Hope

Irwyn’s adrenaline-filled shock was interrupted by an impact against his barrier from below. It took him a moment to register it, then another strike to realize what was happening.

“Ghosts!” he yelled at the top of his lungs to anyone not too deaf to hear. And of course it would be ghosts. They were lesser undead so Old Ibis’ divinatory hunches did not warn of their coming, however, because of their incorporeality they could move through the rubble without being detected by the Hummingbird. And they had a full buffet of mages that barely survived and likely wouldn’t be properly defended against their ambush. Even if it was just one in ten, they were about to be inflicted another round of losses.

With a thought Irwyn easily burned away the ghost stabbing at his soles through the concrete and stood up. It was never just one thing. Irwyn might as well just assume that a horde had been gathering just outside the Singing man’s range of detection waiting for the collapsing ceiling to pincher them against ghost-saturated debris. He had to move. So he shoved thoughts about Desir to the back of his head - he could only hope his friend had made it out as well - and focused on salvaging as much of the situation as feasible. There had been many people not that far away from where he had been lounging, many of whom were just regular soldiers or mages saving up on mana by dropping their barriers. If they were about to be swarmed by ghosts it might be up to Irwyn to reduce those losses.

One issue was that the dust was still too disturbed to see. It couldn’t have been… more than half a minute since the ceiling collapsed. Irwyn had to readjust his estimations of time given that nowadays his mind operated far faster than just months prior. The cognitive enhancement Dervish had taught him only kept getting stronger along with his magic after all but it could be disorienting at times. Far ahead of his gut feelings.

He perceived a spark of magic from the left and headed towards it. If he couldn’t see anyone through the dust he would have to feel them. So, he half-closed his eyes and focused on that. The magic across Abonisle was still suffocatingly thick, especially today, but he could feel magic and even most mages in his immediate surroundings. Therefore, he headed towards the closest person who had a very faint aura of the Void.

Before Irwyn could take two steps, said mage’s presence vanished. Suppressing a curse Irwyn took off towards the next closest one, actually running. He waded through the dust in a bubble of his own barrier as it began to settle. He seemingly reached the next mage just in time as her barrier was cracking from the assault of three separate ghosts. He immediately layered his own layer of defensive Flame over the woman’s own and proceeded to burn the ghosts right after. The spectral undead were downright fragile and not faster than regular humans. Not nearly enough to dodge the agile Flames.

“Follow me, we need to move,” Irwyn said and did not wait for an answer, or to see if he was even heard, already going for the next mage he could feel. That one too got cut off halfway there, so he instantly pivoted. He would not have made it in time if the visibility hadn’t improved in those few precious seconds. Just like with the first one, he reinforced their defenses and destroyed their attackers.

In the maybe two seconds that took the clouds of dust cleared out further. Irwyn could now actually see silhouettes moving in the distance, though unfortunately not any ghosts that might be attacking them. What he did finally feel were several extra songs joining those that had been always accompanying their march. Especially the dirge the disrupted communication between undead. The Hummingbird had clearly noticed the attack, which meant that the rest of their large gathering would soon know as well – if the additional songs did not already make it obvious.

Irwyn was about to head towards someone else when a SHRIEK intercepted him. It was a bit like ten thousand forks scraping against metallic glass. The shattering of every window in a small town. A cacophony of a million screams sounding from inside his ear. And it was more than a sound. It tried to reach inside of him, for his very essence. It passed right through his barrier and sunk deep. Below flesh, below skin, into that half-real place where one’s very soul rested. The magic behind the sound lunged…

And found itself obliterated by an immaculate white cord tightened around Irwyn’s neck. In the real world it had been invisible but this deep it shone brighter than a beacon. Because although the magic at play might have been quite powerful, it was still soul magic. And thanks to the artisanship of House Blackburg, Irwyn found himself temporarily beyond harm.

