Chapter 35
Leshi Forest III (Aether Rot)
A notification flashed in Mags’ vision, the words etched like smoke across her mind.
[Skill: Aura Enhancement - Void Cloak] [Level: E-4]
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but something shifted in her—a pulsing warmth at the edge of her awareness. Activating her [Aura Vision], she blinked, stunned by what she saw. A silvery light covered her skin, rising and flickering like ghostly flames. It clung to her in a protective shroud, the gleaming haze almost unreal. She deactivated [Aura Vision], and though the light vanished from view, she still felt its warmth embracing her.
She focused again, pulling [Aura Vision] forward, and not a moment too soon. The skinny man lunged, his fists glowing with razor-edged aura, carving through the air toward her with deadly speed. Mags sidestepped, letting instinct guide her. To her surprise, her aura seemed to intercept his as he moved. His aura seemed to shudder, dissolving as it met hers—she could feel her own aura hungrily devouring his, rupturing his own shroud which she watched disperse into the air like faintly glowing dust.
Something within her thrummed, a pulse of awareness, a heightened perception as though she could feel the world around her with more clarity than sight alone. While it was still difficult to perceive in the midst of battle, even with the help of [Aura Vision] she was able to feel what her cloak of aura had done to the man’s blades of his own aura.
A notification from Yggdrasil pinged into her periphery.
[Passive Skill: Aura Sense]
. . .
[Improved from E-3 to E-4!]
The man staggered back, wide-eyed and gasping. “What . . . what in the hells did you do to me?” He stared wide-eyed at his hand as though she had bitten off a finger.
She opened her mouth to reply, but Calcabrina barreled into him, her massive Kirin form tearing through the clearing. Her antlers struck him hard in the gut, lifting him off his feet, and with a twist of her head, she hurled him away. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, writhing as blood and viscera pooled at his side, his face contorted in shock and pain. The scream that escaped his lips was chilling and Mags felt her stomach lurch as she saw the man’s guts spilling out of his body onto the foot-flattened grass of the clearing.
Mags barely had another second to process it before she felt something—a faint, tingling awareness at her back.
“Behind, you damned fools!” cried the Hag’s head.
The bombs! She spun around, catching sight of the fat man launching a fresh volley of explosive cubes straight toward her and Calcabrina.
“Calcabrina, move!” she shouted, but her friend, still in her beast form, was too slow to react. The concussive blasts hit her full-on, throwing her body across the clearing with a howl of pain. Another sphere came hurtling her way, sparking with deadly energy. Instinctively, she braced herself, her body pulled in aether and her [Void Cloak] flared to life around her, swallowing the blast in its shimmering flames. The blast from the exploding cube washed over her, the wind only faintly brushing back her hair.
The effort hit her like a hammer, a bone-deep weariness seeping into her limbs. She barely managed to stay on her feet, every muscle trembling with fatigue. The cloak’s aura dimmed, flickering weakly across her skin. How much mana did that take from me? She’d nearly forgotten that mana—the fuel source for channeling aether and producing aura—was a limited reserve that took time or resources to replenish.
Around her, the clearing lay in chaos, dust and smoke thickening the air. Calcabrina lay still where she’d fallen, and the fat man smirked, reaching for another bomb. But Mags could sense his aura now, see the tiny pinpricks of aether flaring in his hand before he could even throw it.
She gritted her teeth, tapping into her reserves of mana and forcing channeled aether into her lungs and legs, filling them with an invigorating rush of energy. Her muscles tightened, and in a single bound, she hurtled across the clearing toward where Mithra protruded from the ground.
As her hand wrapped around the sword’s hilt, a familiar voice piped up nearby, shrill with irritation. The Hag’s head, somehow still conscious despite the explosions and chaos, rolled to a stop near Mags’ foot.
“So, little girl, going to stand there all day or put that black blade to some use?” the head snapped. “If Celestine wanted someone slow, she’d have sent a tortoise.”
