For a fleeting moment, Talax's body contorted, stretched, and compressed, as if he were shapeless dough, subjected to the capricious whims of wild magics.
Then, as abruptly as the sensation had begun, he found himself standing within an abyssal void. Panic clawed at him as he frantically searched the darkness for signs of Franny and Qalo, but he couldn’t find any sign of them.
"Franny? Qalo?" His voice resounded. Its echoes twisted into a distorted chorus that left him disoriented. The vastness of the space engulfed him, and without Franny's light to guide him, he was as helpless as a newborn kitten.
Slowly, his vision adapted to the feeble illumination, revealing a dim expanse before him. A few meters away, a wall of impenetrable darkness materialized. Its obsidian depths seemed to consume the faint light, leaving only a void of deeper darkness.
Instinctively, Talax retreated, but his backward steps met an unyielding surface. Startled, he recoiled, but the darkness persisted, oppressive and unyielding. His outstretched hands encountered an invisible barrier, as smooth as polished glass. Pacing left and right, he searched for an opening, a flaw, anything to breach the confining wall, yet his efforts were met with only frustration.
Turning towards the beckoning abyss, his resolve steeled. “Here goes nothing.” He murmured and gathered what courage he had left and stepped forward. Like a blind man, he extended a cautious hand, fearing an unexpected obstacle underfoot. Step by step, he advanced, guided solely by touch and a racing heart.
The path seemed endless, a surreal journey through an ethereal shroud. Gradually, his surroundings morphed, a new dimension unveiling itself. Before him stood the enigmatic wall, an inky expanse ready to unveil its secrets.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed onward. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, an uncanny sensation enveloped him. It was as though he waded through dense cotton, the air itself shifting to cradle his form. Softness enveloped him, molding like a second skin.
Step by step, he moved forward, the boundary between worlds growing thinner. And then, the peculiar sensation ceased. Weightlessness engulfed him, a disorienting sensation that sent him teetering. Desperation surged as his balance faltered, his arms flailing instinctively trying to stay upright in the abyssal unknown.
He stopped swaying and cast a reluctant glance around, nothing. A canvas of utter blackness met his gaze. Everything was black. He couldn’t see anything; he even brought his hand in front of his face, but he couldn’t even make it out at this short distance, as if he was blind.
A surging panic clutched at his chest, his breaths quickening in a bid to fight the overpowering despair.
Then, as if a veil had been lifted, the world sharpened. The blackness receded like curtains pulled aside, and he saw once more. Like someone had put glasses on him and he had finally his sight back. He inspected his surroundings with relief calming his racing heart.
Still, everything lay in shades of black. He surveyed his surroundings in astonishment, discovering himself standing on a river, the water as solid as earth. His eyes widened, grappling with the implausibility. He remained frozen, fearing that even the slightest movement would plunge him into the ominous depths below.
He pivoted his head, trying to stay as still as a statue, registering the scene. An expansive river stretched before him, spanning kilometers. The water resembled a placid mirror, an unending expanse of inky darkness. Rocky banks hugged the sides, shrouded in a dense fog that obscured everything beyond.
A fleeting thought of reaching the distant shore grazed his mind, yet instinct whispered against it. The land held an aura of danger, a harbinger of unspeakable horrors concealed within the mist.
No, he must stay with the water.
With reluctant determination, he took a tentative step. The surface welcomed his boot with the formation of delicate ripples, unsettling the calm facade. He stood still once more, his hands trembling, wary that some monstrous tentacle will emerge and drag him into the bottomless depths.
Images of the encounter with the fishwoman and her peculiar, oversized companions flashed before his mind's eye, making cold sweat cover his skin. He silenced those thoughts, since they were not helpful at all! Happy thoughts, happy thoughts! He admonished himself.
Still, he couldn’t help but glance at the water. A sudden flicker of movement caught his attention. His breath caught, suspended in his chest. But when he looked closer, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Ordinary, he yearned for just a touch of ordinary. Yet here he stood, having just escaped a trapped room through a magic portal that spit him out into an eerily dark river. I mean, come on, he was literally standing on water!
