3. Uncharted

They awoke to ten or so people staring at them, people with jagged ears and greyish to tanned creme faces, purple eyes armed with bows and daggers.

“Who are you?” One voice said simply, “why are you on our shores? The ants or the Scorpion-Men could have killed you in your sleep, be glad we didn’t.”

Madakos squinted but he saw the Elf like features and nearly gasped.

“Stay there!” One woman said.

She was absurdly gorgeous to Madakos, shapely beyond belief, but Madakos focused on the task at hand; staying alive.

“I am a Warlock, renegade to all, I do not wish to harm you. I am merely gathering my magical energy.”

“War-lock?” The woman said.

They all looked at each other with great suspicion, these folks were washed and smelt nice, and by the looks of their shapely and muscly bodies they were not strangers to food either. Madakos sat up, rubbing the salt out of his eyes and looking at them.

“Warlocks create their magic,” he pointed to the constructs, “I wish you no harm, just wish to create my magic.”

The words repeated inside the Elvish looking heads endlessly, it was not something common or regular. They looked at each other, their eyes glanced from side to side, their fingers twitching, one mouth fluttering and then another before one finally erupted:

“We should kill him!” One of the women said, “what if he brings destruction to us!”

“He might bring… wealth,” an older man suggested.

They were blatantly Elves.

“Shadow Elves…” Tamura whispered, trying to educate Madakos.

The Shadow Elves in question all looked around in confusion, they then proceeded to stare at Tamura, some even more prepared to use their weapons, the sound of metal coming out their scabbards, readying themselves to commit two executions.

“You know of us?” One of the Elves asked.

“A shadow of what you once were, you lost your forests, destined to live in deserts. You grow coconuts and fish,” Tamura said, not trying to be rude, it was the folk tale humans told, but it did put a sour taste in the Elves’ mouths and made them scowl.

A few of them tutted, some even laughed, but it was in snickers and derision. The Elves wore silk and cotton garments, many having jewellery on their ears and their necks, their eyes glinted, the metal rasped in debate, debating whether these Human lives were worth sparing.

“Yes coconuts and fish,” one of them said impatiently, “we are not fond of Humans, you bring strife, nothing but strife,” an elder hissed.

“The only reason we haven’t killed you. Warlock. Is because you were honest about your intentions and situation.”

All the Shadow Elves eyes looked as deadly as daggers, their eyes almost as sharp as their blades, they looked down at the newcomers, the darkness shrouding their eyes, their killing intent not shrouded even a bit.

“If you prefer I can go away from your village,” Madakos said, “I don’t have to be near you.”

There was now furious debate among the Shadow Elves, some staring; the stage whispers grew into outright shouting. Madakos’s offer was too reasonable.

“We are the Ena clan,” one of them said, “I think we have agreed that you will be outside our village. You can live.”

“I will always live,” Madakos whispered.

The beautiful Shadow Elf that Madakos admired, tutted angrily, slamming her knife into the sand.

“You can’t possibly!”

“He promises to leave us alone.”

“For now!” She said, her words lingered in anger, her stare more powerful than her words.

She was wildly gesticulating, her hips were something, she had a relatively big nose, eyes that glowered at him with anger and hatred. It was prejudice beyond anything else, and Madakos chuckled to himself.

I can hardly blame them. Humans are hardly pure creatures.

“Tamura, you are not cursed with my magic, so if you wish to go with them, if they desire-”

“No.” The Shadow Elves all said unanimously, “outsiders can trade but they can’t live with us.”

Their eyes stared at them, many faces stared at the two Humans, Madakos nodded.

“We. Or at least I respect your wishes,” Madakos whispered in reply, his reply did not matter.

The Shadow Elves in question went back to their homes and Madakos simply continued his Zira collection. The most hateful Shadow Elf was at the back and she caught him glimpsing at her arse, the words ‘kill him’ were almost certainly uttered.

38 constructs soon became 42, and then 46, and then 50, which soon became 56 and then 60. Tamura begged for water and Madakos gave it, the energy he siphoned was now a smidgeon to what he was creating. 11 were hidden on the other continent, the others were arrayed here in the sands next to the beach. Ants could be seen in the distance so Madakos built one simple tower, it shot fire at them if they came too close, while he continued his investments. Tamura grilled fish, which he happily ate.

