Standing outside his Spire, clad in elaborately carved armor made of silver. Dailin sang to an audience of thousands. The tiled flooring covered in fabrics, allowing the sleeping masses the means to rest comfortably.
The way everyone was cuddled together, intertwined, and embracing a blissful sleep; would have had passersby think the people of that city were kindred spirits. None would see that each was a monster absent of a heart, or any meaningful morals. That before him were killers waiting for their chance to remove rivals. Schemers planning the demise of others, so they could ascend to greater heights. But these monsters had been pacified. His song, his warmth, kept the wickedness within them trapped.
But he was only one man; could only be in one place, and his song could only reach so far, before its cost made him hesitant to sing. He needed to solve the dilemma, and after months of thought, he’d come upon a possible solution. But it would need testing, and he wasn’t sure that would be possible. Too much to do, and though he was an endless torrent of power. The Vails under him— the settlement renamed Bae in his honor— and the Nightmare beyond warded walls, demanded so much from him.
The situation wouldn’t have been so desperate, if it hadn’t been for the War of Houses. If the Anointed hadn’t been blinded by ambition, and their mad attempts to claim him. All the lives, and Mana lost, could have been used against the Nightmare, or maintained the Wards. Instead, it might as well have never been, given how it had been spent.
If not for him, his Well, the settlement would have crumbled in on itself. The demands of the monsters outside, their never-ending assault against Warded defenses. It would have ensured the settlement drained, then consumed in short order. And only he, and a select few, acknowledge that fact. The masses wanted to live in ignorance, and so did.
‘It’s all up to me,’ he thought, his song slowing, the warmth lessening as he carefully removed it.
‘This needs to change.’ He needed the people to see, but without his warmth to hold them, they always looked away.
‘I can’t wait on my solution; the realm demands action.’
The moment his ensemble ended; thousands were roused from their slumber. People tried to hide it, but with so many around, Dailin could feel the aura of disappointment. None wanted the warmth to end, they wanted to live within its embrace forever. Something he was trying to achieve.
After two months of his take over, the people’s addiction to what he offered had only worsened. He laid most of the blame on his unrestrained actions during the war. Which resulted in many being enveloped within high doses of affection. The resulting chills that had come afterwards had been equally bad. To an extent he doubted any of those he was gazing at, could last a day without being sung to. Not without order falling apart, and the masses trying desperately to get to him.
‘This can’t be maintained.’ There needs to be more like him, able to sing, to bring forth affection and love. Otherwise, his dream of healing the realm would remain only that. He was already at his limit of what he could do personally. If he hadn’t been encumbered with maintaining the settlement, he could have done more. But with how things were, he’d reached an impasse.
That in mind, he turned from the dispersing mob, heading back to his Spire, his impenetrable home. A host of Knights waited outside its main gate, standing vigilant in their Ward carved plates, Animastones glowing with power. He’d learned, that these suits of armor were known as the Giver’s Shelter, or Garmor. They were a symbol of divine right, that those who could afford such protections, were within the Giver’s favor. As such, the people’s opinion of him, thinking him divine, had only increased. Given the fact such a group of individuals had bent the knee to him in a matter of minutes.
His Knights remained perfectly still as he arrived, giving the illusion they were statues; none said a word as he passed. Not even as the doors opened on their own, and he strode inside.
They closed quickly, blocking out the Inner-tier. Inside a host of Chanters awaited him. All his sons, with varying qualities of Channels. At their head, ever vigilant, stood Vollow. His son who had made it his responsibility to inform Dailin of the wickedness taking place within his House.
Vollow smiled, his ears in a calm pose. “Everything went blessed?” He asked, a daily ritual of theirs.
Dailin nodded his head, and wrapped his son into a hug. “The same as the Rotation before, and every other.” He went from son to son, doing the same. Letting them know that unlike their Mothers, he truly cared for them. “Though the Chilltouched leave slower each time.”
Vollow’s whiskers twitched unpleased. “Normally I’d advise a Flock to be with you, so they could help guide them away. But given they’d be on the ground as well; there’s no point.”
His son didn’t add in the other part—as he’d done many times before—of a Host of sons accompanying him, since they would be resistant to the warmth, and able to stay awake.
Naturally he’d refused the plan outright. His sons were never to be put in danger again. He’d lost so many children to the dilutions of Chilltouched, and their war to claim him.
“If it gets worse, I can remove them myself.” Dailin voiced, hugging his last child. “I’m just informing you, because I’m sure there’s going to be more petitions for the ensemble to be lengthened.”
