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Lyn’s arms were pulsing, throbbing with pain. Her whole body was warm, as if she had just stepped into a sauna. She could feel the sheen of sweat covering her as struggled to open her eyes. The lids felt heavy, and she was exhausted. Groaning, she rolled herself onto her back and gazed up at the night sky. She felt relief wash over her, knowing she made it. The view was testament to that.
The black expanse above was more vibrant than any possibly in existence on Earth. It put every NASA photo to shame as the countless stars glimmered in the tapestry of the cosmos. The twin moons, Tassisno and Tessella, sat suspended in the skies above; the deep, burgundy-red former a stark contrast to the light-green latter.
Lyn laid still, breathing heavily as the sensation slowly came back to her limbs. The arms were still painful, but they had receded to a dull pulse instead of throbbing agony. She could feel the cool touch of stone under her. Worked stone. Cracked stone. She slowly rolled to her side to take in her surroundings. What are the odds…
She was inside the Demonic Dragon’s castle. The walls of obsidian surrounding here were confirmation enough. That, and the enormous spherical clearing that she had woken up in. The ceiling had been blown away, and the building had partially collapsed. Slowly, she sat up, relying on her abs to spare her arms any further strain. Looking down, she grimaced. Why does cross-world summoning remove clothes? Looking around she couldn’t see anyone, and closing her eyes she couldn’t hear anything except the steady drip of some water source falling into a pool. The throbbing in her arms was more bearable and tolerable. Just by being on Ghomar I’m more suited to dealing with this core.
Lyn gingerly lifted her hand and ran it through her hair, pausing as she reached her ear. What? She felt around. It wasn’t her usual ear. She slowly traced her fingers along it, horror growing in her gut as she reached the elongated, pointed tip. Fuck! Pointed ears could only mean one thing.
She was one of the Ari – an elf, as Misty had compared them to in a first encounter with them. I must have screwed up the inscription. I fucked up something that allowed my race to be changed. Ghomar had plenty of races, but the Ari were apart from the rest despite their beauty and allure. They rarely integrated themselves with the other races and were not very numerous compared to the others.
She slowly felt along her face. Just by the bone structure, she could tell it wasn’t her old face. It was more angular and noble, with raised cheekbones and a well-defined pair of lips. Her nose was the most drastic change – she had a long and bashed-up nose in her past. This one was pixie-esque.
I need to find some clothes. And a weapon. She slowly stood up and sighed in dismay. Her new body wasn’t nearly as muscular as her body that she had just been in. It was thin and nimble. Petite was the best way she could describe it. And I need to find body enhancing elixirs or powders. She shook her head. If they can even work on the Ari. She had no idea if the same techniques, items, poultices, and elixirs would work on her new body like it had her old one.
There were many great advantages about her new form: she could see in the dark with perfect clarity, her sense of smell was heightened, her hearing was amplified, and all the Ari lived for thousands of years. Despite these positives, the negatives that came with this new body were severe. Ari were often heavily discriminated against outside of their own territories, captured and used in the pleasure-slave trade. Staring more closely at the skin on her forearm, she could tell it was pale – almost like porcelain, bordering on ghostly. Duskari. Fuck me sideways.
Duskari were the most hated and were rarely captured – instead being killed on sight in most instances. They were the first race to swear allegiance to the Demonic Dragon in ancient times and commanded his forces throughout history, their swearing to the figure giving them their pale skin and signature red eyes – permanent marks of servitude to the entity. A silver lining to what she was, however, was that other Ari would show her deference off the bat even if they didn’t ally with the Demonic Dragon and were instead part of another kingdom. They won’t attack on sight.
She’d killed her fair share of Duskari on the battlefield. She even knew the Ari language – Arinol – having studied it to ensure she could fight the Demonic Dragon’s forces more efficiently. The thought of being the enemy she once fought against filled her with a sense of revulsion. But…if I can disguise myself well enough, or find an inscribed item that lets me appear as a Human…I can be here for a long, long time. The thought of having a lengthened life span to just indulge in her fame and glory made her feel ecstatic. She would make the most of this accidental blessing, just like her Aunt had taught her before passing away. “Find the silver lining in everything,” Lyn recalled her saying, “And you’ll find a bit of happiness every day of your life.”
