When I came back to the Physical, I opened my Astral Gate flooding my body with freshly produced psykhe. I intended to infuse my Vessel with the mana which would increase its basic capabilities as well as improve its receptiveness to Fleshcraft. Thanks to the shifter structure fused with my soul and the genetic relation to a shifter clan, my body already had a high sensitivity to shape-changing sorcery, but I could push it much further. What I didn’t intend, was for the process to require no effort on my part.

As soon as the psykhe began to flow from the Astral Gate, I violently convulsed. My eyes popped open in alarm as I collapsed backward into Liberty who managed to catch me. Yotta snapped out of her trance when Liberty called for her. My attention narrowed on the flow of psykhe within my body.

My signature mana roiled within my body like a storm in a bottle. Lines of iridescent energy jumped across my skin as my muscles seized and my bones creaked. After a second of observing the psykhe, my alarm diminished because I understood what was happening.

Although my mana appeared to be running rampant, it was actually in a state of controlled chaos. So controlled, in fact, that I recognized the tell-tale signs of a ritual formation performing its function. I observed the process, driven by my ever-present fascination with mana and its applications.

Rather than infusing itself into my flesh, blood, and bones as I intended, the psykhe jumped from one part of my body, increasing its speed with each jump. I thought it was tracing a pattern inside of me, but that proved wrong. It wasn’t until the mana became so fast that even I had trouble following it that I somewhat comprehended the process.

The formation is infusing my psykhe a much deeper fundamental structures of my body, I noticed. Once the mana reached a certain speed, it disappeared. At the time, I didn’t have any conception of molecules, and by extension, molecular biology, so the mechanisms of the ritual formation ingrained into my body were completely new. And for a creature like myself, new and fascinating discoveries were intoxicating.

I pushed my innate senses to their limits, even enlisting the aid of my new perception structures, to catch every facet of the ritual that I could. Time passed and slowly, the speeding energy disappeared. I followed a particular line of psykhe as it reached the necessary speed for the next portion of the ritual. Under my hyper-focus, the psykhe impacted my heart, but instead of fusing with the cardiac flesh and the blood contained within it, the mana vanished, or at least, that is what appeared to happen. I was able to sense its presence ingrained deep below the perceivable structure of my heart.

Sadly, even with my new structures and rise to the Second Order of Astral Power, my senses weren’t powerful enough to observe the level where my mana had passed. If I utilized the full strength of my soul to bolster my perception, I might’ve been able to do it. Thankfully, I wasn’t a madman because the backlash of using my soul during such a precise ritual would’ve been disastrous, if not downright fatal to my Vessel.

I reluctantly settled for analyzing the process several thousand times as the different lines of psykhe completed their fusion with my body.

When the ritual formation stopped, I opened my eyes which I had closed at some point to shut out distracting visual stimuli. My hearing also came back since I deafened myself to ignore Liberty’s incessant worrying and Yotta’s constant reassurances of my wellbeing.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled, unable to keep my dissatisfaction out of my voice after my revelation about Libbu and my inability to completely understand the intricacies of the ritual formation. Liberty didn’t immediately release me, so I shrugged her off repeating myself with more emphasis. “I said, I’m fine.”

I got to my feet and glanced at Yotta and Liberty, frowning as I did so. My mother looked as though I had physically struck her and some insufferable part of my human brain recoiled at the sight. To make things worse, Yotta’s expression screamed of worry despite the continuous guarantees that she’d given Liberty. I met her gaze with a question in my eyes.

“That— those were the Increased Molecular Mana Infusion and Metatransmutation Imbuement ritual formations,” Yotta hurriedly said, answering my unspoken inquiry.

“Molecular Mana Infusion? Metatransmu… what?” Liberty said turning her attention from me to Yotta. My covenant mate looked at each of us in turn before sighing.

“They were rituals that I performed on Eric at the behest of our Patron,” she said making overly dramatic eye contact with me. “ Those rituals are supposed to increase the efficiency of his mana use through his body and increase the effect of transmutative sorcery on his body.”

