hey! There’s Kiri, by the door. Erick smiled at her, and she just looked at him; worried.

Darenka looked at him with a frown. She said, “Normally, I try to leave enthusiastic adventurers to a few days of pain. Reminds people that they’re mortal.” She touched him again with a glowing finger. He felt marginally better, again. She continued, “But I ain’t stupid enough to do that in times like these.” She got up in Erick’s face. Worried eyes bored into him, as she said, “Expect a big bill.”

Erick smiled, feeling the nerves in his body tingle as he did. He spoke, with his actual voice this time, “Suurre-k.” He coughed a little. He managed to speak on his own, but his voice was a ragged mess, “Sure. Thank you.”

Darenka leaned back. She glanced to the doctors, and the two of them quickly exited the room. She turned back to Erick, asking, “So what’d you make? Sininindi is demanding you give that spell to her. She is saying that she will go to war, this time, if you either misuse that magic, or interfere with her people.”

“I had hope-ekK—” Erick coughed again.

Darenka pulsed with thick air.

Whatever was clogging Erick’s throat, vanished. He breathed easier. He said, “Thank you.”

She nodded, waiting.

Erick had hoped that he had proven himself as capable of leaving Sininindi’s interests alone. He had almost said that, too. But he changed his tactic. He asked, “Is Sininindi a good goddess?”

Darenka said, “She’s about as neutral as the rest of ‘em, and as much of a twit when she gets her sails in a twist.” She added, “But Sininindi will sink your ship if you piss her off, and you’re at the edge of the storm, Erick.”

Erick sighed. He spoke to the air, “Dear Sininindi. I ask for your assistance with keeping Candlepoint from going out of control. In exchange, I will cast the spell I made in an appropriate location or two of your choosing, once per year, for as long as friendly relations last. I will also accept gold or whatever, for more castings, as I can fit into my schedule. Or, I will accept your help in making a single artifact of the spell in question, and then deliver it to your people.” He added, “In all cases you are not getting the spell I made. No one is. But it’s already locked to Particle Mage only, and I’m sure you know how difficult that will be for others to acquire.”

A blue prompt appeared.

 

 

Erick stared at the box. He looked up, asking, “What? No help to make it?”

Darenka looked away from the air, saying, “She says that she’ll give you time, and that’s it.”

Erick wondered if Sininindi thought to make him use Koyabez’s artifact creation magic in order to complete her quest. He almost added that he would not use Koyabez’s magic to fulfill Sininindi’s demands, but… Oh. But wouldn’t that be fun? Make an artifact of ‘Calm Storm’? Heh.

Eh. He wouldn’t do that. Sininindi seemed alright, according to everything he knew. A lot of sailors prayed to her to guide them safely home, and she did.

… The more Erick learned about the gods, the more they seemed like really strong, distant spellcasters, and less like ‘gods’.

Or maybe his knowledge of the world was vastly behind the curve, and he was ascribing his own notions to beings that were inherently unknowable. They seemed helpful most of the time, and all the ‘Dark Gods’ were gone, so maybe he shouldn’t think so poorly about goddesses looking out for their flock?

If people stopped praying to them for help, or something, they would turn ‘dark’, like what had almost happened to Atunir at the beginning of the fall of Quintlan, when [Create Food and Water] was a part of the Open Script—

“Ah.” Erick asked, “Controlling the weather would be a direct attack against Sininindi’s domain, and thus her, wouldn’t it?”

Darenka smiled a little. “No. You have that wrong. One man, no matter how strong, cannot ever hope to surmount a god.”

Erick did not disagree, but only to avoid an argument.

According to everything he knew, you could attack a god. You just had to attack their worshipers, or their worship itself. But since that was something that Erick would never do, except against maybe Melemizargo, there was no need to further pursue that thought with High Priestess Darenka.

He said, “Thanks for the help, Darenka.”

Darenka further helped Erick off of the stone table, keeping him upright as she said, “Steady now.” She added, “You’ll be okay.”

Erick smiled, as he managed to stand under his own power. He said, “So this is a good time to solve another problem I was looking to solve.”