He shook his head in wonder, then ventured forward, each step sending out fresh ripples that wove into the lingering patterns. His footfalls, like shockwaves, ignited an intricate dance of motion, an expanding tapestry of chaos.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he pressed on. With every stride, new ripples emerged, crafting a captivating display of undulating designs. The once-still water transformed into a canvas of liquid art, where each ripple wove into the next, birthing intricate shapes and symmetrical formations.
For a moment he halted his advance as a new concept started forming in his mind. The amalgamation of ripples, lines, and forms teased at the edge of comprehension, like the precipice of a revelation. His mind raced, attempting to unravel the message encoded in the watery tapestry. Seconds stretched into minutes, then hours, as he felt the essence of insight just eluding his grasp, yearning for that final nudge, that freeing epiphany.
It was akin to a buried memory, long forgotten, now struggling to resurface. The frustration of wrestling with a memory just out of your reach, like a name or date hovering at the edge of your consciousness. His frustration grew, gnawing like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
His body felt frozen, immersed in the complexity of the pattern. Unblinking, his eyes remained fixed on the undulating rhythms that flowed in ceaseless harmony. He didn’t even blink, afraid he would lose the intricate pattern without internalizing its hidden meaning.
Almost involuntarily, he took another step, new ripples born into the intricate design. His eyes widened, a splitting headache crashing through his senses. A groan slipped past his lips, and his very core quaked. The pain was blinding, an agony so intense he couldn't even muster the focus to investigate its source.
His hands moved to clutch his throbbing head, a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. A warm trickle of blood traced his ears, and he whimpered. The rhythm of his heartbeat sounded like a drum to his frayed senses. He felt as though his skull might explode at any moment in a burst of gore and blood.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
Ugh!
Talax prayed for escape from his relentless torment. And it seemed his plea was answered, because the next moment, a blanket of true darkness overtook him.
He felt like shit. Like he had partied the previous night way too hard, and he had the world’s worst hangover. For a moment he wondered whether he had fallen into a barrel of whiskey, the cheap one not the good stuff, that made you regret all your life’s decisions and swear to never drink again.
A series of pained groans escaped his lips, followed by a feeble smack of his lips as he tried to moisten his dry mouth. "Never again," he mumbled through lips that felt as if they'd been dusted with gravel, "from now on a couple of Heinekens are my absolute limit."
Gradually, the haze in his mind lifted, revealing the undignified manner in which he had landed. Cheek mashed against a cool, smooth surface, and a trail of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. With a slurping sound, he attempted to gather the drool. And to make matters worse, he had landed in a rather compromising position, on all fours, his butt sticking up like a beacon. Thankfully he was alone, without any witness to his risqué position.
His eyelids fluttered, then blinked in confusion. And then he blinked again. Moving shapes, in different shades of black met his gaze. What?
Oh, dear gods! A stray thought crossed his mind, unbidden. Maybe I should start believing in a deity, just so I have someone to curse and plead with. He had seen Franny invoking Avass on several occasions, and even Qalo had turned to an orcish goddess when he was about to piss himself. Just like he was about to do now!
He jerked upright, his eyes zeroing in on the once-again placid waters. Just beneath the surface, a swarming mass of inky figures clustered where he had been mere moments ago. They appeared trapped, as if an invisible barrier held them back, or as if they were fish ensnared beneath a frozen pond.
His body quivered uncontrollably. The revelation that the river wasn't an empty expanse, but rather teeming with an endless swarm of shadowy, spectral figures, sent shivers down his spine. It was as if his deepest anxieties had materialized before him, proving his worst fears to be true.
Ugh! Why does it always have to involve water? Why is all the spooky stuff lurking in the depths? A mental image of the corrupted guardian flickered into his mind, causing him to amend his thought, well, almost all the spine-chilling horrors lurked in the water. No more vacations by serene beaches, that was for sure.
Fear held him paralyzed for what seemed like an eternity. His mind occupied with nonsense in an effort to retain some semblance of rationality while the creatures below scratched and scraped. Their attempts to breach the invisible barrier were in vain, yet the fact brought little solace to Talax's racing heart.
Every fiber of his being urged him to flee, to escape the impending danger. But fear rooted him in place, a helpless prisoner of his own dread. His thoughts tumbled into an abyss of darkness, teetering on the brink of insanity as he tried to process the unthinkable terrors lurking beneath him.
Stolen novel; please report.