Vollow sighed pleased. “A gift from the Giver, that I ‘am not part of the Anointed tasked with handling that.”
Dailin smirked under his silver mask, nor was he, at least not anymore. After the first wave of Visionstones, numbering enough to form a small mound. He’d washed his hands of the matter, leaving it to those who didn’t mind.
Namely his daughters.
They had a resistance to the tediousness that was bureaucracy. Able to gaze through, and categorize visions of the same subject with speed, and unwavering dedication. Dailin himself was not such a person. There was only so much he could hear of the same complaint, and the reason why it should be addressed, before it became background noise filtered from his conscience.
Besides, he had more important matters to deal with. Namely, the handling of death. The end of the War of Houses, and his rise to rulership, hadn’t changed the problem outside their Warded walls.
“I’ll be heading to my chamber,” he announced, parting from his last son. “Unless there’s matters to be discussed?” He raised a brow; Vollow shook his head. “There’s nothing in need of your personal attention.”
He nodded before heading away, unguided. His time being sheltered and hidden by others was done. He was in charge, his word law; discomforting as that was. There was also the fact he had no need for guards. There was nothing within the settlement that could harm him.
With a Well feeding him endless power, and Wards woven into his flesh. He was practically indestructible; a fact that brought him a great deal of peace.
There would be no hidden assassin to cut him down, or revolt to strip him of authority. In matters involving the Vail, his people, he was secure; in the settlement of Bae at least.
Due to that, he was left only with the nagging concern of the threat outside.
It troubled him, even here, in the heart of safety, walking through deeply Warded halls that were mostly empty. While his family was large, and growing in number daily, the Spire was a construct of enormity; Vails loved building big. The emptiness didn’t bother him, as it did most Vails, who were a communal race. A fact easily seen, for when he came upon sons guarding, or patrolling halls, they were always clumped together.
He smiled at each group, giving half greetings, and the occasional hug. It lengthened the time it took him to reach his chamber, but he didn’t mind. The acts eased his concerns, and reminded him of what he aimed to protect.
Parting the double doors that were twenty heads high. He entered a room double that height, and size.
The place was covered in silver, gold, gems, marble, and polished glass. Works of art, be they vases, sculpted stone, paintings, and Animastones woven together to form chandeliers, were everywhere. The place was a display of wealth, and that wasn’t taking into account the furniture, and namely the bed. Circular in shape, with padded steps leading up to it. The thing was twenty heads all around, and made of the softest fabrics he’d ever come across; with equally comfortable sheets and pillows.
The original owner, a woman called Zellebeth, had been one of rich taste. The chamber had been hers, before he’d choked the life out of her, and took the Spire as his own.
Each time he entered this room, gazed upon the trinkets of luxury, it calmed him. A reminder that the monsters who had caused so much death and destruction, had themselves met their end. The Madness was gone. Peace— within his settlement— reigned, and would continue for as long as he held everything together.
Closing the doors, and enjoying the sensation of carpet under his paws. Dailin headed for his solid gold table, rimmed with similar goldened chairs, and furnished with cushions. He made himself comfortable in one; removed his silver helm, and stared down at the round table covered in glowing crystals. Visionstones pertaining to the situation outside, at the center of the table—to which he leaned over and grabbed—were a few silk packages containing more stones for him to view.
Pouring out the contents, his ears tingling from the chiming of crystals. Dailin randomly began collecting an assortment around him, and with practiced ease, he linked with one.
The moment he did, he was outside and staring at a sea of monsters. The Nightmares were so densely packed he struggled to distinguish them. But he could tell most of the mass was made of Chunnlers, maggot shaped creatures endowed with long beaks and frontal claws that allowed them to hook onto prey. They rammed their stoned textured mouths against semitransparent panels; Barriers that surrounded the Flock, and absorbed the attacks with little signs of stress.
A spell maintained by a myriad of Chanters singing a Chord; feeding the defenses enough power to stop them from shattering.
Said panels began to warp, and certain areas elongate into small tubes. At the ends, an opening appeared, and Chanters moved in front of them. The tone of their song shifted, and whirlwinds were brought into existence. Out went the cutting gales through the tubes, and scything through the mass of monsters. Ichor went everywhere, the beasts cut into random assortment of meat; all of it sent flying. The horde—each monster larger than a Vail—began to dissolve under the concentrated onslaught.
