No sooner did Roy’s visage shift to that of a draconic trickster, the old mage turned his back towards Drake and leaned forward slightly. “Okay, runt… have it your way,” he said, his tone enough to freeze the blood in Drake’s veins. “Race you to the top!”

Bright, pale-green runes lit up on the master’s plated boots as he took off, instantly vanishing and causing the plateau to shake.

“Shit! Arcanum!” Before he had even thought the words, Drake felt his body becoming lighter. Like a blur, he took off towards the summit, abandoning any hope of coming alive out of this dungeon.

‘Who the hell knows what else is lurking around here… and if the master decides to take away Arcanum at any point, I’m royally screwed.’ But no matter how precarious his current situation, his mind still wandered back to the exhilarating feeling of racing up the spire. As if wings had grown out of his back, he leaped from pillar to pillar while the air itself seemed to spur him on, parting out of his way, enough so that he could only feel the lightest sensation of wind rushing by.

Touching down with a small thud, Drake drew his sword and scanned the area. He had arrived at the top of the spire faster than he would have otherwise thought possible, only to be greeted by a barren platform, encircled by the tips of the massive pillars jutting out from underneath the summit. “Zane, wasn’t that gate supposed to be up here?”

“Yes. A small staircase used to be here, leading down to the World Gate.”

Drake looked down, tapping the stone floor. “Solid. And, as far as I can see, there aren’t any seams.” He craned his neck upwards, inspecting the row of pillars surrounding them. Reaching up several stories, the rocky formation reminded him of something. Overlooking the spire, a small, pale-white orb hovered over him, pulsing and ebbing with energy. And as a large shadow darted across the stone platform, ripping his attention away from the small orb, the word that best described this place finally came to him. ‘Shit, this is an arena…'

You have engaged the Rift Guardian, Roak the Wind Eater.

Feeling a strange gust of wind, Drake’s eyes darted up in sync with the system’s chime. He leapt back just as a colossal shadow descended in the middle of the platform and a giant set of talons crashed into the stone floor in front of him, scattering dirt and dust everywhere. The dust cloud vanished with a single bat of the shadow’s huge wings. Staring him down from the center of the arena was the biggest living creature he had ever seen.

More than twice his size, the gray, crystal-feathered bird tilted its head to the side as it regarded him. The two large, yellow eyes followed him as he took a step back. And as Drake brandished his sword, dense, blue flames enveloping the edges, the boss opened its crystal beak and loosed a deafening shriek.

His eyes began to water as Roak, the level 82 Manaroc, flapped its wings once, taking off and sending out a strong gale throughout the platform. Unable to do anything, Drake watched as the boss darted through the pillars, vanishing out of his field of view. “Okay, guys… any ideas?”

“Keep moving!” yelled Zane.

He glimpsed Roak’s shadow zipping through two of the pillars as the Manaroc then swerved, the tips of its crystal feathers hewing the ground as they came into contact with it. Rolling out of the way, Drake jumped to his feet and stretched out his arm, taking aim at the boss’ back. Blue light danced between his fingers as the orb swelled and spun faster and faster inside of his palm. He then braced himself and fired, the force of his Spell Piercer pushing him back a few inches.

The spell flashed across the arena, slamming into the bird’s back, sending Roak careening into one of the pillars. The entire arena shook as the boss crashed, but no more than a second later, it screeched and turned around, lunging towards Drake. He dashed to the side, barely getting out of the way of the massive talons that had impaled themselves into the arena’s floor.

With Roak’s back facing him, he propped his back against one of the pillars and unleashed five Spell Piercers. Each hit pushed the boss back several feet as the impacts resonated across the cauldron. But the damage from this entire barrage barely added up to that of his first attack.

“How’s that even possible?!”

While the buffs from Spiritual Resonance made it so that he didn’t have to worry about his mana, the fact that all his efforts had barely shaved off 6% of the boss’ health was a problem. The crystal-feathered bird shook its head and extended its wings as a pale-blue glow encompassed it. A small quake ensued as Roak leaped up, cracking the ground beneath its talons. “Oh shit,” he muttered as he spun around and raced towards the opposite edge of the platform, jumping off onto one of the pillars.

