Fear.
An innate quality that had persisted for so long, in the hearts of every living thing. A double edged sword that had benefited and cursed those that were aware of it. Such as it were, the act of fearing something was a paramount to one’s survival—making one be able to flee, to protect, to live.
But still, what could be done against something that thrived on it?
After all, to be without fear would be considered foolish, reckless and outright dangerous to the individual. And to act with bravery, that quality of fear would still be present, always lurking beneath.
That quality of fear was the prime target, no matter how one may mask it. Phantoms, the manifestations of fear, beings who fed on fear, had always preyed upon it.
They fed on fear that emanated from the metaphysical consciousness, present within the soul and mind. Their most standard tactic of feeding was to simply drain that soul of strength once their prey had been caught, though their tactics vary.
Warning: The soul is being drained. Risk of level reduction: high.
Ever since their inception, they had always lurked as one of the dominant predators of this world. They took the forms of natural fears, such as wild animals, grotesque humanoids to reflect the deepest and darkest parts of society, to even the most fantastical and supernatural.
However, the Hunting Horror was one of the purest manifestations of fear. They did not take the shape of anything in particular, for their very existence was malleable. The moment she saw it, that eldritch thing was like a dense school of fish from afar, yet certainly that wasn't the case.
It was not a hivemind, nor was it a colony of organisms. It was simply it. The concept of fear itself had taken physical form.
Hence, the Hunting Horror. The quality of fear that thrived on what it was.
Marilyn was absorbed by it, her strength being digested by it. She could see nothing in the void that she was now in, she could feel nothing. Her body was not present at all. Yet her mind persisted still.
That mind of hers trembled, fragments of herself slipping into the void with each passing second. She could feel her memories fading, her thoughts becoming harder to hold onto, like sand slipping through her fingers. Images of her friends—Adrian, Cecilia, Vincent, Elysia, Eldryn—grew hazy, their faces distant and blurred, as if already half-forgotten.
What could be done against something that thrived on fear? What could be done against a pure manifestation of fear?
What could be done against a primal instinct that acted as if it was its own being?
One would try to resist it, that was the answer. As even with fear in her heart, even with the soul being drained, she mustn't give up. She was brave, acting in spite of the presence of fear, so she must fight on.
One big advantage of Essence Magic was that it did not need gestures in order to be cast. One just needed the necessary understanding and delusion of knowledge. Just enough that it would be able to alter the rules of the world, manifesting their declaration—their incantation—into reality.
But to produce magic into reality she needed a conduit. And naturally, that would be her soul, which acted as the gate in which magic could be produced into reality. The mind to visualise, Essence as fuel, the soul as the medium.
She didn't need her staff nor her body. Yet—
Notice: Chance of breaking out: low.
Her soul was too weak, and it was being constantly drained. She had to think of something different.
She had to somehow unlock the potential to use magic without the soul, to produce it immediately with a thought. More than just casting without incantation, or with pure instinct, for those two still needed that medium to work.
It was an impossible task for her, for she did not know how to execute this.
Marilyn focused, her mind clawing for anything that might help her resist the crushing void around her. The Hunting Horror pulsed, the endless maw gnawing at her soul, draining her strength with each passing second.
Her body was gone, swallowed whole, and with it any chance to use her typical Essence Magic. She couldn’t summon her staff, couldn’t even feel the weight of her own hands. She was nothing but thought, her weakening spirit, and the corrupted Essence around her, the stuff that Phantoms were made of in order to manifest as fear itself.
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But perhaps…perhaps that was enough.
Essence Magic needed a medium, virtually everything does, for that was how the world worked. She would not try to deny that. But due to her own desperation, she wanted nothing of the traditional sort.
The void around her felt oppressive. It was beckoning her to give up. The sheer amount of fear in her soul was overwhelming. She knew that she wouldn't die, for her soul would've been killed otherwise a long time ago, but she needed to get out of here.
Not because she was scared, but because her friends needed her.
She shall realise this wish, whatever it took for it to manifest. If her body was not available as a conduit, then she shall use something else. This technique she shall deem as—
Skill "Variable Magic" is now available to use.
Magic without regard for a singular focus, for everything that was not her shall be her focus.
The will of the mind to manifest the wish, and the world to realise that wish. The technique of not using her soul as the medium, but Essence itself around her—as both fuel and medium.
Souls were already concentrations of Essence in the first place, so all she needed to do was to focus her thoughts onto the energies around her.
In the formless void, she felt it stirring within her. Her fear, her desperation, her raw determination—that would be her wish. And the abyssal darkness around her shall be the conduit that she would use.