The Chunnlers shrieks of rage and alarm vibrated the realm. Yet the things didn’t flee, they attacked more ferociously; desperate to pierce the defenses, and make quick work of the fragile Vails inside. But the panels wouldn’t break, so the tide kept being dismembered. The ground saturated in their blood, a mix of red, black, and green.
None of it dirtied the Chanters; the panels were under their pawed feet as well. A perfect dome of protection as they advanced.
Slowly they began taking the chamber, and the areas cleared of monsters were littered with holes. Given the underground was infested with the beasts, Dailin easily envisioned the realm now an endless web of winding tube-shaped passages. And from each of those entrances, more Chunnlers came.
They’d become so big compared to when he’d first laid eyes on them. At the time, a Chunnler was near knee height. But the vision showed them well over the tallest Vail. Rather disturbing, considering Chunnlers were the fodder of the Nightmare, its weakest, and smallest warriors.
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With such beasts being easily bested, worthier foes showed themselves. Charging through the winds, large portions of their carapace being carved into; came the Armled.
Towering hulks of muscle and shell, the things could walk upright with the use of two heavily compacted legs; but most of the time they were hunched. It allowed them to use their four muscled arms to speed ahead, and maintain balance. Coming from their back were two compressed stingers that hovered over their shoulders, both of which had a formidable reach when lengthened.
The things collided with panels; expectations from his mind—due to their size—had him thinking they would smash through. That the Barriers would shatter apart, and the towers of bulk would crush all in their way as they piled into the Flock. Instead they were repelled backwards, the layers of panels refusing to bend, no matter how hard the Armleds struck with their armored fists.
The howling wind increased, causing Armleds to meet the same fate as their smaller kin. At the same time, other chants began to touch his ears; the call to water.
From the pools of ichor it came, leaving behind a dry muck. The waters collected above the Flock, quickly gathering into a small lake. Again the songs shifted, and the lake turned into a wave of ice javelins. Even thickly armored, Nightmares were punctured and left to die an agonizing death. The cold began to spread, freezing the beasts from the inside out. Once winds touched them, they shattered like glass, their remains becoming smaller shards that bit into living Nightmares.
Disgusting as it was to watch, it was also comforting. For all the horrors that waited outside his city, they still had the means to fight back.
Shifting from vision to vision, he witnessed similar sights. Sadly, even with thousands being slaughtered, the swarm never appeared to dwindle. For all the might the Vails displayed, the realm wasn’t theirs. Venturing too far from the city was a death sentence; one that had been considered acceptable by the Anointed before him. It had led to the deaths of hundreds trying to reclaim lost caverns, and more importantly, the mines. That had been all it was about, those areas filled with precious ores Vails craved for their works of decadence. Ores, the sole purpose for settlements, they were to gather, and eventually send back, to a Sanctum in return for favorable goods that the settlement couldn’t produce itself.
A process that had come to an abrupt halt months ago. The Giftless, those folks lacking Channels to cast magic; left to die.
How many, he didn’t know. Hundreds for sure, but none had bothered keeping track of their numbers. It could have easily been in the thousands, considering how fast Vail breed.
Ever since the loss of the mines, Anointed had tried to regain them, but the Nightmare would only give so much ground. And the Vails only had so much Mana they could spend before the city itself was endangered.
That fact hadn’t changed, even with him in charge. But slowly, thanks to his Well, fortune was turning their way.
Looking at the Patrols, made up of hundreds of Vail, both Chanter and Giftless alike. Dailin watched with pride as his contributions were used to slaughter the monsters trying to eat them.
Giftless carried large packs, each filled with Animastones shining brightly with contained Mana. The moment a Chanter was spent, their Channels dim, or gone entirely. Giftless would hand a Chanter a stone to drain; allowing them to continue singing spells of destruction.
Thanks to that, no Patrols had been consumed since his ascension. Everyone always had enough Mana to retreat into the Settlement. Due to that, and the Animastones provided, Vails volunteering to go on Patrols had soared. Which in turn had allowed there to be multiple Hosts sent out at the same time.
Of course, none of it had diminished the swarm, but it had led to an improvement.
The Sloan, towering mounds of flesh and carapace. Each endowed with a myriad of grappling appendages, eyes, mouths, and a main one that remained closed. From that larger mouth, situated at the center of the mound. It would unleash a deadly wail that dissolved everything in its path.
Those creatures had become less frequent. After a few run ins with well stock Patrols, and one almost being killed; the thinking beasts had become wary. Since then, they had led the swarm from afar; directing the lesser Nightmares to better use themselves against Patrols, and attempt ambushes.
