Rihal

“If we stay here too long, they’ll send Judges after us too,” Idrel said.

Rihal glared at him but he only shrugged. A strong wind blowing from the east pulled at their cloaks as they hovered midair. The billowing clouds over them was a reminder that a supernatural force was at play in this war. A force that could turn on Vorthe if they made one wrong move.

He sighed. How on Vorthe would Jerome get himself out of this?

“The amount of Messengers pouring out of that hole in the sky is beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. Every Scion of Vorthe is in that valley, Idrel, so we can’t just ‘go’ back. We have to watch… just in case.”

“In case your bastard needs saving, you mean.”

Rihal felt like punching him in the face but what difference would that make? “You can go back if you want. I’m staying.”

He focused his attention back on the Messengers pouring out of the portal miles ahead of them. Many miles ahead still, a tiny glow of light indicated the position of all the Sprouts that had come back from Terra Praeta. His perception couldn’t reach them but they were the only ones out there. It made sense that these Messengers were sent for them.

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but the Church just broke another agreement in the Accords, Rihal.” He pointed at the unnatural storm in the sky. “At this point they don’t care who they anger. You really think they wouldn’t come for you?”

“Let them come.”

“Fine.” Idrel turned in the air. “Suit yourself. Your death would be for nothing, just so you know.” He flew off toward Alvion.

Rihal sighed. He could do nothing right now, except he was instructed to. But instructions from the higher-ups seem to be absent all of a sudden. Now more than ever, Rihal felt truly blind. He had no direction and his master wasn’t responding to his messages. What was the Sovereign doing to prevent this battle from becoming a massacre? Have these Sprouts not proved themselves enough?

He looked up at the supernatural storm brewing in the sky. Somewhere west of Vorthe, a very old, very pissed off man would be gritting his teeth, watching the world take its just due. No one escaped the retribution of the world, not even powerful rulers. Serves him right.

His void bridge vibrated all of a sudden and his transmission rune glowed on the back of his left hand. The tattoo lit up the forest beneath him, reminding him where he was. Rihal scanned it.

“Take the Blank and head to Alvion. The city’s southern gate will fall soon,” his master’s voice reached him. “The limit on your void bridge has been lifted.”