“We need fruits as well, and vegetables, and some kind of starches,” she muttered, “just my luck that I get involved with a fucking ‘Warlock,’ fuck me.”

“No thanks,” Madakos muttered humorously, getting a death glare in return.

There was terrible silence after that. Madakos merely continued placing his constructs feeling the magical energy pulsate into him, remembering the Shadow Elf woman and getting all tingly. He grinned and Tamura’s face was right in front of him, gleaning information off his face and sighing.

“Men are too easy…” she tutted and huffed, “you would think you would learn. You are hungrier than a wolf. Incredible.”

“She’s hot what can I say,” Madakos whispered, “hotter…”

“Hotter?” Tamura said, immediately getting the intended message, sparks of fury in her eyes.

“Damn is the sun getting hotter,” Madakos huffed, “whew, what a day to collect magic.”

Tamura sighed, her anger mitigated by his self awareness and stupidity, she watched constructs being erected every few minutes. Her water flask was filled, and a lone Scorpion-Man came by fried by the tower. It was an earthen construction with a crystal at the top beaming down purple flames; enough to defend against a few attackers but certainly not a large group, and definitely not a large coordinated group. Madakos piled up the constructs into a lattice, they seemingly compressed into a tight square that increased the density and therefore intensity of Zira flow. Despite only having 60 Constructs on the ground, it produced 90 Zira a second, Madakos put another 40 over the course of an hour while investing in water, mainly for Tamura, but also for himself. He had 111, producing 131 Zira, soon enough he had enough constructs to have another set of 60, once again the Zira density was increased by 50%, 191 Zira flowed inside of him, the magic was becoming a beacon for his enemies, creatures nearby becoming aware of him. Too aware.

30 kilometres away, a Necromancer, Ildrid commanded 13,000 skeletons which he raced along the shore. He wore a permanently tattered cloak, and smelled of bones and death, the bone general marched his skeletons up the shore, attempting to find the scent of the man he was supposed to track. A communication crystal lit up in his hand; a white see-through crystal that could communicate using magic; and a voice spoke to him, dark and without humanity.

“Find the Warlock, Ildrid, kill him no matter what it takes.”

“He’s on the Continent of Sand,” Ildrid said into the crystal.

“I will send reinforcements, do not fret,” the voice on the other end laughed darkly.

Ildrid’s bones clattered every time they moved, teeth chattered when they made sound, mechanically making the movements despite dark magic doing the actual talking. While marching along, he was assaulted by an ant army, the ants disturbed by the clattering of bones. Dina; the realm of the Undead and its minions created enmity wherever it went.

“Damn these pesky…” he shouted, “kill them all!”

The clattering of swords were heard, as the skeletons cut through the exoskeletons of the bugs that faced them. Skeletons were nonetheless being attacked, with more skeletons being raised from the energy of the dead, the ants would let up, retreating as Ildrid advanced forwards, intent on killing the Warlock who had eluded them. 10 Scorpion-Men shamans blasted sand in their faces, taking down many a skeleton as the skeletons rushed to fight the more organised Scorpion-Men.

“This is a waste of time,” Ildrid muttered angrily, “but there’s no way I can leave these to harass us.”

The battle was intense, the Scorpion-Men not too intent to be too entangled with the skeletons, after a while they chose to retreat. They scuttled out of the way, fleeing into the dense sand, burrowing in the mostly inhospitable wastes that was the ‘Continent of Sand’, ‘the abandoned continent’, ‘the shadow continent;’ it went by many names, depending on the historiography.

“Continue the march!” Ildrid demanded.

His words were not heard necessarily, but his will was felt throughout his minions, who immediately wheeled about stopping their chase and continued down the coastline. The choppy waters splashed on the shore, masking the sound of rustling sand. The perpetual grins of the skeletons skulls hid the soulless nature of Ildrid’s army that now marched toward Madakos.

“Third royal fleet captain Roderic speaking, how can I help?” A deep voice said, attempting to mask the fact that he just arose from his slumber.