Shifting to a new stone, Dailin watched one such event take place.
The Patrol was having an easy time dealing with the wavering swarm around them. The beasts kept retreating at a slow but frequent pace, trying to lure Vails further and further away from the settlement. The Patrol was aware of what the Nightmare was trying to do, since visions of the trap had been disseminated to the masses.
That, and the widely known fact that Nightmares never retreat once in a frenzy. Meaning they were being directed towards a greater threat. Naturally the Patrol only advanced so far before coming to a halt, even as the swarm continued to dwindle as they retreated.
Dailin watched the scene, expecting the swarm to realize its prey wasn’t going to cooperate, and return to its normal behavior.
They didn’t, instead the swarm moved further and further away; till all were gone from sight, and the barren rock of winding tunnels were revealed. Chanters looked about nervously, while Giftless handed out Animastones; readying the Patrol for whatever surprise was to come.
They didn’t wait long. The realm shivered around them, the sign of a rushing horde; or that was what all of them expected.
Bursting from the sides, above and below. Came four Chunnlers whose height and width were that of a cabin. Their length, Dailin couldn’t tell, but they were extremely long. The things rammed into the Patrol’s defenses, then pulled away blinkingly fast. They receded back down the large holes they’d made, only to reappear from different angles; that act alone causing problems.
The realm around them crumbled apart, and the ground under their feet separated. It forced the Patrol to chant at the rock, binding it back together. They hardened it afterward, the stone condensing, and warping as they tried to trap the beasts.
It slowed them, but their size made it impossible for capture.
Barriers rippled, the song shifting into an offensive arrangement. Chanters aimed their focus everywhere, hands pressed against openings as they waited to unleash their own attacks.
Rushing out from above, an enlarged Chunnler smashed into panels. Before it could flee, light bloomed, and the quaking of thunder sounded around them; followed with an ear-piercing screech of a Nightmare crying out in pain.
The maker of the vision turned to look, catching sight of the monster. Much of its left side was in ruins; large chunks of its flesh were missing, and the areas around it were blackened.
Pulling back into the rock unnaturally quick, the thing disappeared before more damage could be done. The realm around them calmed, a minute passing before another attack followed. The other enlarged Chunnlers earned similar results for their aggression, with one being attacked fast enough by multiple Chanters, that its head shattered apart. It left behind a ruined mess of missing and burnt flesh. To everyone’s surprise though, the corpse was quickly pulled back into the hole it had come from.
The realm went quiet again, and not long after, the swarm returned. The Nightmare was done feigning weakness. The horde was full of Armled, and the patrol went back on the defense. They retreated slowly, thinning the swarm as they went.
The vision ended, forcing him to switch to another stone. When he did, other enlarged variants of the common Nightmares appeared. One such encounter had an Armled four or maybe five times larger than its ordinary kin. It came rushing at the Patrol through layers of hardened rock. With unrestrained fury it smashed and hammered blows down upon the surprised defenders. Its initial strikes denting panels, but they began to smooth out as more Mana was woven into them.
The Patrol had answered quick to the new threat. Freed from the worry of becoming spent; Chanters instantly switch to lightning. Even enlarged, and covered in carapace half an arm’s length in thickness. The Armled was felled quickly; only for another to take its place not long after, then more. By the vision’s end, the Patrol had encounter ten of the things, all but one slain as they retreated to the settlement.
Switching to another vision, Dailin witnessed the sight of a Crean, a rarely encountered Nightmare. The thing was shaped like a crab, with long reaching pincers, and its frontal head covered in black soulless eyes. But the most alarming aspect of the creature, was its ability to open half its body, revealing a maw riddled with jagged teeth and grinding molars.
Dailin was looking at one so large it was attempting to swallow a whole Patrol. Thankfully the Vail were stretched out, and the panels refused to bend in a way that would help the Nightmare with its task.
Voices singing loud, hints of concern ladened within. Dailin witnessed the sight of light bathing the realm. It resulted in the interior of the beast’s gullet to be revealed before chants of lightning did their work. It was a display of gore afterwards, as the thing howled, and its body jerked wildly before crumbling to the ground; its weight making the realm shiver. Even dead Vails didn’t stop their attack, not till the cavity that was the beast’s mouth broke apart, and revealed the stone realm beyond.
The Patrol hastily retreated after that, the Visionmaker’s gaze half locked on the giant corpse.
He disconnected from the stone, and looked at the many yet to be watched. He was sure most would bare the same sights. Such a drastic change would get the attention of those collecting visions for him.