Darenka asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“I want to help Spur’s Care Services. Do you have a suggested donation size?”

“We do.” She turned slightly business-like, saying, “It’s a sliding scale based on income, but adventurers can give anything they want. We suggest a single percent of whatever you take in every month, tithed to the whole Church. That’s more than enough to cover everything from Spur’s Care Service, to childcare for working parents, to healing for the less fortunate, and all the rest of our community upkeep. You won’t get bills for most healing services, either.” She added, “But if you wish to give directly to the Care Service, then a half a percent is good enough. You can get that all worked out at the Mage Guild Bank; they do that sort of thing all the time.”

Erick smiled, saying, “That works, too. I’ll do 1-point-5 percent, and get it worked out at the bank.”

She added, “It’s tax deductible, too!”

“Good to know.”

Erick did not mention that he still had about 5 months tax free, thanks to an ultraviolet lightward he wrapped around a stone and gave to Silverite. Darenka’s words jolted loose a bit of concern in that direction, though. How bad were his taxes going to be?

 

– – – –

 

Erick frowned a little as he sat down in his chair, in the library.

The tax rate for an adventurer was 50 percent.

It wasn’t a tax on everything made after a certain amount, either. It was straight-up, half of what you made. Erick wasn’t exactly mad at that. He saw Spur growing all around him, and he knew that the money was probably going to end up spent on the war effort, or on keeping people alive, or on normal infrastructure. He was also absolutely sure that he was fabulously wealthy.

And besides that, according to Kiri, a 50% rate on adventurers was pretty low, and there were a lot of ways to get around that requirement. The Adventurer’s Guild knew all of the monsters she killed at the behest of Mog, so those were the only ones she was officially taxed on, because it was easier to fall in line with the system than to try and avoid payments. Apparently, avoiding taxes is one of the largest ways that people got exiled from Spur, or worse, had their guild cards taken away from them. As long as you played along with the law, to the letter of the law, then you were fine—

Teressa tapped on the open door of the library. Ophiel perked up, on Erick’s shoulder.

Erick looked up. “What’s up?”

“I heard about what happened, and so did Merit, but Merit is still asking for imaging.”

“Oh, damn!” Erick got to his feet, disturbing Ophiel into flute sounds, as he said, “I forgot.” He almost summoned another Ophiel and sent him blipping over to Merit, but he could already tell that spending that amount of mana was going to hurt. As he touched upon his mana pool, his nerves and stomach fluttered around like butterflies caught in a blizzard. He said, “I’ll be better tomorrow. It’ll have to be tomorrow.” He looked to the window, and saw twilight spreading across the sky. He frowned. “I can’t even get my shipments out to Candlepoint, tonight.”

“No problem, Boss. I’ll let her know.” She added, “Dinner is ready, too.”

Erick smiled. “I could eat.”

After dinner, came bed. Maybe he could get his Candlepoint shipment out at sunrise.

The rice and beans were stacked and packaged and fully exposed, out there in the open air outside the house. There was little danger in anything happening to them, but there was a ‘Blighter’ on the loose, and word about the purpose of those goods had to have gotten around by now. So Erick had Ophiel blip out there and spend almost his entire self putting up a [Prismatic Ward] around the goods. When the little guy came back inside he was tattered and winded, but he recovered fast enough in the Restful air of the house.

 

– – – –

 

Erick woke while the sky was still purple and stars faintly twinkled in the west. It was the perfect time to get up. Ophiel fluttered up from the bed, squawking in annoyed flute sounds as Erick got up for the day.

A quick trip to the bathroom and a quick change of clothes happened first, then came coftea down in the kitchen. By that time, Erick was awake enough to try casting and making breakfast, and Kiri had joined him.

“Good morning, Kiri,” Erick said, cracking eggs into a bowl with his Handy Aura, while also flipping potatoes and onions on the flat top, and grabbing flour from the pantry a few meters away. He sipped the coftea in his normal hands, adding, “Looks like I’m all better.”