The Hunting Horror tightened its grip, sensing her resistance. Shadows thickened, pressing against her, but Marilyn pushed back. She focused, channelling all her energy into this new, untested magic, feeling it crackle in the space around her mind like the first spark of a storm.
In that instant, power flared from the void—a pulse of light in the endless dark. Variable Magic surged forth, cast from her wish, driven by the world.
And for the first time, she struck back.
————————
“Haahhhhhh!!!!”
Flames surged onwards, striking against the moving shadow before her. With each strike she attempted to burn the tangible fear before her, manoeuvring to avoid its maw and attacks, uncaring of what would it take to get her friend out.
With each swing, each flash of her sword, battling in the skies Cecilia kept on that pressure.
“Spit! Her! Out!” Cecilia’s voice rang out, fierce and unyielding, as her flames slashed through the sky, lashing at the writhing mass of darkness before her. The Hunting Horror seemed to ripple, its form shifting in response to her onslaught, but it did not yield. It loomed larger, almost mocking her, absorbing her fire as if it were nothing more than a whisper in a storm.
Each swing of her sword sent a fresh burst of flames into the creature’s depths, but the Horror only twisted and writhed, its tendrils reaching out, trying to grasp at her with hundreds of shadows. Cecilia ducked and weaved, cutting those shadows that chased after her. Her movements were precise even at this state of emotion that she was in, as she refused to give it the satisfaction of claiming her as well.
She could feel the heat radiating from her own body, an inferno fueled by desperation and fury, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
“Cecilia!” Eldryn’s voice cut through the chaos, laced with a rare urgency. He hovered a few feet away, his staff held high as divine light spilled forth, a radiant barrier against the encroaching darkness. “It’s adapting to your attacks. We need to change tactics, or—”
“I don’t care!” Cecilia snarled, her eyes blazing with defiance. “I’m not leaving her there!”
Her other friends had kept up their own fight below, just to allow her to concentrate on this. She wouldn't want to waste that chance, even if her strength was futile she was stubborn and prideful enough to refuse such a bad ending.
The Hunting Horror pulsed, a mocking echo of her frustration, its void-like depths swirling with shadows that almost seemed to laugh. It knew her anger, fed on her fear, and relished in her helplessness. But Cecilia refused to give it that reward.
She could feel Marilyn’s presence somewhere within that abyss, faint but fighting, and she would burn herself to ash before she let this creature consume her friend.
“At least let me shield you! We’ll break it together!” Eldryn’s voice was steady, his usual playful tone replaced by something far more resolute.
“Then keep up, preacher!” Cecilia shot back, diving toward the Horror with renewed determination. The flames around her intensified, spiralling along her blade as she raised it high, readying for a blow aimed straight into the creature’s centre.
“Seraphina, grant me your strength,” Eldryn muttered under his breath, his voice a low prayer. Golden light flared brighter from his staff, forming intricate patterns in the air, spectral armour of light that weaved itself into her clothes, forming a shield of protection around Cecilia as she pressed closer to the creature.
And with that, Cecilia yelled, “Now!”
Together, they closed in, a single unit of light and fire against the darkness, their speed practically obscene to the eyes of the average man. And for the briefest moment, Cecilia thought she saw a glimmer within the Horror—a pulse, faint and quick, like a heartbeat. Marilyn’s heartbeat.
However—
“What?”
The moment the both of them tried to somehow break through the mass of pure fear, rays of light had burst forth from within it. That development would then soon be followed by an explosion of light, as if the Hunting Horror had somehow been killed from the inside. Cecilia blocked that light from reaching her, so as to not be vaporised or blinded, but she knew what was going on.
“Marilyn?!”
A blur moved past her, then settled, as that figure she had called out floated next to her. White hair and a silver eye, the other covered by an eye-patch. It was obvious.
“H-how—?”
The princess for all intents and purposes was bewildered, but Marilyn simply just smiled.
“A new technique, more or less.” Marilyn responded, her hands gripping her heirloom staff tight. Her sword was present and still sheathed, but this was the most important item she possessed right now, outside of her pendant.
She was not sure how the staff itself would play into her new stratagem she had thought out. It would most likely be a mix of the conventional and the unorthodox that shall be realised, but—
“Marilyn!” Eldryn flew towards her. He had thought of what to say as words of relief, but he omitted that for now, “...What's the plan?”
Marilyn turned to him, curious, before glancing down at the battle below her. “Those three still fought on…”
She turned towards her two friends in the skies again, seeing trust in their faces, then towards the mass of fear before her. It was somewhat smaller and weaker now, as it orbited itself like how a flock of birds would do.
A smile curled up in her face, “Simple, we will use everything we have against it!”