“Admiral Roderic, the Kingdom of Lin is complaining about a fugitive, a possible dark sorcerer-”

“Dark sorcerer?” Roderic repeated, interrupting the messenger on the other end.

“Let me finish Roderic.”

“Sorry,” he said simply.

“The Dark Sorcerer is on the continent of Shadows. You are to locate and then destroy him if possible.”

“Right?” Roderic said.

“That is all.”

“That is all?” Roderic repeated, confused.

“Is there are an echo on the line commander? Don’t make me repeat myself,” the messenger said, scolding him, “you have your orders. Carry them out.”

Roderic was a stocky short man, with dark hair and dark eyes, who had risen up from the ranks, commander of the third fleet, a fleet with 10 ships, a few marines, some summoners, and some regular troops. He had thick legs and thick arms and a muscly body, he himself could summon water elementals which helped fight against any roguish pirate, and any Mermen or Naga who didn’t like where he floated his ships; and also aided his speed and directional ability of his ships. Roderic was vigilant with his flotilla, looking around for troublemakers, but despite his stern reputation he was nonetheless popular.

“We are catching a ‘dark sorcerer,’ apparently,” Roderic repeated in a doubtful voice.

“What does that mean sir?” Talida asked.

“Fuck knows, high command wishes for us to find it though, for some reason,” Roderic explained, the tone woefully unsure of why.

Nina a short woman, with short blonde hair, and angry eyes, who summoned gryphons was joined by Talida who summoned air elementals, a vital role for navigation of the ships. Talida was wiry looking, a thin woman with muscles that seemed to focus on speed rather than strength; just like the things she summoned, she was quick and agile, and adept at air magic herself. The other summoners were on guard, the non magic users sharpened their spears and swords. Battle was to commence soon. They didn’t really know why, but their fleet sailed toward the sand continent.

“Isn’t the sand continent a dangerous place?” A sailor asked captain Roderic, “why are we going there?”

Roderic stared at the man, mainly to collect his thoughts, to think of an answer, he looked at the sailor, the sailor of course looked back, surprised at the lack of forthcoming words. The sailor had brown empty eyes, perhaps he was tired, finally voice came from the back of Roderic’s throat.

“It is, I mean it is dangerous. Inhabited by those Elves forsaken by the land itself. One wonders why they bothered staying, but I suppose they’d have to deal with the politics of the continent, which is hardly safe,” Roderic looked down this time, he didn’t know how to answer the second question, he exhaled a little, “I have been given a directive by high command to go there. Why? I know as much as you unfortunately. The man on the communication crystal didn’t want to tell me anything,” he said, “fucking prick,” Roderic whispered at the tail end of his explanation, eliciting a few murmurs of laughter.

Roderic was not a simpleton despite having been a simple sailor only a few years before. His natural talent in water elemental summoning had warded off pirates and had awarded him captaincy of a small ship, which soon became more than one ship, which eventually led to him being an admiral in charge of a fleet of 10.

“Surely the second fleet could deal with this?” One sailor grumbled.

“Maybe they are,” Roderic assured his sailor, “but this is as much a scouting mission as it is an elimination mission. The Second fleet is 50 ships, they don’t wish to risk that many ships on an uncertain future.”

Many people’s eyebrows looked sideways, many others simply rowed or tightened ropes on the galleys; Roderic had given his opinion and tried to settle down the crew at the same time. The heaving of oars and the groaning of some were heard, salt water rolling on their foreheads, some using shoulders to wipe out the sweat from their eyes, others merely letting the drops settle in their eyes, and roll between the nose and the cheeks to be an irritant. People flicked their heads, and others merely gritted their faces, they knew it was pointless to resist for more would fall and drop down. The galleys had sails, wind and water pulling them along at a terrific speed, the rowers heaved as they watched as water and wind pulled them along.

“They can rest right admiral?”

Roderic looked wistfully into the distance, the natural winds blew away, but Talida’s air elementals pushed them along with far more impetus.

“Yeah,” he said, with a pleasant smile.

The crew all huffed, they smiled at him. It was Sumar official regulation to always have rowers, but Roderic cared more about getting the job done. The sailors all looked at their captain with a smile for not torturing them with unnecessary work.