Above him, he heard the sounds of rocks shattering and falling down. But he didn’t dare to look back, seeing Roak’s shadow looming ever larger over him. “Go to the right!” Zane yelled. And, right after he had followed the knight’s advice, he saw the boss slamming into the pillar he had just left, causing it to crack and shatter.

“We need a plan!” Drake thought as he darted down the spire’s side. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to avoid this thing!” He kicked off to the side when Zane called out to him again and, a moment later, another one of the slim towers of stone collapsed underneath Roak’s assault.

“This specimen is unlike anything I’ve ever seen!” Arcanum exclaimed!

The spirit’s intrinsic feeling of curiosity gave Drake pause for a second. He was almost compelled to look back as he then balled his fists, the pain of his nails biting into his skin snapping him out of it. “I trust there’s a point coming?!” he yelled, coming to a sudden stop on a platform below. He then shot up, narrowly passing the boss by as an angry screech echoed throughout the cauldron.

“Yes,” the spirit replied. “Manarocs usually nest in the vicinity of large Manastone formations. Which in this case would be the glass-like dome above us.”

“Can we please skip… to the important bits?!” he cried out, struggling to catch his breath as more of the pillars succumbed to Roak’s rampage.

“I was just getting to it,” Arcanum replied, the irritation in the spirit’s voice precisely matching that of Drake’s. “As they feed off of the ambient particles emanated by Manastones, these creatures possess an innate resistance to arcane-type spells, granted by their thick coats of crystalline feathers. This is why the Manaroc has, thus far, sustained more damage from its repeated collisions than from your spells.”

Presumably sensing his rising level of dread, the spirit continued. “However, should you manage to bypass its feathers, I believe that your attacks should be relatively effective.”

“And just how is he supposed to do that?” asked Zane, his impatience also bubbling over. “He can’t even get close to that thing!”

“Easy!” Drake yelled, “I can barely hear myself—”

The tip of Roak’s wing slammed into his back, shoving him into the side of the spire. He crashed shoulder-first as he then tumbled down and slammed to a halt at the base of one of the large pillars.

You have been hit! -621HP.

You have taken damage! -3173HP.

You have been dazed for 5 seconds.

Drake coughed and wheezed, his chest besieged by a sharp, stinging sensation. Finally drawing in a long, shallow breath, he tried to heave himself up. He winced, the simple act of moving his arms and legs sending out pulses of fire through his veins. On the second try, he staggered to his feet, the pain fading away quickly.

“Drake!” he heard Zane calling out, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he groaned, his gaze falling on the slim, flashing Health Bar in the corner of his heads-up display. “Arcanum… thanks for the save,” he said, looking at the last 30% of his health.

“Think nothing of it,” the spirit replied, “but even with me shifting your Endurance, your overall condition has not improved.”

“D-dumb it down for me,” Drake coughed, craning his head up to look for the boss.

“I placed everything at my disposal into your Endurance to help you survive the fall. But even when I reverted your Endurance back to its base value, your health seems to have stayed at the same… ‘percentage,' as per your words.”

“So, one or two more hits and I’m a goner. No pressure…” he sighed, narrowing his eyes at the shadow in the sky, growing larger with each passing moment. “Question… do you think my sword can cut through those feathers?”

“It should, yes. Do you have something in mind?”

“Yeah!” he yelled, leaping out of the way as Roak bowled over the pillar. “But getting close enough to actually pull it off is another matter entirely!”

Dashing away from the spire, Drake’s eyes lit up, leaving behind a faint, purple trail as his Spirit Sight came into effect.

“What’re you looking for?” Zane asked, still keeping an eye out for the boss.

“A distraction.”

“Incoming!”