And that’s when she heard it. Voices. Speaking in Khrelardian – the language of the kingdom of Khrelardia. She had traveled the whole of Ghomar and had picked up almost every language she came across – a benefit to being the Scout hero. At least all of my memories from before are still intact.
“Are you sure about this?” the first voice asked. A man. He sounded young. Inexperienced and unsure.
“‘Course I’m sure! This is where the battle happened! And no one has been here since!” The other voice belonged to a woman. It was confident and firm. Reassuring.
A third voice spoke. An older man’s voice. “Agh, doon’t till me aboot tha’ fight! ‘Twere a scoofle ayn nootin moore.” His accent caused him to stand out the most, and Lyn couldn’t recall quite where it came from.
Lyn gently and silently walked over the smooth obsidian, walking towards where the Demonic Dragon’s throne once stood. She stumbled as she got acquainted with these new, daintier legs, but found her footing easily enough. Only the base of the seat still sat there on the dais, the remains of the throne that his a once-humanoid form sat on. Just being near it filled Lyn with a sense of unease and trepidation.
This is where she, James, Kory, and Ben had launched their initial attack. The duel against their enemy’s humanoid form was one of the most difficult fights she had ever engaged in – as expected. They didn’t know; however, he had a second form – his true form. That is what she had killed. I ended the cycle, at least. She knew for sure that the Demonic Dragon was dead, simply because this place was abandoned and destroyed. That, and she was ninety-percent sure that somehow, she had the Demonic Dragon’s core in her.
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Her torso began to heat up. Shit! Not now! She could feel the heat expanding and building in her. Looking about, she tried to find a way out – but there was none. She was in the deepest part of the dread fortress. The only way out would be through the main doors that the voices were coming from. What do I do? She could let the mana stream out again – suffering the pain once more and hoping the light and sound wouldn’t give away her position.
The heat built and built, and the voices got closer. She could see the light bobbing slightly at the far end of the chamber. Lyn ducked around the backside of the remnants of the throne. She gritted her teeth and tried to slowly let a trickle of mana out. Instead, an explosive torrent of mana ripped through her extended right arm, blasting out as a wave of lava that crashed against the back wall and flowed into the grooves along the edges of the chamber before overflowing and coming towards her. The pain was still throbbing and ever-present, but – to her pleasant surprise – the Duskari body she was in seemed to have an easier time accommodating the larger mana channel. That explains why even their martial-oriented fighters were so skilled at spell craft.
The lava was not hot to her either, just like on Earth. Even as it touched her feet, it was warm and welcoming. Like a hot tub. Her arms pulsed with pain and the mana surged out before sputtering to a stop. Her mana channels were still throbbing in time with the muscles in her arms as blood pumped to them. But it was tolerable.
“What was that!” The young voice shouted.
“‘Twas a-light. O’er ther,” the older man replied.
Lyn heard the distinctive ringing noise of a sword being drawn from a sheath, “We should investigate. It’s probably a scavenger.” The woman’s voice was firm and confident.
The young voice replied. “No one is supposed to be here! It’s forbidden by the order of High-Lord Marshall! If we get caught, we’re dead.”
So, they are still here, Lyn thought as she grinned. James Marshall, the Paragon hero, had helped depose the corrupt, tyrant-king of Khrelarda and put his son, Kristoph, the rightful and just ruler on the throne. As a reward, James was given the role of High-Lord, the most senior martial position in that kingdom. It was a smart play by him – despite skipping out on a Dungeon with Misty and Lyn – because it got them the whole army of Khrelarda to fight against the Demonic Dragon’s forces.
“Don’t be a child,” the woman said. “There’s nothing here.” The footsteps got closer. “And if there is another scavenger, well, we can’t let them report us, can we?”
Lyn tried her best to make her breathing shallow. If they see me, they’ll either kill me or try to beat me badly enough to capture me. Death seemed the more likely of the two, as Duskari were notoriously hard to take alive. She looked at her petite body. Even if I had a weapon, I couldn’t fight back like this. She felt the slight churn and roil of her mana core within. If it comes to that, I’ll use a spell.
This new mana core, however, was unpredictable. It was way stronger than anything she had ever been exposed to. Even her Scout mana core, with its dozens of upgrades from defeating Dungeons, couldn’t compare in raw might. Lyn closed her eyes, trying to steady herself and keep perfectly still and calm despite the impending danger of being discovered in this weakened state.