Curious about the truth of her words, I raised my left hand and enacted a bit of Fleshcraft. I changed the composition of my skin so that it became grey and metallic while retaining its flexibility. At the same time, my nails and fingers extended into a wicked set of claws, and the muscles beneath my skin gained density, elasticity, and excitability. Beneath all of that, my bones underwent a similar transformation. I turned the hand over admiring the changes before commenting.

“Seems like it worked,” I said, forcing out my best rendition of a satisfied smile despite my mood. With a quick flash of iridescent mana, the changes reverted taking about five seconds to return my hand to its base state.

The two women stared at my hand in a daze likely because of the complexity underlying what I had done. As sorceresses, they no doubt had some education on self-infusion and transmutative sorcery; therefore, my stunt of changing the composition of my muscles, skin, and bones. That type of sorcery required a mastery of mana and knowledge far beyond my identity of Eric Blackthorn would allow normally. Thankfully, I already cultivated the seed for my tree of lies which would shield me from such suspicion for the time being. It wouldn’t last forever, but I only needed it to last until I regained a certain amount of power.

“E-Eric! How did you do that?” Liberty asked getting to her feet, eyes trained on the now-brown skin. “That’s….”

For a second, I allowed my smile to linger until I realized from the state of her soul’s aura that I might have overlooked something.

“The Patron taught me…,” I said with some real hesitation since I was unsure if I had accurately gauged the reason for Liberty’s response. “It said that this would be easy for me because of my shifter blood.”

Liberty’s eyes widened as though she had just discovered an obvious answer to a burning question.

“Oh! Of course, my darling,” she said stepping forward to touch my hand. “You didn’t need a chant or gestures for such advanced sorcery because it’s tied to your shifter nature.”

Oh, I thought, incredibly disappointed with her conclusion. It was the equivalent of showing someone a masterwork painting only for said person to marvel at how neat the brushes used were. My eyes moved to Yotta who regarded Liberty with a mildly amused, if weary, look. At least Yotta understands…

I briefly considered whether I should correct my mother’s misconception. I inwardly sighed as my decision became clear. Liberty played a large part in my plans for the future; specifically, her legitimacy as an heir to an Archmage’s family. I was also technically an heir, but my shifter blood and more importantly, my Stigmata meant that I would never be recognized by conventional means. My great-grandmother had sent a hit squad to kill my “father”, and me. By comparison, Archmage Blackthorn only ordered that her granddaughter be brutalized, physically and emotionally, rather than outright killed.

In other words, the goal had been to break Liberty, to destroy her fight so she could be easily controlled. It might sound ridiculous, but I’ve known plenty of humans like that— ones who use cruelty and suffering as teaching tools for those who don’t conform to their wishes. If I’m being honest, I was responsible for a few of them in the early days of human civilization. The crone wanted Liberty alive for some reason and I aimed to take advantage of that opening as well as my mother’s status. For that, I needed Liberty to be more than just a half-decent sorceress.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Mother, I never use gestures or chants,” I said, watching her facial expression flash through multiple emotions at once. “The Patron taught me how to use sorcery without them. He says they’re unnecessary and none of the things that I learned from Mother Gaia mention them either. If you want I could teach you…”

***

Regis sat on the deck with his back to the open yard and street beyond. He took a sip of his beer, a local brew that he’d learned to love thanks to shortages caused by the war several years back. The chill winds blew against his powerful frame attempting to pierce the weathered skin and thick muscles but ultimately failing to even catch his attention.

His gaze focused on the scene through the transparent sliding doors on the side of his son’s home. Eric stood in front of several of the kids including Alejo, Nessa, and a few of his other grandchildren. His “grandson” was showing his cousins magic, specifically magic that didn’t need chants or gestures. They were mostly parlor tricks, but Regis recognized the danger in the display.

Eric, or Ebēru as he reminded himself, was powerful. He might be weakened at the moment, but according to Morgana, he had broken through to the Second Order of Astral Power and Regis felt the change when he next met the ancient soul masquerading as his grandson. Such progress lent credence to Eric’s tale since sorcerers usually took more than a decade to reach the Second Order.

