As Cyril sprinted down the street, he cursed at himself for his carelessness. He had become so assured of his superiority over the Wyrm that he had begun to over-indulge himself. The warriors of his tribe always warned that a desperate foe was the most dangerous, and to never leave them at your back. There would be plenty of time to muck about the Library after he dealt with any immediate threats.
He unfastened the half-spear from his waist and Transmuted the stone portions into E-grade bronze. The conversion burned less qi than creating a single speck of the unknown-grade wood or iron. While he intended to form the entire weapon out of the incredible materials eventually, the bronze weapon felt far sturdier than its stone predecessor. The burnished metal gleamed bright as gold due to his enhanced affinity.
Beetles clinging to nearby structures turned in his direction as he passed by. Each of them imploded into a chitinous pulp, their death energy trickling into his soul to empower his Dominion of Mass. Casting Pressure after Pressure required only a small amount of his attention; relying on the Cantrip in most of his fights had made properly cycling the qi through his channels feel as natural as breathing.
After picking off a dozen of the beetles one by one, he decided to experiment with the domain ability he had gained after reaching the Second Sphere of Gravity.
Outside of manifesting his Earth qi into basic shapes and materials, all of his other techniques relied on Cantrips to provide an existing framework through which to channel his qi. He wasn’t completely lost, at least--the description written onto his soul offered some guidance in how to generate and manipulate the gravity domain.
The overall cycle rhythm was not too complex. It did, however, look annoying.
He circled Gravity-aspected qi into the mental pathways around his forehead, rotating it at a slow and steady pace. At first nothing happened, then he noticed his spiritual awareness spreading around him in a twenty-pace radius. The sense usually offered him a vague understanding of auras, but now it blanketed the area with weak pressure. Wherever it touched, it formed a topographical map in his mind, the contours of the world around him.
The overload of information made him stumble. While it was a useful scouting tool, he could barely focus on anything else while concentrating on the domain. He had expected as much, since techniques centralized on the head tended to drain mental energy as well as qi, but the effect was disorienting enough to leave him nauseated.
He sped up the rotation of the technique and the pressure exerted throughout the domain increased. The base requirements maintained an equilibrium with his high regeneration, but strengthening the gravity tipped the balance, slowly but continuously draining the reserves in his core.
Some of the buildings around him shed loose stones under the influence of the domain. A beetle, caught in its radius, slipped off a wall and flew away in a panic, wings straining to keep it aloft. On reflection, maybe the effect was more powerful than he thought, and his minor resistance to gravity lessened the self-inflicted burden.
He dropped the technique, grimacing at the sharp pain in his forehead. The domain was useful, but it wouldn’t shine until his soul could tolerate the stress.
The brief experiment further exposed a weakness in his foundations when it came to willshaping and other techniques. He didn’t feel too bad about the realization. There was a limit to one’s capabilities while still in the Condensation Stage, and it wasn’t like the technique was useless at its current level.
Apparently the beetle he had disturbed had friends. A loud buzzing announced the arrival of over a score of them, descending on him from all directions. Their synchronized movements caught his interest, and he scanned the group until he noticed one of the insects, larger than the others, with an opalescent sheen to its chitin. The leader, and the source of their cohesion.
Reluctant to waste too much qi, Cyril extended the bronze spear to its full length and went to work. He spun through the small swarm, precise and inexorable, his weapon a whirlwind as he battered the insects out of the air; its rusted iron tip tore through their shells as if they were made of paper.
The leader didn’t fare much better. Both of his Flickers converged on its location and incinerated it before it managed to get anywhere close to him. He hurried along, leaving a trail of their twitching corpses in his wake.
Their death energy filled the Dominion of Mass to three-quarters. While it would be nice to reach the Second Sphere before confronting the Half-Ascended Wyrm, it wasn’t necessary. He was hesitant to take the time to advance and refill his core for an uncertain benefit, but if it happened, he wouldn’t complain.
The marble of smoke led him down a path parallel with one of the canals. Clear water sparkled with pale light as the Flickers streaked by. As he was enjoying the sight, a long, sinuous shadow appeared within the shallow depths. He cursed at the seemingly endless swarm of monsters in the ruins as an adult riverwyrm burst out of the canal in a spray of water.
The creature was clearly a close relative of the sandwyrm, with dark blue scales and a gaping maw ringed with teeth. Tiny fins along its length fluttered as it barreled through the air towards him.
Cyril flung his spear and skewered it through the side. A moment later, its body crashed into him. Ducking his head away from its mouth, he wrapped his arms around its circumference. The impact rattled his bones but he remained steadfast, feet planted into the ground. Its slimy hide squirmed against him, sharp fins cutting into his flesh. Then he was in control, the wyrm helpless in his grasp, its lower body thrashing against the flagstone. With a mighty heave, he slammed it into the ground hard enough to shatter the flagstones.
“Ambitious one, aren’t you?” Cyril said through gritted teeth.
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The riverwyrm thrashed wildly in response. There was a good reason one rarely encountered them in the desert. They couldn’t breathe outside of water, and there tended not to be much of that outside of the oases. Cyril watched with detached interest as it contorted itself into agonized loops, completely forgetting about the delicious morsel it had flung itself to its death for.
The process was too slow, so he sent the Flickers over and roasted it in a cloud of steam. After removing his spear from its side in a burst of blue ichor, he set off at a steady pace, struggling to catch his breath. He was unused to so much physical exertion.
Flinging himself into the canal and gulping down the clear water had seemed appealing until a riverwyrm burst out of there. He had to admit he was still tempted regardless.
