-oOo-
Chapter 6
-oOo-
“Mmm!” Emily noised angrily, her cheeks puffing adorably. “That’s against the rules.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing high heels into a fight.”
“Of course I am,” Emily said, pure and passionate. “It’s our job to inspire everyone. We have to let them know what it means to be a charming witch.”
The brunette’s emerald eyes shimmered with starlight.
…
Emily was, without a doubt, a charming witch. Her priorities, though, were very different than Sylvia’s own. Sylvia and Riley naturally clicked. When hanging with the blonde, Sylvia could be herself, not caring whether she was male or female. Emily? Emily was an alien squid thing from a different dimension.
“It won’t look good if we fall on our faces,” Sylvia argued, rationally.
Not that she expected Emily to listen.
Sylvia was already on the ground removing her black pumps. Footwear was the latest theme of charm club’s fashion blitz. And footwear meant heels. High heels. As in, the trio had been forbidden to wear shoes of any other sort. For once, Sylvia hadn’t been singled out by this commandment. Riley and Emily were likewise compelled.
Not that shared suffering made Sylvia happier.
She’d wanted to fight back. But what was there to debate between a succubus and a faerie? Kyna flew. Everywhere. Shoes were decorations to her. Ingrid was, somehow, worse. Sylvia had never seen the succubus in anything but heels. And Ingrid had a very strict view on heels. The ‘high’ in ‘high heel’ meant high. As in ankle breaking.
Even Emily had been aghast.
Thus, Emily, Sylvia, and Riley had joined together and appealed to Kyna’s dreams of cuteness to escape Ingrid’s dictatorial demands.
Now that had been a strange tag team if there ever was one.
This had bought them the right to wear heels of the ‘sensible’ category. Emily was pleased. Riley tolerated the result. Sylvia thought women were touched in the head if they felt any kind of heeled shoe could be called ‘sensible’.
“Why bother?” Riley groaned, exasperated. “There’s fashion. Then there’s stupid.”
Sylvia slipped on her buckled schoolgirl shoes, then stood. Flats were wonderful. Comfortably uniformed, the silver haired girl adjusted her beret.
“Hmph!” Emily huffed. “I’ll let you explain yourselves to Kyna then.”
“Emily, it’s Armed Combat class,” Sylvia reasoned.
Compelled by forces beyond her ken, Sylvia’s style had undergone an evolution. Her emerald dress was adorned with lace and her robes tailored to her figure. From both earlobes hung wire hooked stones, scars left by the theme ‘accessories’.
Then there was her hair. Sylvia’s silver locks had escaped the terror of Emily’s tails but not without paying a terrible price. Out of compromise, the witch had accepted a French braid complemented by a weave of pink ribbon.
The evil, Sylvia realized, was seeping into her veins.
One day it might claim her entirely.
“She’s going to throw us under the bus,” Riley commented, not so quietly.
Sylvia pinched her nose. “She probably has a pair of shoes already picked out for me.”
“I’m doing this for your own good,” Emily retorted, shaking a little fist. “You’ll thank me later. I know it!”
The brunette was so, so adorable but she could be trying.
Shoes swapped, the trio proceeded to the Grounds.
It’d been three months since Sylvia entered the netherworld. With the end of the quarter the Starlight Nether Witch Academy had launched a flurry of tests. Roisin Owsley initiated the event with a cruel exam. She had hung a copy of every rune in the Lesser Codex from the ceiling. To pass, students had to take five of these runes, then draw them and name them in front of the teacher.
The problem? There were thirty students and only a hundred and twenty runes had been covered in class. Do the math.
Needless to say, few of Sylvia’s peers had read ahead. Ten witches failed the exam, earning a score of poor. Sylvia had done her part to relieve her classmate’s plight, taking ten compound runes from the back of the book. With them, she’d scored her first superb.
Professor Fischer’s quiz in Introduction to Magic had proved substantially easier. Each witch was asked to cast three of the five spells they had learned in the months prior. Nearly everyone passed, while Sylvia claimed a second superb by casting all five.
