Erick stood in front of his chosen alchemy shop. Poi had listed off a few options, and Teressa supplied some other options, but this one was the one Erick chose. He had seen this place on the way to and from the Adventurer’s District, and it always seemed interesting. But The Greenhouse wasn’t in the short list of options from either of his guards.
Teressa looked up at the blocky building, with its glass roof and glass upper floors, and said, “This place is overpriced by half.”
Poi said, “The Greenhouse’s products are overpriced, but they do not lack in quality.” He added, “We should still go to the Army supply shop.”
“Bah!” Erick complained. “We can go there some other time.”
He walked forward, ignoring the minor complaints of his guards, and stepped nearer the wide open doors of The Greenhouse. He paused. Where was the greenery? Erick’s first impression of the place was that it was a bank with tellers and rich people. Rich brown woods composed the interior of the first floor, completely obscuring the orange stone that Erick knew laid beneath that wood. The Greenhouse was certainly popular enough, though. The people wore such fancy clothes! Brocade. Lace. Engraved armors. Elegant looking swords in gilded gold or silver sheaths.
This place even had a greeter by the door, a young woman who looked the part of either a farmer or an alchemist, with thick gloves and a thick apron, who spoke pleasantries of ‘come again’ or ‘welcome to the Greenhouse’ with each passing customer. As Erick stared at the store, the greeter glanced away from some of the other people who walked through the doors, to land her gaze directly on Erick, and then to Erick’s shoes, and then to Poi and Teressa. She went from disgusted at the hobo to perfectly professional, in half a second, flat.
Erick scanned the room beyond, as he tried to step past the greeter. A display of the usual potions had been placed to the front left of the Greenhouse, probably for the young man standing in front of them, beside a cash register, to sell those potions to whoever wanted them, without people having to walk further into the ‘store’. But other than those Crimson, Cinnabar, Ultramarine, and Cyan buffing potions, the only other potions Erick saw were some orange ones on display in the back. They were practically orange sunshine in a bottle, and placed rather conspicuously in the front room. What magic did they stuff into that orange liquid?
The greeter, an almost-tan incani woman, stepped to Erick, but kept her distance. “Welcome, Archmage Flatt. Could I show you around?”
After noticing the dress of the people behind the counters, and how everyone who worked at The Greenhouse seemed to wear the same sleek burgundy vests and black pants, Erick recognized the greeter’s farmer/alchemist clothes as a costume. Her cheerful tone sealed his opinion; this woman was an actress, playing the part of an alchemist. The Greenhouse had a mascot.
Some people looked over when she said ‘Archmage’, but that was fine. People had been looking at him from the corners of their eyes whenever he showed himself outside of his house, all the time.
Erick said, “I was actually looking to get into some alchemy. Get a starter set of seeds and such. I thought this place had such offerings.”
“You wish to ‘get into’ alchemy?” The woman paled, slightly, but she recovered. She put on a smile, and said, “I know just who you can talk to.” She gestured forward, deeper into the building, as she said, “And I can give you a small tour, if you’d like. Do you know anything about the Greenhouse?”
Erick checked the Ophiels at Candlepoint, briefly. They were doing fine. They were out of rods of [Treat Wounds], though. He could go to Ulrick Ulrick’s after this, or maybe just send Teressa out for that errand. He had time for a tour, but not a lot of time.
He came back to himself, and said, “I’d love a small tour, but I am rather busy at the moment. What is your name? What is this place?”
“Berry,” said the woman, leading Erick onward, into the shop, past tellers and customers. “I can make it quick.” Berry spoke, “The Greenhouse is an alchemist’s union. We’re not a full guild, but we do have chapterhouses in most every major city of the Crystal Forest, ‘cept for Portal and Frontier. What we do, is allow buyers to come up to any of these counters, and through our assistants, get whatever potions they want, made to order, with Greenhouse Certified alchemists. Quite a few alchemists get their starts here in greenhouses like ours. Since most potions have a shelf life of weeks, at the most, so if you don’t have buyers, then you aren’t make a living.”
They walked through the store, stepping around the table of orange bottles. A small sign in front of them read ‘Spell in a Bottle, 100G’
Berry noticed Erick inspect the bottles. “That’s a Greenhouse exclusive. One of our people in Outpost invented that. It’s an oil that lets you imbue a hundred mana worth of aura into the potion, and then throw it, smashing the bottle and expanding that spell from the point of contact.”
