"Not all magical beasts are Awakened but all Awakened beasts become magical."
Except from: The Book of Tears.
By: Unknown Philosopher
Written by: Atticus the Bold
* * *
Joseph
Orders from the Inner Circle have come down and we are to kill all the cultists that didn't take our offer. Gruesome work but apparently necessary, or so I'm told by the loudmouth Scarpa walking beside me.
"We are almost there now, it shouldn't be too much further," Diniè repeats trying to appease the loud mouth old man before he voices another complaint.
Questico and Skhar are nowhere to be seen. The two liking each other's company more than anyone else's and are very good at disappearing in the wilderness, 'scouting' they call it.
They couldn't be more dissimilar in appearance but their crazy personalities mesh perfectly. These mountains are dangerous and through the trip we've already had to face magic resistance trolls, slaughter a few dozen groups of ragged orcs, deal with a nest of giant snakes and skirt around a few places claimed by creatures too powerful to fight, even for us. One of which was a territory full of humans but under the protection of an Ancestral Beast. Kept humans, Ancestors are infamous for creating breeding communities, I wouldn't be able to live like that.
I wonder how their society is managed, took us out of our way skirting that territory but at least gave us something to debate about in the monotony of these cold rocky lands.
"I swear Assad sent us here on a wild goose chase just to fuck with us," Scarpa says hefting his huge glaive as though playing with a small stick.
The thing is 2m long, one meter a beautiful black shaft made of a polished wood I am yet to identify, the scary blade takes up the other meter. A spirit weapon made of celestial metals, curved with runes that glow blue when he uses it to fight or kill. One of only two people in the entire Circle with a spiritual weapon as far as I've catalogued.
The man is a brute and a thug, big, strong and likes to cause pain, torture slaves and his opponents. A true sadist that is only a part of the Circle by virtue of the weapon he wields.
Sure he is a strong fighter, an Awakened Lord even, but I don't like him. The Circle is all about sorcery with all 49 of us being sorcerers in some form or another. But all Scarpa has is a weapon with a sentient spirit inhabiting it. A weapon rumours claim he inherited from his mother but from the way the brute treats women I doubt he ever had a mother. I look at our party as we trudge up the cold steep mountain.
We travel with six soul marked slaves, compelled by the marks to obedience and secrecy. The tall shifty apologetic Diniè who is our guide from Assad's spy network, the only one who knows this continent. Then the three other sorcerers Scarpa, Skhar and Questico make up our party.
People who should understand me. People I thought I would find true camaraderie with for the first time in my life. No such luck, at least not with most of them.
The Circle is filled with psychopathic, power-hungry megalomaniacs. I should have known that any person that actively seeks to control and commune's with spirits is dangerous or insane or both.
I'm stuck with them now, 7 years I've been with these people and I still don't know their goal. Besides knowledge, secret power and the dedicated study of sorcery our goals are vague and our missions vary. I can't at this point say, 'sorry guys, I don't want to be in your sorcerous club anymore,' that'd be my death for sure.
At least we do still study sorcery and share some knowledge amongst each other. But the human sacrifices, the mutilations, the little assignments we do for some of the spirits have been leaving a bad taste in my mouth for years now.
"I bet you the other groups are already done with their assignments and fucking whores and killing peasants." Scarpa grumbles spinning that huge weapon around his shoulders and arms like a hoola hoop.
I don't respond, not that he expects me to since I am an initiate of Silence of the Order. Expected by the circle to infiltrate the Order and do gods knows what else. But so far I like living in Tiba much more than I like these lunatics of the Circle, the ironies of life.
Like the slaves I also have a gease on my soul, all 25 of us in the Outer Circle do. If we ever betray the Circle in anyway, the gease compels us to kill ourselves while willing our souls away to some spirit to do with as it pleases. I've been tempted a few times but the knowledge that those creatures I'd have pissed off by blabbing could somehow keep my soul even after death has be utterly and completely obedient.
This trip has been a treat for me to be honest. I'm only 27 years old and had never left Pangaea before nor ever travelled by water and I thoroughly enjoyed it. This continent is the best part though, the slavery here is mild at best. I only saw a couple of dead bodies on the streets of that city we visited and none of the slaves are malnourished children with bloated stomachs or exposed molested nether regions.
Slavery in parts of Pangaea can get extremely nasty.
The infrastructure and magic here is surprisingly well developed for such a small remote continent. A continent I had never even heard of before being pulled out of Tiba for this assignment. At approximately 38 million square km's it's big enough to support a substantial population, but small enough that it isn't a threat to the powers in the world.