Now, with the students gathered for Isabella’s Armed Combat, Sylvia was aiming for a trifecta.
“This time I’m hoping to get my hands on that sweet, sweet cash,” Riley said, eagerly.
The Academy only had three grades: poor, acceptable, and superb. A score of poor meant loosing credit for the quarter and facing the horror of mandatory reviews on Sundays for the next month. Superb, on the other hand, rewarded students with cold hard cash. One-hundred soli straight up and another five-hundred off the girl’s debt.
As for acceptable? It was exactly what it said on the tin.
“The second they hand over the money, I’m heading to the Recreation Hall and stuffing myself until I burst,” Sylvia agreed.
Emily giggled. “Sylvia, you can’t spend all your money on food.”
“Watch me,” the silver haired witch challenged.
Chest puffed, Sylvia entered the field.
The nature of Isabella’s test was obvious at a glance. At the clearing’s center was a large, tarp covered cage. Blood wolves, Sylvia presumed. Though maybe the sadist had brought something special. Regardless, Sylvia headed for the weapons rack. Without waiting for any instruction, she grabbed three spears, handing the second and third to her roommates.
They weren’t alone.
A score of first years were gathered on the grounds. Many clutched spears. Some were nervous. Others bounced with energy. A few studied the cage with grim expressions. Natalie, Camila and the rest of her gang stood in a small cluster beside the cage while their teacher, Isabella, rested on the structure’s top. The horned redhead had her hands folded behind her head, a length of grass hanging from her mouth.
“What do you know, it’s the princess, the knight, and the bimbo,” Camila’s sneer made the babbling crowd go silent. The dark haired girl’s lilac eyes fell to their feet. “At least two of you were smart enough to switch to real shoes.”
Sylvia nearly bristled. If not for charm club and that time Emily forced her into those pigtails, Camila would never have started calling her princess.
Emily’s cheeks puffed. The brunette shook her spear in a manner that was more cute than threatening. “I’ll beat you up!”
“Oh please,” Camila laughed. “I’m not afraid of a high-heeled ditz.”
Sylvia raised a brow. Her gaze slid to her blonde friend. “She doesn’t know.”
“I almost wish the two of them would fight,” Riley muttered in reply.
“Almost?”
“You know how I feel about bullying,” Riley confirmed, with viscous subtlety.
“They’re cheating meanies,” Emily condemned, ignoring the byplay.
“Cheating?” Heather jeered. “You’re only mad because your stupid, dumpster club clique didn’t think of it first.”
Ah, yes. Heather Grenier, proudly lowering the quality of the human race for twenty years running.
Emily’s complaint stemmed from the runes test. Natalie’s crew had secured their grades by seizing all the best known runes right at the start. The tactic, though slimy, had proven effective. Natalie had earned a superb while the rest of her companions took an acceptable.
At the low, low cost of her less able classmate’s grades.
Not that Emily cared one whit. No, no, no. Hers was not a fury born from justice. What stirred Emily’s rancor was that Natalie’s ill gained superb left the forest haired witch undeservedly tied with her darling Sylvia.
As for Sylvia herself? She didn’t give shit. The only thing she cared about was money!
“Mmm,” Emily noised angrily. “Sylvia’s smarter than Natalie and you know it!”
Natalie Ward’s blue eyes narrowed.
“No rules were violated by our act,” the forest haired girl countered smoothly. “Everything we did was free and fair. This was confirmed by Professor Owsley herself.”
“It’s called tactics,” Camila sneered.
“It’s called being an ass,” Riley refuted.
Natalie’s expression tightened. Her eyes veered to the silver haired witch.
“I won’t fall behind,” she said firmly.
The woman turned, a picture of poise and elegance. Natalie was a driven woman. Beautiful. Intelligent. Capable. Sylvia might’ve liked her if Natalie wasn’t head honcho of the starlight thugs.