The two mages he had just rescued were not so lucky. They died on the spot, most likely not even realizing that they were under attack. Every living magical presence in about 50 meters winked out - and that did not even account for the regular soldiers Irwyn could not feel. An instant slaughter. Whether he had it before or not, resisting the spell got Irwyn the full attention of its source. The undead spirit did not attempt to hide underneath the ground, instead, it emerged to face Irwyn.

It was not humanoid at all. Just as the Flesh Hulk were amalgamations of flesh, this was a disfigured sphere of spectral essence. Of course, the shape itself was not too important. What mattered was what covered it:

Mouths. Not maws. Not massive fanged jaws that could swallow Irwyn whole. Just regular human lips. Thousands upon thousands of them. And they each moaned in agony. Cried in pained despair. And Irwyn could identify it for he had been warned of what a Banshee looked like, even though they had not encountered one yet. He should have already reacted, however, was genuinely taken by morbid fascination.

With its full focus on Irwyn, it screamed again. This time it was far more concentrated. An order of magnitude louder and more powerful. It tried to sink into Irwyn’s soul again. And found itself just as easily foiled as before, not so much as dazing the soul it had just intended to break beyond mending. All it did was wake Irwyn out of his inaction.

“...Deatbane Starbrand”

Irwyn immediately chanted the full spell. Banshees, as far as he had been told were considered one of the most dangerous among the Greater undead. Much worse than even Flesh Hulks… However, that was mostly because of how difficult they were to defend against. Its agonized voices were most often not even weakened by normal mage defenses, as Irwyn had seen and there was no dodging the sound of a scream. At least not at their level.

Yet it could not hurt him. Irwyn wasn’t sure if he could have defended against it on his own through his soul’s natural resilience, however, he did not need to find out. The white string Dervish had given to him and Elizabeth at the start of the incursion was a temporary but exceptionally effective defensive measure against soul magic. Potent enough that Dervish himself had used it to break from whatever had influenced their minds before.

Now, Irwyn did not have enough frame of reference to know how powerful Dervish actually was, however, it was certainly far beyond comparison to the undead standing here. It wailed and shrieked as Irwyn finished his chant, none of which even stung. Perhaps it had hoped Irwyn was just barely holding on and would die quickly. Perhaps it just didn’t really think.

Either way, it was struck by the Brand. There was seemingly no effect in the first few moments after the WEEPING mark burned itself even into the ghastly form. Other greater undead had screamed in pain or doubled their efforts to kill the living. The Banshee did not. It continued its agonized screams exactly the same way it had for the previous half dozen seconds.

Then it just… came apart at the seams. The Starbrand targeted the soul after all. In a Flesh Hulk, that was barely visible. It seemed like it just dropped dead. But a Banshee was all soul. It looked a bit like layers peeling off. Fractures opening on the undead’s surface to reveal a blazing inferno hidden beneath. Starfire spread until it could reach every nook and cranny. Until the Banshee deformed even further. At one point, it simply split into two chunks, all connecting pieces burned away. Then, not much later, there was nothing left. The brand, half spectral itself because of its target, remained levitating in the air. It was exhausted but Irwyn could give it the mana required to keep using it just like with any other undead.

Which is exactly what he did. Where there was one, there would be another. In an ambush like this, dozens were more likely. The Brand turned into a ray of Starlight as it followed him while Irwyn took off running.

The dust had fully settled by that point. The street had been turned into a dead end: Good five meters of fallen debris were blocking one side. Looking further down the street, he could see reinforcements already fighting a last few remaining ghosts. It was a good distance away though and Irwyn was pretty sure no one else besides him had survived in the area. Mostly because of the damn Banshee whose scream had probably reached halfway to the next street over.

Their numbers had greatly increased over the march. They were no longer just one company that could reasonably march down just one regular street. The large main streets still allowed it - they were gargantuan and would allow about 30 people to walk side by side. Their gathering had stepped off of those some time back though. Therefore, their vanguard had been spread over several connected streets.

