Chapter 14: Valorous

Valorous hacked out a cough as the Corridor World spat him out into Vyrd. The change in atmosphere always needed some getting used to. Naturally, the pristine perfection of the Corridor World could never be captured by a dump like Vyrd, so Valorous felt the time he needed to get used to the new air was justified.

Especially because he could smell the magic of that man.

That—that living, breathing insanity ceaselessly defying him and his undying fellows. That no-good, rotten, traitorous, obnoxious, maddening, disturbing, irksome, presumptuous more-than-a-man who went by the singularly mundane name of Marionys Ryland.

Valorous hacked out an extremely satisfying cough that sprayed blood everywhere. Sometimes, he tended to curse his Inscribed spell circles branded into his skin.

Curses. Curses and botherations.

Forget needing a moment to get used to the Realm of Vyrd’s insufferable air, he now needed several more moments to collect himself.

For nothing good could come of getting overly worked up. He had come here with a purpose. That Ryland was present here as well was too coincidental to be an actual coincidence, but it still shouldn’t sway him. No. No puss-bursting way. Not at all. Valorous was not to be swayed. Not from his goal, which came above all else.

And yet, he still took the Corridor World and tumbled out next to a destroyed dungeon.

Upon arrival, he growled. There went his plans to use his magic. People were already present, maggots infesting the locality and hindering him with their presence.

Valorous was of half a mind to wipe out the little ants crawling around the collapse in meagre efforts to decipher the chain of events that had led to the dungeon’s destruction. Really, what in all the blasted Realms were they hoping to accomplish?

Mere worms were incapable of understanding the sheer grandiosity of eternals.

Not that Ryland was one. Fah! A curse upon Valorous’s pox-like thoughts.

He didn’t kill the insects. For now. For one, they might prove useful. For another, dirtying his hands directly on such base creatures would reflect poorly upon Valorous. The rest of the Order would never let him live it down.

Valorous sniffed hard. The collapse shifted as a small storm of air gusted into his nostrils, the man-shaped ants scurrying in panic at the sudden commotion. He stopped paying the crazed idiots any further attention.

Because that smell proved it. Rift magic. The kind only performed by Ryland the Incongruously Insufferable.

Valorous considered leaving a little gift here. Something that would stir up the worms, that would send the ants running hither and thither. Wasn’t it fun to kick an anthill and watch them all act as though some great catastrophe had befallen them?

In fact, he’d be doing them a favour! They were lazy. Lackadaisical. Peerless in their ineptitude.

A strong reckoning was in order, and even better, Valorous knew exactly who the blame would fall upon—

He hacked out another bloody cough. This monstrous atmosphere was going to be the death of him. Leaving the little people to their little, inconsequential worries, he forced himself into the Corridor World yet again, emerging with some difficulty at the next location where rift magic had been blithely used.

Well, not the exact next one. That had been in the town nearby. Valorous wanted to enter the pigsty even less than he wanted to actually get embroiled in Ryland’s madness.

Instead, the Corridor World opened onto a wide plain bisected by train tracks. Craters and fractures populated the desecrated land and made it look exactly what Valorous felt about it. A certain sense of rot hung in the air. His keen eyes noted the dregs of the detritus strewn everywhere, noted the site of battle and the depthless magical pits in the distance.

Hmph. He’d had an altercation with Living Mana, had he? Though, things were strange here. Valorous didn’t even need to cast his spells to see so. The Living Mana appeared to have been devoured, yet their dregs not only persisted, but were burgeoning in strength even now. How odd.

The real problem, though, was the train tracks. Scowling, Valorous found himself standing in their centre. These led all the way back to Arcoryx City, if his local geography wasn’t failing him.

Valorous was sure of it. Naturally, he tended not to stick to Realms that were no better than rubbish heaps. He couldn’t discard their uses, though. That was why he retained a passing level of knowledge about them. Even though he was positive he could have found a great many other things that would feel much more satisfying to store in his head.

He hacked out a few more coughs that bloodied the tracks. The nice thing about this location was that Valorous didn’t need to worry about any witnesses.

So, he cast his magic.

“[Replicate Time].”

