One foot in front of the other. Remain calm. Take advantage of the opportunities an enemy reveals to you. It was only out here, where everything was quiet, when winter had forced life into its seasonal rest. Not so loud, he could think clearer, faster. He was better in this place, he was the stillness. The screaming in his brain stopped just a little while until Tyr had finally come to feel some semblance of normality settle in him.
He couldn't afford to burn those corpses, he needed them to study and confirm, he had to remain in control. One came high, one low. Two flanking front, two in the back to form a square. Raspy was out. That left two more, Pattoli and Rommel who remained where they had been. Tyr used the song in every struggle, he danced to it – felt in in his lungs, but he no longer needed to do it so literally. It wasn't about the dance, the dance was just a guide, finding the rhythm of the world. Ever since he'd arrived here, he'd been singing on the inside. Drumming his fingers and tapping his foot on the ground. That was enough for his purposes, he hoped, didn't have enough room to hop into a full blown tango.
There was one song, and within the one were many. Each could be interpreted in their own way but he'd always heard the fire dance the loudest. Every clashing of a sword, every strike of his hammer on molten steel, every breath he took was full of fire mana. Splintered shields, breaking bones, and the rising urgency to connect and become intimate with every little thing. Tyr waited until the two Fingers that had rushed him first were close, always in a hurry and both of them absolutely confident in their impending victory. Tyr bent backwards, kicking sideways to fly laterally between them in a tight rotation of the hips, the dervish.
“Crimson Lotus.”
The full body infusion snapped his limbs like dried twigs, bursting from both his calves and dual blades in his hands alike. Aska was as good as focus as any, and the lesser twin in his offhand behaved the same, aesthetic but more than that – twin engines by which he could transit his mana. Long tongues of fire rocketed out of the edges, drawing crescents in the air as they propelled him into a whirlwind. Named not after it's appearance in the air, but the marks that it left on the ground in the aftermath, like blossoms in bloom. The penultimate form of the fire dance, it's origin, Tyr was but a child in his practice with this ritual and sword form both and yet still it was tyrannical in efficacy.
The first attacker, the one above with the scimitar, managed to catch the arc with his weapon as Tyr flew into motion. Rebounding away with a grunt of pain met by a clash of sparks, hitting the branch above him and collapsing in a heap of limbs some distance away. The woman below with the clawed gauntlets wasn't so lucky. Aska cut her clean in half, blowing either end toward her colleagues flanking him, charred flesh and torn halves splatting loudly against the frigid bark of the trees.
Tyr landed on a foot, skidding backwards, his blades already in motion again. Flourishing them while rotating his energy as he'd been taught.
Jets of flame pouring out of his heels to skate around the bodies, inches from the forest floor. A display of control that would make any archmage blush.
He could do this.
He wasn't weak anymore.
Every cut, break, rip they'd done to Tyr had only ever made him mightier.
Their turn to take a crack at him, the next two.
A ringed saber flashed towards him with impressive grace to denote a master swordsman, covered in a lancing spiral of water magic. Tyr slapped the blade aside, thrusting his head into the face of the man to catch him off balance, the other swung an shapeless two handed club down at his back, but Tyr was ready – they were all so slow. He kicked up again, allowing the rush of air from the maul to carry him back and over, landing and unleashing another technique spell just as his feet hit the ground.
“Takedown.” A gently tapping of the food and scorching air shot from his upturned toe in a dense cone, catching the feet of the next two moving toward him. As the name would imply, the idea was to take their center of gravity from them, but it didn't have the punch he'd needed, only enough to send them back hopping and wincing. A ramp of clay sent the majority of force flying off into the forest, that had to be Raj – a smart and patient man who fought with dignity. Perhaps one of the only Fingers who seemed intent to actually work in concert with the others, or protect his peers.
Yucca countered with her own fire, the black flame licking out and slapping the rest of the technique aside. She was talented too, and quite charming if not for her unfortunately flat chest – the 'male gaze' Astrid had called it – informing Tyr that this was a very sexist way to look at things. Her eyes though, they were something worth noting – crystalline silver the same color of the moon and just as bright. Tyr could see the ethic in her, the struggle and hard work that had brought her to such a degree of mastery over the darkness like so few had before. A woman in her early twenties, the spitting image of Lernin and likely that man's sister if not his niece. All the Casterling's save Magnus for obvious reasons looked so much alike, pale, black haired, gray of eye.