Still nothing about saving the Sprouts in this jungle. “The ways of a Transcendent are a mystery indeed,” he muttered to himself and vanished.

~~~

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do.”

“And who made you a leader here?” Berj Baelor glared at him. He turned to Selene. “You should put a leash on your guard dog!”

“And how many have you lost since coming home, Berj?” Jerome asked.

The giant glared at him.

“Your numbers are reduced. Even yours, Lang.” Jerome turned to the Feis. They looked like they had seen better days. In fact, there were more Itakars than there were Feis now. “I’m pretty sure this has more to do with those contraptions than the Messengers.”

Lang frowned, folding his arms defensively. The Feis looked down, frowning as well. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. But there were only seven Baelors and ten Feis left. That was a huge difference in quantity compared to what he’d seen before.

“Those ‘contraptions’ are called ‘gravisars’.” — leave it to Lang to know something no one else knows — “They generate a field of suppression to ground us so Messengers and Judges can fight on even grounds with us. But destroying them comes at a cost.” He looked at Berj Baelors with a raised eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you lost so much of your teammates because they were trying to prove who could destroy the gravisars without dying, am I right?”

Berj looked away, glaring at the soil. “We stopped when we saw the futility of our actions.”

“When you lost what, thirteen teammates!?” Selene barked. “Really, Berj!?”

“Pride goes before a fall,” Jerome said and the three heirs of the Great Clans present glared at him. “I can’t remember how many gravisars I’ve destroyed but here I am,” — he held out his hands — “still alive and well.”

“Yes, there were three gravisars when you got us out of that horde of Messengers,” Selene said thoughtfully. “Whatever happened to them?”

“There’s no time to explain.” Now he had all their attention and no one looked down on him — even though Berj Baelor was glaring daggers at him as he spoke. “I’ll take out the gravisars and the portal spitting out the Messengers—”

“There’s a portal?” Fei Lin asked.

“Yes, but it’s far away. I’ll make my way to it as I destroy the gravisars. If not, the horde will be endless.”

“Try not to get yourself killed, Jerome,” Selene said and Berj glared at her.

Jerome nodded. “The rest of you should stick together. My team—”

“Your team!?” Berj roared. He turned to Lang, “Are we seriously listening to this?”

“Yes, we are, Berj,” Lang cut him off and he sputtered into silence.

“I’ve watched his team fight,” Selene said. “Trust me when I say, they’re very powerful.”

“Form ranks,” Jerome continued. “My team would be the edge of the blade. They’re nigh indestructible when dealing with Messengers.” He looked around, searching their faces for any disagreement. No one disagreed so he asked the stupid question he’d asked before. “So once again, does anyone have paper or parchment?”

Berj gave him an expression of irritation. Jerome kept a straight face so as not to cringe. The rest shook their heads and Jerome sighed. He’d have to improvise to send a message to Rihal.

“I guess we better form ranks, then,” he said and everyone started to move, except for the Baelors.

They stood where they were, towering above everyone else, as the other two teams gave orders. Hundreds of Sprouts started digging ditches, moving large rocks and trees among other things. Jerome looked around, appreciating the team work.

“So you’re not joining the fight?” He asked.

“We Baelors don’t take orders from curs,” Berj said condescendingly.

Jerome shrugged. “Suit yourselves,” he said and walked away.

He didn’t need them. But if push came to shove he was sure they would take up arms. He went to the edge of the clearing once again and raised his right hand, palm facing up. He had been stirring the aura in the earth since fighting the Elite Messenger — stealthily. Was that even the right thing to call that guy?

“Yes, it is, Xerae.”

Anyway… Achilleia, what am I not doing right? I feel stupid standing here with my hand raised.

“The Fae once thought the only connection they had to magic was essence. You’re thinking the same way too.”

So, essence isn’t the only connection to magic? The second should be Mother Nature’s acknowledgement, right?

“There aren’t two connections to magic, Xerae.”

You gotta give me more than that, Achilleia, he said but she didn’t reply.

“What are you doing, Jerome?” Lang called out to him.

Jerome grumbled to himself. “A little imitation of the Judges’ fire power,” he called back.

“Huh? You’ve seen Judges fight, and lived to tell the tale? That’s…”

“He has killed a Judge,” Csala’s smug voice reached him from behind.

Everyone around gasped in awe at her words. Jerome tuned them out. He had to get this to work no matter what. The Messengers were closing in on them as he stood there with his hand raised. Besides looking like a fool, they’ll overrun them if he couldn’t get this spell to work.

He started reciting the spell and stirring the vital aura at the same time. The voices of the Sprouts behind him faded away until only his heartbeat and the constant rumbling of thunder in the sky resounded in his ears. But nothing was happening. There was no sign that he’ll be wielding magic anytime soon. He thought about Achilleia’s words.