Regis didn’t know much about what that progress entailed, but he knew enough from keeping eyes and eyes on potential enemies in the Conclave to understand the rough scale of strength among sorcerers. The Second Order represented a milestone of competence for mages with those of the First Order typically being regarded as apprentices, merely one step above acolytes.

How long will it take him to reach the level of an Archmage… Will he continue to honor our bargain once he gains that much power? What about after? How powerful will he become? These questions and more flew through the pack leader’s head as he saw Alejo’s eyes light up while Nessa focused on Eric’s words with far too much intensity. Through the glass, his wife caught his eye sharing a long look. Sometimes, their ability to communicate without words annoyed Regis especially when Morgana’s wisdom settled its attention on his actions.

He sighed knowing that she was right. He was stressing himself out and nurturing a seed of discontent that could spread to the members of his family who looked to him for guidance. He finished off the beer before tossing it into the trash bin on the deck then made his way into the house.

Valentine sat on the couch next to the door with Liberty on the cushion by his side. The two ceased their conversation about voodoo when Regis stepped inside, each favoring him with a different look.

“Didja enjoy the cold wind on them old joints, abue?” his grandson asked with a smirk.

“That mouth of yours is gonna talk you into some trouble one of these days,” Regis responded. He glanced at Liberty who gave him a respectful nod in sharp contrast with Valentine.

“Well, I’m immaculate so far,” the young man shot back, his smirk widening into a grin. “’Sides Abue, if trouble comes, I happen to know some pretty tough people, the kind that get shit done.”

“That right?” Regis’s lips quirked into a smirk of his own.

“Mhm. I got connections,” Valentine said while inspecting his nails with casual indifference. “Real beasts, I’m tellin you. They always roll in a squad too.”

Liberty rolled his eyes and Regis shook his eyes, smiling despite himself. Although he wore the mantle of the stoic patriarch, he often found himself on the receiving end of sass from his grandchildren. He blamed Morgana for it. His three daughters wielded their wits well and his sons had all gravitated toward women with sharp minds, a trait that passed to all their children. He glanced at Liberty as the thought brought up memories of Jonathon.

He had been against their union at first. The two had been stupid teenagers who had no idea what a political mess their relationship caused in the chaotic early years after the Shadow’s Passing. Eventually, he ended up giving his blessing for their marriage when Liberty became pregnant and it was clear that he had to choose between maintaining his relationship with his son or being obstinate because of Liberty’s heritage. He chose the former despite his misgivings about the necromantic family, and now, his boy was gone, killed by hitmen hired by Archmage Blackthorn. He understood Nessa’s frustrations better than even she did, but Liberty hadn’t chosen her family. She hadn’t asked to become a heartbroken widow.

That was the whole point of tonight’s dinner after all.

He made his way across the room exchanging greetings and brief hugs with his two eldest daughters, Sharon and Elena, as well as his second eldest son, Elijah. Their families were with them, but the kids were busy crowding their newfound cousin. He noticed someone missing, so asked Elijah’s wife, Nanako, about the absence.

“Where’s Keiko?”

“Oh, she was feeling a little under the weather today,” Nanako said.

“Is she sick?” he asked Elijah. As the only licensed doctor in the family, he would know best as long as one excluded magical healers like Elena and Morgana from the equation.

“I don’t think so,” Elijah said shaking his head. “She was a little pale this morning, but aside from heavy fatigue, she’s fine. Might’ve just been up late working on one of her projects.”

Regis smiled. “Sounds like her. Then again, maybe she just didn’t want to come. She never did like big gatherings even with family or the pack. Remember her first Hunt?”

“Ha, you almost had to pry her off my leg,” Nanako said with a laugh.

Elijah laughed along with his wife though talk of the pack brought an odd look to his eyes. Regis gave his son a reassuring pat on the back. Like Sharon and Elena, Elijah wasn’t a shifter. His senses were a little sharper and his body retained muscle better than normal humans, but he couldn’t shift. The same hadn’t been true for his daughters and the worrisome man fretted nonstop about his inability to protect them from dangerous elements. Occasionally, Regis reassured him that they had plenty of people to look after them.