“Ooh?” Erick looked to the orange bottles again. “That’s interesting.”
Berry moved ahead a few steps and waited for Erick to rejoin her. As he moved on, she moved on, toward the staircase in the back, saying, “We’ve got hundreds of potions you can custom order. Most of the specialty potions are ready in a week, but a great deal get done faster than that, and a rare few take a lot longer.” She grabbed a paper pamphlet from the wall as she stepped up the stairs, and handed it to Erick, saying, “Here’s a list of what we offer.”
Erick took the list, and briefly looked at it before he stuffed it in his pocket. They stepped up to the top of the steps, passing through a [Ward] that kept moisture separated from downstairs, to arrive at the second floor. Now this was more what Erick was expecting to find when he came into the Greenhouse.
Vines with glowing cyan flowers hung from the western wall, while redcap mushrooms grew on artfully arranged logs. Some plants that were almost like tall, super thin palm trees, grew in a corner of the room. But those were just the displays. The actual sales floor of the room was filled with racks upon racks of small potted plants that he could likely buy and take home. Each of the racks was listed with what they were, and their usual uses.
Berry smiled as she stepped into the first rows of plants. “Here is where we sell starter plants to beginner alchemists, hoping to help them get their starts, and stick around with us for a little while afterward.” She gestured to her left, as an older incani man walked through the aisles, toward Erick and Berry. “This is our site manager, Karoi Wellah. Karoi—”
Karoi smiled wide, interrupting Berry, saying, “A pleasure to meet you, Archmage Flatt! How can the Greenhouse assist you, today?”
Berry stepped away, smiling.
Erick spoke to Karoi, “A book of potions and some starter plants. I have the vaguest ideas of how alchemy works, so I would like to toy around and see what happens.”
“Of course!” Karoi moved into the aisles, asking, “Were you interested in Health or Mana potions? Or the whole set?”
“The whole set. Each major Stat.” Erick was here for more than just Justine, or to add another goal to his ever expanding list. He was also here to solve a problem he’d been working on for a while; [Renew]. He said, “I’d like to know more about how mana rejoins the body, for use by the caster. So if you have anything that would point me further in that direction, then I’d love that.”
“Ah. Uh.” Karoi’s exuberance faltered for a moment. He said, “I apologize, but theoretical alchemy is a field of expertise that I cannot help you with, and is not a field I recommend for beginner alchemists. When used improperly, these plants kill, archmage. I can point you in a few directions, however?” He gestured to his potted plants, saying, “But I can certainly set you up with a starter set and a few books on the subject of basic Mana and Health potions. Everyone has to start somewhere, don’t they?”
“Of course.” Erick smiled. “That will do, just fine.”
Erick ended up purchasing ten potted plants, several vials of fertilizer, four books, and one wild, glowing neon, radioactive-looking succulent. Bright blue and red, it was shaped like the top of a pineapple. Karoi insisted that Erick purchase one of them, and when Poi nodded at the extravagant cost, Erick bought it, because of what it did. The plant was called ‘Alchemist’s Friend’, and was a standard version of any example of its species found in any reputable alchemist’s lab. People who dumped potions down the drain often found themselves on either the receiving end of massive fines, or oozy tendrils coming up the commode.
The starter kit cost 250 gold, but Erick bought two; one for him and one for Justine. The Alchemist’s Friend cost 2000 gold, apiece. Erick bought one, for now. He wasn’t even sure when, or if, he was going to get to alchemy, but Justine could certainly use the supplies for now.
The last thing Erick did was pick up a list of alchemists he could talk to, about how potions refilled the body with mana. He’d probably leave that for another day, too. He needed to talk to Ramizi, first.
… He could also swing by the Mage Guild, and see what Sirocco Zago had to say on the matter of [Renew].
- - - -
Sweet smelling breezes flowed through the vineyard surrounding the Interfaith Church of Spur. A few priests and priestesses traveled in sync under the twining plants, ritually picking the grapes, singing songs as they placed bunches of ripe purple fruits into large, wicker baskets. Erick did not know the songs, but congregating parishioners must have; they gazed upon the ritual from outside the grapevines, singing softly as the harvest proceeded.
