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How to stop this monstrosity, how to overcome a curse that defied all conventional means of confrontation?
Running was not an option. Once merged with the colossal cliff behemoth, the Vicha would have absorbed months' or even years' worth of energy. In that time, Yves would lose his eyesight entirely, each passing day rendering him more vulnerable. Regardless of how fast he fled, any pursuit would inevitably end with Yves succumbing to the Vicha in the most desolate state, blind and devoid of magical defense — that is, unless the Northlands' lurking beasts did not get to him first.
Should he manage to reach the Barnstream villages in the North-East, rulers and adventurers would brand Yves as the harbinger of doom — a threat, a villain, or simply an egomaniac prioritising his survival over others. There was no in-between when people benefitted from your death; you were either good or bad, which meant either too good for your own good or not good enough for them. In this otherwise so complex world that was apparently oh so rich in diverse cultures and philosophies, such a crude dichotomy came surprisingly easy if the need arose; Yves was either virtuous, sacrificing himself for the greater good, or malevolent, an obstacle deserving removal. The grim expectations of noble self-sacrifice loomed over him, and failure to meet them justified any dirty hands reaching for him.
No one would aid Yves, for no one could — neither wizards nor fellow adventurers. The Vicha could not be killed or imprisoned. Yves knew from experience that it proved impervious to magical assaults. All energy hurled at the Vicha either failed to affect it or was absorbed. Attempts to impede its path or to restrain it with physical barriers were futile, as it seeped or broke through them. Traditional weapons proved equally useless against its resilient mass, and direct confrontation risked lethal contact. It seemed invincible, driven relentlessly by the unabated malice that spawned it.
In the vast expanse of knowledge acquired under Emery Thurm and the trials of artifact hunting, Yves had never found a strategy to conquer these extraordinarily potent and brutal curses. Even surviving his first Vicha had left him in the dark. It had been much weaker and slower. Yves had fled and evaded the curse until it faded on its own, dissipating into the void after a mere six days. The search for answers had become his relentless pursuit ever since.
Yves' path of life had been crossed, entwined, directed, and twisted by a myriad of witches. These encounters had ranged from fleeting glances and negotiations to outright battles, once even culminating in the binding power of an Unbreakable Oath. He was one of the few wizards on the continent who had acquired a witch tear and, in one unavoidable twist, also a disturbing form of comradery. At Emery Thurm, he had delved into the craft, customs and covens of witches deeper than any other novice, learning to navigate the treacherous landscapes of these perilous engagements. Yet, this extensive repository of understanding, gathered from books, mentors, comrades, fellow travellers and firsthand ordeals, held no answers on the annihilation of Vichae.
Could a witch destroy her own creation? The Vicha emerged from the depths of vengeance, but could the curse be retracted if the witch forgave the wizard? Unlikely. The Vicha was materialised malice that acted autonomously from the moment of its conjuring.
Stolen novel; please report.
The disparity between wizardry and witchcraft was stark. The distressing abilities of witches were not grounded in logic or bound by recognisable rules or systems; they were incomprehensible, disturbingly impossible. Regardless of a wizard's spectrum and disposition, his magic required conscious sustenance, either directly or through encapsulated energy, as provided by energy crystals. Witches wielded a more elusive power. Their spells were self-sustaining, moving and perpetuating themselves. Curses, such as the Vicha, were one aspect; equally terrifying were summonings that drew energy from the environment. While a wizard impacted the world for as long as he lived, the continent held an amalgamation of magical traps, forsaken places, and even cursed dungeons that long-dead witches had created centuries ago. The most potent among them drew from recurring forces like wind or rain, or from ever-growing natural entities, such as the root systems of vast forests — a link beyond the reach of wizards.
Everlasting spells were those connected to Teharun, invoking its sinister energies to replenish their relentless existence every night. They would not fade from the world as long as the dark moon rose to shroud the sky in its dark veil.
For this night, the witch hour had passed. While the black veil of Teharun had faded, is was the Vicha’s sheer mass that now threatened to devour even the stars.
And it was closing in to devour Yves.
“Midnight,” Yves tore himself out of his mental gridlock, “You need to go.”
Still on his knees, Yves grappled with the tremors coursing through the ground, echoes of the beast's rampage. His clothes were soaked with the mud stirred by the torrential rain. Midnight stood beside him. They were at eye level, his face close to hers to make his voice heard.
Midnight stared toward the coast, her gaze fixed, refusing to meet his eyes.
Yves knew she had heard him.
“You need to go.”
The Vicha could not be stopped by magic. Fighting it directly was not an option. You either outran it or let it catch you. Midnight could outrun it.
“Midnight.”
She did not look at him. He did not touch her.
“Midnight. You cannot do anything here.”
She stared ahead.
For a moment, Yves stared too.
“Can you?” he asked.
Midnight glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“I want you to go. Ahead.” Yves retrieved two messenger strings from his hip pouch and imbued them with his energy. “Pass these on to the Albweiss Mountain Guild and to the Barnstream Harbour Guild. I am attaching two rings as well, which you can use for coin.”
Still on his knees, Yves pulled the rings from beneath his gloves. He threaded the messenger strings through them and then leaned towards Midnight to tie the strings around her neck. For an impulsive instant, he thought she would jerk her head to the side or leap backward.
“We cannot delay our departure to sea, so we need the Crimson Circle to be prepared to leave immediately. You will be there weeks before I am.”
She remained motionless as he leaned against her and pulled his arms closer around her muscular neck, sealing the strings close, like a chain. Her slick fur was soaking wet, but on his freezing hands, Yves felt the faintest traces of warmth radiating from her body. As Yves withdrew his arms, their faces were so very close that he could feel her breath on his face and see his reflection mirrored in her silver eyes.
Midnight stared.
“Take care.” Yves stood up.
For a moment, he thought she would reveal her true name to him in parting, but she did not. As soon as Yves got up, she had turned away to run inlands, and he slid back into the crater.
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