I wonder, who is this dark sorcerer? What is this dark sorcerer? Who knows maybe I shouldn’t make assumptions, Sumar might already know, but why won’t they tell me? All rather mysterious.

Wooden floorboards creaked, as sailors scrambled around, many merely looked, but there were more scouts than usual, peering in many different directions, all looking for the dark sorcerer, all searching. Roderic crumpled his lips, for perhaps what he was being told wasn’t true to begin with, then he smiled.

“Who knows what we’ll find out there,” he whispered mainly to himself.

In a temple in the southern Demon Kingdom of Urir; a kingdom of earth Demons, orange Demons; fire and magma shot out of one of the vents, and some priests scrambled. Orange Demons had their prayers interrupted by an embassy. Wearing metal and demon leather armour, all smelling of sulphur and ashes, these outlander Demons still had the portal open behind them as others clambered out. Their facial expressions screamed of impatience, they were red Demons, Fire Demons, in opposed to the Earth Demons of Urir who were orange in colour.

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“Our spies in this world have alerted us to some danger,” the red Demon said, flaring his nostrils.

“Danger?” One of the priests replied looking terrified, “what possible danger?’

“A… Warlock. A man who can draw infinite magical power,” one of the Fire Demons said, drawing a very long red glowing sword.

Another had a spear, and another still simply held a fireball compressed in his hand; they weren’t particularly friendly looking. One stamped their foot impatiently, and the other rasped two blades together, another still snorted fire out of its nostrils.

“The Demon Empire of Cahov will send soldiers through here, we wish to negotiate a landing space, where we can portal in and chase this cheeky Warlock,” the head ambassador said.

The King of Urir, and the head priest were both displayed using holograms produced by a magic crystal as they talked to the Cahov Demon ambassador. They looked unimpressed beyond anything else. They were both skinny individuals, not that physically impressive.

“There is a patch of desolate land on our western shores, you are free to portal in there and pursue this Warlock,” the high priest said reluctantly.

You don’t give us much choice. The High priest thought.

The King of Urir remained silent. The silence could write volumes about the situation of the Urir kingdom. The Cahov ambassador silently grinned, the King hardly looked imprisoned, but it was extremely apparent who was in charge of the country and who was just window dressing.

Our intelligence about this place is true, still it pays to be cautious, we can’t trample on their pride. Not without consequences.

High priest Amalkur nodded assent, and the king kept quiet in a farcical display of authority. The Demon Temples owned most of the land, most of the gold, had most of the soldiers and therefore the High priest was the true person in charge. The Cahov Demon embassy, disappeared and reappeared at the sight of their landing pad. A small piece of useless black ashy soot, the beaches had volcanoes in the backgrounds, unclear if they were natural volcanoes or merely the byproduct of angry Demons shooting fireballs into the ground. The waves were calm, seemingly like a giant lake, the taste of sulphur and salt permeated the air, and the smell of shit as various Demonic mounts suddenly started appearing. Wood. A lot of wood, and shipwrights.

“You are to find this Warlock and kill him,” the general said, “we are renting this land from the Urir for free, let us use it efficiently.”

A rider on some lizard like creature carrying the standard of Urir, an orange flag with a red flame, on his back immediately piped up:

“Who said it was free?” The words were cheeky, but they were delivered with an acerbic quality.

“Are you really going to demand payment from the Cahov Empire?” The fearsome general said.

He unfastened his armour, flexing his muscles before shooting a fireball into the air, the Cahovian officer clearly trying to intimidate the Uriri soldier.

“Yes we are so scared,” the Uriri soldier said with his best sarcasm, “anyway, the high priest wants to focus on war preparations against Arar. Your expedition is not important to us.”

The Urir soldier had a beard like a Human but was a dark orange complexion in opposed to the red complexion of the Cahov Demons, not that any Cahov Demons could grow beards, such things seemed to be indication of the corruption of the earth Demons; the Fire Demons, the Cahov Demons thought their cousins had degenerated having lived near the Human scum. The Cahov stared and snarled, some of them raising their eyebrows

“What is that lizard thing?” One of the Cahov Demons derisively asked, “why don’t you have a proper mount?”