Kiri nodded. She sipped her coftea, then asked, “So what spell did you make? Sininindi seemed rather interested.”

She tried to play it cool, but Erick saw the emerald glint in her eyes. She was excited and terrified and worried, all at once. Erick had dodged every opportunity to divulge what he had made yesterday, and no one had directly asked him, but now that Kiri had directly asked him…

Erick played it cool, too, as he said, “Just a little spell called [Control Weather].”

Kiri flinched. “Oh?” Her voice pitched up. “Okay.” She returned to normal, saying, “That’s… interesting.”

Erick popped the blue box for [Control Weather] into the air, and directed it to Kiri. She almost snatched it up, but she restrained herself at the last moment. She just let the box hang there, in the air, as she read.

She said, “That could change a lot of lives.”

“Yeah.” Erick said, “But now I need to make an artifact of [Control Weather] for Sininindi to keep her off of my back, and I have no idea how.”

“You could make a large structure, like a Grand [Prestidigitation] Stove, but I don’t think a Goddess would appreciate something breakable and fixed in location like that.”

Erick paused. He could do that. But maybe he shouldn’t? He said, “I haven’t even made one of those stoves, yet. Didn’t get that far.”

Kiri nodded. “I sent Sunny out to the spot where you created the spell. I didn’t see much besides clouds, and I don’t think she wants simple clouds.”

“Oh! I haven’t done that yet.” Erick summoned an Ophiel—

His hand twitched, sending tingling across the outside of his arm as mana left his body and coalesced into another Ophiel. The Ophiel turned out fine, and the tingling went away, but Erick was not fully recovered. He flexed his hand a little. Nothing else happened. With a wordless command, Erick sent the second Ophiel blipping out to the casting site.

The sun was just barely beginning to peek over the horizon, sending gold into the sky to chase away the night, but the results of [Control Weather] were rather visible. Erick laughed a little. Clouds hung in the air, taking up half of the sky. They were not the wispy, barely existent clouds common to Crystal Forest mornings. They were strong, fluffy things, cutting sunlight into ribbons. The kind that made you wonder if they were going to open up to flood your part of the world.

Ophiel looked down, to the spot where Erick had stood when he created [Control Weather].

Dunes expanded outward in concentric circles, becoming swirls and curls after the first several indistinct circles, like a god had touched down and made a Zen garden for a good kilometer in every direction. This sandy ‘garden’ was also perfectly dry.

For all the clouds in the sky, there had been no rain.

Erick came back to himself, saying, “Big clouds! But no rain.”

“No rain,” Kiri agreed.

Breakfast was a quick affair for Erick. He just had some toast and eggs, while Kiri took over and finished what he had started.

Erick went to the library and sat down in his chair; he had to bring his supplies to Candlepoint before sunrise got too far away from him. After a quick check on his supplies, a [Cleanse] over them just to be safe, and the conjuring of his entire team of Ophiel, along with the barest bit of pain at drawing out that much mana, Erick blipped his shipment to Candlepoint.

 

– – – –

 

Candlepoint was a dark blot of walls and buildings separating the purple sky from the wavy blue dunes of the Crystal Forest.

Erick’s Ophiels had not appeared where they were supposed to appear. He had to be three, maybe four kilometers from the city. He moved the lead Ophiel forward, and discovered the problem. The air was full of buzzy, itching mana. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was a background problem; like drying out after going for a swim in the salty ocean. The sky seemed to cling to Ophiel. There was only one explanation: it had to be Bulgan’s [Teleport Lock].

… Erick really needed to invent that spell, too. If not that, then maybe a smaller version, that he can use to tag individuals. [Force Bolt] plus [Teleport] plus [Dispel]? Maybe stick an ‘aura’ around a person that blocked a set amount of [Teleport]s? What was ‘Aurify’, really?

Ophiels flew forward to the gate of Candlepoint, deep into the [Teleport Lock]—

The Lock faded, for whatever reason, as Erick’s nine Ophiel, flying in formation, got within a hundred meters of the gate. The guards had seen him coming for a while. As the lead Ophiel got off of his platform and floated forward, the guards inside the gate stepped to attention.