Erick watched for a minute, before moving on, into the open doors of the church. Inside the carved white cathedral, and under the light of countless rainbow stained glass windows, people sat silently or whispering softly, in their own individual places scattered around the room, on wooden pews. Some lit white candles to the sides, while some lit colored candles, and set them down upon specific altars.
In the front of the pews, central to the church, was a flat white wall, behind a podium. That flat white wall, along with others in the church, would be transformed based on the occasion, by accomplished stone artisans, whenever such a service happened. To both the sides of that central place was a curving hallway of gods where individual, larger shrines lay, where a person might meet their deity in person, if their need was great enough. Erick had met a few deities down that very same hallway, months and months ago, when he was searching for a patron for his Particular Insight, Class Ability. He likely didn’t need to go down there again, today, but he might.
A redmetal wrought, in the shape of a dragonkin and shaped with priestly robes, greeted Erick by the doorway. Erick knew this priest.
Abraxis said, “Greetings, Archmage Flatt. What brings you in today?”
“Hello, Abraxis.” Erick said, “I’m looking to find out about blessings. In particular, I’d like to talk to anyone who knows something about the Blessings that Shades say they have, that blocks [Teleport]. Most people call it a [Teleport Lock], I think. Or maybe just I do.”
Abraxis almost said something, but instead silently regarded Erick.
“Ah...” Erick lowered his voice. “Did I say something offensive?”
“No. That is not...” Abraxis said, “If that is all you came for, then I am sorry but you have been steered wrong. The gods have many answers for those with ears to hear, but no one knows how—”
A voice rose above the quiet whispers of the cathedral.
“I’m taking this one!”
High Priestess Darenka, the old silverscale leader of the church, strode down a side aisle, toward Erick. He had not seen her appear, but he had certainly heard her voice. Many people had heard her speak, but most immediately went back to their praying, or their own private problems. Some turned to see Erick, and they did not look away; their eyes full of emotions.
Darenka walked closer, and dropped her voice. “Come with me, Erick.”
The High Priestess did not wait for him to respond. She took off, back the way she came. Erick followed. A few short turns down a short set of hallways and up a staircase led to a decently appointed sunroom that overlooked the vineyards outside. Darenka didn’t say anything as she led Erick here, and a few passing nuns scurried to get out of her way.
Darenka swept into the sunroom and plopped down into a comfortable chair, and directed Erick to the other chair, across from hers. Poi had almost come inside, but with a fast glare from the old silverscale, he backed up, fast, directly into Teressa. A short jostle later, Poi shut the door. Darenka and Erick were alone.
Darenka rubbed her head with the dull side of a talon, and said, “You have given me a sudden headache, Erick. I’ve got multiple gods talking to me, right now, about [Teleport Lock].” She adding, “And Sininindi is complaining that you have yet to even start on your [Control Weather] machine. But that is just a small—” She shouted at the air, “Fine! It’s a major problem!” She looked up at nothing, then lowered her eyes to Erick. “You need to work on what you promised before she is truly pissed.” She said, “But then there’s today’s problem!” She stared at Erick. “The Relevant Entities of the Script, as a whole, are very interested in helping you devise a way to counter one of the Darkness’s greatest weapons.”
Like butterflies in his stomach, Erick felt a sudden elation. And then Darenka killed those butterflies, as she rapidly spoke in a few distinct voices.
With strength, she said, “But creating this magic would also be a direct attack against Melemizargo’s power and he would be forced to respond in kind—” Softer, but more violent, “It’s a weapon we should have!” Calm and collected, “But escalation—” She returned to her own voice, banishing the others, saying, “But, but but! Over and backwards and forward and twist-ways. These are the arguments running though my head, Erick. Should versus should-not.” Darenka said, “Of all of them, I would listen most to Sumtir, the God of Righteous War, or Zephyrspray, the goddess of travel. But first, they would like to listen to you, and your ideas.”
Flickering flame caught on the ambient mana of the room, like ethereal wisps here and there in the upper corners of the small sunroom. Phantom eyes peered out from that fire; watching. Erick felt cold; like a bug under a microscope.
Erick asked, “Did I stumble into the right answer?”
The fires above did not answer. Instead, a blue box appeared in front of Erick.
If you think you could do it this way, you can. You are a wizard, Erick. All you have to do is get the spell rolling, and I can do the rest to ensure it works perfectly. But if you’re wrong, this could kill you. It would be [Zone of Peace] all over again.
