Liam slept through the day, waking up long after the sun had set and the moon reached its apex. His arms and legs were sore, as if the teardrops vibrations had worn into him, bruising anything touching the ship.
“Ah, shoulda guessed that might happen. It’s like a long roadtrip, your cheeks get sore even though you have air filled tires, a seat cushion, and a suspension to smooth out the bumps. What a ballsac of bologna.” Said Liam, rising and washing his face.
He’d been shown to a posh guest room within the manor, but didn’t bother looking at the decor.
Nyota wasn’t here, so this room didn’t matter. Not when his home would always play host to a more gorgeously adorning jewel. Liam bit his tongue, going for a stroll through the manor and across the grounds to clear his mind. First checking on the teardrop and finding four men at arms surrounding it. Playing a game of cards to chase the night away.
“Ah, Master Alhusam!” Said one of the men, rising into a salute.
“Don’t salute me. I’m nothing more than another mage, just out for a midnight stroll.”
“Ah, yessir. Would you like us to accompany you sir?” Asked another man.
An eye-roll hit Liam right in the nose, these guys weren’t getting the hint. He’d have to charge his staves later.
“Nope!” Called Liam, pinning on his heel and hurrying into the manor’s orchard.
Green leaves swallowed him, quickly concealing the elf. Their peaty boughs calming his wayward mind, returning him to the forests outside Avignon. His battles there came to the forefront of his mind.
Has Arlet retaken the Cathedral of Avignon? Or will I have to kill more men when I get home? Thought Liam.
Troubled scenarios entered his mind, each one worked through with the same answer. Kill monsters, be with Nyota. Easy as. Lost in his musings, Liam wandered, suddenly finding himself outside the defensive walls of Marquis Vere’s manor. One of the ziggurats stood in front of him, encircled by guards from every jurisdiction. Fulminonimbus Paladins, the Marquis’ personal knights, local constables, and even a few royal magicians who chatted with the paladins. Exchanging simply magical tips.
It was all so trite, Liam encased himself in a cloak of wind, willing the spirits to grant him invisibility. A process that was now as simple as breathing. Up he walked, finding himself leaning against the second crystal’s chains, listening to the ebb of mana.
In the darkness of midnight there were no attacks on the city, allowing the ziggurat much needed time to recharge its reserves. But it had clearly been on the final dregs of energy. Another drained weapon that the city lacked the power to maintain.
“Ah, damnit. Always showing up to save the day. When is someone gonna show up to save my day?” Muttered Liam, recharging the crystal to full.
Without the paladins he was a single man, unable to change the world. Bitter depression rose within his throat as he charged the ziggurat. Lightning power filled the structure, rejecting the geyser of mana from within its confines. Task complete he sat on the ziggurat’s edge, dangling his feet over the precipice. From where he was sitting it would be a fall of a hundred feet onto the cobblestones below, but he had no fear of heights. Not when he could fly.
Dark mana called to him from within the ziggurat, pooling beneath his seat as it sought a purpose. [Mana Domination] flicked it away, yet still it called to him, like a hundred labrats all staring at him through a glass wall.
Great, what now?
He bear crawled across the tower and stuffed his face into the central shaft, listening to the mana with his sixth and seventh senses. And what he found confused him. The ziggurat should have been constructed like a staff, with a solid core that mana could reside within. Yet it was hollow, as were most of the steps, with every inch of internal walls lined with alcoves and statues. Liam swallowed, recognizing what this was. They weren’t statues, but petrified magi. Men and women who had been petrified to act as a reserve of power, a sort of soul refinery that stuck its fangs into magi and drained them, using their bodies as a filter for ambient mana. This was more akin to a graveyard than a defensive structure.
“Ah, this is a soul tower.” Muttered Liam, returning to the exterior edge. “Before Sirin died I would have leveled this tower. But… Sometimes you need to pick your battles. Killing statues will only kill the living. Ah, don’t go for bread when there is plenty of food at home.”
Looking for something to distract him he gazed out across the city; finding Vere to be far more interesting than he had ever guessed. It was built in the western style of architecture, with tall yet thin stone walls, churches and cathedrals on every corner, all in different styles. Since only one church was built every hundred years. But surrounded by wooden homes that were always in a constant state of repair and rebuilding. Except for the noble manors. For some reason the nobles built fortress complexes within the city, erecting walls around their individual orchards, key farms that grew the bulk of Vere’s farming exports. This mixture of stone and green gave the city an interesting almost camouflaged pattern of life and rock. While the full moon overhead allowed Liam’s elven eyes to function in color, seeing the dark world in unreal definition.
His heart twisted, wishing to share this with Nyota, wondering if she looked at Greenhaven like this. He wished for the moment when he could hold her hand and look out across their city together. The greenhouses would be transparent in the dark, so the city should have a similar mixture of hues.
“Right, I have to check for slaves here.” Said Liam, scanning the walls for paladins or felinids.
He found a few squads here and there, felinids acting to support the paladins or vice versa, but that wasn’t what made his heart skip a beat. The orcs were back. A crawling ocean of greenskins was assembling outside the gates, gathering thousands, more force than they’d ever amassed before. Despite the shroud of night he could make out catapults, crude things made of logs that were carried by scores of orcs. Apparently wheels were too complicated for the peabrains. Yet the horde arrayed itself directly in front of the mixed paladins and felinids, somehow avoiding detection.
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Ah, they can’t see as well as I can.
A deep sigh escaped Liam’s lips and he kicked off the ziggurat, jumping off the building. Spirit magic engulfed him, cloaking and propelling him across the city til his feet alighted on a stone watchtower. Voices whispered in the dark, from felinid to paladin.