He leaned left and kicked off as one of the wings plowed through the ground where he had just been. With a couple of seconds to spare, small flicker caught his attention. He raced towards it, startling the Wind Sprite as he ran it through, blue flames erupting from his sword.

“Here it comes again!”

His arm raised, Drake aimed at Roak and fired, unleashing a flurry of Manabolts. And as it swerved away, he stumbled next to the Sprite’s remnants, his heart and mind racing. Picturing his fight with Zane, he visualized channeling mana into them as deep, crimson flames swelled inside his palm and began flowing into the fallen Wind Sprite. The ethereal orb sparked to life and floated into the air, its pale-white light now a reddish hue.

Acquired Level 78 Wind Sprite as a follower for the duration of Dreadknight’s Calling (5 Minutes).

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

No sooner had he finished that he noticed the boss’ distant screech growing louder.

Leaning low, he exhaled and turned his sights towards the tip of the spire. “Alright, guys… let’s hope I don’t kill myself…”

Before Roak could reach him, he shot into the sky, zipping from pillar to pillar in a mad dash to the top. Right on cue, the boss circled back and bee lined after him.

The knight’s voice rang inside his head as he sensed every bit of Zane’s anxiety. “It’s right below you, Drake, and it’s gaining fast!”

Reaching the spire’s platform and hanging off the ledge, he spun around to face the Manaroc racing towards him. “Okay, Arcanum, speed me up!” he yelled, unsheathing his sword and launching himself from the edge.

The wind sped past him as he dive-bombed straight for Roak, holding his sword close and aiming the tip at the rapidly approaching boss. The moment seemed to stretch out into infinity with him staring into the large, yellow eyes headed straight for him. And just before impact, a red orb flickered to the side as the Sprite flared and darted towards the boss, firing off the largest Wind Blade it could possibly cast by itself!

As the spell collided against Roak, causing it to shield itself with its wings, Drake braced himself as he crashed into the side of the creature’s neck, impaling his sword all the way to the hilt. The sheer force of the impact almost jerked him off the boss’ back like a ragdoll. He cried out, the tension itself threatening to rip his arms off as he held on for dear life, his fingers fused to the blade’s handle.

Drake felt the bird’s muscles convulsing beneath its plumage as it screeched and spun around in midair, desperate to shake him off. But he grabbed onto the razor-sharp feathers and held on, gritting his teeth as he began to pour every last trace of his mana into his blade. And with Arcanum obviously reading his intentions, he felt his power surging as bright, blue light bled through the gaps in the boss’ wound.

You have taken damage! -57HP.

The feathers’ jagged edges continued to bite into Drake’s hand as he held on, Roak thrashing and writhing through the air. He powered through, however, as both his mana and the boss’ health started to plummet.

“Incoming cliff-face! Watch out!”

With the side of the spire fast approaching them, the Manaroc tilted and leaned in close, desperate to scrape him off its back. A massive jolt raced through Drake’s legs as his feet slammed and dragged against the rocky surface. Using every ounce of strength he still had left, he heaved and pushed himself and the boss away. Another screeching protest assaulted his ears as his HUD flashed in the corner of his view.

“Shit…” he groaned, seeing that his mana use far exceeded the pace at which Roak’s health was dwindling. Now or never, he had to decide: continue like this and hope he could finish off the boss without any mana whatsoever, or use Xelian Trance and risk getting killed by the backlash. And even then, he’d still have to interrupt his Spellcleaver enchantment since channeling both spells at the same time was out of the question.

Reading his thoughts, Arcanum chimed in. “Should you will it, I can aid you and channel one of the spells in your stead.”

“Wait, what?!” he yelled, stunned by the spirit’s sudden reveal. “Why didn’t you… never mind! Just take care of the Trance!”

His eyes flared and grew brighter as the mana particles around him crackled and shimmered, coalescing towards him. Adrenaline coursing through him, he clenched the glass-like feathers in his hand and yanked himself closer. And, with a scream loud enough to rival Roak’s, he stabbed his sword deeper into the boss’ shoulder and twisted the blade as far as it could go.