There was no sound, no color, no movement of any kind in Tyr's mind. Just the buzzing feeling of life and the mana they used in an attempt to shut him down. To stop moving now would be a mistake.
Tyr let loose with the fire again, sliding sideways to avoid the lance of clay seeking to take him in the chest. Slamming his foot into the ground to crack the frozen earth and snuff Yucca's fire out with the resulting spray of snow. A stalemate, for now, once the meta component of the spell was broken it wasn't quite so strong – Yucca was holding back and that was a mistake. Scimitar rose, healed by Rommel, followed by Raj and Pattoli who'd positions out of reach of his swords. Club was close, but looked to be waiting for a command.
“Your master has clumsy hands.” Tyr mused coolly, amicable despite the circumstances. He saw no reason to hate any longer, or if not that unfamiliar emotion, then... To dislike? These were just people, doing as people were wont to do, he did not need to mock or belittle them. Not here, in this sacred place, he simply wanted them gone. “This... It is not exciting for me, and I don't mean that in mocking fashion. You're all impressive, very talented, but I'm more concerned with finding out why those bodies smell like me.”
“Even more impressive than before.” Pattoli replied with an earnest smile, ignoring the implications of the latter most statement. It was like that so many times, the strong ones were often good people, and for all his forbidden blood magic he seemed to be the amicable sort. It was a strange world when the notable 'villains' were all kind and often relatable. “You've been practicing. Both in wit and in technique, as it would appear.”
“My head is just clearer, it's hard... To focus, you know? When it's so loud. You adepts don't make me feel like normal people do.” Tyr said with a sigh. “In any case... Once I figured out your tricks, they weren't so clever at all. But I suppose that doesn't matter considering you are also bound to this world same as I am. Difference is, when I kill one of you, you'll need a replacement body. And I assume that means getting used to the process which couldn't possibly be pleasant.”
Pattoli nodded. “That's true. It's not perfect, but it works. As I said before – there is no need to fight here.” Outwardly, he was calm, but inward – he was shocked at how easily Tyr had dealt with Shine who had come from below, and Caspian with his ringed saber. Those two were some of their most powerful members. But alas... “Bring them down.”
He said, and a heavy weight slammed into the earth with such force that it nearly carried Tyr from his feet. A large steel contraption with doors all over. After that, the rest of the forest began to shudder with further impacts off in the distance. Destruction... For no real reason at all, the forest screaming at this unwelcome invasion, and Tyr's face cracked same as the frozen ground did.
Raj wasn't allowing his eyes to leave Tyr. Harrying the man with shards of ceramic had no real effect, physical component magic wasn't bound to do much. Tyr would turn them aside with a blur of his twin blades, shattering them until it was clear the cost in mana was not efficient enough to keep it going. They knew him well, had studied him, and knew he did not tire as humans did. As expected of a primus, the answer to all mysteries surrounding the man.
“Haemonculi.” Tyr spat, and there were certainly more than a few of those. Replacement bodies for all the Fingers, cloned as closely as possible to the originals to ease the transition. Ten doors on each pod meant... Two hundred of them, maybe more. He looked toward the sky, mystified at the technology. “You shouldn't be doing this. Hastur's implants might help you in the short term but eventually your progress will stagnate and you'll no longer be able to progress. I have a way to help you achieve a higher realm, and I'll share it with you, you are making a terrible mistake by relying on phylacteries of the flesh.”
“You're awfully relaxed!” Club seemed to be a dramatic kind of man. Tyr felt the force of the maul rushing his way again, allowing his offhand to open and drop the sword held in his grip. It didn't fall to the forest floor, rather making its way toward his hip and settling as if sheathed of its own accord. With his free hand, he caught the head of the blunt object, feeling his bones shatter and muscles tear in the process. Just a wince, and the head of it was stopped dead, not bad for a test run.
Not so much as a shake, as the man behind it threw all of his weight into a force that would not budge. Tyr's body was full of fire mana, he was far stronger than most of these men, physically. All but Pattoli, in all likelihood, and they'd be a decent match now. It was amusing watching those bloodshot eyes just barely visible beyond the mask, alternating between awe, rage, and abject fear. 'This cannot be!' That sort of thing a practiced warrior might be when confronting something so far beyond them.
