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Midnight dodged vigorously, contorting and twisting her body in what was instinct given form through raw power. She sprinted by his side, leaped onto Yves and tore through the tendril with claws and teeth just before the monstrous maw captured them both. The acidic residue of the ruptured tendril sprayed over them, penetrating the protective layers of Yves' enchanted clothing and Midnight's fur.
As the tendril ripped, others shot forth, a grotesque display of multiplied aggression. Pressed to defend, Yves conjured a dome of interwoven glass shards, encasing himself and Midnight within a protective cocoon. Within the second that it formed, the muscular tendrils coiled around the crystalline fortress and pulled the whole structure in. The gaping maw of the monstrosity expanded grotesquely, swelling to engulf them whole. The shard dome grew equally, a translucent shield against the howling opening, which in turn generated an incessant cascade of tendrils that ensnared and tore at them. Yves felt their pressure on his structure, as they threatened to break it through brute force.
They needed to get away. Within this ephemeral refuge, Yves grappled with the limitations of his arsenal. Shards, his usual instruments of offense and defence, were inadequate for the monstrous threat, not suited for the annihilation required. What he needed was raw firepower. Light, the essence of any destructive magic, eluded him in the shroud of night. The Lightgiver Wand, the illuminating conduit that compensated for Yves’ disability, had no room to produce enough light within the limited confines of the shard dome —
In a swift motion, Yves unslung the Bow of Light from his back. A weapon of unparalleled craftmanship, the bow’s string was a formidable channel, the perfect artefact for most compressed and explosive energy releases. Yves drew an arrow, infusing it with a surge of power that resonated with the depth of his reservoir.
His fingers trembled. The memories of the last arrows exploding in his hands were much too vivid, painful, disfiguring, disastrous bursts, yet Yves channelled more, drawing upon his own reservoir of energy and supplementing it with what was stored in an energy crystal embedded in one of his rings. His whole arms shook as he wrestled with the burgeoning energy, a volatile concoction held in the much too delicate shape of an arrow. It was not yet enough – no, it was too much, it was already way too much. Shut up, it’s fine. Yves was crouching in a confined shard prison that left no way for emerging energies to disperse. Stop thinking. Center yourself. And he was growing what could only be described as a bomb of pure, raw, volatile energy condensed into the unstable shape of a fickle arrow. Center yourself. An arrow was one of the worst forms imaginable for compressing energy. Center. Center. Center!
-------------------Calm down. Center.---------------Center.-----Don’t lose focus on the dome.
--Keep the dome intact.
--------Strengthen the dome.
------------------------Center.-------------------------------CENTER. And now channel more.
---------------------------I am centered.----------------------I AM CENTERED.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------My shoulder is centered.
------------------------------------My arm is centered.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------MY HAND IS CENTERED
----------------------------------------------------I can channel more
--Hold the dome-----------------------------------------------My fingers are centered
-------------------------------------------------------I AM IN CONTROL--------------------------I cannot
--------------------------------------------------My channel is centered----------------------------- hold
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------this
-------------My channel is centered
----------------------------------------------------If this explodes now, IT WILL KILL MIDNIGHT
-----------------------------------------My channel-------------------------------------------She knows
-This will--------------------------------------------------Is---------------------------------I will
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kill us both----------------------------------------------------Centered--------------------kill us both
----------------------------------------------Centered---------------------------------------------What is
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------the point?
--------------------------------------CENTERED
-----------------------------------CENTERED
Spikes of shards shot from the dome’s outer wall, a barrage that impaled the encroaching tendrils just in front of Yves. These lethal projections bent outward with an inherent force, compelling the fleshy masses aside and carving a minuscule opening in the protective shard barrier. In the fleeting moment before another tendril could seal the breach, Yves unleashed the arrow.
The arrow, a manifestation of unrestrained power, streaked through the monstrous maw, wreaking havoc upon whatever lay below. An explosion of cataclysmic proportions reverberated through the cavernous space, clashing with the creature's thunderous rage. The shard dome, unable to withstand the unleashed force, was hurled away by the shockwave, with Yves and Midnight enclosed within. Internal illusions, a blend of firm yet flexible webbing, kept them centered and shielded from the violent impacts as the structure somersaulted through the storm and repeatedly crashed into the ground.
They came to a tumultuous stop within a crater-like depression, distanced from the immediate reach of the monstrous and ever-howling threat. Yves was battered and heavily disoriented. His body had not realised that he had stopped spinning. The ground beneath them trembled, a repercussion of the distant roars echoing through the storm. Dispelling the inner netting of the dome, Yves sought assurance that Midnight was unharmed. However, in his disoriented state, she and everything else still seemed to rotate out of focus. He could not see clearly, but sensing Midnight’s conscious presence and understanding that she detected no imminent threat in their surroundings, Yves scattered the shard dome into countless fragments. Then he vomited up the remnants of his last mashed potatoes meal.