Ochre light edged with iridescence resolved into a Tier [20] spell circle. The air thrummed with magical power, crackling and sizzling as the mana threatened to carve permanent marks in the vicinity. Valorous reluctantly controlled it to keep its effects constrained. Less because he cared about the consequence and more because he needed it to work right.

This was complicated, even for an Empyrean-ranked archmage like him.

Valorous scowled and coughed and scowled yet again. Ugh. Look at him categorizing himself based on Vyrd’s atrocious Grand Frame. What in the ever-living Calamities was wrong with him? He could hear the Order laughing at his back.

Just because it delineated ranks in an easy-to-separate manner, enough that he knew there were only two others of the same rank in all of Vyrd, didn’t mean it was good.

Valorous coughed away the terrible taste of thinking of himself in terms of Vyrd ranks as his magic came into being. His Soul Glyph of Replica created near-perfect facsimiles of whatever he targeted with the spell circle around it. In this case, it was replicating the time of the locality during which the Living Mana had invaded the train passing through this spot.

The entire battlefield recreated itself with vivid colour and sound. Living Mana surged with fleshy frightfulness. It was all so gruesomely delightful that Valorous couldn’t help but cackle.

Appendages and tentacles formed out of nothing but mana, muscles and sinew wrapping around bone to form monstrous half-beings and horrid aberrations that assaulted the train with relentless aggression. There were obstacles, of course. Powerful defensive Inscriptions, a pesky Mage Knight crapping out golden magic, and so on.

But had that monstrously malignant malcontent masquerading under the guise of “Ryland” not been present, this would have been a surefire victory for the Incursion.

Oh, how it hurt to see the glorious Living Mana falling by the wayside. He felt like a father watching his beloved child try so hard, yet falter in the end. Ugh. Valorous started sobbing, but the cough stopped him. He sniffled, glaring with vile hatred as his suspicions were proven right.

The unmaking crystals from the Realm of Sepulchre were piercing through the flood of fleshy, bloody, bony Living Mana, drawing out their vital essence and consuming their magic.

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A brief pang of envy was followed by Valorous stomping on the feeling. No. Fah! Bad, bad. Why in the crackpot and calamitous curmudgeon-ness was he feeling jealous of that incorrigible, incurable, irredeemable bastard of a trickster?

Gah.

A short tantrum later, Valorous managed to identify the key points that [Replicate Time] had recreated. There was the Living Mana, of course. Then there were interesting black lines threading subtly through the whole mess. What was this? Threads of Fate? What in the blistering Realms had that cretinous crab been doing?

More importantly, there was a convenient bit of Ryland that he was searching for too.

A little eyeball was in one of Ryland’s rifts. Look at that arrogant orb just floating along. Valorous could just reach out and squish it and—argh! He had to get a hold of himself.

Focusing on what he needed to accomplish, Valorous cast more magic with his Soul Glyph of Replica.

Despite possessing Tier [20] spells, he couldn’t actually recreate everything in its entirety. He couldn’t replicate something like souls, but the shape of people and other living things was fair game. As was the mana they possessed and channelled, to a great extent. Mirages though they were, no one said a mirage couldn’t be powerful.

They were, in essence, replicas. But for Valorous’s purposes, a replica was more than enough.

“[Glyphic Essence].”

His next spell dug into his target, which was the replica of Ryland’s eye, and turned it into a Glyph.

Valorous cursed. Even that languid and lugubrious lunatic’s Conceptual Glyphs were untenable. The imprint of magic that just a replica of his eyeball had been reduced to via Valorous’s spell sparked and jolted, making space itself disjointed around the Glyph, glowing bright enough to blind most beings even of Valorous’s standing.

Air was churning into a storm, the ground was cracking, the whole world somehow condensing into a singular point located right on that shining spell Glyph.

“Curses and Calamities!” Valorous cried out. “Alright, fine. [Binding Essence].”

With a hefty bit of magic, Valorous tied the Glyph he had created out of Ryland’s fake eyeball to the Living Mana infected with Fate threads, creating a disastrous amalgamation. Well, not disastrous for him. Just his unsuspecting targets.

The spell circles he had employed, with his Soul Glyph of Replica still acting as the Centreglyph, had recaptured the magical energy spent on replicating time itself. As such, the vision of the battle, the replica of the Living Mana, the train, and everyone on or in it were all consumed back into motes of mana to empower the new Glyph he had created.