Hope

Irwyn still felt slightly sick as they were heading back home some hours later. He had seen people die before but nothing nearly so graphic, malicious. Waylan’s reaction was much more subdued but Irwyn had needed some time to calm down. Thankfully he had skipped breakfast.

“Is there nothin’ we can do?” Waylan muttered into their awkward silence. He had known the victim, unlike Irwyn, even if not too well. His visage was that of deep hidden fury, though Irwyn could read that much from his oldest friend's expression.

“Do what? Kill them?” Irwyn snapped, surprising even himself. “They are trained, older and more experienced. That f… damn spell was nothing like anything I have seen before. Not just power, but it was fundamentally different from what I have ever achieved. How do I match something I learned 2 hours ago was even possible when they had clearly perfected it for years? And even if we could somehow ambush them, then what? If they do this for a failed theft they might literally scorch the entire slums to ash if a Blackburg dies.”

“Fuck, I get it,” Waylan cursed. “I just ‘ate it. The whole ‘reap what you sewed’ ain’t ‘ere.”

“Please spare at least the idioms Waylan,” Irwyn pleaded. “And there never was any justice here to begin…” Then he cut mid-sentence as he felt the presence approach. Just one but obscured in a way he had not felt before. The magic, as if alive, insisted there was nothing where it was but it could not hide the presence of itself nor that it was just spread out enough to hide a single person. Nor did it stop Irwyn from realising its intention hid that deep rooted wrath and gluttony that he felt not so long ago.

“Code 9,” Irwyn loud-whispered and very intentionally turned his head to be looking exactly 180 degrees away from the approaching presence. The good-for-nothin gem was not glowing but Waylan did not doubt for a second as he prepared to dodge or bolt at any moment. Code 9 meant a caster in pursuit, something they had never used before but was right on their mind nevertheless.

They no longer talked but they kept walking, pretending nothing was wrong. The presence passed a corner and then followed them, maintaining distance. Was it Rage? Or was it just coincidence that the magic felt so similar. Wrath and Gluttony both mythologically belonged to Umbra who patroned the Void. Maybe it was common for skilled void casters to have that underlying intention in their magic. And if not, where was Calm? Irwyn felt around and felt no other presence.

What he did feel was the concealing magic strain. Expanding like cloth being slowly torn apart from inside by a flexing muscle it was not large enough to contain. Something was disrupting it. Is it a spell from the inside? Irwyn guessed. If so, was it offensive; lies and misdirection before a dagger in the dark? It was bright outside though and they would not need to lie to his face about wanting to kill him. Maybe rage was after revenge for some perceived ‘provocation’. He did not seem like the stable kind. That would explain the absence of Calm.

The streets were mostly empty, something Irwyn had attributed to the starting turf war and rumours about the broken Third spreading, but perhaps that was not all. They would end up completely alone in a deserted alley at some point in the architectural anarchy that was the slums and the Blackburg caster would probably strike at that time since he had waited so far. Unless he ran out of patience.

But their pursuer would eventually strike and Irwyn had to be ready. Between light and flame he would need to defend with the latter. Light and Void were, after all, anathema and annihilated each other, giving a massive advantage to whoever was offensive in such an engagement while Irwyn had no illusions about being able to shoot down moving spells, something he had never done before.

It was when they finally entered a completely deserted alley that Irwyn felt the magic lash out. He felt that ravenous beast burst out, gluttony and wrath given teeth and a jaw. Waiting for that very moment Irwyn jumped, putting Waylan behind him as he poured his everything into a shield of solid flame, manifesting it with all the speed and power he could manage. He prayed to all the Aspects that it would be enough to block because there was no dodging that beast. He braced.

And there was… no impact.

The spell missed, passing by Irwyn with a mocking hiss before it fell apart behind them. Intentionally wide, Irwyn realised as a familiar figure emerged from where the magic had hidden him from sight across the street. Rage looked at them with a mocking grin.

“You have quite the guts, embarrassing me in front of Calm,” the man yelled. “Unable to hold my presence, geh, I knew something wasn’t right with you. A rogue mage in this backwards dump!” Waylan was slowly inching away during the speech, preparing to shoot away as they had planned if a situation like this ever arose.