But seeing it on an ancient map in the great library at Tiba I understood how it has gone mostly ignored by the rest of the world. It's southern neighbours are the mermen isles said to be shark, kraken and mermen infested waters, deadly to all creatures but especially to humans, the favourite prey of the mermen. Both for the challenge and sport human prey provides and because most of them consider us mortal enemies for some past wrong or some such.
To the southeast it's closest neighbour is the Undine continent. A paradise for beasts, nature spirits, dryads, nymphs, druids, snakes and birds. A rainforest of undetermined depths no man ever returns from who ventures without invitation. And to the west the wide open ocean, Panthalassa, practically no man's land where no rules apply and everything goes.
The vessels that sail across the super-oceans are few and far between. Panthalassa is an effective barrier to keep the western boarder of this continent secure.
It's closest northern neighbour the Archaic Arctic. An actual arctic so cold that the air is liquid vapour and new elements can be observed in gas form that have never been observed anywhere else in the world.
Then this little rock sits nicely isolated with mild weather and beautiful mountains in a niche. We had to get passage from the Undine, something they are newly known to do. That being the safest access point to this little Sandaria.
Isolation has had it's disadvantages though. Though these people's society seems less war thorn and numb to the suffering of others its magical combat advancement has been very slow. The cities are unwarded, the tools mundane without enchantments. Most of the master magicians or more scholars than warlocks. Their level of magical technology so far behind the rest of the world it's none existent.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I look up as the call signal from Skhar comes in. Scarpa giggles excitedly and I know we've arrived, we have found the monastery of the cults.
I'm leaning against an outcrop of rock as the assault continues checking for detection, spotting for those running off or trying to survive the night. The first sound I hear in five minutes is the roar Scarpa makes as he takes a life. The first of the trip and the happiest his been in a while.
I move in, gritting my teeth as my arm lights up in orange and gold hues that smoke from my burning flesh.
[VOOOSHH]. I slash my arm forward and an energy whip slices someone in half, the energy changes shape and colour from whip to doom around me deflecting bombardment from multiple sources. These priests aren't weak or afraid to be militant, they protect spirits and their hosts.
We rush in, my power changing shape and characteristics from protective dome to energy bolts to laser beam. Taking out everything alive around me limited only by the scope of my imagination, my Images and the pain of my arm burning as I use the spirit-power. The spirit is me, I am the spirit, possessed. The reason the others look down on me, or disregard me, or pity me. But also the reason I qualify to me among them, my pseudo-possession.
They control spirits for their own power, their own amusement, they never allow spirits to control them. And this one almost had me, but eventually opting to be part of me instead after a protracted struggle for my body. Taking us both in an unwanted union that has made us a new being. Me, with some memories and traits of both, but being neither.
Questico with his sigils is a daemon. Drawing in the air as though on a canvas, powering his symbols simultaneously. Water, ice, shades and lightning spewing out of his sigils to harrass the priests. Each in it's own direction, spawn of spirit but driven by his mana. Even as he makes adjustments to each symbol, changing the element of attack.
Scarpa a blur as he cuts through everything, even pillars and walls. Using his glaive to parry even magical attacks of bolts of lighting. Nothing getting passed him in his eagerness to kill. Almost seeming possessed himself as his eyes glow and a dark blue malevolent miasma seems to steam out of him.
Skhar I don't even see. That's how good he is at whatever it is he does. Even the dead bodies reveal themselves when he's done with the killing, helping him keep incognito by their conspicuous absence during battle. Some try to flee as we cut into them, hemming them in with summoned spirit avatars that take the forms of mythical creatures.
Hand gestures and mental commands unleashing my power. Its use taking its toll on my mind and body. A slight membrane always protecting me from mechanical damage and force knowing that some of these people will have been Awakened.
Fiery arrows start shooting at my shield and deflecting off, increasing the tall it takes to maintain it's energy. Secret doors flying open and coming off hinges as no one who survived today would care about such things anymore. There is an explosion of blood as one of the spirit avatars claws into the magic bow user, clearing the way.
We slaughtered them as we are meant to, as we are sent to do. Doing the bidding of our master, the unnamed man in the number one position. Though a few in the Inner Circle are unnamed, known only by title or deed. The Black Widow, eater of men just a likely example, none are as mysterious as the master.
Blood splatters everywhere but even that is held at bay by my shields. Keeping me clean of the gore and I also use them to mitigate the smell.
By the time an hour has gone by we are more than halfway through the extermination. Not taking account of affiliated and unaffiliated cults. Some probably've never even heard of us before. We kill them all, going above and beyond our mandate.