Silence stood for a moment, then the babble of Sylvia’s classmates rose once more.
“She must’ve picked out a real cute pair for you,” Riley whispered.
“You know you’re not getting away unscathed, right?” Sylvia grumbled.
Riley shrugged. “I kind of like being taller.”
Sylvia groaned. Misery, as they say, loved company and here she was all on her own.
“Don’t worry, Sylvia,” Emily encouraged, emerald eyes shining. “You’ll be cuter and more refined than that cheater will ever be.”
Stab. Stab. Stab. That was Emily’s psychic knife shanking her soul. Sylvia’s eye twitched. Her poor, male ego was being murdered. Day after day. Week after week. Ruthlessly slaughtered by her own, dear friend.
When the last student arrived, Isabella hopped off the cage.
“You brats ready?” With a toothy grin, the teacher scrutinized the girls.
“Definitely,” Sylvia answered. Her voice was but one of many.
Sylvia had been looking forward to this test for a long time. Armed Combat consisted of physical training, drills, and spars. The drills and spars, she understood. Sylvia didn’t quite comprehend the point of the physical training. Demons didn’t have muscles. Not in the same sense humans did. Exercise did nothing to increase strength or stamina. Laziness would not lose it.
But maybe her classmates leveled different.
Cultivation was slow. Killing monsters and extracting their experience points was far faster. Meditation could earn Sylvia one hundred points a day. She had used her second blank skill book to improve her lot, gritting her teeth even though the System had classed it as mediocre.
Alas, the reward wasn’t what Sylvia had hoped. Mastering cultivation had done nothing but save time. Before, it took three hours of effort to fill her gullet. Now she required one.
Cultivation, it turned out, was subject to digestion limits. Monsters were a juicier prize.
The only balm to her regret was the same skill book had taught basic ki manipulation. Turns out advanced cultivation techniques are impossible without it.
“Today’s test is the same as the first,” Isabella explained. “The grading criteria is simple. Run or die and you get a poor. Give me a good show and I’ll hand you a superb. Everything in between is acceptable.”
The slit eyed woman whipped the cover off the cage revealing five, not three, beryl blood wolves. The creatures prowled inside, talons clicking against the wood. Burning eyes focused on the girls outside the bars. Saliva pooled between their teeth.
A murmur went through the crowd. Fear and excitement intertwined. A few witches shied back. Most crowded forward, forming a semicircle near the door. Spears bristled in a hedge of wood and steel. The sight stirred greater courage. Margret and Valerie were trembling, yet ready. Natalie, Camila, and Heather pushed forward greedy for the first shot. Sylvia and her friends stood on the front line as well, far from their rivals.
“Back. Back. You have to give them a fighting chance,” Isabella laughed.
The crowd shimmied a few meters further from the door.
Isabella threw the cage open.
The beryl blood wolves poured out in a flood.
Phantasmal beasts had no fear. No yearning for survival. Just hunger and violence. The five wolves shot at the crowd with suicidal fury. Spears struck ruddy red hide. Some bit deep. Others skittered off bone. Of the five wolves, one was impaled instantly, shredded by four spears. Another found itself pinned down only seconds after smashing into the wall of witches.
The rest tore into the group with tooth and talon.
To Sylvia’s left, a girl was blown onto her back when her spear struck bone near the beast’s chest. The silver haired girl turned, thrusting at the wolf before it could slip deeper into the throng. The gleaming tip of her weapon crashed into the wolf’s ribs, slicing through skin without a true bite.
Enraged, the creature growled then lunged.
Only to be met by Riley Smith. The blonde’s weapon punched through the creature’s throat. Emily’s spear lanced in an instant later, passing perfectly between two ribs. Light crackled. The wolf howled. Sylvia pivoted and struck again. This time her weapon penetrated the beast’s belly.
The shock of mana, or in Sylvia’s case ki, shattered the creature’s essence. Sylvia wrenched her weapon from the broken corpse, the body dissolving into misty ether.