Irwyn decided that he did not have the time to walk some hundred meters back to the intersection and instead decided to burn his way through a building standing between the two. The neighborhood would need complete reconstruction anyway. Since Irwyn had been roughly in the middle of the formation, he just ran for the side that was close to him. Every second might make a difference.

Or it might not. Either way, Irwyn ran just a notch beneath sprinting as the brick building parted around him like paper in a wildfire. The moment he burst through he quickly judged the situation: Many ghosts were being fought off after losing the element of surprise. There were losses but not as severe as where he had just come from, the situation was well in hand.

Therefore he continued to the next street over, burning any ghosts that he ran into along the way. The soldiers gave him some obviously warry looks on account of him bursting through a building, however, none ended up even attempting an attack. After all, the undead attacking them were all ghosts which Irwyn was distinctly not.

The next street over was significantly worse. A group of five Time mage soldiers were holding another Banshee frozen in a magical bubble. Irwyn could not see it but could feel the disturbed time surrounding the motionless undead. However, on account of the five competent mages being busy, the regular ghosts were making a lot of progress.

“Get away, I can deal with it,” Irwyn shouted, approaching the time-locked Banshee, hoping they would even hear him. The mages were decently far away so Irwyn could not read their expression, however, less than two seconds later they began to quickly move away, as did all the other soldiers or independent mages that had been in the area.

With the distance opening, the bubble holding back the Greater Undead quickly weakened until it began to flicker out, a half-broken echo of its scream leaking. The moment it did actually break, Irwyn was ready with his brand, immediately inflicting it upon the Banshee. It began shrieking immediately afterwards, however, everyone except Irwyn was already well out of range. It died in futile struggle just like the previous one.

Irwyn recharged the Brand and began to rush off again. Without the Banshee the situation on the street would quickly stabilize but he might be needed somewhere else. He didn’t make it halfway towards the next shortcutable building before he felt am sudden impact at his barrier from below.

He would assume it was just another ghost if his barrier didn’t almost get cracked by the magical power behind it. It was like he had just been hit by a four-intention spell. Then he was immediately struck by another two. His barrier nearing collapse within the first second.

Not panicking but certainly worried, Irwyn jumped. He could not see what was attacking him from below the ground - he had not seen nor felt so much as a flash of any weapon or magic - and that was a problem. In that split second he thought of a solution: If he could not see the undead within the concrete, he just needed to get higher.

He rose on a platform of Starfire that manifested beneath his feet, quickly ascending as high as he was tall. Irwyn might have gone even higher if he didn’t almost lose his footing from the rapid ascent. He had done some moving around on platforms of solid magic but never at speeds required in combat. Another of the hundred things he would need to work on after the incursion was over.

And indeed, the attackers emerged from beneath the concrete. They looked… almost humanoid. Like the ghosts or Banshees, they were spirits. Two arms and two legs, even a torso and a head… kind of. The difference was that they were made out of lace. Long, thick ribbons intertwined together. But not wide nor loose. It was like a phantasmagoric reimagining of a human made of only strings and a lot of empty, missing parts. In fact, Irwyn immediately realized a problem: There was literally no place on the undead’s bodies where his brand could feasibly fit. There was no overlaid cluster, just flowing lace. Connected but never too much of it together at once.

As if they were specifically designed to counter Irwyn’s spell.

Or rather, they happened to be perfect against it and therefore had come. It wasn’t even a long shot. It was a known thing undead could communicate with one another through some kind of innate soul link. Irwyn had honestly not studied it before the incursion but now knew that undead in a certain area could rapidly and easily share knowledge and that it could clearly be disrupted to some degree - shown by the Singing man’s song that messed with their uncanny cooperation. And although Irwyn was far from the most dangerous mage fighting against the incursion, he certainly still stood out in efficiency. Why wouldn’t they target him. In case dropping the ceiling, the banshees and whatever else failed, why not have a squad prepared just in case Irwyn ended up close enough to reach without support? Just like he happened to be at the moment.

