Vanya’s magic was nearly depleted by the time she thrust herself into the fray, her actions driven more by a desperate instinct than any coherent strategy. Her attempt to land a surprise punch did little more than momentarily separate the two combatants. Despite her best efforts, it all seemed futile. Horrified, she watched as Orlaith, the champion of the dragon god Zarathos, merely sneered at the interruption before resuming her overwhelming assault on Blake in a distressingly one-sided battle. Blake, her… goddess?
The thought of framing Blake in such a divine role, let alone as her personal deity, provoked a sharp distaste in Vanya’s throat. But hadn’t Blake become just that to her? Traditionally, only champions were bound to divine entities, right? Yet, seeing a champion overpower what was supposed to be her deity should have quelled such notions. Strangely, it hadn’t.
The ground trembled violently as Orlaith unleashed an explosive punch, propelling Blake into a devastating tumble that uprooted trees and dislodged stones in her wake. Vanya realized that if she stood any chance of helping, she couldn’t afford to recast her wing spell—not with the scant remnants of her mana. So, with a heavy heart, she set off at a sprint, desperate to reach the impact site where Blake had fallen. She clung to the hope that, somehow, she could make a difference against the formidable champion of the dragon god.
As Slaethian airships descended upon the city, the cacophony of battle and spells echoed through the valley. Vanya found herself questioning why she had ever been a part of such cruelty, now viewing it from the other side. Her thoughts and gaze shifted from the unfolding violence to Blake’s direction as she ran. Abruptly, she halted, skidding across the ravaged path of destruction. From the epicenter, orange lightning burst forth, accompanied by a thunderclap that struck Orlaith, propelling her backward in an explosive retreat, nearly colliding with Vanya in her flight.
Vanya stood slack-jawed, her mind grappling with the vision before her that seemed nothing short of divine or nightmarish, depending on one’s perspective. A figure shrouded in darkness akin to the void itself, adorned with a white mask that mimicked a face, its black lips curled into an unnaturally wide smile. Her eyes glowed with an ominous orange luminescence, promising despair to any who met her gaze. Her hair—or rather, what resembled hair—twisted and writhed like a mass of tendrils and tentacles, each moving with a sinister intent of its own. Yet, this foreboding appearance was not unfamiliar to Vanya; it was a common sight, as variable as it was. What set this moment apart was the aura of rippling orange lightning that enveloped her, a manifestation of magic so potent it felt like a necrotic plague, an undead blight made of pure magic, fused and merged into a terrifying display of power.
Amid this fearsome display, a hole opened within her chest, radiating an intense power with its glowing light. But it didn’t end there; other gaps sporadically appeared and vanished across her body as if serving as gateways to an endless void brimming with power. Each opening released wafting waves of mana, further saturating the atmosphere around her with an almost divine aura.
Vanya’s doubts about her connection to divinity dissolved in that instant. Although, she found herself pondering the true nature of the goddess she now served—how dark was she, really? Vanya wrestled with the idea of whether she was fighting for a genuine cause of righteousness, or if the very concept was nothing but an illusion. Reflecting on her own history of actions carried out in the name of her previous gods—a trail marked by bloodshed, violence, and genocide—she took a sobering breath. It became clear to her that righteousness was merely a facade, a thin veil for the selfishness and ambitions of the powerful, under which every deity rationalized their actions while masking their brutalities. If she had to be a pawn in the grand scheme of things, she decidedly preferred to stand with an entity that didn’t hide behind falsehoods or fabrications. In this realm of nightmarish truths, Blake unequivocally embraced reality as it was—inane!
Taking a long look at Orlaith, who was already picking herself up, then back at Blake, Vanya accepted that this fight was beyond her. The dragon’s champion was too experienced, too powerful for her, and Blake... well, Blake was Blake. Glancing back up to the mesa, where the city was under invasion, Vanya realized there was more she could do there. So, with the last remnants of her mana, glorious golden wings manifested from her back as she took flight.
~
“Where the fuck is she going?” I whined, feeling another jolt from my newly gained lightning power. This newfound ability quickly became more of a nuisance than a boon as I rubbed the latest sting from my backside.
Peeking from my tiptoes in the direction where the dragon lady had crashed, I groaned as I noticed her climbing back to her feet, appearing more furious than hurt. In fact, I was pretty sure a few scratches were already disappearing as she stretched out her wings, as if she were stretching her back before launching at me with newfound rage. And indeed, that’s exactly what she did. Just great...
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The flying bitch shot skyward in an explosion of debris before arcing into the air on a collision course for me. I honestly can’t say if I activated Astral Graviton from my skill list or not. Regardless, gravity manipulated around me without performing a handstand or some other ridiculous maneuver as I took off. However, I wasn’t fast enough.