A violent vibration shook the head of the maul just as he'd thought so arrogantly of himself, roiling through his body and pulping all of his organs.
“Alright...” Tyr spit a wad of blood into the ground. That force had been impressive, carrying reverberations through his body and eviscerating his organs long after the swing had been stopped. Even now, it kept going within him, if not for his armor he'd be on the ground, but he'd seen to it that it served as a brace similar to Micah's own. Sigi had many ingenious ideas, and he was slowly adopting them into his own kit. “So this guy, I presume, is an earth adept who uses vibrations that can influence things? A secondary shockwave after the first swing?”
“Klaus, but while close, it's air magic.” Pattoli corrected succinctly.
“Hmm... That is very cool.” Tyr had an honest laugh, he was in incredible pain and it just wouldn't stop. “So he used air, in correction, to generate a delayed frequency, the more I struggle against it and the more it'll hurt because it's not a simple one-shot exchange in mass and velocity. I already know you four, but as for the other five... The guy with the saber is some kind of water mage who uses an elemental construct to compress it down until it's near solid. The woman with the claws is clearly an auramancer, not that unique but still pretty impressive I guess. What does the guy with the scimitar do?”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Saber, maul, scimitar, claws, and Hans who'd opted to try using his bare hands for some odd reason. Yucca and Raj alike were evocation mages, both with some sort of unexplainable metamagic capability. Raj in particular not using magic Tyr was familiar with, perhaps the magic of Ind was like that, it obeyed the laws of water, earth, and fire in tandem. But only to make use of that one simple material... And decidedly, as Tyr guess, it wasn't intended for fighting at all – the man had just made use of it in what way he'd thought to.
Rommel was easier to understand and not much of a threat by his reckoning, a healer. Pattoli was definitely the most unique of them all. An animancer, likely, an incredibly unique one at that. Blood mage, of course Tyr had already experienced just how unique he was. Able to steal a 'belief', albeit temporarily, it didn't make sense by any rational convention. It'd worked out in the end, but Bergen still had the small fragment of Tyr within him presumable – he'd never managed to catch the blindfolded dandy of a man.
“Oh...” Tyr nodded. “He's a dimensional mage, scimitar guy. I'm assuming he specializes in switch or blink magic? He came out of nowhere.”
“Very apt.” Pattoli nodded, impressed at Tyr's deductive reasoning. All of his fellows were convinced that Tyr was as dumb as a box of rocks, but it would appear that Cortus had been correct after all. The kid had a talent for this sort of thing. “But not quite. He is a spatial mage specifically, they are different, his abilities revolve around projecting copies of himself. Not even Hastur knows how it works, it shouldn't be possible given our understanding of conventional magic. Cloning, by another word, similar to how Primus Alexandros can project copies of himself that are independent and physically real yet belong to the same mind and body. Only, Morden's limits are very clear and he can only hold onto a few for very short periods.”
“You're a good guy, Pattoli.” Tyr smiled at him, and it was a real one. “I had no idea that adepts could be so amazing. What does the guy I kicked in the face do? Hans, I think I heard you say?”
“Hans is a darkness elementalist but his projection can only go so far in range before his own magic begins to harm him as well. When he touches things, they decay.” Pattoli said. Using dark or light magic alike as the prime component of metamagic was exceptionally, and these Fingers had two three individuals. Pattoli might himself be able to do so with anima, which was even more unheard of, but Tyr wasn't the one to ask on the subject of arcane theory. “Or he can alter via metamagic the flow of darkness magic and drain things for power. Otherwise, you're spot on. Shine is, was, and will be again – an auramancer. She can project her aura into things whether they be living or not to take control of them, like that tree, or manifest it directly as energy for all manner of purposes. Caspian is a water mage, which sounds simple but he can compress water down beyond the density of a solid while keeping it amorphous in threads to enhance his cutting force. So on, and so forth.”
Morden, spatial scimitar man. Caspian, with the water magic and the rings saber. Shine with the claws. Klaus with the maul. Hans with the... Hands, a bit alliterative considering their cute sobriquet but Tyr took a mental note of all of them. Hastur had a talent for locating real talent, but something told him that the man had created these people via one means or another. Taking what was lesser and raising them up... But how?