And it was a whole hit squad. The three strikes had been done just by one of the lace spectral creations - he did not know what to call them - as the ribbons forming their bodies ended in sharp swordpoints. But seven more of these creatures emerged in a circle, surrounding him.

Irwyn took one more look at them and dismissed the Brand. There was a small chance it could somehow be applied despite the lack of space, however, it was not a risk he could afford. A plan had already formed in his head. He surrounded himself with two more layers of barriers. One right below his usual while the second one was just over his skin. He made sure to fit it tightly, using his invisibility spell as a baseline to surround his body with as little wiggle room as possible while making the barrier physical.

The undead assassins were beginning to float up cautiously. They weren’t sure what else Irwyn might be capable of but if he did nothing they would attack in the next couple. Most likely, the main reason they hadn’t already were the Old Hummingbird’s songs one of which explicitly made it far harder for them to cooperate. Well, Irwyn was not going to wait for them.

He hurled his innermost barrier, and by doing so also himself, towards the center of their camp where he might find help. He had no idea how tough the undead were but his guess would be ‘resilient enough to always win’. Considering his options, it was by far the best to flee if he could manage it. That was not that simple though since the undead would definitely be far faster than Irwyn’s best sprint. Hypothetically speaking, dragging his body along with his magic should be possible. Practically, Irwyn was immediately realizing several problems:

Firstly, the sudden acceleration had almost knocked him out in the first second, leaving him dazed. Second, he was pretty sure he had just broken one of his legs. Third, he was so disoriented he could not tell which one the spike of pain was coming from.

Fourth: The undead were faster.

While Irwyn had been very much experimenting in moments of desperation, the lace undead moved with the grace of acrobats and the speed of a falcon. In less than a second they were all on Irwyn, pummelling his barriers. They not only caught up despite Irwyn’s genuinely fast speed, they managed to perfectly match that speed so they could freely attack.

Usually, attacking mid-air would weaken attacks with weapons, which they were kind of using, because of the loss of leverage from bracing against the ground. Unfortunately, handcrafted undead spirits faced no such disadvantage on the account of not being fully physical in the first place.

Irwyn’s original barrier shattered around the start of the third second of his escape attempt which was not a great prospect. Still disoriented, Irwyn tuned everything else out and manifested another barrier right below his current outer one. Four intentions, which would not last long as the one above was already getting breached. It would, however, give him the time to create a tougher five-intention defensive layer underneath.

Which he did. The two outer barriers lasted about two more seconds each but that was enough. A five-intention barrier arose and Irwyn was already working on making a next one just beneath. Which was a good thing because the original lasted about five.

He was burning through mana at a pace that would make anyone around his level flinch. Barriers were comparatively extremely expensive mana-wise. Even Irwyn with his monstrous reserves was feeling his Vessel draining at a perceptible rate. But he didn’t really have any other options so it would have to be enough. Five seconds for each barrier while he was still moving in a direction. And he was moving rather quickly. It would be enough.

Then Irwyn suddenly realized he wasn’t moving anymore.

He had felt no sudden decrease in velocity. In fact, his spell was still attempting to move him, something was just fundamentally making it… not. Additionally, he was no long being attacked.

He made the existing barriers transparent to assess what was going on and immediately noticed two mages floating above the ground. One looked in his late thirties but rather than looks what mattered was the feeling: Like the moment a soul dies and is put forever to rest. The immutable enforcement that none should linger beyond life, no matter what the Betrayer may have…

Then the mages were no longer there. Irwyn had felt no magic, yet clearly it was just beyond what he had perceived. More importantly, he was quite certain he had not seen either of those mages before just then - even if he didn’t get the best look at their faces. He would have noticed the magical impressions.

Irwyn glanced around and realized that nothing remained of the lace-like undead. Of course, that was to be expected since the spectral kind of undead tended to leave not a trace of remains after being put down. He slowly let himself descent down to the ground still startled but happy about the good news:

Clearly, they had just been found by another group of combat-ready survivors. And not the mediocre kind.