Justine appeared behind them, quickly moving out into the street, her grey and white robes fluttering around her arms and feet as she took her position near the front. She glanced behind Ophiel, and her cloudy grey eyes were full of hope, but she quickly reoriented onto the feathered [Familiar].

She was not the only one to give quiet reverence to the platforms of stone boxes floating in formation behind the first Ophiel. Justine bowed, and the other guards bowed with her.

She stood up, saying, “Welcome back, Archmage Flatt.”

“Yes yes. I don’t trust you yet. But I’m willing to try.” Erick said, “I’ve got 42 tons of bulk rice and beans here for you. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m sure you can tell me when you get low.” He gestured with his lead Ophiel to the others. The other Ophiel each cast a few [Cleanse]s into their nearby goods. “Cleaned and dried and ready for boiling or whatever you want to do with them.” He asked, “Do you all have [Stoneshape]? Or some way to take them? Or should I drop them off somewhere inside the city?”

Justine said, “Thank you, archmage. We can take them from here. We have [Telekinesis] and [Stoneshape].” She glanced behind her at the guards.

The four guards behind Justine and another four guards from the other side of the gate, moved out, as Erick guided the floating platforms closer. It wasn’t long till every box on every platform floated into the guardhouses, disappearing into the shadows. When the last one went inside, one of the guards returned, carrying a small, cloth bag. He handed the bag off to Justine.

She frowned at the small thing, then looked at the guard. The guard mouthed ‘Sorry’ in Inferni, the language of the incani. Erick had gotten pretty good at both Inferni and Karstar, the language of human nobility and the angels, recently, but aside from an orcol and a blackscale dragonkin, every guard by the gate was incani. With all his eyes in the area, he saw that some of the shadeling guards were not able to hold back the shame in their eyes, as they spotted the tiny sack in Justine’s hand.

Justine turned to Erick saying, “It appears that we are accepting a little under 2 tons of foodstuffs as the equivalent of 1000 mana in rads. Meaning…” She rushed, saying, “Meaning that we have decided to pay you 21 darkchips for the whole of your foodstuffs.” She blinked, as though remembering something, and quickly rushed to pull a thick letter from the folds of her robe. “And! And we have a letter from Mephistopheles, regarding the bargain you made with him.” She held out the letter and the sack to Ophiel.

Erick brushed over their exchange rate of food to darkchips —he would calculate that all out later to see how much they screwed him— and accepted both the bag and the letter, saying, “Acceptable.” He turned a few eyes upward, to look at the large crystal in the center of Candlepoint. “So what happened with the [Teleport Lock]?”

Justine followed his gaze. “I’m not sure, but Master Shadoweater usually only spreads his Blessing for when there’s an attack on the Crystal.” She turned to Ophiel, asking. “Would you like to see the Crystal? That’s where people go to exchange the darkchips for items.”

“Nope.” Erick said, “I’m not comfortable with any of this.”

Justine straightened her back. Her white horns glinted in the early morning light, as she bowed her head, saying, “We understand. Thank you for participating in the growth of Candlepoint.” She raised her head. “Your food will help to save a lot of lives from degradation and misery.”

Erick paused. He almost offered them more help. But then he stopped, and redirected his words. “Were you waiting for me, Justine?” He asked, “How did that happen? How does this work, with you?”

“I volunteered to be assigned to host a single archmage, and when you appeared, I was assigned to you.” She said, “I will continue to be here for when you appear, if it pleases you. I live in a small house just past the guardhouse.” She pointed to the left of the gate. “Over there.”

“You have a life outside of running when I come, don’t you? It seems like you’re forcing yourself to serve my needs and I don’t like that. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with this arrangement.”

“I am active most during sunset and sunrise, like most of my people.” Justine said, “But besides that, I work with others to help people into homes and such. Please do not worry over my arrangements. I am happy with my life.”

“Moving on, then:” Erick asked, “Can I expect the same amount of darkchips for the next batch?”

Justine turned solemn, saying, “I will try to increase the payment for next time.”