“At least I have some luck. Do you have any idea how much the Blackburgs pay for captured rogue magess on their territory?” he raised his finger towards them with a grin and Irwyn felt that slight shift of mana that suggested the beginning of a spell. “Alive or Dead.”

“Behold

Dark bolt”

A projectile of pure darkness left the man as Irwyn kept reinforcing his shield of flames. It was not Void, Irwyn noted, but darkness. Darkness was the lesser manifestation of Void, the same as Light had Glow or Time had Space. The difference was that darkness lacked that all-consuming impresence of the Void. The spell itself was incomparably less powerful than the void beast of a spell unleashed before, moreover, it lacked the intent. It was also not aimed at Irwyn this time either. The mass of black harmlessly flew to the right of them and dispersed.

“Shame her ladyship Avys is so insistent about no children being harmed. Would make collecting my bounty awkward,” he sighed dismissively. “Now, if you would just surrender without losing a few fingers so I can continue with my schedule.”

Irwyn’s heart was beating out of his ears but he still noticed one part of the speech: “You are not actually part of House Blackburg,” Irwyn said as he gave Waylan a hand sign behind his back. That meant that if Irwyn managed to actually win the whole slums would not be erased. Probably. That just left the hard part.

“You think the Duke has nothing better to throw his best manpower on than street rats like you,” Rage scoffed. “It’s actually kind of hilarious how delusional you are about your own importance. You are just a juicy bonus on my next payroll, little thief. Now come with me.”

“I refuse!” Irwyn declared. His shield of flame was completely saturated at this point and radiating heat.

“Good! I get to take a few fingers for that provocation! Behold, Dark bolt”

It was faster than before. Much faster. Irwyn felt the flash of traveling mana before the spell struck his shield; and knocked him head over heels. The shield had no dent but it didn’t work very well as a, well, shield. When the spell struck it the different magics collapsed each other and exploded. The shield might hold much more power than the dark spell but it was far less useful when it kicked you after every block, even if it didn’t completely fall apart.

“Seriously, that’s not even a real shield!” Rage seemed to be having a jolly great time mocking Irwyn. “My 14 years old nephew has better barriers than that. Who in the world taught you to block like that and are you sure they weren’t just messing with you?”

The only answer he got was a fireball.

“How to live?

I give

to that question

Void’s bastion”

Unfortunately, the answer to that was also on Rage’s tongue. He spoke the words unnaturally quickly, yet all too clear to hear as a wall of transparent nothing rose around him. Despite that, they were still glutonous, eager to devour the spell Irwyn had just formed as it approached them. Seeing that it would be devoured whole, Irwyn instead detonated the spell into a wave that tried to maybe find a gap while covering a large area.

There were none.

“That was better. For a complete disgrace like you. It’s rude to chant so quietly by the way and it won’t help you,” Rage snickered. “But if you want to play, sure. Dark bolt, dark bolt, dark bolt.”

Three spells flew in quick succession, Irwyn bracing for the inevitable impact; they were too fast to physically dodge even if he felt them coming. The first explosion of mutual annihilation shoved him, the second knocked him off his feet and the third, arriving just as his legs left the ground, sent him flying backwards. The bruises certainly would not help him in the rest of this fight.

“I didn’t think you could outlast that,” Rage was approaching closer, the omnidirectional walls of magic still surrounding him as he walked over the remaining embers of Irwyn’s previous spell. “But enough games. I would hate for someone to find us and insist on a share, so, regretfully, I will take a hand.

Run forever,

however…”

Waiting for that exact moment, Irwyn raised the prepared pillar of flame at the man’s feet, using the burning ground as a conduit for his surprise attack, disrupting the chant that seemed to be integral to the man’s spellcasting.

And it did nothing because the Void’s bastion did not forget about attacks from underneath, greedily eating the flames again.

“…None may avoid

Maw of the void”

The beast pounced at Irwyn. Hungry and malicious. Seeing it once again, Irwyn felt the sheer difference between this spell and the bolts. The maw opened and it wasn’t just a construct, it knew that it was seeking to tear through Irwyn’s shield and arm. The magic was aware as it struck. Block damn it, Block! Irwyn hoped beyond hope, knowing full well his shield would at best be hurled away.