Riley’s gaze swept the field. The blonde dashed, chasing the closest wolf. Sylvia followed, one step behind. This beast had torn through three girls already, casting them about the ground like struck pins. Before they could reach, a weapon pierced through the wolf’s rear stopping its motion.
Lucky!
Pfft. Sylvia added insult to injury. Her spear blasted through the creature’s side. Pfft, pfft, pfft. In a chain, more blows rained down, ripping the poor beast apart.
Then…
There was no then.
Sylvia scanned the field in disbelief. All fives wolves were dead. The battle had lasted less than a minute. The casualties, seven girls. Three were already making their way back to their feet. Only two were dead.
It wasn’t just Sylvia. Every witch looked around in confusion. Dazed. Bewildered. Too fast. Too easy. Compared to the first class, the result was night and day.
“The foundation of strength is not a strong arm nor a good weapon, it is courage,” Isabella said, her hard voice cutting through their befuddlement. “Cowards are no more than sheep waiting to be cut down. A strong heart and steady companions can overturn all odds. Never forget that.”
The group turned toward the horned teacher. The topaz eyed Margret Rivera helped her injured friend Valerie Baker off the ground. Though pained, the blonde stood with pride. The shame of the first Armed Combat class had been washed away.
Half a dozen meters distant, Heather wrenched her spear out from a dissolving beryl blood wolf.
“If they had any guts, we would’ve ended the first class like this too,” the fiery haired girl sneered.
Isabella glared, hand on the hilt of her sword. Heather paled.
“Don’t interrupt me, brat,” Isabella warned. The redhead’s gaze returned to the class. “Be proud of yourselves. But don’t be too proud. This test was easy. My next test will kill all but one of you. I guarantee it.”
The redhead’s lips twisted into a bloodthirsty smile.
“But you brats can worry about that three months from now,” the instructor continued. “Over this last quarter, I taught you the basics. How to hold a spear. How to thrust. How to strike and parry. In this next quarter, I’ll teach you how to use ki.”
Scores of blank eyes stared in Isabella’s direction.
“Don’t look at me like that. If you want to hear the technical mumbo jumbo ask a real professor,” Isabella scoffed. “The only thing you brats need to know is that ki is strength. When your body, your heart, and your mind move as one your ki will move with it. But the real trick is to control it with your head.”
The horned woman tapped her skull in emphasis.
“I won’t shit you. Ki based arts are as complicated as magic. Traditionally, we divide progress into seven levels: inner flow, externalization, manifestation, transformation, enlightenment, domain, and truth. You girls are witches. You only need to know the basics. So we’ll be aiming for the bottom of the pyramid, inner flow.”
Sylvia nodded along. Because of her substantial reading list, she already knew most of what Isabella was teaching.
“Now, you might ask yourself, why do I need to learn ki? Let me make it clear. That trick you’re using?” The horned redhead unsheathed her sword then let it crackle with mana. “It’s pure trash. Do you dumb shits think you can always time your strikes? You’re witches. Mana is precious. Why are you throwing it away?”
Many of the girls wore a sour look, Riley included. If Isabella was going to insult their approach, she should’ve taught them another one first.
“The real solution is to cycle your ki through your weapon. This is called unity. Not only is this technique more efficient, but it’ll improve your control over your spear.”
Isabella held our her bone sword. Ki flowed down the weapon so thick it formed a halo around the blade. Externalization. A step beyond what Sylvia had reached.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The instructor’s reptilian eyes swept the group.
“Going forward, there’s going to be two groups. Natalie, Sylvia, Camila, and Emily get your asses to my left,” Isabella barked. “The rest of you to my right. Those of you in the first group, your job is to practice moving your ki without moving your body. As for the second group….”
The redhead’s lips formed an evil smile.
“We’ll be doing nonstop drills until you pick up the sense. And you better pray it happens quick, because I’ll be keeping you here half an hour after class for the next three month if I have to.”