He pointed to his own Demonic horse, a fiery creature that itself blew fire out its nostrils. The Uriri soldiers winced and sighed at their ignorant cousins, and the Cahov grumbled outright chastising the Uriri.

“We have those too, but they’re slower,” the Uriri soldier said defensively, “anyway well whatever, just don’t burden us with the costs of your expedition.”

The Uriri soldier made the appropriate hand shooing gesture. Other Urir soldiers produced hubbub cacophony of disagreement. Eventually all conversation simmered down, and the verbal hostilities smouldered rather than being resolved. Each side glared at the other, lips pressed tightly in dissatisfaction.

“I hear there’s a continent out west,” one of the Cahov soldiers said.

“Who gave you permission to speak,” A Cahov commander said, clearly touchy at the previous conversation.

The offending Cahov soldier looked at his commander with shock, but stayed quiet. The Uriri soldier walked away. Big Fire Demons teleported without the main portal, armed with large axes, they were special henchmen, muscly and filled with Demonic mana. Demons could teleport and were adept at making portals, but there were of course limits, they could link their mana together to form long range portals. Nonetheless they laboured on the beaches, preparing for their expedition against the dark sorcerer.

Evening had set in, Madakos had not fully committed his resources, worried for what might come.

He had not been idle, he had 131 constructs producing 191 Zira, 11 constructs were scattered in various hidden places, Madakos did not fully understand Zira, but the minute he had 6 lots of 60 constructs, instead of having a 50% bonus in Zira production it doubled; in other words instead of 540 Zira per second, it was 720. The power rushed into him, to the point that even Tamura stared at him with awe and worry.

“What are you doing?”

“Gathering my magic,” he muttered in reply.

She got up and observed the 360 constructs as they interlaced, the purple crystals produced an economies of scale that was pretty absurd, it had compressed. He was stunned, the strange feeling of this bizarre magic going into his veins.

Does it double further?

NO.

Madakos fell over, Tamura thought it was something to do with his unnatural magic.

“Are you going mad?” Tamura said, sharpening a knife.

She threw a knife into the sand, but he was unfazed, tucking his linen shirt into his linen trousers. He shook his head, and laughed a little.

“No, not yet, it’s hard to explain why I fell down, and-” he stopped speaking when he realised she wasn’t listening, then simply sighed and smiled.

Why do people never listen to what I have to say? People I swear. Well I suppose it doesn’t matter whether they do or not.

Every 10 seconds he plopped a construct, until after 10 minutes he had another 60. In the corner of his eye, he saw Ildrid and a legion of skeletons. There they rattled toward him, shaking as they crawled forward, plodding along the sand.

“Target spotted!” The skeleton general roared, “kill him.”

Madakos built four towers that each took 100 Zira a second upkeep, he fed them with his magic, the tendrils of his magic siphoned to the towers that blasted purple fireballs. The towers crept a solid 4 metres into the air, spewing fireballs as much as Madakos would deign to feed them. The on fire skeletons burnt into crisp, the black ash falling onto the yellow sand below. The towers punctuated the sky on undulating sand, their construction a simple sand stone made of magic, they shot purple fire down below like a lighthouse as they beamed laser consistent flames, eviscerating what they touched.

“How are you?” Tamura whispered.

He fed his towers no more Zira, he punctuated his attack with flaming boulders into the massed ranks. The skeletons were pulverised, some jangling into ashes as the flames died on the beach. Ildrid had no time to be furious, as he had to retreat, avoiding complete destruction. Madakos ceased his towers activity bar a smaller one, and instantly created 360 more constructs, followed by another 360.

“He didn’t call for reinforcements?” Tamura whispered, “did they?”

Madakos did not hear Tamura, but he had the same thought. He was deep in his thoughts as the power of Zira flowed into him. The flames flickered, the embers of the cascade winking out as Madakos stared into the ether of the night.

“No, they did not,” Madakos said quietly, “they did-n’t,” the minor hesitation because of fear, interrupted by his rational sense.

He turned around and made a small fire and sat next to it, creating a crystal that ate Zira to make heat so that he could simply watch his empire of Zira flow into him. Tamura was astounded, for the magic that was now coming into him was a tsunami of purple magic. The large ants far from being attracted were now repulsed, staying clear of him.