“Sure.” Erick offered, “I was thinking of also giving you a hand up, instead of a handout. Do you want rain?”

Two of the guards beside the gate instantly gave a tiny, happy laugh, while others shushed them and the rest displayed open joy.

Justine’s eyes sparkled with hope, ignoring the tiny commotion around her, as she said, “It will be difficult to get others to accept, but, yes! I would like to try. Would you be willing to talk to—”

The sky shifted.

A plume of shadows swirled down next to Justine, rapidly resolving into black horned, dark haired Bulgan. He smiled. Bright white teeth flickered out of the shadows covering his body. Erick felt a chill, followed almost instantly by a radiant anger, but he kept that emotion inside.

Justine stepped to the side, as pure training overtook everyone in the area.

Erick said, “What do you want.”

“I want to see what this is.” Bulgan held up his hand, holding the bulky letter Justine had given Erick. “Seems important.”

Ophiel squawked, as the [Familiar] picked up on Erick’s indignation and disgust. How had Bulgan gotten the letter from him? Ophiel had a good grip on that letter!

Erick watched, as Bulgan opened the letter. He unfolded out five sheets of coarse paper from the interior, and flipped through. His smile got wider. He flicked the papers into the air where dark fire consumed them, turning parchment to dust and ash, as he turned his attention to Justine.

Justine’s facade was impeccable. She showed no remorse, or weakness, or anger, or anything, as Bulgan looked her over. Whatever he was looking for, he must not have found it. He turned to Ophiel.

“That should not have happened.” Bulgan said, “The price of knowing how magic works, at all, is 100,000 darkchips. Looks like at least two people need to be taught a lesson!”

Bulgan vanished in a flicker of darkness, before Erick could speak otherwise. The Shade instantly returned with his hands upon the necks of two people.

As darkness resolved, and recognition of one of the two people took hold, all rational thought fled Erick’s mind. Bulgan’s left hand was wrapped around the neck of the sequined, red-horned Mephistopheles; the operator of the Garrison, and the one who had given Erick a bit of spellwork that he never got a chance to read. Mephistopheles wasn’t the important person here, though.

In Bulgan’s other hand was the neck of a redscale man. Where Mephistopheles winced under the iron grip of his master, trying not to move, this other man stood straight and tall. Proud. Defiant. He accepted his fate with stiff shoulders and loose hands. He looked different than Erick remembered; shadows flickered around the edges of his bright grey eyes, collected in the folds of his dirty clothes, and across his shoeless feet. But the face, and the posture, and the voice, were the same.

The man said, “Just kill me already.”

Bulgan laughed loud, then released his grip on his ‘hostages’. He said, “I can kill you with a thought, so don’t even think of moving a finger.”

The man lifted his pointer finger and his middle finger toward Bulgan. “I must not be thinking.” He asked Erick, “Is my daughter okay?”

Bulgan stepped forward and with a casual, harsh push, laid both Mephistopheles and the man who was certainly not who he looked like, onto the ground.

It was a trick of some sort. It had to be, because Valok was dead.

Bulgan demanded, “A punishment game! For giving away the secrets of the Clergy for free—”

“I’m paying in rads, asshole,” Erick said, ignoring the trauma sprawled out on the sands near the gate. “If the spell works.”

“Nope!” Bulgan said, “That’s not how this works.” He gestured to the two men, saying, “Choose a man to die for the crimes of Mephistopheles.”

“I choose you, Bulgan.” Erick said, “Die for the crimes of your underlings.”

Bulgan laughed. “Do you want to play by Perfect Speech Rules?” He said, “Because I can do that.”

“Do you want me to say ‘yes’, so that you can hold off on the sentencing, indefinitely?”

“Choose anything at all, or nothing, so that whatever you say, I can twist to my benefit.”

Erick stared at Bulgan with all of Ophiel’s eyes. He glanced several eyes toward ‘Valok’. “Delia is probably fine.” As the probable impostor tensed, and clearly wanted to know more, Erick ignored the redscale man, and said, “I still pick you, Bulgan, because with the way you treat them, I don’t understand how every single Shadeling hasn’t been struck with the Slave Class.”