The two parties began to separate. Sylvia gave Riley a glance. The blonde shrugged. Accepting reality, Sylvia trotted to the left, joining the elegant Natalie and the cruel Camila. Emily flounced happily alongside.
“What a joke. The bimbo is smarter than the knight,” Camila mocked.
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed.
“Got a problem with what I said, princess?” Camila challenged.
Emily’s cheeks puffed. The brunette pointed her spear in lilac eyed witch’s direction. “I’ll stab you.”
“You want to fight?” Camila sneered. The dark haired girl strutted forward, gangster style. “You don’t have the guts.”
“I mean it!” Emily insisted.
Camila’s smile turned malevolent. Her lilac eyes suddenly turned.
“Hey teach! How about the four of us have a duel and find out who’s strongest?”
The crowd fell silent.
Sylvia frowned. Had Camila been aiming for this from the start? Across the field, Riley glared. It was clear that the blonde tomboy wanted to head on over and beat the shit out of Camila by herself. Camila grinned at her, tauntingly.
Natalie eyes fixed on Sylvia, expression intense.
Isabella laughed.
“Initiative. I like it. Knock yourself out brats.”
Sylvia glowered. Great. Actually, revise that. Great! And not sarcastically this time. It really was great to have a school sanctioned chance to punch these bastards in the face.
“Looks like we’re going to find out if you’re a mad dog or a princess,” Camila mocked, stepping forward, spear resting on her right shoulder.
“Mmm,” Emily hummed angrily. “Sylvia is obviously a princess!”
Sylvia eye twitched. Please have mercy. She’d rather be a mad dog than a princess.
“I’ll be the one to fight her,” Natalie interrupted. Her brilliant blue eyes carried a spark.
“Tch,” Camila clicked, stepping back. “Sure thing boss.”
The witch with forest green hair lowered her weapon. Not to be deterred, Sylvia stood across spear at the ready.
Fighting demons was vastly different than fighting wolves. Though Sylvia had picked up a lot of levels in the last few months, her attribute distribution wasn’t suited for melee. As a starlight witch, Natalie’s situation wouldn’t be much better, but the girl had half a head on her. Height meant reach and mass. In the netherworld, these didn’t have a fraction of the impact they did on Earth, but they still meant something.
“Beat her up, Sylvia,” Emily cheered, pumping her fist excitedly.
Cautiously, Sylvia circled. Natalie shifted, blue eyes keen. A tension stood in the air. The two girls judged each other. Sylvia knew Natalie was good. The green haired woman always spared an hour after class to practice.
But was she good enough?
Whoosh. Thunk.
The stillness broke.
In a flash, Natalie stepped forward, her spear lancing out in a sharp, probing jab. Sylvia’s weapon met it, haft cracking against haft. Two thrusts followed the first. Sylvia played the distance. A half step back left Natalie’s second thrust short. The silver haired witch parried the third.
An opening.
Sylvia lunged in counter.
With a single, smooth motion Natalie brushed it aside. The green haired girl stepped in, whipping the back of her weapon toward Sylvia’s face.
Crack.
Sylvia’s spear swept around, catching the unexpected strike with a firm block.
Three months of Armed Combat had bred familiarity. Thrusts. Jabs. Parries. All of those motions came naturally. Sylvia’s improved wit paid dividends. Sharpened senses made it easy to track Natalie’s motions. Quicker thoughts left her calm and steady. Wit wasn’t as suitable for a melee exchange as agility, but it had its uses.
Then again, so did strength.
Natalie leaned in.
Spear pressed against spear. The weight behind Natalie was greater. Sylvia’s thin arms trembled. The silver haired witch skidded back. The sudden shift transformed into a stumble.
The forest haired witch struck.
Her spear sprang up, slithering through the air like a snake. Still off balance, Sylvia threw herself back. A mistake. Natalie transformed her strike into a lung, spear hissing across the gap.
Shit!
