26. The Rift (V)
This was Raziel’s first time encountering alchemists of this caliber - except, maybe the wraith? - but he found himself underwhelmed. Compared to the grand hall, they looked like specks. Their majesty was suppressed by the dark presence pressing down on them. Despite the fact that they should be superior to Raziel in every single way, they… weren’t.
For example, Klaas lo Luras the [Spellslinger] should have far more Dexterity than Raziel, yet he had a stumbling sort of gait - like he was drunk.
Raziel had imagined all alchemists to be like the stories. Infallible, legendary beings, more divine than mortal. So intelligent that they could scheme one-hundred moves into the future. So strong that mountains shattered when they dueled. So swift that they flew instead of ran.
The party clearly wasn’t human in the way Raziel was human, but he didn’t think they were entirely different creatures from him either.
‘Not yet, at least,’ Raziel reminded himself. ‘They still have steps to go.’
//
“So… is anyone going to address the fact that we've picked up a tag-along?” said Klaas.
Aric’s attention was glued to the map, as if insight was on the verge of jumping out at him. “Forget about him. We have bigger things to worry about.”
“Didn’t you just say the [Mimic] was God-touched?” mumbled Boudine. “Surely we’d be safer getting rid of him. Who knows who’s looking through his eyes.”
Nanette twirled one of the locks framing her face with her finger, curling it out of her eyes. “Don’t you remember our last expedition? You killed a [Mimic] who was poorly impersonating Aric, only to realize it was a trap set by a Level 4 [Myriad Mindfiend]. We should ignore him until he starts causing trouble.”
“Yes, Nan has the right of it,” said Aric. “[Mimics] get bored quickly. We’ll be rid of him soon enough.”
//
The wall of this section lay in ruins, revealing a cavernous space beyond. A green haze tainted the air, thickening the atmosphere. The party crouched low, hiding behind the foot of one of the stone figures. Raziel kept to the shadows.
They all stared down the cliff.
A crowd of robed figures marched forward - hundreds of them. Some carried rifles, others staves. Some carried nothing at all. But all wore black, and all wore masks of cold, sculpted iron. The din of feet marching in step filled the space.
- [Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist][Diabolist] -
Raziel choked in surprise.
Were all these people alchemists?
There were so many!
Crouching even lower, Raziel folded himself into a smaller and more inconspicuous shape. He’d assumed traveling to the Spirit World was a rare ordeal, given its risk. Didn’t the wraith also mention that the journey became even more difficult and costly for those of higher levels?
The party of alchemists had suppressed their aura entirely - they felt like mortals. Through the bit of Manasight that Raziel hadn’t been able to suppress, he saw their auras form a tight and concentrated layer over their skin, sloshing angrily like a leashed [Bog Tiger].
Raziel couldn’t quite repress his mana, though he tried. Luckily, he was a mortal.
He resolved to practice more when he had a free moment.
Aric signaled his party forward. The alchemists quietly descended the rocks and slipped by the [Diabolists[, moving stealthily in the direction from which the Diabolists had come.
Raziel looked both ways, caught between two options.
Finding his ancestor was his first priority. While one of the great horrors in the raid might’ve snatched the wraith, Raziel acknowledged that he didn’t have a shot in hell at defeating Gods. Therefore, he chose to proceed under the assumption that the [Diabolists] had taken the wraith.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
But even if Raziel followed the army to the wraith’s location, how could he possibly extract his ancestor? There were too many [Diabolists].
These Level 3 alchemists were searching for an escape route, which meant, logically speaking, they would be investigating how the [Diabolists] were getting in and out of the raid. The wraith was probably being held in one of these high-traffic spots. Plus, any enemies they ran into would attack the alchemist party - the more dangerous, higher-priority targets - over Raziel.
Hissing a curse, Raziel tailed the alchemist party, a little too far behind them for his comfort.
The air grew colder and biting. Raziel crossed his arms, wishing for a warmer set of clothes. Or even clothes that weren’t riddled with rips and tears.
“Why are they going in there?” he said in frustration.
This hall looked frigid. Foggy white wind blew out of it and frost clung to the large crystals surrounding the entrance. Two tall lamps, their flames burning vivid blue - spirit blue - stood sentinel on either side of the opening.
Raziel glanced over his shoulder at the army marching west. According to his memory of the map, the [Diabolists] were heading towards the Devourer’s lair.
This frozen hall went towards Lady Dulcet, the Forsworn. This was where the army had spilled out from.