“Drake, whatever you’re going to do, do it now!” yelled Zane. “It’s headed straight for one of the pillars!”

You have taken damage! -552HP.

Shattered rocks and boulders pelted his back as the Manaroc crashed through the earthen spike. But as his remaining health dipped below a tenth of his maximum, his mana regeneration skyrocketed.

You have activated Mana Manipulation.

He grit his teeth and began funneling enough energy into his blade to actually halt his regeneration. The massive gash in the side of the boss’ shoulder grew larger, sickeningly warm blood gushing forth over his arm as his sword’s flames continued to rage inside the boss’ torso.

Suddenly, Roak’s struggle ceased. They lingered in the air for one more moment before the Manaroc turned to face the ground, folding its wings and diving headfirst.

“You’re NOT taking me with you!” Drake howled, pulling out his sword and plunging his hand directly into the boss’ wound. The sheer amount of mana coursing through his arm felt like liquid fire as he condensed it all inside his palm and unleashed the largest Spell Piercer he could muster.

You have dealt a critical hit!

You have defeated the Rift Keeper Roak!

You have gained 975 experience points. (Dungeon Difficulty Adjustment in Effect)

He felt the Manaroc’s insides swell as he then coiled his legs and jumped towards the spire, using the last bit of his mana to coat his sword before plunging it into the craggy surface. But while his blade came to a halt, the momentum of his fall ripped the handle from his fingers. And as he found himself falling towards the ground, his eyes transfixed on the sword sticking out of the cliff-face, he felt a violent gust of wind slowing him down.

With a small thud, he landed on his back, not even taking any damage as his gaze met Roy’s, grinning over him from ear to ear. Seeing the master’s serene face, a cacophony of emotions stirred inside his head, but despite all of that, he simply closed his eyes and sighed.

“Hah!” the old mage bellowed, reaching out to help him up. “You almost had me worried for a second, runt! I thought for sure that I was going to have to camp out here and wait for your sorry ass to come back to life!”

Grabbing Roy’s hand, he hoisted himself up and sighed. “I’m glad I didn’t ruin your schedule, master…”

“Well?” said the old mage, ignoring the small outburst as his eyes lingered on something behind his apprentice. “Aren’t you going to try and claim your prize?”

Confused, Drake’s brow shot up. Following the master’s gaze, he finally saw the small gale flattening the tall grass around Roak’s lifeless body. As he took a step towards it, the gentle wind picked up. But unlike the biting, harsh gusts of the Wind Sprites, the air around had a cool, soothing feel to it along with something more… Immediately, he recognized the faint interference within the mana particles around him.

You have activated Spirit Sight.

From within the mangled gash, beyond the red-smeared crystal feathers, he saw a miniscule, pale-white orb floating up right out of the boss. Channeling mana into his hands, he approached and scooped the small spirit, rereading the system’s prompt. ‘Zephyr the Windborn. Level 65 Greater Wind Spirit.’

****

“We’ve listened to everything you had to say, Stan. And the board’s decision is final: we’re moving forward with Project Ascension.”

Once again, the table between him and Rigsby gave Hardwick enough time to reign in his desire to strangle the man in front of him. “Then please explain this to me, Mr. Rigsby.” He got up, exhausted by this unending charade they had performed so many times before, and strolled towards the window overlooking the city. “You’ve ignored my warnings for months. So, why agree to this meeting? In person, none the less! You could have just as easily dismissed my concerns over a phone call.”

The man sighed and leaned into his chair as he took a sip of water. “I’ve always listened to you,” he said, staring at a fixed point on the floor. “You know I’ve almost always sided with you. But on this, no one on the board sees eye to eye with you. Prism isn’t as fragile as you’re making it out to be.”

“Says who?” snapped Hardwick as he turned around to stare straight into Rigsby’s green, mismatched eyes. “The board?! Or is it the idiots they’re listening to? The same idiots who were so stumped that they had to bring us on to help?”