“Pattoli! You know he's our enemy, right? Respect or not, this is too much – and I don't approve!” Rommel spat, and the others were in definite agreement. There were two people here who seemed friendly, Raj and Pattoli. All of the rest were seething, glaring on.
“I dunno, lady.” Tyr frowned. “Are we enemies? You're all so special and talented, why work for Cortus? He is a murderer and a fiend. If you work for me, I can make you all immortal, permanently. I am certain of it, should you want the gift, that Pattoli can make it happen even if I couldn't figure it out. I'll pay you more than he ever could, too, I am obscenely wealthy and not very stingy when it comes to my friends.”
“It's not about the money.” Yucca snarled, lashing him with a shadow condensed into a blade. Nobody reacted, including Tyr. Her shadows had a weight and hardness to it, very different than typical umbramancy. It cut his arm clean off – and he simply stooped to lift the detached appendage before sliding it into place, pointedly ignoring her. A bit confused at the mechanics of making a shadow solid, but if light could be 'hard', the absence of it might be able to as well. “Our loyalty is not for sale!”
“I'm just saying.” Tyr rolled his shoulder in its socket with a series of satisfying pops as it settled into it's proper position. He didn't know what it was, but he had an urge to possess these people. It had taken only a short while before he could feel his spira reacting in the presence of the four that he'd met earlier. Was it their fear of him? It was only a trickle, but he was feeding off of them in the way that he did with others, it was only much stronger. Humans weren't supposed to be mages, he knew that, the adeptus was their truest and most natural form – perhaps that was it. “Some of you are fairly good people, I can see that. Why settle for haemonculi when you could be given the gift of a true eternity?”
“I respect you.” Rommel answered with a curt nod. “You beat us once, but you have no idea the power you are claiming superiority to. Whether morally, or literally. Cortus is the greatest of all and he is the only one of your kind that is trying to save us.”
“Save us?” Tyr tilted his head. “Save us from what?”
“We don't know.” Pattoli replied. “All we do know is that there are too many mages in the world and their numbers need to be culled. If not, it's all over for us. For everyone, the primus' know of this and refuse to do anything.”
“So many eyes on me.” Tyr repeated that phrase he'd both heard and spoken before from his own lips. “The more mana, the more... Of other things. The more of both, the more gods. More monsters, more dungeons. Rifts. I've actually been wondering about that for years now, and that's all I've got in terms of an answer. Apparently humans weren't meant to be proper mages, and I'm assuming Cortus has told you that you are the ideal form of man? That we're all supposed to be adepts except for the lucky few?”
Pattoli nodded, the others passed glances to one another in confusion. What was happening right now?
“It's possible. I don't think even Cortus truly knows. Cortus, Hastur, master, my grandfather, whatever you'd like to call him. He's read the books and he's seen the truth. None of us could do the same and live to tell the tale.”
Tyr frowned. “Strange that he'd be the only one who knew what was going on. I'm not convinced, I think it's all a power play. I've read the black books and all I saw in them were a bunch of self obsessed fogies. Except for Solomon... That guy knew what was going on, too bad he's dead... At least I hope he's dead... I'm pretty sure he killed me once, like... Not me, but... You get it, right?”
They didn't, who could?
“Does it matter? Does your incessant rambling?” Rommel asked. “What if it isn't? What if it's true and when the mage population hits that point, it really does summon more gods? Bad ones. What if the fog expands and swallows the world?”
“Then I'll kill them, too.” Tyr shrugged, absolute confidence in his tone. There would always be a way, and he was eternal. Gods could not end him, men could not kill him, only She could send him to his rest. That kind of inevitability meant eventual victory in all circumstances. It made life incredibly boring, if he was being honest.
“If Solomon could do it, I can. He was a genius, yes.” Tyr spread his arms. “But I've got all the time in the world. I am everything.”
Rommel visibly cringed at the words. Tyr thought she was quite attractive. He liked women with unique hair colors and nice bodies. Unfortunately, the jig was up. He hadn't even sensed it. Those threads Pattoli had so casually mentioned. Piercing his skin and latching onto his nerves. His body collapsed, limp and groaning, but they'd left enough active to keep him thinking and breathing, not much else besides that.
