A deep, feminine growl echoed through the dank confines of the airship’s privy, “If I’ve to linger in this shite for another hour, I’ll be shovin’ me fist up someone’s arse,” the bearded dwarf threatened under her breath. “Frog, ye best be certain your lot’s offerin’ amnesty,” her razor-sharp whisper words cut through the stench. Silence hung heavy, unanswered, prompting a frustrated, “Frog! Oi, Frog, are ye even listenin’?”

“It’s no use, Gimona,” sighed a haggard old wizard, his long gray beard submerged amidst the filth of the airship’s privy where they had taken refuge. “This… Vorigan fellow is sound asleep,” he added.

The dwarf woman groaned, tilting her head back to gaze up through the only hole that allowed a faint hint of light into the filth they were hiding amongst. “Craycroft, what are we even doin’ here? How’d it come to this?” Gimona Grimmail grumbled, shifting just enough to keep the sewage from touching her mouth, though her beard, regrettably, was another matter.

Craycroft moved to scratch his cheek in thought but stopped just before his fingers touched his face, noticing the shit and grime on his hand. He frowned deeply. “The Kingdom’s been overrun by religious zealots,” he stated. “I once believed we were doing the gods’ work, enlightening the unenlightened, and purging the rest. I never thought our own people would see us as those needing to be locked away and purged, merely for knowing someone who had betrayed the gods. It’s madness! A goblin, sure, but me? I’m a Magus, I tell you. The zealots have truly lost their minds.”

Vorigan’s head emerged from the sewage, glaring at the two. “I wouldn’t mind getting caught again if that’s what you two want. If not, keep it down. I was enjoying a pleasant dream about my hunk of a fae man castrating me,” he gurgled out before spat out some of the foul liquid. Then, his head disappeared back beneath the filth to slumber once again.

“Oi, Craycroft, I’m askin’ again, what the fuck are we doin’ here? And with that—that abomination of a creature!” Grimmail hissed, her voice dipping slightly lower. “Besides, what in the three pillars is he? I’ve never clapped eyes on a beastkin of his kind before...” Her words faded away as a large, fuzzy ass settled over the hole above them, causing her to glowered.

There was a loud rumbling boom, and Grimmail grimaced, turning her face away from the expected splatter into the cesspool they were hiding in. To her surprise, however, it didn’t come. Tentatively peeking one eye open, she heard another boom, this time accompanied by the airship shaking, followed by screams and yelling from the deck above.

~

How could I ever fully express the euphoria coursing through me at this moment? I was soaring—genuinely, undeniably soaring! Well, if we’re being technical, it was a controlled descent in the direction of my choosing, but that still counts, doesn’t it?

Looking down at the airfleet fast approaching, my face was split by a broad grin, my joy erupting in continuous peals of laughter. A whirlwind of chaos unfurled behind me as I had torn rocks, dirt, pebbles, and even a few behemoth boulders from the moon’s grip. Ignore my laughing, and make no mistake—this gravity voodoo trickery was no laughing matter.

If only I commanded an army... As though heeding some deep, inner call, streams of black blobs began to seep out from me, coalescing into a menacing dark cloud. My grin sharpened, predatory, as my swarm of Phantasias swelled in the skies, all while I propelled toward the enemy ships at what felt like supersonic speed—mock one or two, perhaps? For all I knew, I was moving no faster than a loogie in a strong breeze, but then again, things always felt fast when moving against the wind.

And then it happened: rocks, pebbles, and boulders rained down upon the ships as I sailed straight past them, completely missing my intended landing point. Okay, okay, there were like two boulders, and they weren’t as colossal as I might have implied. They were more tire-sized, and the rocks were about the size of baseballs, with the pebbles being, well, just pebbles. Yet, those tire-sized boulders—large rocks?—struck the airships with such force that it mimicked the sound of an explosion. So, perhaps I was hitting mock two after all. But that revelation brought me face-to-face with one significant issue: I missed my landing point! I was aiming for a ship’s deck. Which one, you might ask? Whichever one I could have landed on!

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Twisting in the air with the grace of an Olympic gymnast at the Special Olympics, I rearranged my body to face the rapidly approaching ground before using Astral Graviton to thrust myself back down—or, well, up! At that moment, I flew back towards the bottom hulls of the airships, ignoring the cacophony of screams, yells, and roaring orders among them. As I passed one of the upper decks, I twisted my body again, deactivating my skill, spinning with far more elegance than previously displayed. I landed aboard an airship with the perfect Black Widow superhero landing—which, let me tell you, is exceptionally hard to pull off in a dress!

