Chapter 26
The ballroom buzzed with the afterglow of the auction. Chandeliers, each a cascade of crystal and gold, cast glittering shards of colorful light across the opulent space of the large domed ballroom. Richly dressed guests sipped sparkling amber liquid from delicate champagne flutes, exchanging gossip about those who had attended the auction, each with their own hidden agendas.
The group entered the ballroom, their adventuring gear concealed beneath elegant cloaks, their masks still firmly in place. Ignis, feeling a touch overwhelmed by the sheer extravagance of it all, looked at his friends, clapped his hands together, and declared, "I'm going to need a drink for this!" He headed towards the open bar, lightly crowded with finely dressed men and women of races he had only ever encountered in fantasy stories and games.
After procuring a complimentary flute of the sparkling amber liquid, which tasted remarkably similar to champagne, Ignis smiled after taking a sip. His eyes were drawn by a flicker of arcane energy in a quiet corner of the ballroom. A lone figure exited a shimmering portal before casually waving it out of existence. Intrigued, Ignis slowly made his way over. A striking elf with dark, kohl-rimmed eyes and an air of melancholy stood waiting with pale cheeks and pouty lips, seemingly expecting him.
"Greetings," Ignis began, his voice a soft, captivating rumble. "I couldn't help but notice your... aura. You possess a rare and wonderful talent for portal magic."
The elf, surprised by the compliment, offered a small, hesitant smile, the corners of her naturally frowning lips lifting slightly. "You can sense that? Most just see my gloomy demeanor and look away."
"Indeed," Ignis affirmed. "I, myself, dabble in the arcane arts. Might I inquire about your particular method of portal conjuration? The stability of your weave is, quite frankly, impressive."
"I am Rizelle," the tall elf in the elegant black dress extended her hand towards Ignis, while absentmindedly fanning the blush from her cheeks with the other. "But you may call me Rizzy."
"Rizzy, I am Gandalf," Ignis replied, gently taking her hand and bowing low to press a light kiss to her knuckles. With the practiced ease of one well-versed in the customs of high society, he plucked a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray and offered it to her. “And you may call me Mithrandir.”
Ignis, captivated by Rizzy's knowledge and unique perspective, continued to engage her in conversation. He wove tales of magic and wonder from his own world, which he left unnamed, while Rizzy spoke of the ancient civilizations that once thrived in this realm, their mastery of arcane arts, and the forgotten lore she had dedicated her life to studying.
"It's quite fascinating, isn't it?" Ignis mused, swirling the champagne in his flute. "The way we weave mana into arcane energy and how that interacts with the fabric of reality to create such vastly different effects."
Rizzy nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I couldn't agree more. It's even more beautiful when you can manipulate it to your will," she said, conjuring a small, crystalline bunny in her hands. With a few muttered words, she animated it, setting it down on the floor with a gentle wave. The ice bunny playfully hopped around the pair as they talked and sipped their drinks in the otherwise deserted corner of the room.
Ignis smiled, genuinely impressed. "A true artist, painting the world with strokes of your magic."
Rizzy blushed slightly, her heart pounding. "You have a way with words, Mithrandir. I am impressed, but is your magic as potent as your flattery?"
Ignis, oblivious to the subtle flirtation, discreetly froze time for everyone in the room except the two of them. He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. "It's merely a talent for observation," he finally replied, his voice a low, resonant hum as time and sound resumed around them. "I am often drawn to beauty, and the intricate patterns in the universe you weave are a delight to behold."
"You're a natural," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I can see why you've achieved such heights."
With purposeful movements of her hands and a low incantation, Rizzy created a small, shimmering magical mark on the ground between them, allowing Ignis to learn the casting of the spell. "This is an anchor," she explained. "None but the caster and those she allows may perceive it. Two is my limit, for now, but when I cast a portal, it leads to an anchor I have previously set."
"Would I be able to make a portal to your anchor, if I were aware of it?" Ignis asked, fascinated by the new spell he had just learned, already casting it to create his own anchor next to hers.