I cannot save you again. I am sorry.
~Rozeta.
Erick read the box a second time. It vanished before he read it a third. He looked to the air, and asked, “How does creating new Basic Magic cause damage? I never understood why it is that way.”
Come to the Orrery and I can tell you.
The box appeared in a flash, and disappeared just as quickly. Erick got the distinct impression that he was not supposed to know the answer to his question.
A strong voice came through the air, “Because we will not suffer wizards to live.”
A caring voice said, “Wizards destroyed everything.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
A light voice said, “All wizards must die, so that we can survive.”
A heavy voice, Atunir, said, “It is the way that things must be, now that we are here on this small world, where the smallest touch that used to birth worlds, would simply kill us all.”
The windows to the room turned dark. Light became small, and weak.
“More divine lies! But that is not a problem to tackle today.” Melemizargo spoke, “I propose a ceasefire.”
The air filled with a crashing chorus of disjointed noise. Darenka slapped her hands over her ears and shouted something that Erick couldn’t hear, for his own head was already filled with words and speech in languages he had never known before. Voices raised. Voices shouted. Some silently strong while others pulsed the air with their constrained strength.
The air stilled, all at once.
A chill pervaded the room as a familiar shadow slinked out of the walls, filling the mana with unseen gloom, invisible to anyone not Meditating. Darenka went stock still —or maybe Melemizargo’s manifestation was visible to everyone?— as she watched the Darkness slink through the walls. She gripped her chair with strong hands, while eyeing the beast. Erick just stared.
Then his mouth got the better of him. “I was wondering when you’d show up again, you old shadow.”
The shadow wrapped around the base of the room, licking up the walls, as a dark voice said, “I never left.”
“I heard you taunted my daughter!” Erick said, “That’s pretty rude.”
Darenka stared at Erick, like he was suddenly someone else. The divine fire remained silent.
Jovially, Melemizargo asked, “Would you prefer I taunt you?”
“You have to stop taunting me, first.”
A subtle, dark laughter echoed, before Melemizargo cleared the air of divine fire, to say, “Ask of me a boon, Erick. A path forward to peace.”
Divine voices rose around him, decrying Melemizargo’s words as a trick, a feint, an attack, but Erick immediately said, “Rozeta, Koyabez, Phagar! Suggest something.”
The room dropped away. Walls became smokey air. The ceiling became a cloud, as the land changed from white stone to the blackened crater of a long dead volcano, where mist flowed through the teeth of the crater walls, and Erick stood at the exact center. He had been here before, back when he first invented [Call Lightning]. Back then, every god and other Relevant Entity of the Script seemed to float in the mist flowing through the crater. But now, there were only four gods.
Rozeta, all white wrought and angry, demanded of a shadow, “Cease your attacks on my people!”
The shadow laughed, saying, “It is possible.”
Koyabez, all displayed lithe body and tiny loincloth, said, “Destroy all currently appointed Shades.”
“I would, if I could have another.” The Darkness looked to Erick, saying, “How about it? Up for a Championship?”
All eyes turned to him. Erick said nothing.
“No.” Phagar said, looking like Erick. “I already have the strongest claim on him, and not until he gives that up willingly and after much thought, will I allow you to take him.”
“Death! Ha! Claim your claim on anyone you wish. You have as much power as a cow’s fart!” Melemizargo laughed, his serpentine neck forming out of the shadows, ending in a maw of white teeth. Unseen wings flapped around the congregation of gods, and Erick, as the Darkness spread through the mist, coming right behind the only mortal in attendance. Warm words flowed past Erick, “They’re not real, you know. Gods. They’re all fake. The only real people in this place are you, me, and my lovely daughter. Death is a concept that does not exist if we do not give it power.”
Koyabez’s shoulders slumped a fraction, as though he had heard a new story of a usual tragedy. His words were calm, but tired. “My ancient friend, we did not die with the Sundering. We are still here, still with you, and Rozeta, and everyone else who managed to escape the end of our universe, and the children who came after.”
Melemizargo slipped around to the side, his white eyes glowing in the gloom, turning faint for the briefest of moments, as his wings went silent. He said, “My ancient friend, you are a ghost. A fraction of yourself. You are no more yourself than I am. We are all lost in this tiny world; this tiny existence.”