“I felt the presence of those… things.”

“Skeletons, Undead,” Tamura corrected, “is that why you dawdled for so long?”

“Yes, but I was wasting my potential. 2160 a second…” he trailed off.

The Shadow Elves covered their face’s, but Madakos tripped one up who was about to stab him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tamura demanded.

“You brought Necromancers on our doorstep!” A womanly voice said from the shadows.

Madakos increased the flames, and the faces became more visible, it was the same extremely attractive woman from before; he let go, but pushed her back with a purple wall of magic. The other Shadow Elves merely stayed back, studying him and what he was about. The seconds were brutally effective at producing judgement.

“They were after me not you,” Madakos whispered, “and if I was a threat. Couldn’t I just annihilate you all?”

Tamura looked aghast at Madakos for saying something so tactless. The Shadow Elves exploded with fury and fear, their eyes screaming at him. His eyes glinted with the power he now had; it was even more tactless, but it did scare them into listening.

“Stay away from me!” Madakos growled, “I am a dangerous person absolutely. But I am just trying to protect myself. Now fuck off!”

His fists ignited in purple flames, making the Shadow Elves jolt backwards.

He dismantled his only tower, and seemingly leashed his 1080 constructs in three large cubes. He went deeper into the Continent of Sand than even the Shadow Elves dared to go. It was their policy to avoid the deeper sands, staying near the shores where they could run away from danger if need be. They also wielded purple flames but theirs were made of mana, using it to ward off danger, Madakos was danger; Madakos in his new-found power could now ward off danger, but also created it.

“If he goes deeper into the Shadow Lands, he can’t possibly be associated with us,” one of the elders said, “it is not our problem.”

One of the Elven women stared into the ground angrily; grumbling something inaudible before sheathing her blades and running after Madakos. Tamura ran after him as well. It would take a while, but he had captured a series of hills 30 kilometres inland, fortifying it with four towers, before creating more constructs.

No one can complain about me this far away from them. I noticed I used a lot of Zira blipping small distances ahead. That was wasteful. Or was it?

He still had enough surplus to create another cube. 360 more constructs. This more than fed into his towers. Frankly anyone could probably find him now, the magic emanating would be easy to sense. But he did not care too much. Tamura and a Shadow Elf came panting up the hill. He looked at them, surprised at how quick they were.

“Damn it, you disappeared into the night,” Tamura shouted, “we ran all the way here!”

Madakos made constructs, burying them into the sand. He did not even reply, focusing on his constructs and thinking of where to place towers.

“You are reckless,” the Shadow Elf woman said.

She trembled on her words, she smelled of fear and her sweat. She wanted to say other things, but a combination of trepidation and breathlessness prevented it. He sized her up, looking at her.

“I am,” he admitted, “anything else?” He demanded petulantly.

“And rude,” the Elf said.

“Uh-huh,” Madakos said, taunting her.

“And uninvited,” she said, “but most of all a coward.”

He turned on her, the magic pulsing into him, distracting him from his anger. Her features were beautiful, she had a body that to Madakos was to die for, and a face that was touched by the sun and yet smooth.

“Why are you here?” He paused on those words, “did you come all the way just to chastise me?” He said with a cool temper.

She blushed and stuttered, looking directly at him and then at the ground. Tamura stared indignantly at Madakos, but he did not know what was going on. He was already hard in his trousers from a mere glance, Tamura turned away, but the Shadow Elf was embarrassed.

“You are a Warlock,” the Elvish woman said hesitantly, “I wish to become one.”

1 billion Zira is required.

The text that Madakos saw was heard by the other two.

“Who is that?” Tamura demanded.

“The original Warlock,” Madakos explained.

“So how come you get to use magic for free then?”

“Because I was the first in a long while I think. Zira requires those constructs.”

Both women looked at him rather indignantly. He could not assuage the anger, and did not try to, they soon realised it was irrational to be angry with him.

“Then you better produce more of those constructs,” the Elven woman said, “outlander what is your name. I am Hunila of the Ena clan.”

“Madakos…” he said faintly, “nice to meet you.”