“Watch your tongue,” Rigsby sighed, his suit barely containing his bulky arm as his fingers went back to fiddling with the empty glass. “Stan, you’re a good guy. So just… leave the tough decisions to us.”

“Right. What are they going to call the death of tens, if not hundreds of thousands, then? Maintenance?

Rigsby set the glass down on the nearby table, rubbing his forehead. “For argument’s sake, let’s presume you’re right. By listening to you, wouldn’t we be invalidating the very purpose behind their existence by not doing everything in our power to learn?

“A means to an end,” Hardwick scoffed, turning to face Rigsby’s blue and green eyes directly. “Well, playing god is something people have always been good at.”

“Mock all you want. But at the end of the day, this is happening, whether you want it to or not.

“Indeed,” Hardwick sighed, his feet bringing him closer to the office’s exit. “Not much I can do with words alone, I suppose. Yet that’s everything that you and I have at our disposal.”

“I’m glad I’ve made myself clear,” he said, hoisting himself up as his hand left a deep imprint in the chair’s leather arm. “Continue monitoring the situation in Sedrath. And should anything change, inform me immediately.”

Seeing him nod, Rigsby straightened out his suit and strode towards the exit. Halfway out the door, however, he stopped and placed his hand on Hardwick’s shoulder in a shallow attempt at sympathy. Receiving only a smile and a weak nod from him, the man stepped out into the lobby where another similarly dressed individual awaited Rigsby.

Hardwick closed the door behind him. He then sat down as his desk came to life. He opened several encrypted files and skimmed through them, analyzing the progress of the players that had caught his attention. With that, a semblance of a smile finally crept its way onto his lips, the desk’s light reflected in his glasses.

“I might not be able to do much," he whispered, "but there are others who most certainly can…”

****

The instant Drake’s mind touched the spirit’s consciousness, he could sense the grogginess of its thoughts. However, it only took a few seconds for the haze to lift, giving way to an unbridled sense of alertness and curiosity.

“Where the hell am I? Who’re you? Why can’t I remember anything?”

Drake struggled to keep up with the spirit’s thoughts as he tried to organize his own. “Uhm, you’re inside of a dungeon… My name’s Drake. And I just fished you out of this boss, so your guess is as good as mine as to why you can’t remember anything.”

Floating a bit higher up, the tiny, pale-white orb circled the area above him, taking in their surroundings.

“Yeah. This isn’t ringing any bells for me,” said the spirit as it then darted in front of Drake’s face. “The name’s Zephyr. But everyone calls me Zeph. Oh hey! I just remembered something! Neat!”

The speed at which he felt Zeph’s emotions changing was enough to give Drake whiplash. He leaned down and rubbed his temples, taking in a deep breath before raising his head to look at the miniscule ball of light. “Please, take it down a notch… I’m still a bit new to this whole ‘conversing with spirits’ thing.”

As if on cue, he felt his headache lessening as the spirit’s light dimmed so much it nearly disappeared. Sensing the sudden shift, Drake panicked and channeled more mana into the flickering orb, rekindling a part of it’s light. “Are you okay?” he asked, scooping up the spirit again as he then heard Arcanum’s voice.

“I believe he is having problems sustaining his form due to having been trapped inside Roak for an extended period of time.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“He is close to dying since his mana has been drained too much.” Most likely reading his confusion, Arcanum continued. “But you can help by entering into a spiritual pact with him, since then you would be the one providing him with a steady stream of mana.”

“Did you hear that?” Drake asked as he brought the spirit closer to him, his voice no more than a gentle whisper. “Will you enter into a pact with me?” Too weak to even answer him, Zeph somehow managed to make his intention clear.

Cupping his hands around the spirit, Drake squeezed his eyes shut and channeled all the mana he could towards the dying ball of light.

You have entered into a Spiritual Pact with Zephyr the Windborn.

Class Change requirements fulfilled. Do you wish to pursue the ethereal arts and become a Spiritualist? YESNO