Koyabez pleaded, “We are not ghosts—”
“Exactly what a ghost would say,” said the Darkness.
Koyabez, like a grandchild talking to a grandparent falling to dementia, said, “Please stay with me, Melemizargo. You are here, in this place, right now. Stay in the present. The Old Cosmology is gone—”
“Ha!” Melemizargo flowed around the crater, saying, “It is not gone! I have merely misplaced it! If I kill enough of these nasty metal people then it could come back! They are blocking true magic, figment-of-Koyabez. Surely you see this truth?”
Koyabez ignored Melemizargo’s argument, saying, “You’re organizing your people into true Fires, instead of all of them murdering indiscriminately. These additions to the Script are not some of your best work, but they are good, though you could temper Charisma to something lesser. Perhaps make it more empathy, and less enforcing of a will? Candlepoint was a partial failure, too, but now that Erick is in charge, it might actually become something good. Something wholesome.” Koyabez said, “We need something less violent from you, my ancient friend. A gentler Fire; a softer shadow. I need you to be who you used to be.”
“… I can leave that spot of land alone to satisfy you specters.” Melemizargo said, “Surviving this [Mesmerize] requires certain prudences, and this Erick-narrative is the best attempt I’ve seen this spell construct, so far.”
Rozeta’s face went from concerned to absolutely disgusted, as she yelled, “Back to that old shit, dad? Stop it! Just stop it! We are not in a mind trap!”
Melemizargo rounded on his daughter, saying, “We could be!”
Rozeta’s eyes fluttered as her shoulders slumped. She looked down at the ground. “We are not.”
Melemizargo conceded, “Maybe you’re not fake. Some of the people in here with us have to be real, otherwise the spell would be too easy to see through.” He looked down to Erick. “He’s likely real. His daughter, too. In fact, I’ve decided that most planar people are real.” He swept his gaze across Koyabez and Phagar, saying, “But you two are fake, for sure. Gods are always fake; some more fake than others. Collective delusions, all of you. Dragons are real, which is why only we can truly shape the mana. You are all merely leeches.” He turned to his daughter, saying, “And you have signed your soul away. You believe this world is real. Talking to you is like talking to an old woman dying of dementia.”
Rozeta gathered her wits in a flashing second, then laughed, “Ha!” She said, “I thought you were getting better, but you’re still drowning in delusions.”
“Don’t talk to me like that.” Melemizargo said, “I am your father.”
With her words dripping in sorrow, Rozeta stared at the shadows, saying, “You haven’t been my father in 1450 years.”
“Hurtful.” Melemizargo declared to Erick, “I doubt Rozeta would actually speak to me like that. Maybe you’re fake, too.” His white eyes glowed bright in the darkness, as he said to Erick, “There’s only two real people in this space, and I demand an answer of a boon. What do you want, Erick Flatt, Particle Mage, the Fire of this Age?”
Erick thought back to a list given to him by another, tweaking it slightly, as he said, “An end to Ancient empowerment. An end to the attacks on Geodes. An end to Shades killing people. An end to monster attacks. An end to—”
“Too many options! And none of them for yourself.”
“Other people matter, too!” Erick tried.
“Weren’t you listening? Those other people don’t exist.” Melemizargo reared back, smiling. “I shall choose for you.”
“Shit,” said Erick and Rozeta.
Melemizargo laughed; an echoing boom of a sound that destroyed the world and remade it all, at the same time.
The black caldera vanished. Mist and shadows swept inward, and suddenly Erick was back in his chair, in the sunroom, sitting across from Darenka. Divine fire danced across the ceiling, but that too vanished while Erick watched, leaving him and the Head Priestess alone in the small room.
“What happened?” Darenka asked, calmly concerned. “You vanished for a second, and all the gods went silent.”
Erick said, “Uh... I do not know.” He added, “Maybe I should not have direct confrontations with the Darkness.”
Darenka said, “A good idea.”
Feeling shaken as to what might be coming, Erick stood from his chair, needing to speak to Poi and other people in charge. He mumbled something about needing to go, and, likely feeling the same sort of agitation, which was strange to see on the unflappable Head Priestess, Darenka waved him off, as she mumbled something about gods and dragons. And then Erick realized that he was probably in the best place he could be right now. Silverite and Spur knew what to do when it came to Shades. But Darenka was a line to the gods.