“Do you promise what you said about the billion… Zira was true?” She hesitated as she tried to remember what the magic was called.

“It is,” he said, “I think, unless the first warlock is lying. Which would be interesting,” he said half chuckling.

He lit a small fire as the two women stared at him, hoping for more of an apology, nonetheless Madakos looked at them and chuckled a little.

“Hunila,” he repeated, smirking, “you… never mind.”

She exchanged glances with Tamura, Madakos didn’t glance too much at her, though he wanted to. Everything about her entranced him. She was not blind either, noticing his physical reactions to her beauty.

My first billion will have to be Tamura, but…

Both women stared at him. Realising he had spoken aloud he turned crimson and turned away.

“I will hurry up as much as I can,” he promised.

The night was young and large ants occasionally attempted to interrupt his production, 880 new constructs in one hour were put into 2 lots of 360 constructs, a giant cube, a singular construct flexed, a silvery metallic stand that held a singular purple crystal, but the constructs welded themselves onto each other, and when 360 glued themselves the value of course doubled. 1780+1440+11+160. Roughly every 3 seconds he could make a construct, and low and behold he did so. His growth rate was exponential 60 constructs every 3 minutes meant that every 18 minutes he had another 360, the numbers kept growing and with it the pace at which the numbers grew. 2160 constructs produced 4320 Zira per second which in turn reduced the creation rate to 1 construct every 2 seconds. The purple energy funnelled into him, the cubes buried into the ground, large ants got even more agitated and now ran away from him. This meant 30 constructs every minute, which meant it only took 12 minutes to get another 360 constructs. The cubes despite pouring energy into him were not too obvious in their lights, they shone exactly the same, but Madakos absolutely felt the difference. In a mere thirty minutes he had 2520 (plus 11 constructs hidden somewhere which he did not count, using that Zira for fires and the occasional water,) with each passing moment magic increased, nearly 42 constructs a minute were created, another 360 being created in a mere 8 and a half minutes, and another 360 in a mere 7.5 minutes, and then in 6. Needless to say by morning he would have thousands upon thousands of constructs if he duly invested, when he produced 1 construct a second, but it was exponential growth, so had he continued at that rate he would have got 28,000 constructs, but it was greater, much greater. He was interrupted in his counting of magical power and the ability to create more constructs by an Elven woman glaring at him.

“Each of those increases your magic doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered, “and when there are 360 the magical output doubles for each block.”

“Efficient,” she said, “Tamura’s asleep, so tell me when will you give me Warlock powers.”

“When I’Il have the Zira to give,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

She got closer and her beauty made him turn away, inch further back.

“Why?” She asked confused, “why aren’t you looking at me?”

“Are you really so confused to not realise your own…”

He stopped himself, he was embarrassed, he was hard, she was startled, reflecting on his words.

“My own?”

“Beauty,” he said realising he could not stop the words coming out his mouth before he said them, a conflux of emotions paralysed him, for he did not know whether to condemn and pretend mistake or to double down.

“Beauty?” She said, her pearly purple eyes said, “you really think that?”

“Anyone with… eyes would, should…” he stopped himself, realising what he was saying.

“Yeah?” She said, “do you really think that? Men only see with their eyes.”

“The words were supposed to be thoughts, but yes you are right men are perhaps too surface level.”

She chuckled and stared at him, absorbing the moment, looking at her Shadow Elven blade.

“I’ve seen Humans before, they often leer at me, men from other clans stare at me, you share their lust.”

Well of course they would. Have you seen yourself?

Her body proportions completely astounded him, her hips were shapely, her butt supple, her tits not too big but big enough to impress, her beautiful lilac hair that seemed to glitter, her eyes and mouth glinted in satisfaction, he realised he had done a complete scan of her. He realised too late that he had been rather transparent about his ogling which got her giggling even more.

“You need to rest, even a Warlock needs his sleep,” her words crept up to him in a giggling seductive manner.

She put a hand on his chest, pushing him down.

“Yes?” He said, “thanks.”

Her kind eyes looked down on him, a part of her smirked in gleeful satisfaction but another part of her looked down with care; she clasped her trousers and thought about the Human in front of her.