Rizzy, slightly tipsy from the champagne, laughed before catching herself and covering her mouth with a delicate hand. "I've never heard of such a thing," she explained, her voice slightly breathless, "but with enough study of the surrounding area, I believe going the other direction is possible. Portals leave small scars in the universal weave; magic flows around these scars in odd currents. A talented enough portal mage could possibly recreate a previously used portal, but the boldness of just hopping through a portal not knowing where it leads... that would take quite some bravery." Rizzy said, running a finger down Ignis's shoulder to his arm, and finally to his hand, which she grasped in hers.
"Watch closely," Rizzy whispered, her lips close to Ignis's ear. She pulled back slightly, using her free hand to adjust a stray strand of hair, then let it trail slowly down her bare neck, over the black lace bodice of her dress towards her bosom. Where she produced a black, sparkling, foot-long wand and waved it with practiced movements, speaking the incantation aloud, clear and resonant.
A shimmering silver portal appeared near the wall, its center swirling with iridescent light. Rizzy, clasping Ignis's hand with a light squeeze, whispered into his ear again. "Now, how brave are you?" Before he could answer, she stepped through the portal, releasing his hand just before she disappeared.
Standing dumbfounded for a moment, Ignis resolutely stepped forward, the new Portal spell a welcome addition to his growing repertoire of magic. As he passed through the shimmering gateway, he realized something else was growing - a sense of anticipation, perhaps? With a gasp, Ignis exited the portal into a breathtakingly large room, easily 20,000 square feet with soaring 30-foot ceilings. Huge windows on all four walls offered panoramic views of the endless forest far below. His eyes scanned the room, decorated in shades of light pink and inky black, with plush chairs and a massive four-poster bed. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed with a playful smile on her face, was the beautiful elf, Rizzy.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Meanwhile, Flint and Pierce had gravitated towards an eerie group of mages engaged in a heated discussion. Pierce, overhearing the word "zombie," settled in to listen to the argument.
A two-foot-tall, bald man declared with an exasperated sigh, "I tell you, skeletons are far superior to zombies! Sure, in the short term, you gain a slightly stronger minion, but long term, if you boil the bones, the skeleton can perform much more intricate tasks and understand more complex commands. Not to mention, skeletons don't walk at a shambling speed!"
A small Orcish woman in a vibrant red robe countered with a high-pitched whine, "Boil the bones? When darkness is at your door, zombies can be your savior! No need to arm or armor them, they spring up ready to shamble in larger, quicker numbers to demolish what needs demolishing."
A third being, a tall, dark-green lizard man hunched over a gnarled cane, spoke up in a raspy voice, "I believe ssspecters are superior. Yesss, timing the trapping of a sssoul as it exits the corpse can be difficult, but the ability to be incorporeal and the power to curse your enemiesss with a touch is far sssuperior to the bumbling ineptitude of either SSSSkeletons or Zombiesss."
"Specters are nice," the short, bald man conceded, "but they don't interact with our reality very well. A whole army of specters at your service won't scratch your back when a wicked itch appears. They also don't suffer from the weakness of a crushed skull, making all your hard work crumble to a pile of dust."
"At least you must crush the skull, rather than rely on a mere magical weapon or spell to dissipate a specter," the small Orcish woman retorted with a wheeze. "I will admit, in small quantities, they can be useful, but one well-equipped group of adventurers could slash and cast their way through them with ease."
"Adventurers!" the three exclaimed in unison, casting scathing glances towards Flint and Pierce.
"Don't mind us," Flint said with a hearty laugh, diffusing the tension. "We're just here for the debate... and the ale." He produced frosty tankards of ale from his seemingly endless inventory, passing them to the three debating necromancers.
"So you're not that noble do-gooder kind of adventurer that only sees a zombie as a skull to be crushed?" the small bald man asked, peering up at Flint with inquisitive eyes.
"As long as you're not bothering me and mine," Flint replied with a hearty laugh and a long pull from his tankard, "I see no reason to bother you and yours."
Meanwhile, Grok gravitated towards a group of burly orc guards stationed near a side entrance. Feigning camaraderie, she clapped one on the shoulder. "Strong work," she boomed, her voice resonating with authority. "Keeping this rabble in line."