So there aren’t multiple connections to magic, just one then: Mother Nature. But essence is connected to nature and Nature to magic. Then… whatever revelation he was supposed to gain from that wasn’t forthcoming.

“Still your heart, Xerae,” Achilleia’s voice reached him again but it sounded far away. “Think of nothing but Mother Nature, her beauty and purpose. Acknowledge her power, her splendor, her struggles, her victories, her defeat…”

“Jerome…” Ms. Tara’s voice reached him next. She sounded anxious.

Jerome tuned her out, concentrating on meditation. Achilleia’s words reminded him of his mantras. So much had happened that he’d forgotten about them after creating them. He used to need to recite his earth mantra before he could stir the vital aura in the earth but he didn’t need it anymore. He felt like he forsook Mother Nature by abandoning his mantras. He should have kept reciting them, whether he needed them or not. They weren’t just tools, they were food for his soul, he realized.

He took a deep breath and began reciting his fire mantra…

Down in the depths of Mother Nature’s embrace, it dwells.

High up in the sky,

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Across lightyears in space, it rules.

With a spark of energy, the flame comes alive.

With every breath it takes, it may bring warmth…

Or it may consume…

… All…

One who wields the flame must forbear,

For he wields a dangerous power that may scar Mother Nature’s beauty.

Alas!

The flame cares not for your command!

Neither will it obey them,

It does what it wills for it knows,

Its power exceeds yours!

Heed me oh flame!

Heed my will!

For I am Mother Nature’s emissary!

And you shall obey me!

I will wrought control over my vicious nature,

I will bring to heel,

My hunger and avarice.

I will go through the fires of life.

Like the clump of mud that goes through the flame,

And is remade into gold.

I will be formidable!

He felt a spark of essence on his palm and clenched his fist. His ring sang — a new tune he had never heard before. And it didn’t sound like a song. More like a screech deep within his soul. That was the best way he could describe it. He opened his eyes to see three concentric circles glowing around his ring and fist.

“Yes!” he screamed in exhilaration.

“You’re ruining the moment, Xerae,” Achilleia said. He could almost see her slap a hand to her face in embarrassment.

Jerome cleared his throat and composed himself. He could hear the whispers of awe from behind him but didn’t give them a second thought. He observed the glowing concentric circles again. The inner one extended a little away from his fist and glowed white like his ring. The middle one was an inch or so away from the inner one and glowed a soft blue; the outer one, an inch away from the middle one, and glowed orange.

“Here they come!” Lang said and the ground began to shake with tremors.

Jerome stretched his raised arm, clenching his fist tighter. The concentric circles glowed brighter, lighting up the area around him. The screeching sound reached from beyond his soul into the material plane and the Sprouts around him heard it. Jerome heard it rise in pitch.

His fist began to glow with a muted white light and soon the glow spread to his forearm. Jerome wanted to see how far he could intensify the spell but the Messengers wouldn’t give him that courtesy. He snapped his arm down, forcefully discharging the spell. The spell shot ahead of him with a whipping sound, breaking the sound barrier and spreading into a wall of white flame that consumed everything in its path. And the speed far exceeded that of wildfire.

White hot flames consumed the forest in front of them as far as their eyes could see, both ahead and to the sides. The heat was so intense that the Sprouts — and even Lang who was a Spirit Realm artist — had to take some steps back. The wails of the Messengers reached them next as the flames consumed their ranks.

“Wait for the flames to die down before…” he was saying as Nyx walked into the fire like it wasn’t there. Everyone watched with bated breath as her bare feet and gown passed through without burning. Jerome turned to the others and thumbed behind him. “Err… don’t do that.”

“Oh, no one’s that confident,” Lang said with a nervous chuckle.

Jerome nodded and rushed into the flames too. He marveled at the result of his spell. The flames had reached over seven hundred feet before losing its juice, but it continued to spread like a normal fire. Those it didn’t touch stood a dozen feet or so away from the edge of the affected area waiting for it to die down. But Nyx crashed into their ranks and began slaughtering them like she was snapping twigs. Her black flames spread out of her, decimating their ranks for hundreds of yards around her. If possible, he would have loved to retrieve their armor, but Nyx’s black flames disintegrated everything to atoms.

He looked around, locating two gravisars in the fire. The metal parts had melted away but the crystals were glowing with the same white glow as his flames. Damn divine essence that consumes other essences. Jerome chucked them into his void plane and extended his spear. The void bead was sucked in and he went for the other one.