I should sleep too.

Madakos closed his eyes, but his chest pounded and his pelvis throbbed.

By the morrow Madakos had 200,000 constructs. It would not be until afternoon while Madakos stared at the overhead sun, that with perpetual exponential growth of the constructs that he made it to 1 million. No pursuers had found him yet, Ildrid had not sent any extra armies. All the cubes, and there were many of them, buried into and along the sand suddenly combined into one singular construct. In this moment when things were already crazy enough, a ghost army of some 3000 suddenly appeared on the horizon.

“Madakos!”

“I know, I see it too.”

10 million Zira was flowing into him in a second, he shredded the ghosts with purple arrowheads, a much faster ghost appeared before him and attempted to stab him in the back, Madakos destroyed the ghost with his hands, his tower’s did its work a second later, the fire blazed him from head to toe; Hunila and Tamura stared at the sight of the purple fire tendrils simply crawling up his arm.

“It’s not burning you?” Tamura said.

“I guess not…” he whispered and growled.

He turned his head several times, missing another detail, the 1 construct replaced all the others, and produced 10 million Zira instead of 1 million, or even double that, 10 times the Zira flowed into Madakos as he still looked around, paranoid beyond measure.

“What is that? Where did all your constructs go…”

4 golden crystals pulsated around a purple one, creating rotating light beams, Madakos sprouted ten more towers before flattening the sand and collapsing on his arse; the reality of the multiplier finally being understood by his mind.

“It’s a ten times multiplier…” he whispered, flabbergasted.

“That is the highest it will get…” Neridim the first Warlock’s spirit spoke, “ten million Zira a second for the price of only one.”

A ghost general appeared in the distance, a far away distance that Madakos only sensed at first due to instinct and later zoomed in using a lot of Zira to scan ahead, thus able to send thousands of tendrils. The Ghost commander was eliminated mere moments later.

“What was that?”

“A foe after me, a commander,” his voice quivered, “thank you Neridim, I will not attempt the impossible.”

“No you must, Warlocks and Zira are not supposed to exist, you are unnatural. You will be targeted by everyone, your destiny is to die.”

“I will not… die,” Madakos said adamantly.

“Good.”

Neridim left, and Madakos stared at the two woman who had joined him on the hill. Magic filled within him with extreme speed. He looked at the two women and sighed. The sands picked off the ground, and the towers crept into the sky defending his position but hardly his sanity or peace of mind.

“Are you sure you want to be Warlocks? You heard the perilous nature of it, I’m essentially a dead man walking.”

“My clan could be something else other than fishermen,” Hunila smiled, “besides, you need company.”

“I’m already tied to you one way or another,” Tamura said, “so I might as well.”

“In about 30 minutes time, I can make you both Warlocks,” Madakos interrupted.

Hunila smirked and Tamura likewise did much the same. Tamura had left her hair braided, the Shadow Elf woman had a ponytail, lilac hair and face, Tamura noticed how Madakos’s eyes lurked, filled with desire and chuckled silently.

“You can make Hunila a Warlock first, I allow it,” Tamura gave a sideways glance as she said it, a little smirk on her face.

“But I promised?” Madakos said, confused.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Tamura laughed, “you… men.”

Madakos had no idea what she was on about, and then gleaned it, sighing to much mirth from both women.

Was I that obvious?

“You’ll both become Warlocks at the same time,” he muttered.

“That’s still a promotion Hunila,” Tamura whispered, to much giggles.

I need to do something about my scent, I smell like a goat.

Hunila put a jagged knife at his feet. Both sat down on the sand, Hunila crosslegged, Madakos with one hand leaning on his knee, they both stared at each other for an uncomfortable second before Hunila inched closer to his face, with a breathtaking smile.

“Why are you really here Hunila?” Madakos said, “your Shadow Elves live in peace.”

“Peace, but not comfort.” Hunila corrected, “we are not wealthy.”

“Wealth will come with a cost,” Madakos whispered breathlessly.

“Everything has a cost,” Hunila answered, “everything.”

Even you? He thought breathlessly. It seemed that Hunila could read Madakos’s mind as she smiled as he thought, and perhaps that was more terrifying than Zira.