The orcs, recognizing the status of their company, continued their conversation about which of the lords in attendance was the worst to work for. After hearing many scandalous stories about mistresses, assassination attempts, and mistresses attempting assassinations, Grok subtly steered the conversation towards those guarding the Portal Room on Dunblag.
"Heard they're stepping up security around the Doombringer portal after that messy invasion," Grok remarked casually. "Many proud warriors lining up to feed the Necromancer's fields with their blood?"
"Aye," one of the guards grunted. "Double shifts now, but the rotations are a bit messy. Glaud is out on maternity leave, leaving a hole around dawn. You know how it is."
"Lords not wanting to spend the coin for a replacement?" Grok chuckled, taking a sip of her ale.
"I could buy the moon with the gold greedy lords have shaved from the security budget," one particularly large orc grumbled, eliciting a chorus of affirming grunts from his comrades.
Evolon slipped into the ladies' room, seeking a small, private space. She retrieved a shimmering evening gown from the far corner of her inventory, thankful she grabbed it from her car back on earth, the garment still encased in its dry-cleaning plastic. With the magic of her inventory system, she quickly changed, the curve-hugging dress materializing on her body. "These just won't do," she mumbled to herself as she removed her comfortable combat boots and replaced them with delicate, sparkly black pumps that perfectly matched her dress.
She exited the ladies' room, moving through the opulent ballroom with the grace of a seasoned predator. Her mask, while concealing her identity, did little to diminish her captivating presence. She seamlessly integrated herself into a gaggle of high-society wives, their voices a symphony of whispers and giggles.
"Did you see her new necklace?" one woman chirped, her voice laced with envy. "How many corpses did her husband step over to afford such a display?"
"Oh, that thing?" Evolon replied with a dismissive wave of her black silk-gloved hand, feigning nonchalance. "I've seen better."
"You must have quite the collection yourself," another woman remarked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Indeed," Evolon purred, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as long, dangling diamond earrings materialized in her ears, glittering against her long neck. Her hair, now pulled back into a sleek high ponytail, showcased the elegant line of her jaw. "My jewelry procurement specialist, Tiffany, often finds the most dazzling pieces, but one must not overdo it."
"Precisely," one of the women agreed. "A lady does not let her accessories outshine herself."
"Or soon," a second woman added with a scandalous giggle, "the lady is replaced with a shiny new neck to lay that necklace upon."
Evolon found herself unexpectedly enjoying the frivolous gossip of these important people she cared little for. In her past life, she had been dragged to countless society balls and parties by her high-powered lawyer parents, paraded around like a prized possession, a trophy to be shown off to their clients and friends. They were always on the lookout for a suitable young man to marry her off to. Pushing down the unwelcome memories and the emotions they stirred, she focused on the chatter, injecting just enough conversation to keep the gossip flowing.
A few hours later, as the crowd began to thin, four of the party members converged in a quiet corner of the ballroom, sharing the information they had gleaned while sipping on their drinks. Suddenly, a shimmering silver portal appeared twenty feet away, and Ignis stumbled through, hastily pulling his robe back onto his body. He looked around, blushing furiously, and walked towards the group.
"Not a word," Ignis pleaded, his cheeks still flushed.
"Did the carpet match the drapes?" Flint asked, ignoring his friend's request.
"Nope, my money is on black and pink," Evolon added with a chuckle.
"How..." Ignis sputtered before clamping his mouth shut. "A gentleman never tells."
"Gentleman?" Pierce quipped, joining in on the teasing. "How about a horny foodie wizard nerd?"
"Uggg..." Ignis mumbled, following the group back to their hideout for a few hours of sleep.
The group awoke with a jolt as a loud siren blared through the bunkroom. Silencing the alarm, Pierce hopped out of his top bunk, checked his inventory, and equipped his gear. Ignis efficiently distributed travel rations and energy drinks to each party member, who were also busy checking their equipment. Ignis cast an anchor spell in the center of the large hideout, while Pierce left Gustavo a note on the table, outlining the rather loose plan they had concocted.
Heading out into the pre-dawn city, the group donned their masks once again, moving like shadows through the deserted streets towards the imposing central portal room, where the Doombringer portal awaited them.