The spell struck and bounced.

Irwyn and Rage both looked at the repulsed monstrosity with wide eyes. It snarled one last time before it fell apart, deprived of its purpose and thus intent the moment it failed. Irwyn inspected his shield again and realised it had changed. It was no longer just a mass of solid flame. It held intent. The singular intention to Block. And since there was intent on both sides it became a contest of raw power which Irwyn’s shield somehow won.

“How did you do that?” Rage demanded, suddenly cautious rather than gloating. “Dark Bolt,” he shot, but not at Irwyn but at the lingering flames near him, frowning further when nothing obvious happened. That gave Irwyn the time to gather together a completely saturated ball of flames, surpassing even his best training times. Moreover, he wished for it with all his will to burn. To incinerate all it touches. And then he hurled it.

It was slow, so when Rage noticed Irwyn had not stopped casting to answer his question he still had more than enough time to counter:

"Speak the words

of the worlds

against corruption

Black disruption"

An incorporeal wall arose in front of the already seemingly impenetrable bastion, right in front of the ball of flame as it was about to strike it. The manifestation was clearly far less skillful than the maw spell and different in nature. It was chaos and discord, meant to unwind whatever passed through it, destroying any form. Irwyn was uncertain whether it would completely decompress his magic or just weaken it, however, he did not get the opportunity to find out.

An overcharged beam of blinding light struck the wall right in front of the fireball.

It was not his most proficient spell, however, that was not what mattered. What was important was that it was an instant beam of light. Fast enough that Irwyn could finish casting it as the ball of solid flame was already sent. What was even more important was that it was Light. The anathema to Void.

Filled with the intent to breach, the wall of disruptive black was shot through, not quite breaking but losing so much of its area around the impact point that the ball of Flame passed through without issue. The effect the beam had on the Void bastion spell was far more dramatic: They both shattered, the collision of the two elements resulting in mutual obliteration. Rage was so surprised by the beam he did not react before the flames engulfed him.

Irwyn felt the wave of heat all the way to where he was standing. The solid flames lost their cohesion and decompressed with a slight bias in the direction of the intended target. Not that the spell was not indiscriminate. Irwyn had always wondered what the detonation of solid flame would look like; he never imagined that the whole street would become a blazing inferno in an instant. Many of the wooden buildings of the slums caught fire, some directly turning to ash in the areas of greater intensity. The sound was deafening as air was compressed in the shockwave, pushed by the sheer volatility of the explosion.

Irwyn had doubts he could survive just the detonation itself and that was not actually even the main intent of the spell. It was meant to burn and if he didn’t do anything it might actually burn his own home to the ground. He began to focus on taking control of the remaining flames so that he could extinguish them, they were still mostly of mana, his own in fact, and were therefore not too difficult to gras…

A pulse rippled through the area. The flames vanished in an instant. And not just the flames. Light itself grew slightly dimmer, time became a bit less consistent, Irwyn felt the very ground he stood on become infinitesimally less solid. Irwyn felt deep down in his very core that something was forcefully made weaker.

Rage stood tall. His flesh burned and hideous, but no longer even sizzling. His clothes had all been incinerated, leaving him completely naked except for one item. An ornamental necklace that had previously been hidden underneath a cloak, it was an artistic depiction of the 9 elements in a circle, the 8 surrounding the centermost flame. Rage stared at it dumbly for a moment, lost somewhere between confusion and agony. Then his mind caught up with the events and all the pain was seemingly overcome by the embodiment of his moniker.

“How? And how dare you!? What have you… How… Do you have any idea what you have done, you rat!?. You absolute waste of a soul?! This is impossible! An illusion!”

Irwyn recovered half-way through the monologue from his own surprise, reprimanded himself about the loss of attention and then tried to deliver an instantaneous light beam through the eye, hoping he could hit. Magic itself was sluggish as he called it forth, restricted. It resisted manifesting anywhere beyond his skin and the moment any attempt at a spell left his body it instantly fizzled out. Panicking, Irwyn looked at the amulet and realised it was cracking at a visible pace. Magic so far outside Irwyn’s comprehension he couldn’t begin to guess what was going on was tearing the magical item, nay, artifact, apart from within each passing second.