The dragon lady was mere centimeters away, her fist aflame with burning mana, aimed directly at my face. Just as Astral Graviton took hold—out of instinct, I’m guessing—my world slowed down, and I surged with speed as Phantasmal Surge propelled me out of harm’s way. As the ability faded, I twisted my body and found myself now positioned behind the confused woman, her fist passing right through the space I had occupied. With a dark smile, I extended my hand toward her back, the orange lightning still rippling around me from the fusion of Necrotic Flame and Blight, now combined into something far deadlier—I think I’ll call it Necrotic Blight or Necro Blightning? Yeah, I’m still working on it.
Anyway! The dream spell I desired from the moment I realized magic was a thing here unleashed, slamming between the woman’s vertebrae where her wings connected to her back. Oral, Orlaith, whatever her name was, let loose a scream of pain as lightning scorched her back, its aftereffects still sending jolts of pain throughout her body for a few long moments. Despite all that, she stayed in the air, much to my pouting.
“Umm, would you kindly die for me, pleeeease?” I smiled at her.
“I’ll kill you,” she roared. It wasn’t so much the threat that startled me as the glowing wave of fire that she breathed out at me with those words, much like a literal dragon—hence, I’ll be sticking with calling her dragon lady.
Now, I had somehow merged Necrotic Flame with Blight, as well as casting Astral Graviton and Phantasmal Surge without needing the system. Heck, I had done it purely out of instinct somehow. So, you’d think I’d keep pulling off these amazing feats with my Weak Fire Ward. With a smug expression, I held out my hand, instinctively attempting to cast the ward. However, much to my agony, as the flames bathed me, I failed to cast it without the system.
“[Weak Fire Ward],” I gurgled out as the fire swept over me and poured down my throat.
Much to my relief, the ward also extinguished the flames within it, but the damage had been done. You thought I looked rough last time she’d hit me with punches infused with flame magic; however, now I looked like a burned skeleton, with, I’d say, three-quarters of its muscles holding it together. And seriously, the pain. Holy fuck, the pain—wait, no, that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. It feels more like a sunburn than anything horrendous, but the annoyance—yes, the annoyance is real!
Having a moment to think as my ward slowly shrank under the dragon lady’s fire breath, I went straight for my skill list, swapping out Astral Graviton for Phantasmal Mist. I would’ve also swapped out Phantasmal Surge for Acid Breath, but Surge was an ability, and Acid was a spell, which made little sense to me now that I thought about it. Whoever designed this magic system is a fucking idiot!
I just hoped I could keep casting my gravity manipulation without the system. I won’t lie, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to switch things out in the middle of a fight, but I was glad I was wrong. Taking a quick glance at my active system spells, I now had Phantasmal Mist and Weak Fire Ward, and let me tell you, I’d be keeping the ward—I just wish it wasn’t shrinking so fast under the bitch’s bad breath.
Thankfully, her fiery exhale dwindled out before my ward had disappeared entirely, but I’ll say one thing: I was done with fire. If the last thing I did after all of this was learning to cast this Weak Fire Ward without the system, it would be to the point where I either do it on instinct, or I can merge it into my very essence, or some shit. That being said, I cast [Phantasmal Mist] with a dark grin upon my face.
~
Unseen by all, a silent observer watched as she had since she’d accepted the abomination that was her descendant, much to her reluctance. But she loved her daughter, Duskara, too much to let Blake die. So, Death had allowed a minor tweak to the system, letting the creature swap out a skill in the middle of battle, but she’d be damned if she’d allow it again—who was she kidding, she’d probably do just that, for if Death was anything, she was a big softy at heart. Still, Death was impressed by the abomination’s merger of two of her spells, something she hadn’t witnessed in a very long time. Perhaps there was hope for her adopted grandchild after all.
Death pulled her gaze from the unfolding fight between children and toward the heavens, glaring at Magic’s latest upheaval of the natural order. The dual convergence was ripping one planet apart as it entered the realm, while the other Magic was being more cautious with, but Death knew it wouldn’t survive, though that didn’t mean the inhabitants within it were doomed.
Closing the endless voids that were her eyes, Death could feel her beloved, Life on that planet, coming. It was for that reason alone she’d decided not to interfere with Magic’s plan, but there would be a reckoning afterwards, oh yes, there would be, for change was finally returning to the realm of Völuspá.
With a gentle smile, she returned her endless gaze back to her grandchild and the mists of the phantasmal spreading out from her like an unending nightmare.