For a time, Regis passed his time like this: talking to his family, enjoying their company, and trying to forget about the worries of the world. Sadly, his wishes were ignored by the universe.

Suddenly, Regis’s nose caught a scent, a disgusting odor that riled up memories of screams and death. He surged to his feet, eyes glowing yellow and narrowed. Unconsciously, he released a low, bestial growl.

All around the living room, people flinched in response to his outburst. A few didn’t, Dante had a severe look on his face and Sharon looked from him to Morgana, who started walking to the front door. Eric also had risen to his feet flanked by Yotta and Liberty. Several of the younger members of the family looked at the older members curious about the serious expressions.

“Where’s Ricky?” Donna said breaking the silence. No one answered her as they watched Regis and Dante follow Morgana out the door. Out of the corner of his eye, the pack leader saw Eric whisper a few words into Yotta’s ear that even his enhanced senses didn’t pick up.

When he stepped outside, a wave of power washed over him. He looked at his wife, the source, who stood at the top of the stairs leading from the porch down to the street, facing off against a frail man with a skull cradled in his hands. The man’s face was a rictus of terror and smeared with filth. He also looked to be crying.

“Leave this place, creature!” Morgana shouted, her power exploding forward. The grass on the sides of the porch grew several feet and the roots of nearby trees broke through the ground. She glowed in like a fallen sun illuminating the neighborhood more than the stars above. Regis saw several doors and windows opening as others peeked out of their homes to see what the noise was.

“P-p-please!” the filthy man stammered. “I don’t know what’s happening. I-I just—”

Before he finished, he raised the skull and went silent. Tears continued to fall from his eyes all the while creating dark streaks on his dirt-covered face. Morgana didn’t hesitate. Her arms swept forward and a staccato of words flowed from her lips.

The earth and plants in a hundred-meter radius glowed with the same light as Morgana. Beneath the man’s feet, a tangle of roots and swirling dirt erupted attempting to crush him. Meanwhile, a pair of trees further down the block uprooted themselves and began crawling toward the group, carried by a writhing mass of roots.

Unfortunately, things couldn’t be easy.

Shadows burst from the crushing mass revealing the man who sported dozens of cuts and bruises on his body along with a mangled left leg. Once free, the man let out the most piteous wail that Regis had heard in recent memory, nearly giving him flashbacks of the Shadow’s Passing.

Somehow, the skull was untouched despite the attack. A black spot formed in the center of the skull’s forehead growing until it took the shape of an eye. Regis let his power mingle and harmonize with Morgana’s. His powerful voice echoed across the neighborhood.

“Get into your homes and stay there!”

Bolstered by his assistance, Morgana’s spell doubled, then tripled in power— their cooperation resulting in a sum greater than its parts. The people quickly retreated into their houses and a yellow sheen enveloped each of the buildings. On the skull, a white dot appeared in the center of the black eye, then they heard the laughter.

It was a rasping, sick sound. The man holding the skull was laughing, but his eyes still spoke of fear. He kept laughing while the living shadows squirmed around his body warding off the roots that continued to assail him. Dante, Nessa, and Sharon’s daughter, Mia, jumped onto the ground beginning to shift with no hesitation once they were outside. Regis heard the protests of Alejo and Yuki, Elijah’s youngest, as they were held back from joining the fray.

Morgana seemed to be preparing to release another attack, but for a brief second, an overwhelming presence filled the air interrupting her spell. It felt like death and madness. The presence wasn’t as strong as what Regis felt from Eric during his incident with Sybil, but it was still enough to momentarily stun him. The laughter got worse turning into an awful, hacking wheeze that from the looks of the wretched man, caused extreme pain.

Then, a mix of a psychic whisper and scream filled the minds of all present.

“Who among you is the one who believes they can take a soul destined for the Laughing Blight?”