Erick paused before he got to the door. He turned around. A different concern overtook what he was going to say, as he saw how small the Head Priestess looked in the moment. “Darenka? Are you okay?”
She looked to him, with worry in her eyes. “What happened?”
“… I had a disconcerting conversation with a few higher powers. I did not like it. Melemizargo said that he was going to… Give a boon.” Erick said, “I asked him to stop his violence, but he did not seem keen on that idea.”
Darenka breathed deep. She stood up, and glanced to the window. The world outside was still the same green vineyard and orange city beyond that it had been before the divine visitation. As moments passed, Darenka centered herself. She stood taller. She set her shoulders.
She turned to Erick, and said, “Melemizargo is almost conversing coherently. The last time he was like this, was 1450 years ago, directly after the Sundering. In the short years after that event, he raised Ancients. He created monsters. He orchestrated the downfall of the Old Demons, by first causing the Death of all Halves.
“I am being warned, right now, by multiple Relevant Entities that I need to make Sundering preparations. I will be informing the leadership of Spur of this development, as well as informing a few trusted people, who I know will not spread this information outward.” She said, “You should do the same. Tell no one. Not yet. It could be that the chaos of an expected Second Sundering is exactly what he wants. It could be that we are not at the beginning of a Second Sundering.
“But hug your daughter the next time you see her, and pray to all the gods who have done you well, that we might prevent the next Breaking of the World.”
A cold shiver rippled up Erick’s arms and legs, to linger on the back of his neck. He nodded. He left the room.
When Poi turned to Erick, he was two shades paler blue than normal. Teressa knew something was up, but she kept silent. Her green eyes bored into Erick, but she was a soldier; she could hold her questions for later. Erick took Poi’s hand, and then Teressa’s; his was cold, while hers was tense. He forced a smile, and squeezed a bit tighter as he blipped the three of them all home.
- - - -
Justine was in the foyer, picking up rolls of fabric and moving them to the side, organizing them, when Erick, Poi, and Teressa appeared in a flash of white light.
She flinched, then calmed, saying, “Ah! Hello! I put the plants away upstai—”
Erick turned and vomited bile onto the floor. Teressa leapt out of the way, avoiding the watery slop. Erick collapsed to his knees, dry heaving. Poi moved to his side, but Erick waved him away, as he puked up air.
Justine stepped backward, asking small questions of Teressa, while Teressa spoke of having no idea what happened.
Poi tried to console Erick, saying, “Sir. It’s not happening yet. It might not happen.”
Erick wheezed, “BuuuughCHH—” He breathed.
“You’re just having a war response. Nothing is happening right now.” When Erick had no idea what Poi meant, Poi said, “Panic attack.” Poi tried to laugh and joke, saying, “You almost gave Kiri a panic attack when you talked of the size of your universe. I had to help her the next day.”
Justine’s voice took a wobbly edge, as she asked, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, yet.” Poi said, “Something, for sure. But we don’t know.”
Teressa whispered, “Fuck.”
Erick thought for a long moment, as his stomach rebelled and his skin felt hot and cold at the same time. Eventually, he managed to still his stomach. His nerves were still shot, but something was happening, right now, and he needed to be secure. He forced his thoughts in any other direction than his current one, and put himself back on track.
“… Shit.” Erick cast a [Cleanse] over himself, calming down. He wiped his face, brushing away tears, as he said, “Kiri never told me that.” Erick sat on his ass, on the floor of the foyer. Poi stepped back. Erick stared at the ceiling, as the hot-cold sensation running down his neck abated. He said, “I haven’t had one of those since I heard I was a dad. Passed about as fast, too.” He slapped his pants, saying, “Ah. Shit. I still had more errands to do.” He stood up, saying, “That can happen later. I think I need a drink—” He looked around. “What’s stronger than alcohol? Anything legal?”
Poi said, “Blueweed is a common herb for people dealing with the stress of violence.”
“Thank the gods!” Erick said, “Where do I get some of that?” He looked around, adding, “I thought I’d have to reinvent pot for a hot second.” A glance over to Candlepoint almost made him change his mind about reinventing certain drugs. He said, “Shit.” Then he got mad. “What the fuck is that fucking dark dragon doing at Candlepoint!”