Mags’ jaw tightened. “I’m doing my best!”
The fat man drew back his arm, readying another of his bombs, and in a flash of instinct, Mags swung Mithra in a tight arc, intercepting the cube in mid-air. The force of her swing caught the cube perfectly, sending it back in the direction it came. It arced through the air, twisting, then detonated just short of the fat man, erupting in a fierce wave of wind and flame. Mags barely managed to shield her face as the blast threw her backward, and dirt and debris filled the clearing, painting everything in a haze of gray and smoke.
The ground shuddered, and Mags heard a faint wail that grew louder as the smoke cleared. Her stomach dropped as she saw the Hag’s head spinning through the air, head twisting indignantly as it careened back toward the forest, ultimately landing near the tree line. The Hag’s shriek split the air, “You careless oaf! Watch where you’re swinging!”
“I’m sorry!” Mags shouted back, wincing as she picked herself up from the ground.
The fat man’s coughing laugh broke through the ringing in her ears. He limped forward from the edge of the explosion, his face twisted in a grimace. “You . . . you’ve got some quick reflexes, girlie. But that won’t save you, little hero. Miro might be gone, but I’m not leaving here without that Hag’s head. Or without putting you and your friend in the dirt!” He spat, his voice a sickly growl, as he reached down to pull another bomb from his strange pocket space.
Mags gripped Mithra, the blade vibrating in her hand, a steadying warmth against her palm. If this man wanted a fight to the death, damn it she’d give him one!
Mags felt her heart hammer as the air shimmered with a new, eerie tension. Another cube materialized from the sphere over the fat man’s shoulder, and Mags’ newly acquired [Aether Sense] flared to life, pulling her attention to the edge of the clearing. A presence lurked there, dark and seething with bloodlust—a sensation so raw and predatory that it clawed at her instincts, sending a chill down her spine. Before she could fully register what it was, something massive leapt from the shadows, a streak of orange and black that slammed onto the fat man’s back.
The fat man screamed, wild and raw, as the tiger-like creature’s claws dug deep into his shoulders, its jaws clamping down on his neck. Blood splattered across the forest floor, and he gurgled, gasping as he tried to twist away. “No! Luca, it’s me, it’s me—” His voice dwindled into a sickening gurgle as his body went limp, collapsing under the weight of the monstrous creature. The floating sphere thudded into the dirt, rolling to a stop near his motionless hand.
As the haze of dust settled, Mags got her first real look at the beast. A tiger, yes—but this wasn’t any ordinary predator. Standing nearly seven feet tall, it loomed on powerful hind legs, muscular and furred, with a chest that looked almost humanoid beneath the savage, striped pelt. Shreds of torn pants clung to its legs, and its massive, clawed feet sank into the earth with feral intent. Its face was a bizarre blend of man and beast, the muzzle elongated and teeth bared, yet with the faintest trace of human-like features around the eyes. Eyes that gleamed with the feral light of hunger, devoid of sanity, and chillingly aware.
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“It’s the aether rot!” came a shrill voice from nearby, where the Hag’s head lay wedged in the dirt. “He’s a Bonesinger lost to the sickness, girl! Get him before he gets you!”
For a split second, Mags stood frozen. The tiger-man’s gaze snapped to hers, and his lips curled in a bloodthirsty snarl. She swept her eyes across the battleground, noting the fat man’s lifeless body and the mangled figure of his skeletal companion. At the edge of the clearing, Calcabrina was rising to her feet, still in her Kirin form, looking slightly dazed but alive.
Gritting her teeth, Mags tightened her grip on Mithra and charged at the beast before her.
The tiger-man leapt to meet her with a speed that was both animalistic and horrifyingly precise. She could feel aura radiating off of him. He has to be channeling aether like mad!
She swung Mithra in a wide arc, but he dodged, weaving around her blade like a shadow before swiping a massive, clawed hand. She twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, but felt the razor-sharp claws graze her shoulder, leaving burning trails of pain in their wake.