It was a far cry from a glorious escape, not the stuff of tavern tales, but then again, true battles never were. Nothing could have prepared Yves for this colossal subterranean behemoth. He did not even know that a monstrosity of such magnitude existed — bigger than giants, bigger than dragons. He had not even seen all of it. What was it? What had spurred its ascent to the surface? Had he triggered it, awaken it with his shards?
A surge of dread gripped Yves as he climbed the slope, putting distance between himself and the crater. The earth beneath him continued to quake, the disturbing resonance of the creature's never-ending roars and rampaging. Midnight followed and overtook him in the climb, her fur bristling in shared horror.
His energies, however potent and exposed, could never have summoned forth such a monstrous entity. This creature had lurked deep beneath the surface, possibly dormant, its tendrils or maws perhaps occasionally emerging to seize sustenance. It had sculpted the entire coastline, it had been the very terrain Yves had traversed for three years. The only anomaly this time, the sole novel element that had wandered the coast with him, the one singular entity that could truly stir the land with its grotesque malevolence, was the Vicha.
Somewhere along the vast coastline, the revolting cliff monstrosity had ensnared the Vicha — and now, the Vicha was consuming it.
Yves stood at the edge of the crater, his gaze fixed upon the distant cliff. His second sight strained against the grotesque spectacle unfolding before him. Tendrils, like veins, now covered the whole coastline, thrashing wildly. The ground continued to shake violently, forcing Yves to his knees as the monstrous form writhed and ascended from the depths, growing and growing and growing into a living mountain range with no end.
The dreadful roars of countless maws echoed its aggression, a discord that drowned out all other sounds. The creature fought desperately against an overwhelming force — the Vicha. Its viscous black mass gradually enveloped the behemoth. It crawled across its veins, scaled the massive body, and burrowed within, a relentless onslaught of consumption.
A Vicha was the amalgamation of a witch's hatred and skill, a manifestation of torment that shackled wizards to isolation and ceaseless flight.
Born from the noxious brew of loathing and malevolence, it materialised as a tangible entity, growing stronger with each infusion of the witch's dark energy. This curse had a singular purpose — to pursue and devour the cursed wizard, a relentless hunt to drain his every ounce of energy. Once touched, it became an inescapable parasite, growing, overtaking, suffocating, and ultimately killing its unfortunate host.
Yet, within its existence, a paradox prevailed. As the Vicha hunted the cursed wizard, it expended energy. The longer the chase, the weaker it became. If the wizard but managed to elude it for long enough, the Vicha would wane and fade into the void. However, this offered little solace, for the cursed became a harbinger of danger, his presence threatening everyone who crossed or shared paths with him — because the Vicha's consumption was not confined to the cursed alone. It touched and consumed all creatures in its path, leaving a morbid trail of desolation. This forced the fleeing wizard to avoid crowded places and to abandon any companionship, leading a shunned existence in perpetual isolation.
Even in such a forsaken state, the curse was never your only enemy. The Vicha’s insidious reach extended beyond the immediate threat. Even with a weakened Vicha, the wizard’s prospects were daunting, for the curse rendered him a target for all witches. To evoke this powerful curse demanded true hatred that only the most vengeful of witches could manifest, but once it took shape, any witch could feed the Vicha. And feed they would.
Witches, divided as warfaring covens, were united against wizards. Beyond the prospect of killing a wizard, individual witches had motivation aplenty to strengthen the Vicha for their own ends. They could sow chaos as it traversed the land, or follow in its wake, anticipating the moment it claimed its victim. In doing so, they could reap the spoils left behind — the possessions and remnants of the fallen wizard. With that, even the most destitute witch could become a harbinger of doom if her meagre Vicha was continuously fuelled by others. It could be sustained indefinitely, forcing the cursed wizard into unending flight and fugue, forever uncertain of when or in what form the Vicha might reappear. Even if the adept wizard managed to evade the Vicha, it left behind a destructive trail.
In this unforgiving world, no mercy was extended to a cursed wizard. Allow enough time to pass, and if not the Vicha or witches, it will be headhunters seeking your life, solely to halt the nightmarish cycle perpetuated by the malevolent entity. In the grand scheme, your life held no weight against the Vicha’s ominous potential for endless growth. It was a foreboding entity with no known limits, capable of swallowing villages or, in the chaos of war, entire armies.
And Yves, clinging to the hope that the desolate expanses of the Northlands would exhaust the Vicha, had instead birthed a colossal desert monstrosity. The very terrain he believed would eradicate the curse had now become the breeding ground for an escalating nightmare. Yves struggled to fathom the aftermath of the Vicha fully consuming this living mountain. Staring at the merging horrors — the dreadful curse that he had tried to evade for the last two months entwining with the behemoth creature that had nearly claimed their lives moments ago — a dire realisation dawned on him: “We need to stop it.”
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