Bulgan smiled, but it was fake. He was ticked. He happily said, “Since you are incapable of deciding, I will pick for you.”

Bulgan raised his hand. Erick watched, suddenly frozen in hatred and fear.

The Shade pointed to Mephistopheles, then Valok, then Justine, then back to Valok, each time grinning wider—

Erick said, “Kill them all, please, so that I know that Candlepoint is beyond redemption, and that everyone deserves to die, but most of all you, Bulgan.” Erick’s voice turned hard. “As soon as a single one of them perishes, I am opening up on you and your entire city. I will start this war, right now, and it won’t end until Ar’Kendrithyst is a melted pile.”

Bulgan lowered his hand, smiling wider. “Good to know that I have a trigger on hand.” He spoke to the shadelings, “Carry on, free people of Candlepoint!”

The Shade vanished in a wash of shadows.

Valok sarcastically said, “Thank—”

“Shut up, liar.” Erick said, “I don’t know who you are, but you cannot be Valok.”

Valok sniffed then sighed, then stood up. His shoeless feet sunk into the sands that spilled into the city.

Mephistopheles got to his feet with the help of a nearby guard, saying, “Sorry about the spellwork, archmage. I did not expect that to happen. I haven’t seen Master Bulgan since—”

Erick said, “Just tell me why ‘Class: Slave’ doesn’t get slapped on all of you.”

“Mas—” Justine’s voice cracked. She composed herself, and said, “Master Shadoweater does not interfere with the workings of the city. To us, he is the dragon on the mountain, or the king in a faraway land. We cannot go against him, for it is only by his grace that we are able to exist at all.” She said, “If we leave the city, we are killed on sight by others.”

Mephistopheles said, “Some of us have tried to kill him. Those people died for their sins against the Clergy.” He brushed off his red tuxedo, which was made of scales this time instead of sequins, and said, “And now, if you will excuse me, I am not dead today, and I cannot fulfill my end of our bargain, archmage, so I need to get back to the Garrison.” He asked the nearby guard, “Will some of you fine people please escort me home? I’m not walking through that crowd alone.”

Erick had seen the morning crowd before now, of course. Armored groups and penniless shadelings walked the main street, about a block from the gate. It was just like the last time Erick had been here, but this time, some people were watching from this side of the road. Shadelings and otherwise both waited for something else to happen at the gate. It was highly doubtful that they hadn’t already overhead everything that had happened.

Two of the guard immediately jumped at the chance to escort Mephistopheles back to the Garrison.

Mephistopheles turned to Erick, asking, “A [Cleanse], please, if you’d be so kind. I pissed and shat myself a little.”

Erick obliged, catching everyone by the gate in thick air. Sweat, dirt, grime, and more, floated away from every person.

Mephistopheles sighed, thick air curling out of his mouth, as he said, “I miss that spell the most. Nothing else can get you quite as clean.” He turned to his guards, saying, “Come along, you two! We have a breakfast buffet to keep orderly, and a morning show to resume!” He walked off, down the road, his guards rushing to catch up, and surround him.

Erick turned to ‘Valok’, asking, “When the fuck did you get alive? Or— What the fuck— No. Fuck you. What happened? No. You’re not real. Nevermind.” He turned to Justine, saying, “Rains? Yes? No?”

Valok stepped forward, saying, “Rains yes. North of the city. I’ll grow everything and organize others who want to participate.”

Justine frowned. She turned to Valok, rapidly saying, “You are not cleared for interacting with people your eyes are cloudy and you most especially do not have the political weight necessary to—” She stopped herself. She turned away, saying, “Go back to the homes and wait your turn. Meditate. Reconnect with your previous life in a respectful—”

“Fuck your respect! Fuck you! You did this to me, and you’re going to make it right!” Valok said, “I’m a gods damned farmer! Let me farm!” Shadows bubbled from his eyes, like dark smoke, as his mouth turned to sharp fangs. “You let me farm or so help me gods—” He cried out in pain as shadows bubbled from his mouth like crude oil.

