James took a moment to place the stats he had earned from the last fight. Sixteen points were enough to make a difference if placed in a single attribute, and for the first time, he allowed his sheet to become unbalanced.
Every single point went into MIND. The entirety of the operation hinged on his ability to break the Grasstalker's brain, and he'd need all the help he could get to make it happen.
It's been a while since I've felt such a rush. A D-rank Awakener is sturdy enough that adding stats doesn't cause any discomfort, but sixteen points are still sixteen points. It's more than ten percent.
The Grasstalker was getting close enough that James felt comfortable beginning to prepare his attack.
Around him, the others fanned out, looking for good places from where to direct their attacks. While their tactic of ambushing the felines had proven a mistake down the line, its immediate effectiveness could not be denied. A repeat was the obvious choice.
James could feel their mana begin to take shape as they called upon everything their Talent offered. But he shut that part of his mind. He only needed to keep his attention on the massive presence inexorably stalking closer and the pulsating blade of psychic energy he was crafting.
By now, the Grasstalker had sniffed out their presence, but it seemed unhurried in getting to them. There was experience in its movements. It knew what it was facing and was fully confident it could handle them.
It meant that it had killed Awakeners before, which made it dangerous, but could also be a weakness. If the Grasstalker thought it knew what to expect from them, it would be defenseless against a psychic attack. Focusing intensely, James drew upon his well of psychic power.
The Soul Rend skill he'd practiced was designed to create psychic constructs, but today, he pushed it further than ever. Calling upon Mindforge Mastery, he envisioned the blade not as a mere weapon but as an extension of his will, a conductor for the vast ether energies he was pulling from the infinite chaos.
The ether, by its nature, was volatile and difficult to control. It demanded a firm will and a clear purpose, or it would dissipate back into the ambient mana of the world. James concentrated, his brow furrowed, his hands outstretched as if physically molding the ether. The air around him shimmered with psychic energy, visible only to those attuned to such forces.
What eventually took shape was formidable, more a siege weapon than a sword. It was a psychic missile, imbued with layers of complex mental gears and ether, pulsating with a light that seemed to blur the lines of reality around it. It felt immense even in the mindscape, where concepts like size were fluid.
Maintaining the stability of such a construct required more than just power; it required an unshakeable focus and control. James found himself wrestling with the energies, his mind stretched to its limits. There were moments when the psychic missile threatened to unravel, the ether striving to escape his grasp. But each time, he tightened his mental grip, channeling every ounce of his training and willpower into maintaining its integrity.
James could honestly say that the complexity of the construct had gone beyond his means. The addition of the ether had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, an act of desperation to try and bridge the gap between him and the Grasstalker.
He had no idea what would happen when he unleashed it. It might just explode on him, kill him on the spot, or obliterate the monster, though James didn't allow himself to hope for that option.
Considering their grim chances, it was the best he could do.
As the Grasstalker emerged fully into view, its massive form was silhouetted against the faint glow of the few remaining lights.
Over twenty feet in length and standing eight feet tall at the shoulder, the creature moved with a predatory grace that belied its size. Its sleek, muscular body rippled under a dark fur coat, shimmering with a sinister luster under the moonlight. The feline face, crowned with sharp, attentive ears and framed by a mane of darker fur, bore an expression of cold calculation. Its eyes, a deep, poisonous purple, glowed ominously in the darkness, casting a light that seemed to pulse with malevolent intelligence.
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The environment around them was eerily silent, the usual nocturnal chorus of the suburban wilderness conspicuously absent. The air was crisp, with a chill hinting at the approaching danger. Broken pavements, overgrown with weeds, and the skeletal remains of abandoned houses gave the neighborhood a ghostly appearance as if nature itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the showdown.
Standing alone in the middle of the street, James felt a surge of adrenaline. He was acutely aware of the weight of the moment and the oppressive presence of the Grasstalker. It was as if the air was thickening, becoming a viscous fluid through which every movement was a struggle. The monster’s aura was immense, a crushing force of wild, primal might that sought to dominate and subdue. Yet, James held his ground, his resolve fortified by the necessity of their mission and the lives that depended on their success. There was no other option but to endure.
Inside him, the psychic missile had reached a critical state of power saturation. It was no longer just a weapon but a culmination of all his skill, willpower, and desperate need to protect. The etheric energies he had harnessed were volatile; a chaotic storm contained only by the sheer force of his mental discipline. The construct throbbed with potential, a contained explosion that hummed with a frequency that made his teeth vibrate and his bones rattle.