The riverwyrm finally perished. Its death energy nourished his soul.
By the time he neared the palace, he finished filling the First Sphere of Mass between a scattering of beetles and a random trio of the humanoids, which he made short work of with the spear. After finishing the last of them, he entered a nearby building with most of its exterior intact and settled into the lotus position.
Though he knew he should be beyond grateful to advance three new Dominions to the second Sphere in a few hours, it was actually beginning to feel a bit routine. His worry over the Half-Ascended Wyrm bonding with a powerful spirit also helped dampen his spirits. Settling into a meditative trance was difficult, but his thoughts and breathing eventually settled into the proper rhythm.
His skin tingled as a strange fluctuating sensation swept over him--a feeling of heaviness, alternating with sudden lightness, as if his body was flipping back and forth between water and air. He was somewhat worried that his grasp of the concept of Mass was too unrefined and that he was brute forcing progress on his Spheres, but one’s lacking foundations could be shored up in the future. It wasn’t optimal, but neither was being trapped in an underground crucible.
As his mind entered the sea of knowledge, his worries vanished. Behemoth more than filled the gaps in his understanding, even if he was far from being able to actualize the spirit’s true potential. No physical entity, including the other Titans, better exemplified the concept of Mass than Behemoth; in the moment of breakthrough, he swam in its advantages.
Unlike with Gravity and Earth, the change in his body didn’t bring him unity with his surroundings. He felt more aware of his individual presence than ever, distinct from the rest of the world. In a strange way, it synergized with his breakthrough in Gravity, which had put him more in tune with the push and pull of the world around him. Now, he better understood how he pushed and pulled on the world himself, bending it with his presence and his actions.
Dominion of Mass:
First Sphere- basic manipulation and transference of mass. Reinforcement Cantrip acquired. (100/100)
Second Sphere- able to reverse personal mass. (0/1000)
The vague information made him want to roll his eyes. Instinctually, he understood that he could manipulate his weight to make himself lighter. Somewhat useful, especially if he fell from a great distance, but its uses seemed limited.
He suppressed an ungrateful twinge of disappointment. Even if the new technique didn’t help him immediately, the advancement added a generous amount to his Second Sphere of Knowledge and a few crumbs into Gravity, on top of improving his sense of self.
Maybe if he could make himself light enough, he could float his way up to the surface. The thought made him chuckle. Not the funniest idea, but it was a welcome break from the unrelenting gauntlet of violence and decay.
Cyril cracked his neck and stood up. Now that he was moving, he could feel the Reinforcement Cantrip suffusing his body. The existing Mass qi felt less refined than what he was capable of now, but he wasn’t in the mood to replace such a heavy concentration of energy for a slight improvement.
One thought did occur to him. He circulated the rhythm for Transmute and touched the plates of stone armor covering his body. The basic gray rock shifted into bronze. In the light from Flicker, he gleamed like a lighthouse in the night--fortunately, the denizens of the Underdark weren’t able to appreciate his complete lack of stealth. Maybe the humanoids could, but he doubted their darkvision worked based on contrasting intensities of light.
His preparations were already complete. The only immediate improvement would be advancing to the Middle Condensation Stage, and despite reaching the Second Sphere in all of his Dominions, he could feel his core was still a touch shy of advancing. Another couple hours of slaughter would probably remedy that, but frankly, he was becoming impatient.
He left the building and headed in the way of the palace. It was less than five minutes away, its spires looming tall among the decrepit city. Enough time to refill his core to full.
No longer interested in harvesting death energy, he periodically cast Pressure Cantrips onto random spots in the distance, causing tremors to ripple through the earth. Anything that would have been interested in his footsteps found a more interesting stimulus to investigate. The rest of the journey through the city was almost pleasant, barring the stale air, poor company, and the irritating dust that constantly tickled his nostrils.
He made it the rest of the way without incident, slowing to a quick walk as he approached the palace grounds to catch his breath. Barnabas had warned him that during the last days of Beljeza, multiple recordings confirmed that the gardener djinn would almost immediately intercept anyone who entered the courtyard to question them. As long as one complied, the djinn would be complacent.
Of course, it may have lost the remnants of its sanity in the interval years, but Cyril judged his odds against a mad djinn in his favor. A spirit without a vessel was like a vessel without a spirit. Troublesome, but not nearly as powerful as the two working together in harmony.
The courtyard in front of the palace was eerily still and silent. He stepped onto the premises, expecting some kind of assault on his senses, but nothing happened. Keeping his spear at the ready, he stepped forward in measured paces, keeping an eye on the marble of smoke. It continued to lead him forward, undaunted.
Thirty seconds passed. A minute. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach grew deeper and deeper as he waited for the mad djinn to make its appearance. Nothing happened. His mind leapt to frantic, desperate possibilities. Should he flee? Try again after a couple days of raising his Dominions to the Third Sphere? Maybe just leave the whole business behind him?
He stood there, paralyzed with indecision. In the worst case scenario, if the Wyrm had fully ascended and hadn’t come to kill him yet, then it may still be recovering from the fusion. Its grasp of its new body may be worse than its old one--it may have been baptized in spiritual energy, but it would be as awkward as a newborn.
Without more information, he could think himself into circles forever.
What’s it matter? thought Cyril. I’ll die one day anyways. If this was the end of my Destiny, so be it. Only shame is that I couldn’t help Behemoth with whatever made it desperate enough to use me as a vessel.
For some reason, the morbid thoughts cheered him up. His walk became lighter, more confident, as he strolled through the courtyard of broken statues and fountains. He had a date with an abomination; he didn’t want to keep it waiting.