Erick had successfully cut off all his emotions before this scene between Justine and not-Valok played out. He watched, impassionately, as not-Valok crashed to the ground, and began thrashing. Justine muttered curses as she and three guards restrained not-Valok on the ground as the false man thrashed out his seizure.

When Valok was still, and silent, two guards loaded him onto a stretcher and took him away, down the street a little, and then down an alleyway.

Justine’s voice brought Erick back to the moment, as she said, “He has a very strong connection to his past, but he is much too young to be out here. Hopefully, he will recover.”

Erick said, “He got worse as he called out to the other gods.”

Justine flinched rigid for a moment. “That’s not… Not exactly true. That’s not what happened, there.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

Justine said, “The souls that are gifted rebirth as shadelings are not truly alive until they are centered and fully severed from Death. It is a process akin to necromancy or incarnation or embodiment, or conjuring a life from [Conjure Force Elemental], or growing up from child to adult.”

“Call out to a god right now.”

Justine stood strong, saying, “I will not. It is highly disturbing to my shadeling self to call attention to my half-living nature, and I do not wish to be lost in the dark, ever again.”

“Fine.” Erick said, “Have a plan for growing your own food the next time I’m here. It might be a few days.”

Stolen story; please report.

Justine’s strong countenance remained, as she said, “Thank you, archmage.”

Erick dismissed his Ophiel at Candlepoint, and came back to himself, sitting in his chair in Spur. Rage and burning need coursed through his veins as his heart pumped hard and angry. He focused on everything that had just happened, calming his rage, trying to pick out the best path forward.

Certain people would need to be involved, now that something looking like Valok was there.

Erick quickly landed on a plan. It would make a certain young girl rather angry, but right now, Delia’s need for space was not a concern. A thing that resembled her father was being used against Erick, and therefore she would be used against him too, if she wasn’t already. If she wasn’t tainted by Shades, then Erick needed Delia to come back into the fold, right now, before she caught wind of the lookalike in Candlepoint.

Teressa sat across from him, sipping her morning coftea, looking up from her book at him. She asked, “Rough reception?”

“Yes.” Erick asked, “Where’s Poi? There was a lookalike shadeling in—”

Teressa shuddered. She gripped the cup in her hand too hard, cracking the porcelain, dropping hot liquid all over her book and her lap. “Ah. Shit.” She looked down, but did not move. She just let the coftea steam on her lap and the book. After a moment, she [Cleanse]d the mess away, and [Mend]ed the book. She looked up to Erick saying, “They hardly ever do that.”

Poi appeared in the doorway, as though summoned. He said, “Here’s the bad news: Valok will be—”

Teressa gasped, then got angry. “Valok? Really?!”

Pain bubbled up in Erick’s chest. “Yes. Valok. Others too, no doubt.”

Teressa breathed deep.

Poi continued, “He’ll be a mouthpiece for the Shades as long as he remains a shadeling.” Poi smiled a little, as he said, “The good news, is that with the recent revelation that shadelings can turn back into their original race, maybe he won’t always be a mouthpiece for the Shades.”

Erick felt some weird, bubbly kinda way, as Poi’s words sank in. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or sink into a deep depression. He was certainly not going to accept Poi’s idea as actually possible, though. Not right now.

Teressa’s feelings were quite obviously not like Erick’s. Her lips turned downward into a frown, revealing huge fangs that seemed even larger than normal. Her eyes flickered with grey light as she breathed deep, trying to control her anger.

She could not control her anger.

Erick had never seen it before, but he had read about the Rage of the Orcols. It was a magical affliction that was imbued into their entire people when trolls and orcs became one, that caused widespread, global wars, that destroyed so, so much, as the Horde killed everything that was not them. But then Aloeth, the Goddess of Beauty and of the Elves, became the Goddess of Beauty and Brutality, transforming herself to survive the death of her original people, wrapping her divine might into the orcols, subduing their Rage. To this day, those with orcol blood in them still produced Ragers that had to be put down before they got too old to be controlled. But almost every orcol had a bit of the Rage in them. Usually, it never came out.