Then, it clicked. The power, at least externally, stabilized. No more mana or ether could be forced into it. Something told James that if he pushed the issue, the thing would blow up on him, so he stopped.
James' focus was absolute, his entire being narrowed to the point of interaction between his psychic missile and the real world. The tension in the air was palpable, an electric charge that tingled on the skin and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He could feel the eyes of his team on him, their trust and their anxiety, their readiness to act on his command. Once the spell went off, he'd have to act quickly to protect them from the psychic backlash. He doubted it'd be enough to kill them, but even minor damage to the mind could have terrifying consequences, and they didn't have the natural protection of a B-rank creature.
The Grasstalker, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, slowed its approach, its predatory gait becoming a cautious stalk. It tilted its head slightly, those eerie purple eyes narrowing as it tried to discern the nature of the threat it faced. It was an intelligent creature, one that had survived by understanding and overcoming the challenges of its environment, whether those were other predators or Awakeners.
James waited; every muscle tensed, every sense heightened. He knew that the success of their ambush hinged on perfect timing. Too soon, and the Grasstalker might evade the psychic missile, which was a real possibility given that James was sure it would be visible given all the power it contained; too late, and it could close the distance, bringing its full, terrifying might to bear upon them.
Finally, as the Grasstalker's muscles tensed, preparing to charge, James unleashed his crafted weapon. A brilliant lance of pure destructive intent shot forth, tearing reality and the air apart. It cut through the night, a blinding streak of light that raced toward the Grasstalker with inevitable, deadly precision.
The moment stretched, time seeming to dilate as the missile neared its target. The surroundings fell into an unreal silence as if the very night held its breath. The glow was almost blinding as it sailed through the air - a streak of light aimed directly at the beast's head.
As the psychic projectile approached the Grasstalker, it had half a second to realize the imminent threat. Still, it reacted with incredible speed. It conjured a barrier of purple lightning, a crackling dome of energy that enveloped it completely. The air around the creature buzzed with dangerous sparks, the ground beneath its feet blackening.
James watched, his heart hammering in his chest, as his psychic missile collided with the barrier. For a moment, it seemed as if the protective dome would hold - the energies at play visibly struggling against each other, the Grasstalker's barrier pulsating under the force of the impact. But then, with a sound like shattering glass, the barrier gave way, leaving behind only the pure element. Undeterred, the missile passed through the lightning as if it were mere mist.
The impact was immediate and catastrophic. The missile struck the Grasstalker directly, and a massive explosion of psionic energy erupted. The blast was so powerful that it seemed to warp the fabric of reality around it. The ground shook, windows in nearby abandoned buildings shattered, and a shockwave of force radiated outward, flattening debris and upturning the earth.
James felt the backlash of the release, the raw energy recoiling coming his way. He could do nothing beyond placing a thin barrier of telekinetic energy around his body, hoping it would be enough to prevent fatal damage, as he protected his friends’ minds with all he could. He was thrown backward, his body lifted off the ground by the sheer force of the psychic storm.
The colors that erupted in the aftermath were unlike any seen in the natural world. Hues of indigo, crimson, and deep violet painted the night sky, swirling around the explosion's epicenter like a celestial aurora. These were not just visual phenomena but manifestations of raw psychic power that bathed the area in an eerie, otherworldly glow.
Landing hard against a load-bearing wall, James struggled to regain his bearings, his ears ringing and his vision blurred from the impact. As he stood up, he forced himself to maintain a barrier around himself and to continue to protect his teammates, who would have been rendered senseless by the explosion otherwise. He had expected consequences, but the sheer level of destruction he had unleashed still stunned him.
It was enough that a suspicion started to form. James had used much more ether to fuel the construct than ever before. Since it wasn't a simple, unfocused application like his beams but a more complex one, it could withstand more power, but it shouldn't be enough to result in this level of damage.
Since the ether existed extra dimensionally, there was a possibility that something had tampered with the spell. It may be a new aspect of the energy he had yet to discover, or it might be that a creature from a higher existence had interfered. James didn't know, but he was sure the might of the spell wasn't entirely because of him.
Alright, an alien might be pushing it, but something strange is happening here. I'll need to experiment more with this type of combination to see how much is derived from applying so many skills and types of energy together.
James steadied himself on a nearby pole, scanning the area for his teammates. He could feel them psychically since he was still ensuring they were shielded from the worst of the aftermath, but he couldn't see them. His mind, stretched to its limits by the creation and control of the psychic missile, throbbed painfully, reminding him he had overtaxed himself.
Is it down? Please stay down.