They danced around each other, Mags darting in to strike and retreat, the tiger-man dodging with an uncanny, predatory grace. His claws were a constant threat, and twice more they raked across her arms and side, leaving shallow but bloody wounds. She grunted, forcing down the pain and waiting for her moment, eyes sharp on her enemy’s every move.
With a snarl, the tiger-man lunged forward, seizing Mithra’s blade in his hands. The razor edge cut into his thick, clawed fingers, but he held on, wrenching the sword from her grip. The blade spun from her hand, landing somewhere in the underbrush with a soft thud. Before she could react, his huge, clawed hands clamped around her shoulders and he heaved her off the ground, slamming her back against a nearby tree.
White-hot pain burst through her body, and her vision swam. She gasped, trying to draw in more aether and summon her power, but before she could, the tiger-man loomed over her, muscles coiling to pounce—
A blur of silver fur and antlers hurtled into the tiger-man from the side, sending him tumbling. Calcabrina had leapt at him in full force, her Kirin form glinting with defiant energy as she drove her antlers deep into his side. She held him, wrapped in a powerful hold, as he twisted and snarled in fury.
“Don’t forget about me!” she snarled, her grip unyielding even as the tiger-man flailed, swiping at her with his powerful claws.
Mags took the opening, pushing herself off the tree and channeling aether to steady herself. The channeled aether was like a rush of cold water, numbing the pain of her wounds, and sharpening her focus. Her eyes darted to where Mithra lay. Too far away. Calcabrina struggled to restrain the mad, tiger-like Bonesinger.
She drew in every wisp of aether she could manage, channeling it to blunt the screaming pain tearing through her limbs and chest. Could she get to Mithra and then back to where Calcabrina and the other Bonesinger were locked in a death drip in time? Before he potentially overpowered the Kirin?
That’s when the tiger-man broke from Calcabrina’s hold, quickly tossing the large Kirin over his shoulder. Then, he had her pinned, his fangs sunk deep into her flank. Calcabrina roared in agony, her Kirin form flickering as she struggled against him.
"Run, fight, do something, girl!" screeched the Hag’s head from somewhere nearby.
Mags’ muscles tensed. Mithra lay tantalizingly out of reach, but something in her rebelled at the idea of fleeing or scrambling for her blade while Calcabrina fought to hold back the monstrous Bonesinger. She had to fight, had to act!
She filled herself with aether, channeling it straight into her body, feeling her mana surge and her blood pound as her speed multiplied, her every nerve crackling with energy. In a burst, she released the energy, surging forward, legs pounding beneath her. She was running faster than she ever had, barreling toward the creature, her own aura blazing around her like fire as the [Void Cloak] reactivated, shrouding her in shimmering, flickering energy. She was only steps away when words burned into her vision, information searing into her mind:
[New Spell: Angel Flare Spike]
[Level: D-1]
Mags didn’t have time to question the notification, blinking it away. But then, unlike the Skills Ygdrasil had presented to her in the past, she wasn’t simply left guessing about the nature of an ability; its instructions settled into her mind as if by instinct. She knew exactly how it worked, how to pull the aura tight and shape it, compressing it into her fist, and then releasing it a fraction of a second after landing a punch.
Her hands moved almost of their own accord, gathering her aura into a solid point as she raced closer to the tiger-man, her eyes zeroing in on the gap in his defenses.
With a battle cry, Mags closed in, her fist glowing with her gathered aura, aimed right at his solar plexus. She swung with all her strength, and the strike landed with a bone-crunching impact that reverberated through her arm. The air left the Bonesinger in a hoarse grunt, and he released his grip on Calcabrina, his eyes widening in shock. In that split second, Mags released her channeled aura, a searing spike erupting from her fist and punching straight into his core.
The tiger-man froze, his whole body stiffening as if gripped by invisible shackles. Mags felt her aura rippling inside him, a destructive force disrupting the dense mana lines that ran through his body, tearing apart the wild aether surging through his veins. His limbs convulsed, his eyes rolling back as he coughed in pain and surprise, each breath ragged and hoarse.
