Samu had to bite his tongue. With his head down, he collected the sage grass Gozric was so interested in. Yet, he could feel the other’s eyes question him. They all wanted to know how he knew the slime’s name was Shimmer, or the magical properties of the plants.

What could he possibly tell them? How would he describe the reason he knew these things was because it had burrowed into his mana? Like a leach, they had repurposed his detection spell to detect them as they grew. How could he ever describe the feeling of roots that dug into his skin at night, or the slime that encouraged it?

A slime that was part plant herself. She consumed the grass that was part of Samu to integrate herself with those parasitic plants. He could feel her emotions, mostly happy and pleasant, but always a dark spot looming. How could he describe to the others what it's like to be someone that wasn’t you?

With no idea what to say, he chose silence, and the others noticed. He spoke just enough to provide the information, and not a word more. They couldn’t know, nor understand, what it was like. Well, most wouldn’t understand.

Samu’s eyes drifted to Thalman, who worked nearby. A thick layer of sweat clung to the dark skin on his bald head despite the freezing temperatures. He worked diligently but his breath labored from exertion. Gozric’s mundane eyes may not have noticed, but Samu’s did. With every plant he touched, his mana spiked as runes carved their way into his skin. Mana fever, the body did what it could to burn it off, but it wasn’t enough.

“Hey Gozric,” Samu’s voice was a whisper. He knew Gozric would hear it. “Does anything look wrong with Thalman?”

The lanky dwarf’s attention shifted from his notes as he eyed their friend’s work. “Yeah, his hands have the same patterns the plants have. Wards against evil magic, right? I assume that’s what they are since you made them.”

The truth of the accusation hurt, but he was right. “Officially, It’s not a ward, but a channel array. Mana flows over it and it catches the best parts and draws it in, letting the rest slide right past. If Thalman’s hands have the same lines…” he trailed off. He said too much.

Gozric stood up with a nod and dusted himself off. He understood. Ready to go check in on Thalman, but Ink’el’s words interrupted them.

“It’s not raining, then why do I smell…. Wait.”

Danger. They all moved as one, each prepared for combat. Samu reached for his cane, pushing the mana through his six-fingered hands and into the runes of the staff. The sound of unsheathed daggers and a sapphire haze told him the others were ready.

Birds cawed overhead. The grass rustled without wind. Something that glowed moved through the field. An unknown enemy approached. The screech of a bird singled its dive. An attack that was cut short as Thalman stepped up to retaliate with his fist. The force of the physical and magical might destroyed the bird. Three more met their abrupt end just a second later.

With the scouts dealt with, Samu’s attention fell to the broken shells of overgrown ants that scuttled through the grass. Cracked black shells and missing limbs showed the rotten organs beneath. They clacked their mandibles as they charged. A wave of orange light stopped the rat-sized insects in their tracks, yet the largest made it through Ink’el’s saffron spell.

Over two feet tall, the majors that pierced the wall didn’t get far. Five fell to daggers implanted in their skull. Three stood back up. Several more daggers made their home in the ant’s joints, dismembering their body. Like leaves in a storm, Gozric’s daggers dismember any that dared to stand.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The three others had bought time for Samu to think, or more accurately, stop thinking. It took only a second to find where the swarm was at its densest. A hundred spindly legs clamored to break through the orange light that held them back. He found his target. With a raised staff, a measured fraction of mana condensed into an arcane projectile.

The moment he fired, his target was gone.

He missed. His target had lost interest and moved. A quick glance informed him of everything. Thalman, glowing with mana fever, was separated and surrounded. With every monster he pummeled into oblivion, his mana grew denser. His body burned it off with such intensity it set ablaze the surrounding foliage.

However, not all the mana burned. Samu watched as Thalman’s body adapted. He grew to over eight feet tall and shed a hundred pounds to become a chiseled wall of muscle that moved with such force he split the battlefield in two. With raw power alone he threw himself like a battering ram into anything that dared challenge him.

He moved quicker than Samu had ever seen. His Augmented Essence ability redirected the mana he consumed to strengthen his body and push him beyond conceivable limits. There was a sonic boom as a bird was punched out of the sky, Thalman little more than a blur.

The monsters had surrounded their target, which gave Samu no chance to provide support. He stood on the sidelines with the others as they watched. They couldn’t attack or even support without the fear of friendly fire.

The feeling of helplessness bubbled within Samu. It wasn’t alone. Envy at the display of control, the feeling of abandonment for not being there. Each one mixed with another to magnify. One steady breath after another. He had to control those emotions- limit them.

Then the battlefield went dark. Thalman disappeared. Light quickly faded into a massive pit discovered by a careless step. A flood of mana into the grass followed. His friend was in trouble.

Samu rushed forward, just as the ants did. Gozric was quicker, his steps as precise as a scalpel, and his speed enhanced by Ink’el. Daggers flew, trails of color followed them as they cut through the storm. They had to be quick.

Gozric danced through the battlefield, cutting down monsters with true grace, as his eyes never missed their mark. Yet they never drifted upwards. Samu tried to shout a warning, but the birds were quicker. They dove, catching Gozric unaware.

A single scratch. A single drop of blood. A shrill scream that pierced the air.

Samu’s breath hitched. He knew the dwarf’s power enhanced his senses, all of them. Ink’el knew it too, as the air became caustic with worry. Seeing the panic on her face was enough for the emotions to boil over.

For a fraction of a second, he let the emotions flow unfiltered. The jealousy at Thalman’s control over his body. Disgust in himself for thinking that. Worry, panic, and absolute hatred for the ants that tore at Gozric’s writhing body.

He fell to his knees as the weight in his stomach became a shackle. Blood pounding in his ears. His skin darkened and his eyes turned crimson as he brought his staff to his shoulder. Chest tight with fear, there was only one thing on his mind- he needed to make it stop. Those emotions pushed the mana up into his hands- into the staff. Runes of silver glowed as mana filled them beyond their limit. Several popped or melted as the staff burst into flames. Something cracked. He didn’t care.

A beam of light bathed the world before him.

Its all-encompassing rays left not a single sound nor smell intact. The light faded to reveal a pristine field devoid of any monsters or even blood. Everything ached. The sun hurt his eyes. He mutely watched as Ink’el ran over to Gozric, her healing words enough to get him on his feet.

Together, the two pulled a half-conscious Thalman from the shallow pit as he drunkenly rambled. They all worked together to pack up for a speedy retreat, yet Samu just watched. He watched the grass grow. He felt as it soaked in the mana that Samu had flooded the environment with. The grass mutated and expanded as it ate at everything he was.

Its stocks curled around his toes in a vain attempt to strangle his clubbed digits. The grass craved more mana and wanted to squeeze it out of him. Yet that was just background noise, just like the friends that called his name.

Samu’s attention was fixated on the broken staff he held in his now scaled hands. Like a crimson infection, scales crawled up his arms towards his elbows. Flexible, rigid, wet with mucus, uncomfortable, and, above all else, magic-resistant.

He could feel the enlarged veins in those arms, and how the mana throbbed through them. They were channels for his emotions to flow unimpeded. His magic had turned his body into an arcane focus, capable of creating far more potent spells without losing energy.

He was stronger, but at what cost? What would happen the next time he cast a spell?

How much longer was he going to be himself?