Raziel suffered through the bitter cold. The hall was less ostentatious than the one they’d just come from, but it had its own icy beauty. Jagged crystals formed the walls, their facets as reflective as mirrors.
Orb-shaped lanterns suspended from the ceiling. Instead of blazing with normal fire, they contained small blue fairies, casting an eerie, angry blue glow.
The deeper they traveled the colder it became.
Raziel’s hair whipped behind his head and his feet slipped as harsh winds blew past him. His eyes watered. Frost crusted on his lashes, and the inside of his nose was frozen dry. In comparison, the alchemists didn’t appear to be affected whatsoever - they might as well have been taking a daytime stroll.
He had always found the weather of Bramblebog unpleasant, but he would choose its muggy warmth over this bone-chilling cold any day. For the first time in his life, he longed for the protection of long sleeves and thick pants.
Raziel let a bit more mana flow into his forehead node, and his vision darkened. He saw that the alchemists' auras wrapped around them like garments, seemingly offering protection against the winds.
Determined to copy them, Raziel channeled his mana to where he was coldest - his torso and his arms.
That relieved the sensation of windburn against his skin, but didn’t do much else. His mana was simply too weak.
He was so preoccupied with hating the cold that he didn't notice the skirmish the alchemists had found themselves in until it was half-over. A giant spider web shattered in a spray of rainbow crystal. The [Iceweaver] itself was the size of a wheelbarrow and made of ice. It was fast. Immediately, Raziel could tell that the beast was way beyond his level. At least Level 2.
The alchemists weren’t doing much. They casually stood around the beast as Nanette poked it with Aphelion - her scythe of moonlight.
The [Iceweaver] opened its mandibles and a low howl escaped. The temperature of the hall dropped dangerously.
Raziel stopped suppressing his forehead node and his vision turned entirely black. Now that he wasn’t trying to direct his mana to six different locations, he was much more free, and the mana he had available bloomed. He used every bit of aura he possessed to wrap protective around his body.
It still wasn’t enough.
His HP started to drop, his limbs becoming stiff.
Just like with the duel between the wraith and Last Wish, Raziel could easily become an unintended casualty. He’d definitely already be dead if the alchemists unleashed their full presence. Each member was stronger than Last Wish.
He needed more power - right now.
Raziel nestled himself in the space between two large crystals, which shielded him from the brunt of the wind. In this relative shelter, he delved into his soul. The Solar of Blood. Immediately his Heart Devils appeared, as though waiting for him. His attention focused on the mana wound up inside them. His mana. His mana that they’d stolen from him.
Which one was the most simple to defeat?
The Heart Devil that Raziel had weakened earlier continued to lurk beneath the pond of red mana, barely visible. When Raziel grabbed for it, the Heart Devil easily evaded, running off to preserve what little life it had left.
With that option gone, Raziel chose Mayor Wealcroft to confront.
The man wore a fine dress shirt and trousers, but they couldn't hide the overhanging belly which threatened to burst all the buttons holding it back. His hair was black and neat with a stripe of white at the temples. A golden monocle shone over his left eye.
“Well, go on,” goaded Raziel. “Go on about how I can’t read. Do it fast.”
Even though his consciousness had been transferred into his soul, Raziel could still feel frostbite creeping over his skin.
“Ah…” said the Mayor in that ever-patient tone of his. He didn’t sound angry or bitter like the others - just calm, as though he held all the wisdom in the world. Raziel hated the all-knowing tone more than the vitriol. “You think this is solely about your ability to read? How interesting. Little boy, this is about your desperation for validation and respect from those around you. I won’t be an easy opponent.”
Raziel grit his teeth. “I don’t care if other people respect me!”
To his horror a tendril of mana unwrapped around Raziel and fed into the shade of Mayor Wealcroft. Coldness hit Raziel anew. The shade became more solidified. The man smiled at Raziel, like this was an expected and inevitable outcome.
Crap.
He frantically turned away from the Mayor, searching for a different Heart Devil.
The mana soaking his calves was freezing cold instead of warm. He felt like the cold had invaded every part of his body - his blood was cold in his veins, his mind was slow and addled. He really was going to die by accident!
“Mom,” he gasped out. “Mom, where are you?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t mommy be the easiest devil? After all, mommy only exists to wash your clothes and do your dishes,” said Isara Ravenbone, crossing her arms. Her voice was quiet and musical, but there was a dark bitterness that Raziel had never heard directed towards him before. “I see you’re on the verge of death. Again. You never listen, do you, Raz?”