By the second hour one of the spirit avatars comes with a report of flying warriors. We've got an incoming mysterious force, and they are moving fast. Too fast not to be reinforcements, we set up a barricade and let the priests still surviving scurry away. We'll deal with them later.
*
Sachihiro
Flying is one of the best things I've ever done. The views, the air in my face, the feeling of release and freedom. Nothing can touch me here. At least that's how it feels for a while.
The Griffins are true to their word and lead us through air currents or whatever they are called. All I'm sure off is it's exhilarating. Usually when we glide we go mostly horizontal but slowly lower and lower pulled to the ground until we land on a mountain face and climb high enough to reach the next mountain in a single jump.
But this route we take occasionally takes us up higher, higher even than some of the mountains until we break through the second barrier of clouds. Clouds so much higher up than rain clouds that they are rarely visible from the ground. The mystic clouds, said to be the domain of creatures that rule the skies, creatures like dragons and writhes.
By the time we get low again we've transverses more than half the distance to the Tundra and if I remember my landmarks correctly, we are close to the monastery of the hidden cults.
Where the protectors of the god and goddess of knowledge and learning gave me the blessing of their god. The blessing of tongues which has helped me in learning Japanese so quickly.
A language that forces the speaker to be flexible of mind and listen while also decoding the appropriate meaning of the words at the same time. Resulting in a people that are natural problem solvers and creative thinkers, their minds challenged and stimulated by even simple conversations.
It initially took us something like three months to get here from the Tundra, and seven months from here to the Hito villages. Now it's taken us barely a month to get here from the Hito valleys and I can only imagine another ten-day at this speed to get home. The excitement is palpable in my stomach.
"I smell blood in the air. Human blood."
The disturbing statement comes from Kensuke Iwabuchi, the Brave flying to my left and slightly behind whom my head is slowly turning towards. 'That's the creepiest thing I've ever heard coming from a vampire' my eyes are conveying as I look at him.
"Yes. And a lot of it," another confirms and I resign myself to their discussion. As they go into detail about the fear in this particular scent or adrenaline in that particular scent of blood.
This is almost like that time I sat next to the warrior Ayta and he spoke of liking to bugger other men and I pretended what he spoke of wasn't as disturbing as it sounded. Being polite as I nodded my sympathy at his many challenges in his chosen vocation of buggering men.
I eventually see evidence of the assault myself as plumes of smoke still permeate the air. We get ready midair, planning our assault and landing format quickly. With a backup team landing a few kms away to cover our pursuit of them or retreat. Also checking if they had any extra forces in the sparse woods of the rocky slopes.
I land with the assault team and we encounter magic from the get go. Attack after attacking taking the attention of the spiritual weapons. I didn't know zanpakutō's could block magic like its a solid object. Good to know.
I move in, swinging my o-katana from the sheath at the hip to strike at the spear of darkness that almost skewers me with a perfect iaido, the art of unsheathing.
I move, following a set sequence of moves I've practiced a thousand times. Moves that so confuse my current enemy that I nearly take his arm off dispute his clear advantage in power and magic. He pushes me away with some unseen force that seems to be growing the width of the ground separating us.
Three of the Brave are facing off against a creature with a heavy glaive. The glaives aura pulpable, cutting inches into the stone floor with every missed swing yet pulling out with the ease of a hot knife through butter. The thing and it's wielder glowing blue in runes and symbols. We can all already tell the weapon is the greater threat than the wielder.
Asriel is facing off with a young man with a golden glowing arm summoning all manner of object with it to keep him at bay. Asriel parries all attacks with his toya, speaking all the while to his attacker though I can't hear him.
The rest of the assault team are divided between spectral creatures of spirit that would be a very difficult challenge to anyone not wielding spirit bound weapons. I'm pushed back by the shifting of the ground again and find myself in a corner.
The one throwing all kinds of magic around, including black whips that keep me curtailed as he deals with the others seems to be the main problem.
Asriel is suddenly no where to be seen after our numbers mysteriously decrease, but his aura keeps flaring so I know he's busy. Everyone else not in the immediate assault is looking at options, reinforcing us, checking for other threats, checking the wounded. It's all a planted chaos as someone comes to my side clearing the tentacles with his blade like clearing grass with a scythe.
There is already blood and guts all over the floor around me I realise as I lose my footing slightly on an intestine still attached to a section of a torso. My sword is a blur as I deflect hundreds of projectiles shooting at me, one handedly spinning my spiritual blade around myself with sublime wrist work. Left side forward making myself a smaller target and decreasing the surface area I have to guard.
Using the o-katana single handedly results in faster movement but a lot of power is lost in the strokes.
After deflecting all the pellets I move forward with a burst of speed, joining the fight in earnest.