Somehow, Sylvia turned her back pedal into a twist. The dodge was a millisecond too slow. Pain seared along the bottom of her left breast.
Damned lumps of fat.
Sylvia gasped then steadied.
“Hmph,” Natalie noised arrogantly.
The green haired witch drew her weapon back.
Except she didn’t.
Because her spear caught.
Sylvia smirked.
Ki was a fascination thing. Just as mana was ether polished by the psyche, ki was born from the essence of blood. Humans were creatures bound by physics. Force was applied by the contraction of the muscles. Those muscles pulled on tendons, while the tendons twisted levers attached to bones.
To gather the body’s strength into a single blow, a fighter had to move as a single unit. Push with the legs. Rotate with the hips. Swing with the arms.
Demons were different.
Phantasmal muscle was nothing more than a catalyst transforming ki into force. Beyond that it functioned as a repository. A wet rag to absorb the liquid of life. Where human muscles were fixed, ki could flow. Strength could be concentrated in a single limb. While moving with the whole body helped, it wasn’t necessary.
In fact, ki could be directed into things that were not limbs.
Like Sylvia’s hair.
Natalie frowned. Around the shaft of her spear was wrapped a long, silvery braid. The blue-eyed witch jerked her weapon a second time. Sylvia’s braid jerked back, half as strong.
Then she used that force to throw herself forward in a lightning fast lunge.
Pfft.
Sylvia’s spear slid through Natalie’s gut. Then – splut – the witch drew her weapon back out.
The forest haired girl stumbled back, left hand clutching her wound. Thick, globular blood oozed out between Natalie’s fingers. Faint, crimson mist escaped even as the ichor hardened into protective scabs. Sylvia’s stomach threatened to flip end over end. The sight. The smell. The feeling.
It made her sick.
In her head, Sylvia tried to remind herself that Natalie’s injuries were temporary.
It didn’t help.
“I win,” Sylvia squeezed out.
Natalie grimaced. With stubborn strength, the green haired woman forced herself back into princess poise. Her deep blue eyes burrowed into Sylvia’s pastel pink. One warrior gazing into the soul of another.
Even though Natalie was head of the starlight thugs, she deserved respect.
“An interesting trick,” Natalie said, her haughty tone tight to resist the pain. She gave a firm nod. “I will remember it.”
A small smile grew on Sylvia’s lips.
Only to be dashed by a thunderous shout.
“You brats!” Isabella roared angrily. “All duels are to the death!”
The roar made her jolt. Sylvia’s head turned, gazing back. For an instant, the context didn’t compute.
Natalie caught on faster.
Abandoning her captured spear, the green haired lady threw herself into the silver haired witch. Sylvia struggled to bring her weapon to bear, but it was already too late. Natalie crashed into Sylvia, her greater mass overcoming Sylvia’s petite form. Carried by the weight, the silver haired girl smashed into the ground, Natalie on top.
Her vision shook.
Before Sylvia could recover – pow! – Natalie’s right fist plowed straight into Sylvia’s nose.
Natalie reared back and struck again. The second punch rammed into a pale and delicate cheek. The third crashed into the silver haired girl’s arms. A fourth and a fifth were absorbed by her guard, giving Sylvia enough time to recover her senses.
She punched back.
A hook cut through the air. Natalie leaned, letting the swing go wide. The attack seemed to give the green haired witch pause. Blue eyes glinting, Natalie reached up. The air parted, warping as the silvery mouth of Natalie’s space bag became visible. From it the forest haired witch drew an illusionary knife.
Natalie adjusted her grip, granting the weapon a precious second to drink ether and corporealize.
Know what? Screw this.
Sylvia stopped holding back.
There were three components to any spell: runes, intent, and energy. Runes were best drawn in the mind. In the sea of her soul, Sylvia traced shimmering shapes by heart. Intent required nothing. Her thoughts were already formed and the course of action fully imagined. For a practiced mage, energy was the trickiest bit. For simple spells without an elemental character, it was enough to supply mana.