Other times, a perfectly normal orcol would experience an event so traumatic and defining, that the spark of Rage they carried within them would catch fire, turning into an inferno.

Erick knew this, intellectually. He did not know what it meant, though.

But as he saw grey light flicker across Teressa’s skin, turning pink, then red, he knew the Rage for what it was.

Erick’s library was trashed in two short seconds as Teressa and her scream filled the space. His [Personal Ward] was ripped down to nothing. His right arm hung loose in its socket, for he had foolishly reached out to her as she transformed.

As orange rock rained down, Erick revoked Teressa’s [Prismatic Ward] permissions.

She froze in the middle of killing Poi. Her magic color had changed to bright, yet dark, neon red. She had grown armor of the same color, that did not really look like armor at all, but like swords and hatred hammered into place across her body.

Locked to the dense air all around her, she could not breathe, she could not move, and her horrible scream turned to nothing. But her eyes were balls of red radiance, and her Rage was a palpable force pushing out from her bladed body, ever so slightly carving into the [Prismatic Ward] that held her immobile.

Three seconds had passed.

Erick quickly dipped the stone floor out from Poi, to pull him off of Teressa’s long claws. He was bleeding from five different gut wounds, but he was alive. Erick had Ophiel blip to the other room and blip back with a rod of [Treat Wounds]. Poi got his emergency healing and Erick repaired his arm back into its socket, all while Teressa hung frozen amid dense air.

Kiri spoke from beyond the hole in the library’s ceiling, “FUCK!”

“She—” Poi coughed, “She’ll live.” He held his chest, wincing, as he admitted, “I should have— Shit. This is my fault. I hadn’t considered…”

Erick asked, “What was that?”

“Trauma, untethered.” Poi said, “She can still hear and see us, and has access to all of her normal skills and spells, except Spatial magic. She’s going to remember all of this, too.” Poi stood up with Erick’s help, saying, “After she drops off from lack of air, you need to leave her there, Erick. She’s going to try and trick us into letting her go early, but we cannot. Keep her alive with the rod of [Treat Wounds].” He stood a bit straighter. “When her magic goes back to grey, and she actually falls asleep, she’ll be okay.”

Erick looked to Teressa. She was still very red, and still fully locked in an attack position in the air, one hand made of swords pointed at a space that no longer held a target, the other hand made of shields. She had taken her [Conjure Weapon] and twisted it into something primal, something that covered her whole body, and continued to shift a little under the dense air holding her aloft, trying to cut into the air around her, and failing.

She flickered brighter every now and then, but four minutes passed safely enough. The fire in her eyes faded. Erick tapped her with healing magics and her color returned, brighter than ever, flare red and hateful.

She nodded off after a minute, her light dimming. Erick tapped the rod against her shielded arm, but she had tricked him. The shields on her arm turned to jaws, but as soon as they opened, dense air flooded the space, locking those jaws open. She had been faking her fall to unconsciousness.

Erick asked Poi, “Is she going to be okay?”

“She should be okay. But. Shit. I should have seen that coming.”

“What happened to her?”

Poi looked up at Teressa while Teressa glared down at him, her eyes going from hateful to hurtful in a split second. “Yeah. You understand.” Poi said to her, “So if you don’t want me to tell them why this happened, then come down from this.” He paused. He said, “I can break protocol in certain situations, and this is one of them.”

Teressa flared red again.

Erick watched as her sword armor cracked into the dense air around her, like knives being driven into steel. Her knives were winning.

And then she dimmed again, darker this time. She had spent herself struggling, and failed. Erick tapped her with the rod of [Treat Wounds].

It took an hour to get her to calm. When that happened, her armor dissipated, leaving her covered in bleeding wounds. Half an hour after that, when her wounds finally healed over and blood stopped welling up onto her skin, there was an almost-mistake, but Erick quickly rescinded her permissions when her grey magics turned pink and she lunged at Poi.

Another half hour and she was down. Her eyes were back to emerald, her skin was back to a healthy green, and her magic was grey.