In a flash, Calcabrina was there, her form bloodied but determined, hooking her powerful arms under the tiger-man’s, lifting and holding him in place. “Hit him again, Mags!” she shouted, her bestial voice hoarse and edged with desperation. “One more to finish it!”
Mags stumbled back a step, breathing hard. She drew in the remaining strands of aether around her, searching her core for every last ounce of mana to fuel another strike. Her limbs trembled, her vision going hazy as she focused on compressing her aura, building up the power just like before.
But then a cold, hollow sensation washed over her—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she first began Soulsinging: the desolate void of mana depletion. There’s nothing left. Her heart raced as the last flickers of the aether she’d drawn to her faded, the warmth in her core snuffing out, leaving her feeling empty and weightless. All the power she had felt surging through her body moments ago vanished in an instant, leaving her with nothing but exhaustion. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground, her limbs weak and leaden.
“Not now . . .!” she desparately whispered, struggling against the encroaching darkness edging her vision. But her body wouldn’t obey her will. She could barely manage a breath, let alone lift a finger.
The tiger-man snarled, ragged breaths puffing hot clouds into the cold air as his gaze fixed on Mags. He was like a wall of muscle, fangs bared, barely an inch away, his gaze flickering with a bloodthirst that saw only her.
Calcabrina’s powerful form trembled as she tried to hold him in place, but the beast reached up, his claws curling around her horns. With a guttural roar, he flung her aside, and she crashed into the ground with a resounding thud, her body rolling limp across the dirt. By the time she skidded to a stop, the Kirin was gone, leaving behind her humanoid form.
Mags tried again to draw in aether, forcing every fiber of her will to channel even a single thread of energy, but her reserves were empty. Every attempt sent sharp, twisting pains through her body. She was drained, powerless. Desperation flickered through her mind.
The tiger man stared down at her menacingly, eyes blank with fury and fanged mouth frothing. He sniffed the air. “Maldrath,” he growled.
“Please. . .” she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. “There has to be something left of you . . . just stop—” But his eyes were empty of any recognition, glinting only with feral rage.
The tiger-man tensed, muscles bunching as he prepared to pounce. Mags could do nothing but watch, frozen as the inevitability of it closed in. She braced herself—
WHAM! The sky seemed to tear open above her as an entire house hurtled from nowhere, crashing down on the tiger-man with enough force to shake the ground. Dust and splinters flew in every direction, and Mags barely processed what had happened, her mind reeling. The house was nestled in the clearing, just inches from her outstretched hand, its wooden siding splattered with dark streaks where the beast had been moments before. A single, massive fur-covered arm jutted from beneath the house, frozen mid-swipe toward her.
Mags stared, slack-jawed, her mind refusing to process the absurdity of it all. She looked up at the small cottage, whose windows seemed to glare back at her like eyes. Pleasant-smelling smoke billowed from the chimney in lazy curls, and the scent of baked apples filled the air.
Then, with a creaking groan, the house lifted itself off the ground on two massive, chicken-like legs, stepping aside to reveal what remained of the tiger-man beneath. Only a smear of dark, matted fur and twisted limbs was left.
The cottage stretched its legs, then scurried across the clearing like an eager pet, stopping beside the Hag’s head. It lowered itself, looking almost . . . concerned, and . . . bashful?
“There you are!” the Hag’s head said, her voice light and warm. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it, dear. Had to call in a little backup.” The house seemed to quiver with excitement, nuzzling the Hag with the very tip of one of its legs, like a dog reuniting with its owner. Then it plopped back onto the ground, sinking comfortably into the earth as if it had always been part of the clearing.
Mags watched, mouth slightly agape, as the Hag’s head rolled back over the ground until her wizened face was turned up toward her. The old crone’s wrinkled face cracked into a sly, toothy grin. “That was a close one, little pup!”