But for any true elemental magic, the mana must be natured first.
To nature a spell required resonance. This was achieved by mixing mana with the appropriate ether. The more ether the better because ether served a second purpose. It was another source of energy. Free power just hanging out, waiting for any mage to take it.
And while not all of a spell’s cost could be paid in ether, most it could.
But sometimes speed was more important than efficiency.
This was exactly such a case.
So Sylvia condensed the smallest amount of wind ether necessary.
Then she spoke.
“■■■!”
Through the phenomenon of spirit speech, concepts internal were made external. Twelve runes, forged in her head, were pulled out like the carts of a train from a tunnel. With the first syllable, four runes were unleashed. With the second, five more followed. A third sound wrapped up the remainder. The string of runes mixed with her mana giving shape to the intangible.
A curved blade formed. The edge was as long as Sylvia’s arm and forged from rippling wind. Transparent. Nearly invisible to the ordinary eye. However, to the starlight eyes of an asteri, it glowed pale green.
Wind blade.
With runes, energy, and intent the spell was cast.
But there was no time to witness it. From start to finish, Sylvia’s conjuration lasted no more than three-quarters of a second. By the time the blade appeared, Natalie had already been chopped in half.
Thick, sticky, almost gelatinous blood sprayed over Sylvia’s face. Natalie chest flopped back, landing on the silver haired girl’s legs. Sylvia shuddered in disgust. Taking a few breaths to gather herself, Sylvia stood. Her body shook. The image of Natalie’s death replayed itself in her mind over and over again.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
Natalie would be there again in the morning.
A pair of warm hands wrapped themselves around Sylvia’s waist. Adorable brunette hair filled her vision. Emily. The petite girl’s softness pressed into her own. Gentle. Loving. For a second, Sylvia stood rigid. Then she relaxed, sinking into Emily’s embrace.
Sometimes being one of the girls was a good thing.
“Better?” Emily asked.
Sylvia stepped back, feeling awkward. She gave a stiff nod.
The brunette giggled. Sylvia’s face burned. She could still smell the sweetness of Emily’s hair. The warmth of her body. The touch of her breasts. Even the ache of Sylvia’s wound paled in comparison.
Glancing down, Sylvia noticed the blood on the brunette’s shirt. The grotesque stood in strange offset to Emily’s smile.
Sylvia’s guts turned at the reminder.
Perhaps unaware, or mayhap uncaring, Emily stooped down and snagged Sylvia’s beret. The brunette stepped forward and carefully placed the hat on Sylvia’s head.
“There you go. Now everything is right in the world.”
“Are you two done playing?” Isabella interrupted. “Good. Now tell me where you went wrong.”
Sylvia’s expression turned sheepish.
“I shouldn’t have looked away,” she admitted.
“Always keep your eyes on your opponent,” Isabella confirmed loudly, making sure the whole class heard. “But that’s the least of your problems. First off, why the fuck did you show mercy? Leaving your enemy alive isn’t just stupid, it shows disrespect. In Hell, humiliation is worse than death. You fight, you kill. Do you brats hear me? All duels are to the death.”
Isabella glared at her students making sure her words were properly processed.
“Then there’s your second mistake. Why the fuck did you wait until the end to cast that spell?”
Well, first off, Sylvia had been under the impression this was Armed Combat class. Weren’t spells against the rules? Sylvia had half expected to be chastised after casting.
But there was a bigger reason. Sylvia’s plan was to keep her magic hidden. Not because the spell was special. In theory, anyone could’ve learned wind blade in the last three months. It wasn’t hard. As long as a witch knew her runes and understood the process, picking up new spells was pure memorization. Introduction to Magic only covered five spells because the class was more theory and mechanics than spell casting.
That and most students didn’t know their runes. Professor Owsley was awful.