‘There is no doubt now,’ he thought, leaning back in his chair. ‘Something horrible is happening out there.’ For a time, months back, he’d diluted himself with the hope that the growth of the Nightmare was temporary. The happenstance of the monsters getting lucky and feeding upon several smaller settlements. The passing months had shattered that hope, and with the new visions before him; the remnants were turned into fading ash.
He was unsure how many Vails had to be eaten daily to sustain such beasts, but it didn’t matter; obviously it was impossible. With the Sloans— creatures that already told of a new problem— and the larger variants of common Nightmare. It was clear the monsters were feeding on something out there in the realm.
In a normal plane, a place where they lived on the surface with a nice open sky. Dailin would have formed an expedition charged with finding the source of the growing calamity. But in a realm of stone; a place of winding tunnels and large branching caverns. All filled to the brim with hungry beasts; it would be impossible to find the source, and only amount to a waste of resources.
There was only one act that insured the survival of himself and his family. Closing his eyes, he paid closer attention to the whispering part of himself, one that demanded to the Mana flowing out from the Well. Constantly he ordered it to turn back, feeding the Well, and ever improving it. He turned his attention to the rest of the Mana dwelling dormant in his body. It acted instantly, and in seconds he was turned into an abnormal looking Vail. One albino in color, covered in glowing Wards, with the makeup of a body constructed of crystal and flesh.
He breathed heavily and stopped chanting; he felt as though he was dying, and in truth, was. The Well had consumed his Lifeforce, the act making it better in turn. The Outflow increased, and the Well sent back an endless flow of Power. In seconds he was breathing easy again, his body quickly reverting to a silhouette of light.
The act intoxicating, going from deathly wariness, to a euphoria of vigor. It was a pleasure he indulged in often when time and circumstance allowed it.
As things were though, he only did it thrice before rising, and moving on to his second improvement. Given the endless flow of the Well, if he didn’t commit acts to use it, or contain the power. It would begin to radiate out from him, filling the air with a growing density of Mana. After a certain point it gathered on surfaces and covered them in a silverish glow.
It could be collected, such as breathing. But ultimately, compared to other means they had for containment, it had been best to avoid that circumstance as much as possible. It was why he had dedicated himself to the grueling task of continually casting a mental whisper.
It had become easier after two months, but spillage was still common; leading to the need of the other improvement.
Dailin whispered to the Mana: ‘Improve my Channels, make my body into a better container for you.’ The power acted, but unlike before, it didn’t disappear in a matter of seconds. It was a slow loss, even as he whispered more urgently at it.
From what he could surmise, the process of making him into a better container wasn’t hard to do, or costly. While the Well was a eternal task—that no amount of Mana could complete— which was fine. A forever magnifying Well— whose Outflow of Mana continuously rose— wasn’t something to complain about. And his current chant failing to come even close to matching.
More Mana funneled into him faster than it was spent, making it feel as though his body wasn’t changing at all. But he knew it was; his clothing gave it away.
As his body improved, it began to grow larger. Not in a sense of becoming fat. But overall, in an equal measure, he was becoming a larger version of himself.
A month ago it had started, his body reaching some threshold where the Mana couldn’t condense anymore power into his frame. Thus it began to make him bigger. At first, he hadn’t even noticed, given he preferred wearing baggy clothing. But after a few improvements, people noticed his height difference. It had become obvious once he was the same height as Sounness, one of his tallest daughters.
The pattern had continued ever since. He’d worried at times about it, becoming a giant among Vails. However, given the circumstances, such a petty inconvenience was dually ignored. Besides, he wouldn’t be an oddity forever.
He had many Maidens, each pregnant with his children, who would inherit every change he did to his body. They too would be as large as himself, and be Vails made of light. The only thing they didn’t inherit was his Well.
The font of power wasn’t tied to his body after all, but himself, the Soul. A blessing, for his gifts weren’t free. The Demands for Mana from his Maidens to consume, rose with each litter.
Thankfully he only had to worry about the body changes, something that was well within his power. In turn, he would have litters of children like him. Wonderous containers to hold his power, and help him bring a realm of peace.
‘All we need is time,’ he thought, as he grew in size. ‘Once I have children like me, the Nightmare won’t be as much of a threat.’ It would also make any internal problems impossible. An army of children, all endowed with warded skin, would be an effective deterrent; if somehow his spell of affection ceased being one.
Mind at ease after improving himself again, he sighed, and set himself to the task of solving the problems currently troubling him.