I sprang to my feet, bracing to wreak havoc, but what I saw stopped me in my tracks. The crew found themselves in a skirmish with tiny flying octopuses sporting adorable unicorn bodies. The sight was as maddening as it was endearing—however, the real question was, why could my subconscious manipulate Astral Graviton with such finesse with these little horrors, while I, in full awareness, floundered? It’s absurd; I literally have to do handstands to achieve flight!

The dark mass of my Phantasias flitted around like a school of fish in the sea, unleashing attacks on anyone within range. While they might not have been causing the level of havoc I had imagined, they were exceptionally effective at thoroughly irritating the living shit out of the crew. That being said, the crew easily squashed and smeared many of my tiny terrors across the deck, but, like my own resilience, they swiftly peeled themselves from the deck and dove back into the fray in a relentless surge. All I could do was stand there, laughter spilling out of me as I reveled in the chaos enveloping the deck.

Glancing at the other ships, I observed the same wild disorder, utter anarchy! Surprisingly, no one confronted me with swords or spells, likely too engrossed in battling the flying locusts of miniature octicorns. I merely shrugged at this oversight, cheerfully skipping my way to the airship’s lower decks. I had a hunch these vessels operated on some sort of power core, similar to a crystal I’d seen in Nikola’s designs. Yet, upon descending below deck, I had to halt, confronted by what seemed like an entire squad poised for deployment—not Storm Troopers, but rather a mix of knights, wizards, and barbarians (those nearly naked brutes).

With a playful laugh, I greeted them, “Hi’ya,” then spun on my heel, scampering back to the chaos above deck. I was good, but that good? Maybe, but in a confined space like this? I stopped mid-run, glancing back down the steps I had just ascended, then paused… realizing, actually, I like confined spaces!

Stepping back onto the lower deck where all the little drop soldiers or whatnot had gathered, I flashed them a smile. “Sorry about that, boys—oh, and girls,” I nodded at a couple of sorceresses and a particularly impressive barbarian lady. “Looks like I’ll be—”

“Who the fuck are you?” someone bellowed.

“I was getting to that,” I huffed, slightly annoyed.

“Are we there yet?” echoed another voice from the back.

“Oh, fuck this,” I grumbled under my breath, trying to activate Phantasmal Mist... to no effect.

After a second and fifth futile attempt, a rough voice jeered, “Oi, are ye constipated?”

“No! Just fucking wait a second,” I snapped back, irritation creeping into my voice. Checking my skill sheet, I realized the problem: the skill wasn’t on my active spell list. I considered switching things around but hesitated at the thought of replacing either Astral Graviton or Weak Fire Ward. Truth be told, I was confident I could easily bring down this ship with graviton alone, but I’d really prefer to do so without turning myself into goo—again.

“When are we arriving?” one of the earlier voices called out again.

“Never!” I snapped back, my patience wearing thin. In a moment of sheer annoyance, I opened the hole in my chest with Stellar Void. The deck glowed with an ominous orange light as the hole in my chest blazed. With a deep sigh, I unleashed my Necrotic Flame. An orange blaze of undead fire swept through the confined space, eliciting screams of horror. The spell, naturally potent, was further intensified by the surges of mana spilling from the dungeon core within my chest cavity, magnifying its effect amidst the dense ambient mana.

While maintaining the flow of flames, I decided to test [Poison Spit], wondering if it was possible to blend the two abilities. However, spit manifested not as a mere glob but as a poison cloud—a rather puny cloud, I might add. It failed to combine with the Necrotic Flame, though I had expected as much. My theory was that the issue stemmed from one being a product of my innate magic and the other a system-granted skill. To combine them, it seemed I’d need to master the poison without the system’s aid. Damnit!

After ensuring everyone was either dead or burnt to a crisp enough that they wouldn’t pose a threat anymore, I turned and headed back up the stairs, feeling like I had forgotten something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew I had gone below deck for a reason. Shrugging off the feeling, I made my way back to the upper deck, only to be greeted by a maelstrom of fire consuming my Phantasias. My frown deepened at the sight, and at that moment, a woman with dragon horns and massive wings, clad in a red-scaled dress, landed in front of me, her face a mask of utter fury.

“Who the fuck are you?” I huffed, throwing back the same question those idiots below deck had asked me.