~~~

Lang

“When did Jerome learn to do that?” he asked.

“You’d have to ask him that yourself,” the silver-haired ice princess said. Lang had always found it fascinating that they had such hair color. “I’m pretty sure he won’t tell you though, or he’ll just say it’s an artifact. So I’ll say don’t bother.”

Lang sighed. “He has grown very powerful… too powerful to be called a Sprout anymore.”

“I don’t think you should even make such a comparison. You know what the Sprouts from the other houses are calling him?”

Lang looked at her. Berj was also focused on their conversation but acted like he didn’t care. But Lang knew that the show of skill from Jerome had scared the meat off his bones. As if that wasn’t enough, the bastard flew into the air on the other side of the fire! How the fuck could a Sprout fly in such oppressive air? He was so high up in the sky, at least a thousand feet, maybe more! In normal situations, that would have been nothing but with gravisars active, that was a feat even he couldn’t hope to achieve.

Everyone stilled as they watched a tiny white spark form in front of his outstretched hand. In the darkness of the sky, it was easy to make it out from such a distance. Three concentric circles formed around his hands with the same colors as the previous ones. The energy began to build and the tiny spark intensified. It was like looking at the sun; Jerome was shining in the sky like a white sun!

“Heavens!” someone exclaimed in awe.

“Should a technique make such a sound?” another asked.

“It’s like the screeching sound of the red-tailed hawk, only… continuous, and it’s rising with every breath,” another said. “No, it’s more like the ‘shhh’ sound you make by blowing air through your teeth. The rising pitch makes it scarier though, like you know something bad is about to—”

The sound stretched into a strange vibration like the crackling of lightning. A beam of white light shot out of the spark and hit the ground with a shattering explosion that shook the earth. Light flashed, blinding everyone for a moment. A cloud of dust and light in the shape of a mushroom rose high into the sky.

Lang didn’t need to be told that such an attack would take out hundreds if not thousands of Messengers.

“An explosive technique from that height shouldn’t have such an effect!” someone said amidst the thunderous roar created by the technique hitting the ground.

“By all that is beholden to Zatirah, who the fuck is this Sprout, really!?” Princess Lin said from beside him. He could hear the anger and denial in her voice.

A shockwave hit them the next moment and they were all swept off their feet, thrown backward into the trees behind them. Ears ringing continuously, Lang took a moment to right himself. People grunted around him as they stood up but the ringing in his ears muted their grunts.

“Fucking guard dog!” Berj hissed as he stood. Or maybe he shouted it, Lang couldn’t tell.

“The fire is dying down,” someone shouted. Everyone’s ears were still ringing so only shouts could get their attention.

Lang watched as the white flames in front of them reduced in intensity but remained as if it was alive. One would have thought such a powerful shockwave would put out the fire but that was too much to hope for it seemed. The area the fire covered was still extremely hot, so he held his hand up, deciding to wait. Thankfully, the ringing in his ears was dying down as well.

“We wait for it to subside completely. The Messengers may wish to move through; that’s their funeral not ours.”

“They’re moving,” Trudhorn said from beside Selene. The spotter had always had sharp eyes that could penetrate the dark.

Lang squinted, stretching his perception to cover the whole area affected by the white flames — or at least as much of it as he could. He was now a Spirit Realm artist and his mental energy had increased in leaps and bounds. He easily sensed the Messengers as they began testing the affected grounds.

A deafening roar of metal shattered the silence in the air, causing him to flinch a little. “What was that?”

Princess Lin tapped him and gestured to one of Jerome’s teammates, if he could call her so. She had a strange contraption — or a weapon — in hand, pointed at the Messengers. The thing in her hand thundered again, for longer than it did before, with flames shooting out of the pointy end facing the Messengers. The sound had a kick to it.

“Some type of weapon, I take it,” Selene said. “Probably effective too.”

“It is,” Trudhorn said, looking into the distance at the Messengers who were grunting and falling at the sound of the thing.

Lang’s vision couldn’t pierce through the heat haze but his perception was enough. He gave Trudhorn another look. For the golden-haired Sprout to be capable of seeing through the haze, he either had an artifact or was gifted in some way.

“Tiny metal pellets shoot out of it at the sound,” Lang supplied as he observed the weapon. “They’re incredibly fast. Surprisingly, the weapon doesn’t use essence.”

“Ah! An effective weapon against Messengers, indeed,” Selene said.