She was the most flexible spell user out of the heroes behind Misty. Misty had an innate understanding of the underpinnings of magic, and an instant mastery of the language of magic – Elenthir. Since Lyn was close to her, she tutored her, and thanks to the Scout hero core, Lyn was able to pick up languages ridiculously quickly. “Just remember,” Misty said so many years ago on their first expedition, “that spells always need to be cast out loud! Just thinking about it won’t do anything. Mental casting just…doesn’t work for some reason. Oh, and don’t forget! More verses equal more…everything!” Her giggle was entrancing. “Most people just memorize spells. But…if you study with me? I can teach you the whole language. Then, you can do pretty much anything! Neat, huh?”
Yeah, it was neat, Lyn thought with a fond smile gracing her face. The footsteps came closer. Now or never. She started to whisper a multi-verse incantation. Not a memorized spell, but one she came up with on the fly. “Galad enni / Imê thalan o liza / garthûr enni / ad rûth lin / Im ê lin naith / falas en garthûr / estel en lin / sern en garthûr.” The mana in her chest roiled and bubbled before forming a globule in her hand. She stood up and wheeled around the throne, holding her right arm out in front of her.
Her spell was worded so it would only knock her foes unconscious and do no collateral damage, but it also had the limiter of ‘targets’, so she wouldn’t be able to use it against a single opponent. She saw only one person in front of her, and she held her spell as she scanned the room for the other targets so that the spell would fire off. There were three voic-
A blade carved clean through her hand from someone hidden to her left, and the mana surged up her channel and back into her body as the avenue was cut off. Lyn screamed in pain but was silenced a moment later as something firm thudded into her skull from behind. She collapsed as the world went black.
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“Oi, the she-devil is coomen abaut.”
“Tie her up tightly! Selling her will make us a fortune,” the female voice replied.
“She-she’s waking up!” The young man’s voice said in panic. “Is this tight enough?”
Lyn’s eyes were covered by something as the voices roused her from unconsciousness. Her head was pulsing wickedly, and her arms were pulsing with pain. She felt the warm, sticky blood dripping onto her thigh. They didn’t even tourniquet it? The loss of a hand was concerning – but if she could get back to it, she could reattach it if it wasn’t too damaged – she’d lost a leg before, and Trisha re-attached it easily enough. Lyn was kicked hard in the side, letting out a yelp of pain. She felt the ropes tighten around her torso and pin her arms behind her. Then, she was pushed back and fell, flat, onto the floor.
“What…what do we do with her?” the young man asked.
“Innit apairant? We sell ‘er.”
Lyn felt her heart race. She would be someone’s property. A trophy kept in a mana-suppressing cage and put on display for people to gawk and jeer at. The thought horrified her. She tried her best to move against the bonds and heard the woman’s voice laugh.
“You’re going nowhere.”
Lyn’s mouth was gagged – a bit of cloth shoved in, and a tight cord wrapped around. There was no way she could incant a spell with the intrusive fabric. She screamed in frustration at her predicament, the noise muffled by the gag.
“Heh. She be a’fighta.”
“Come on, help me get her up. We’ve got a long way to travel.” The woman’s voice was commanding – she was obviously the leader of the group.
Lyn felt a pair of thin and toned arms pick her up. “This feels wrong,” the young man’s voice said from right behind her. The person lifting her up.
“You want to get paid, don’t you?” The woman asked.
“Ye-yeah.” The voice was hesitant.
Lyn growled through the gag and tried to work it to the side with her tongue enough that she might be able to speak. But the gag was firmly re-affixed.
“Then shut up, carry her, and let’s be off. There’s still Duskari in the mountains around here. If we make too much noise, it may draw them.” The woman was confident and calm, but there was a trace of panic in her voice.
I can’t let them take me. She rubbed her face against the rough, plated-shoulder of the man carrying her – getting the cloth to catch on a bit of cracked metal. Pulling her head back, she could see that they were passing through the large hallway that led away from the Demonic Dragon’s throne room. She rubbed her face against the armor, cutting her cheek in the process – but successfully sawing through the rope holding the gag in place. Carefully, ponderously, she adjusted the gag with her tongue enough that she could sound words.
Barely exhaling, she whispered just enough to utter a spell. “Adel enni naur / beral enni o garthûr.”
The woman must have heard her, because she glanced back and her eyes went wide, “Fu-”