“You will not get away with this, you hear me. I declare you the greatest enemy of house Blackmaw! As long as anything you hold dear exists I will come to extinguish it, you understand? For this a thousand deaths is not enough. DO YOU EVEN COMPREHEND WHAT YOU JUST COST ME?” the man seemed to be swapping between confusion and wrath before he finally settled on cold, seething Rage. “I am Frederick von Blackmaw. Last of my line. In the name of my ancestors, the glory of my house, you will die.” Irwyn tried again to gather any magic as he felt Rage harness magic of his own, clearly unaffected by the amulet. Gritting his teeth, Irwyn gathered all the mana he could inside his body, meticulously assembling a desperate beam of light. The amulet would break soon, that would be his only chance. A lethal blow before he himself was hit; because there was no way to dodge. Yet he knew fully well it would not be in time.

Irwyn felt deep dread as the spell seeped out of Rage. It was several steps above even the maw. So unbelievably refined Irwyn had not realised magic could reach such a level of perfection. And it did not come from just Rage. Irwyn felt it drawing from something else to reach that unparalleled flawlessness. It was GLUTONY incarnate. Such all-consuming hunger it could only be known by a creature who had been born deprived of everything else.

“We do not rattle

at the dawn of battle

and in that lull

I call upon in full

on our ancestor’s agony

The toothed legion of ebon…”

And then a rock hit him on the back of the head.

In a zone where no magic could exist a mundane projectile did the job perfectly as Rage had not re-erected any barrier, either overconfident or overcome with fury. Either way, he lay on the ground, the casting interrupted by the sudden removal of consciousness.

“Just in the nickel of time, eh,” Waylan walked in from a side street not far behind Rage, slightly burned on his arms, his expertise in disappearing only matched by his ability to butcher idioms. The amulet finally shattered into fine dust, magic instantaneously returning to normal.

“Please, do not make me immediately regret surviving, Waylan,” Irwyn managed a strained and nervous chuckle, adrenaline draining from his system making him almost collapse. He opened his mouth to speak again when he felt something pop into the world.

The army of a thousand ebony black beasts stood atop Rage’s unconscious form. Except not quite. They both were there and were not. A superposition of Irwyn’s plane and wherever they usually resided. Probably the Void itself. The beasts were malformed and each unlike the next. From tentacular horrors larger than buildings to small critters reminiscent of large rats. They all, however, shared one characteristic: Each and every single one of them had a disproportionate dislodged jaw large enough it could seemingly fit their own torsos.

“Are you seeing this?” Irwyn muttered with wide eyes, showing Waylan open palm as the sign of stop. Flee or fight? Hope they only see movement? Irwyn was already contemplating how to survive this new disaster. However, he soon noticed the beasts were not paying him any attention. Instead, they all focused on the unconscious man on the ground.

“Seeing wa…?” Waylan was just about to ask when the beasts tore into the man. They bit and gnawed and tore, pushing or throwing each other just to get one step closer to the carnage. They devoured him whole until there was not even a fragment of bone left where Rage had been not a moment ago. Then the beasts tried to bite the mangled meat out of each others’ chewing mouths just to get that tiny bit more while the smaller beasts ate mouthfuls of dirt just to get to a single droplet of blood.

Then the bizarre feast was over, the monsters all vanishing as quickly as they came.

“I suppose ya saw what just tore the cunt to shreds?” Waylan said, wide-eyed. “Because I sure as fuck didn’.”

Irwyn stared for a moment longer. It was gruesome beyond belief yet it all happened so fast he couldn’t process any repulsion or disgust. The lack of smell and general dislike of the target of violence also probably helped him recover faster. But most of all, it was the sense of urgency: “We need to go, now! Every caster in the whole city probably felt that.”

And so they ran, Irwyn suppressing both his mana and his mind attempting to process what it had just seen, hoping against hope he could prevent himself from leaving a trail of vomit.