Contrary to their expectations though, there was no 'what is this!?', 'impossible!', or 'my b-body!'. Tyr actually laughed, cackling over the development.
“Ah, man. Listen – for real this time. Come work for me, all of my men are equals and you could be too. Anything within my power, I'll give it to you. Doesn't have to be money, I love all of my brothers with all of my heart or what approximate I have. You're in the wrong line of work, one day I will be the strongest force on this planet and it'd be wise to commit yourself to the right side.”
“Silence!” The newly returned Hans slammed his shin into Tyr's face. Spraying blood in all directions, stomping on his head, with Tyr heaving and choking on the liquid in his throat. “Not so tough, now? Eh, bastard? Cursed one. Wretched thing. You are an abomination only fit for a cleansing, and I'll do the world a favor.”
“Sorry, kid.” Pattoli frowned. “In another life, we could have been friends. But we are about the work of order and we can't afford you getting in our way.” He grunted, a massive iron box appearing in his hands, laying it gently on the ground. Double welded rivets, at least three inches thick, Tyr found it all too amusing to be staring his greatest fear in the eye. “Hans, do it.”
And Hans did. He lay his cold hand on the back of Tyr's neck, scowling at the man who had begun to laugh again. “You think this is a joke? A game? Silence yourself and behave, and this doesn't need to hurt more than it has to.”
“You're an idiot. Do you know who I am?” Tyr spat, that's about all he could do – frozen like that. “I am Tyr Faeron, the White – AHHHHH!”
Pain the likes of which he'd never felt roiling through his body. Darkness magic incarnate, in its unadulterated form. Raw destruction taking every cell inside of him and ravaging them.
Splitting his skin all over, sending him sprawling and writhing even while his body was paralyzed. Darkness seeping into every part of his body, falling into an agony far beyond what he should've been able to feel. It wasn't wholly unpleasant in actuality, Tyr liked being given a chance to feel. He'd done others in a similar way, perhaps not quite so bad, at least he had a standard now. Some empathy rising up in him, but never remorse.
One by the one, the five Fingers he wasn't familiar with defiled him. Raj, Yucca, Pattoli, and Rommel remained still and apart. Pattoli watched in discomfort as they did so. He was the commander of his unit for the time being, but not the operation. That honor belonged to Hans who was the highest ranked of them all, technically speaking. Morden, the spatial mage, went so far as to begin urinating on the young man. Newly resuscitated, Shine skinned him alive. Tearing his hide away as it regrew again and again, eyes shining with a vicious need to inflict pain.
“How's this, eh?” Shine cackled with glee, the howling man beneath her pinned under the hands and boots of the others. His eyes were streaming with tears and she couldn't wait to hear him begging for mercy. Even the strong ones did, eventually. Shine had carved dozens apart and had never lost her interest in abusing them, more akin to Hans than Pattoli, Tyr didn't like her very much. “Not so tough anymore, eh?”
“It is surprising, and I thank you for adding to all the spice of my life.” Tyr replied, more calmly than they'd expected. Causing Shine to back aware with a disappointed clucking of her tongue, guessing the man was really just insane after all. “Just proof that I was right about you all. I'll give you one more chance. Take my hand in brotherhood, or die with all the rest, Cortus included. I killed him once, and I'll do it again. I will burn you all until you run out of replacement bodies, and I'll chase you to the next life and do far worse. I don't want to, but I will.”
Hans spat. Tyr could feel the hot saliva streaking down his face. He hated that, how unclean. How disrespectful. “Your father killed Cortus, and whether he was right or not – it doesn't matter. Hastur cannot be killed. Help me put this rat in the box.”
“You have no idea, still believing that old lie. In Haran we have a saying, though.” Tyr said, even as his body was crushed and compacted to a size more appropriate for the box they were about to cram him into. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times... Banana hammock.”
Tyr uttered the last two words bizarrely loud, startling the others yet again.
“...What?” That was Hans' last word. Now, and forevermore. Hard to transit your soul between points with a deuritium javelin nailing you to a tree. The last thing Tyr saw before the box slammed shut was the black cloaked form of Tiber leaping out of the undergrowth, with another rod of brittle black steel clutched tightly in his hands.
Tyr smiled, staring up at the man he'd called 'father' in a fugue state when never once believing him to be Jartor Faeron. Life was a strange thing.