“I’m telling you! Something is out there! It’s moving, we can all hear it sir.” Said a felinid woman, magic dripping off of her black hair.
“Is this another one of your hunches? Loretta, it’s midnight, what in Taloc’s name do you think I can do? We’ve already thrown a torch!” Snapped a paladin in full runic armor.
He was tall and well shaped in his armor. Every ounce the spitting image of a ‘happily ever after’ fairytale knight. Loretta’s ears flicked forward, a smile spreading across her face.
“Let me go over the walls–”
The paladin threw his spear against the battlement. Wood clattering against stone as it bounced.
“Bah, you know I can’t!” He hissed, glaring at the woman. “Why do you keep asking the impossible!” He demanded, picking Loretta up by the neck and dragging her into the watchtower Liam was standing on.
He took flight, hovering above them and about to fly through the watchtower’s window when he saw Loretta’s smile. It was not a sad smile, or a submissive one. She was nibbling on the bottom of her lip, aroused at the paladin’s rough treatment.
NOPE. NOPITY NOPE! Thought Liam, performing a barrel roll as the two began kissing.
Wind propelled him up and away. Though it could not shake the feeling of deep discomfort. Something he shared with the other paladins and felinids as they became very interested in everything other than the watchtower. Mana responded to his desire to be elsewhere and Liam found himself flying over the orcish horde, sailing past them.
Orcish chatter made his ears itch, talking of the violence they intended.
"Oi, listen 'ere, ya git! I's gonna get me hands on dem fluffy little squeakers, rip off their soft bits, and string up their pointy ears on a big ol' chain! Gunna be the bestest necklace, all shiny and twitchy like. Ain't nuffin' betta than a row o' cat ears swingin' 'round me neck. Dat’ll show 'em who's da boss!" Said a particularly large orc.
Liam believed every word he said. For the orc was covered in necklaces and chains of severed bits. As if he was some kind of trophy taking serial killer. Human ears covered his chest, somehow woven into an -absolutely disgusting- shirt. While a cape of cat ears warmed his shoulders, too large to be from housecats or servals.
Red crept into the edges of Liam’s vision. This abomination was wearing people. Not only that, but he was bragging about it!
Stay calm, don’t just incinerate him. You’re alone. Above a thousand orcs…
…
Fuck it.
I remember how to cast chain lightning.
Liam closed his eyes, extending his mana senses. The horde passed beneath him, so many targets, and not a single bright soul amongst them. That settled it. Liam would show them why Lightning was known as the killing affinity. Why people feared Lightning Lords. Why nobles fell on their faces and worshiped Taloc’s mage prophets.
He flit across the sky, lining up the entire horde without the use of his eyes. A shadowshield engulfed him, then ballooned as he [split mind] to cast a dozen instances of chain lightning. Each spell was prepared, channeled, and then held.
[split mind] increased to level 4.
Another train of thought was added to his already existing minds, joining in on the bonanza of magic. Twelve spells bloomed into sixteen. Liam smiled, eyes pinching shut to prevent flash blindness in the midnight darkness. Twenty levels guided his aim, making his lightning chain. Then he displayed a miracle to Vere.
Sixteen bolts of chain lightning shot through the darkness, faster than light, each hit an orc warband and chained through, skulls popped, bodies went limp, and each chain arced to six orcs, then six more for every level Liam possessed. In his opening volley over a thousand orcs fell. So great was the number of dead, that their falling corpses caused an earthquake. A wave of dirt that rippled outwards from the massed bodies and rolled away from Liam, traveling as a forewarning to his lightning. Warcries erupted in the dark, meant to rally against the ‘shiny lights’. Instead it gave him new targets as the leaders raised their arms, subtly distorting mana particles.
It felt good to be recognized. To know you struck fear into even the dumbest of assholes. Horns blew from the walls of Vere, waking the guards.
“Relax, this is my fight.” Liam brayed.
There was no channeling time on his first learned spell, Liam simply willed the bolt into being. Each shot chained from orc to orc until it ran out of mana, an ability that filled the night with dozens of lightning snakes chaining through the horde. Each a burst of sun that dazzled and confounded the warriors.
Warning bells erupted from the city, summoning a wave of reinforcements to the walls, and an idle thought entered Liam’s mind.
Sorry for cockblocking you Loretta. Actually, no, you shouldn’t be banging each other on duty! How unprofessional. I ought to sic Nyota on you–
…Liam scratched his chin, realizing with a start that Nyota would probably prioritize babymaking over battle…
Fires lit in the dark, hundreds of targets. Cock-blocking guilt did not slow his bolts. Nor did the growing mountain of orcs stall his wrath. Using their corpses as steps he ascended, igniting the catapults with fireballs and raining Taloc’s judgment onto the horde. Until they were all dead. Liam rotated slowly -a human habit, and not one his manasight benefitted from- scanning the field one more time, finding no souls aspirating mana. All was still, silent.
He opened his eyes, and found the sun rising across the horizon. Oranges and rich reds illuminating the clouds.
Welp… This zippy zappy kitty katty is outta the bag now. Thought Liam.
Wind collected around his will, and he vanished. A small part of him hoping he could escape notice. He needed to get home, not get bogged down in another side quest, this was feeling worse than a hundred fetch quests in Skyrim. Magic guided him over the city, where he spared a moment to charge the last Ziggurat, then slipped back into his borrowed room, attempting to conceal his actions.
He would wait a couple of hours then exit his room and tour the city. Hopefully staying under the general population’s notice.
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
The door flew open, a redheaded girl standing there. Bright stars in her eyes.
“LIGHTNING LORD ALHUSAM!”
Damnit. This is worse than stale chicken nuggets.