No. She kept her magic hidden because fast casting – the art of pulling multiple runes with a single syllable – wasn’t a skill a first year should know. In fact, it wasn’t a skill most third years knew. When Sylvia used her third blank skill book on wind blade, the System had allocated two-thirds of her time to the art.
Six hundred hours of training wasn’t a joke. Not even a genius could fast cast after three months. It wasn’t just a problem of talent or effort. Sylvia quite simply didn’t have enough mana to learn it in that frame of time.
If the professors thought long and hard about what just transpired, there would be questions.
Questions Sylvia would rather not answer.
“Did you brats forget you’re witches?” Isabella demanded when the silence hung too long. “This might be Armed Combat, but unless I tell you can’t use magic, you should cast any spell you think will give you a fucking advantage.
“Now, who else wants to fight? And I don’t want to see any chicken shit hesitation this time. You duel. One of you dies, or I’ll kill the both of you myself.”
“Me!” Emily said cheerfully. The brunette wheeled. She posed, one finger pointed dramatically at the lilac eyed witch. “For making fun of Sylvia, I’ll punish you!”
Sylvia’s eye twitched. Camila scowled. The dark haired witch lifted her spear and walked forward, unenthusiastic.
“Shit. Could’ve fought the mad dog, instead I’m stuck dealing with the bimbo,” Camila griped. The rough, lilac eyed girl adjusted her grip and her stance. “You going to kick off those shoes, powder puff?”
“Eh?” Emily cocked her head to the side cutely. “Why would I do that? They’re pretty.”
“Tch,” Camila clicked her tongue. Then she lunged. “Your funeral.”
Wrmrm. Wood slid off of wood. Emily parried the strike. The motion looked sloppy and left the brunette wide open. Ruthless, Camila struck. Her spear flashed forward. Then –
Pfft.
“Huh?”
Camila looked down, confused by the haft passing straight through her chest. Across from her, Emily smiled, having pivoted just slightly so that Camila’s thrust missed. The brunette’s spear crackled with golden light. The shock of mana blasted through Camila’s body, shattering her perforated core.
The dark-blue haired girl collapsed.
Everyone on the field stood frozen.
“I win!” Emily cheered.
“You’re amazing,” Sylvia deadpanned.
The brunette hopped forward then wrapped Sylvia in another hug before she could react.
“And you’re cute,” Emily said happily. “Now no one will dare say Sylvia isn’t a princess.”
Emerald eyes turned dark. Emily waved her hand, threatening the rest of the class. Riley facepalmed. No one else spoke a word. Exasperated, Sylvia comforted herself by bringing up her status sheet and adding one level.
Name Sylvia Swallows Class Apprentice Witch Level 38+30 Exp 270 / 390
HP 89 / 110
MP 220 / 243 Str 3 Mag 17 Vit 3 Spr 20 Agl 5 Wit 20
-oOo-
Spirit Speech
Spirit speech is the act of communicating through the resonance of intent in ether. Though spirit speech implies speech, this communication can be achieved through any action. Such as writing or gesture.
Spirit speech is innate to most denizens of the netherworld. Thus, demons can easily communicate regardless of the language used. From this derives the root of mythologies like speaking in tongues. That said, not all denizens have natural spirit speech. Wild fey are a particularly notable occurrence, where their poor handling of spirit speech has resulted in a similar myth that ‘faeries cannot lie’.
While the speech part of spirit speech is natural in demons, they must specifically learn to write or gesture using spirit speech.
Under certain circumstances, spirit speech can be rendered incomprehensible. Puns, word games, and inside jokes are common examples. Talking about advanced concepts that the listener has no frame to understand can also induce great confusion. Excessively compacted information, especially when the intent is directed at the world instead of a person, can likewise be reduced to nonsense. Thus, the “■” common in spell casting.
Spirit speech is absolutely necessary for incantation. Without it, it’s impossible to form runes in the mind then speak them into the world. This is a serious obstacle for beings without natural spirit speech. Inversely, this means spells can be cast through gesture if a mage is sufficiently practiced.