“The ground is not cooling fast enough,” Trudhorn said. “The Messengers are burning up as they enter the domain of the fire.”

Is that what they’re going to call it now? Trudhorn had no idea the weight of what he had just said.

“You know you just implied that Jerome created a domain, right?” Lang said.

Everyone that heard him stopped to process his words.

“That’s… that’s not what I meant,” Trudhorn said in alarm. “In any case, we should work on long-ranged attacks. We need something like Ms. Tara’s weapon.”

Ah, so that was the name of the busty lady. Lang quickly terminated that train of thought. For some reason, thinking of Jerome’s women in a sexual way scared him. Not what he expected of himself but he realized Jerome scared him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

He shook the dark thoughts away.

“What did you say the other Sprouts are calling him again?” Berj asked, eyes on the other side of the fire. Selene scoffed but didn’t answer.

“They call him the ‘Daemon of Vorthe’,” Ajax said.

Lang couldn’t help but acknowledge that the name carried a weight to it that attested to Jerome’s power. “Apt…” he muttered after a while. “Very apt.”

“Alright, everyone. Gather around,” he called. “We know the drill. We have to make siege engines. Rocks, wood, ropes, and everything else. Let’s get to work.”

He elected team leaders to take charge of the different aspects of their construction. The team leaders grouped their teammates and began handing out instructions. Soon they were carrying timber out of the trees behind them to build the siege engines. Everything came together smoothly.

Lang extended his perception again to check on the Messengers. They were still struggling to get through the domain of fire Jerome created. But he could sense others behind them building siege engines as well.

“Let’s hasten up!” He called out. “They’re building siege engines too!”

A golden beam of light shot into the air from the Messengers’ side. Lang saw Jerome quickly dodge out of the way of the beam midair — an incredible feat, as the beam was too fast to follow. But another beam followed the first. And then another and another. Jerome kept dodging though. He made very sharp curves midair with incredible speed that Lang didn’t feel like he was seeing a human being flying.

“Judges!” Someone screamed. “There are Judges among them!”

Panic spread through their ranks, killing morale faster than anything he had ever seen. Lang himself almost panicked — not because of the Judges, but because their lines would fall if the Sprouts didn’t hold courage abreast.

“Calm down!” He shouted. “We don’t know if that was a Judge! It might as well be an artifact.”

Lang watched helplessly as some of the Sprouts started backing away in fear. He searched his mind for what to say but he could see it in their eyes that nothing he said would sway them.

“Wait, all of you,” Selene said. “Now is not the time to run. We don’t know if there are really Judges out there. And you heard Csala say Jerome has killed a Judge. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“And she just might be lying!” One of the Sprouts said. He was wearing the crest of the House of Wards — a circle with runes around its circumference. “If not, why is he dodging? How can we hope to stop such power!? Even the Daemon of Vorthe dodged those beams of light!”

As if summoned, more beams of light tore through the sky and one eventually hit Jerome, sending him careening toward them. He crashed into the earth with a boom, scattering rocks everywhere.

“Jerome!” His lady friend ran towards him.

Everyone stepped towards them to see if he was dead. That would be horrifying as Lang had no idea how to defeat a Judge.

Jerome grunted as he stood. A collective sigh ran through everyone. Now it remained to ask the question on everybody’s mind but no one stepped forward. What happens if they learn that there truly were Judges in their midst. Selene looked at him and he could see the same hesitation and fear he felt in her eyes. They were scared to learn the truth.

“Uhm, Jerome.” Someone walked forward — a Sprout from the House of Wards from crest on his attire. “I don’t know if you remember me, but you saved my life in—”

“I remember you, Drale of House Rurik.” The Sprout’s eyes brightened as Jerome said his name. “I do have to get back to the fight though so…”

“Yes!” Rurik said. “Yes, I… uhm. Wa-was that a-a…” he swallowed, unable to utter the word.

Silence reigned for a breath or two before Lang summoned the courage to ask. “Was that a Judge, Jerome?”