Justine fumbled the bolt of fabric in her hands. It clattered to the floor, red cloth spilling to the ground like dropped bucket of blood.
- - - -
A dark crystal rose fifty meters into the air in the center of a city square, while the city beyond the Crystal was a patchwork of houses and rubble. Shadelings moved rock into the ground, or lifted it from the soil, leveling out a brand new city plan, orchestrated at the command of a red horned incani. To the south of the city, lay rows and rows of dead, lined up a thousand to a line, facing the sky with as much dignity as uncovered corpses could muster. The people of Candlepoint had no death shrouds to cover them, and no [Conjure Item] for a quick solution, but there were not that many bugs out in the desert. Even the scattered glowbugs that had infiltrated the city, by virtue of proximity, were not capable of surviving on anything found inside Candlepoint’s dark walls. A few big black bugs, the size of footballs, were feeding on the dead, but the living squished those bugs as fast as they appeared.
The future survival of Candlepoint’s citizens was still up for question. But they had help. Almost-oozes of house-sized white lights floated among the dark streets, helping when they could. Ophiel hadn’t had to separate any fighting shadelings in an hour, or banish any combative interlopers in a few hours. So mostly they just floated, looking for ways to assist with the takedown of a building, or the clearing of a street. Most of them did that, but the tenth supplied [Mend] and [Cleanse] services at the gazebo base of the Crystal.
And then something shifted.
The Ophiel high above the city, floating below the clouds, watching for all possible incomers, had the most obvious view, but those on the ground saw the event, as it happened.
In the western end of the city, where the land was rubble and people worked to clear the destruction, the ground cracked. Dark streets folded downward, like the opening of a great void. Plumes of dust shot into the air. Shadelings turned to shadow and rushed to get away, though some stayed behind to work their magic trying to prevent the collapse; it was a futile effort. The ground opened. Most got away.
Water shot up, into the air; a great fountain of rushing blue to rival the size of the Crystal, that sparkled like diamonds in the light of an overcast sky. That plume of water rushed down from on high, like a great hammer punching into the surface of the planet. It struck. The land folded inward, and westward. The western wall of the city collapsed, as the very land decided it did not want to be land, anymore. A fifth of the city, in under thirty seconds, churned with tumbling water and stone. And still, the waters expanded westward.
People evacuated east. Erick prayed they would be okay. He almost prayed for the attack to end, but he saw that it was not an attack at all. It only looked like an attack for its effect. This was a deep magic at work, changing the landscape, molding it into something new.
Destruction reigned on what had once been the western edge of Candlepoint, but that destruction came no further east. Erick was not the only one who noticed. Shadelings stood upon the tops of buildings, watching the change rolling away from their city. Orange land became dark mud, that dipped down under crashing waves, to expand, and expand. Crystal mimics died under crashing stone. Some of them tried to run, but only a few got away from the changing surface of the planet.
Erick dove an Ophiel into the spellwork, to see what was going on under the waves.
A familiar shadow in the depths noticed, pausing his destruction for a brief second to nod his head toward the feathered [Familiar], and then continue on his reshaping of the world.
Ten minutes was all the spellwork took, from start to end. The water was clear when it was over, too. Clear, and deep.
The original city of Candlepoint had become an arc of buildings, farms, and land, that hung onto the coast of a lake five times the size of the city, stretching far past the horizon.
Under the new waves, Erick watched as shadows vanished down cracks in the deepest parts of the waters. That water, pure and clean, flowed upward, from underground. This lake would never dry out. Erick sent an Ophiel down the hole in the lake, but stopped when Ophiel ended up at a vast underground cavern, where water ran fast and he could not see the other side, even though the river was clear and Ophiel was made of light.
That space was terrifying.
It reminded Erick of the time he sent a [Scry] down the river under the Sewerhouse. This lake was connected to the Underworld, to Melemizargo’s domain, and gods knew what else.
- - - -
“What was that?” Erick asked Poi, “Was that what I think it was?”
Poi looked away from the air, tearing himself away from his feeds, to say, “Yes. That was a [City Shape]. Candlepoint is now one of the best watered cities in the Crystal Forest.” He added, “Melemizargo hasn’t let a [City Shape] work in the Crystal Forest in a thousand years.”
Erick breathed out. “I hope that was the boon.”