The creatures beneath the surface seemed driven by an insatiable hunger, their frenzied attempts to break free growing more savage with every passing moment. Monstrous forms clawed and gnashed at the water's surface, their primitive cries piercing the barrier like a haunting chorus of terror.
Amidst the spiraling darkness, a glimmer of defiance sparked within him. He realized that succumbing to fear would only strengthen the hold of this nightmare. With a surge of determination, he dredged up the remnants of his willpower, resisting the vice-like grip of terror.
Drawing a deep breath, he forced his focus onto his surroundings, searching for a glimmer of hope amid the chaos. His gaze roved across the distorted landscape, seeking any trace of light or a path to safety.
In the distance, a faint glimmer caught his eye, a flickering ember amidst the encompassing darkness. It seemed to call out to him, a guiding light in the heart of despair. With a surge of determination, he willed his paralyzed limbs to action, stumbling toward the elusive radiance.
His first step was met with a piercing shriek that reverberated through the vast expanse. He watched in horror as a black figure emerged from the rippling water. Another step, and a second figure squeezed through the rings of water. Talax with mounting horror realized that with each step, with every disturbance in the water’s surface, a new wraith managed to escape the watery prison.
Running towards the beckoning light, his movements gave rise to a dissonant symphony of screams. A chilling chorus that sent icy tendrils down his spine. The shadowy phantasms pursued him relentlessly, almost brushing his skin with their spectral fingers. They clung to him like a sinister cloak, their agonized voices merging into a haunting howl that resonated in the void.
Cold hands reached for him, desperate to seize him. Each contact seared his flesh with white-hot pain. Talax clenched his teeth as tears of pain formed in his eyes. But he was determined not to fall to his watery grave.
While running he clumsily unsheathed his sword with fumbling hands. From the corners of his eyes, he caught glimpses of dark forms darting left and right, a hair's breadth from him. Their spectral claws were outstretched, aiming to rend his flesh into tatters.
The ghostly horde multiplied, their eerie voices swelling into a cacophony of pursuit. With a desperate swing, his blade passed harmlessly through their incorporeal forms, only fueling their frenzy. Their enraged shrieks intensified, their formless visages contorting with malevolence.
With renewed vigor, they surged closer, their ethereal forms slashing at him with deadly intent. Talax's flesh was marked by their spectral claws again and again. Agonized cries were wrenched out from his mouth with his every step. Yet, he pressed on, knowing that even a momentary pause would allow the relentless swarm to overwhelm him.
Amidst the chaos, a glimmer of cerulean radiance emanated from beneath his clothing. With a start he remembered his ability Armor of the Deep, protecting him against slashing attacks. More wraiths lunged, inflicting fresh wounds that oozed crimson streams. Yet, each assault summoned forth additional layers of the leviathan-like armor, encasing him in a stony carapace.
As the coral-hued luminescence of his newfound defense illuminated the surroundings, the wraiths hesitated, their assault faltering. Their attacks remained, but their coordination unraveled. Disoriented screeches echoed, reflecting their frustration. The magic-empowered glow of the coral armor seemed to make them reluctant.
Talax realized that the Armor of the Deep ability had a significant impact on these spectral assailants. With swift motions, he sheathed his sword and directed his hands, channeling the pulsating azure light towards the encroaching wraiths. The creatures recoiled, their shrieks of protest echoing as they sought refuge from the radiant magical onslaught.
Magic! That’s it! Physical attacks seemed to be ineffective against the creatures.In the midst of his realization, an excruciating pain sliced through his concentration. Piercing claws tore through his back, rending his shirt into tatters.
“AAAAA.” The anguished cry that erupted from his lips mingled with the sharp bite of pain as he staggered, making him almost fall face first. Exploiting his vulnerable moment, the wraiths descended upon him, like wolves attacking the weakest member of the herd.
Tears blurred his vision, but amidst the pain, a radiant arch pierced the darkness. Much like the portal that had brought him to this nightmare, this arch exuded a brilliant, unwavering white light, a beacon of salvation in the black abyss.
Rekindling his determination, he strengthened his pained back and picked up the pace. The coral-like light that had once encased him had subsided, leaving deep claw marks etched into his back. It seemed his ability, Armor of the Deep, had its limitations.
The wraiths, sensing his loss of defense, lunged with renewed zeal, closing in to exploit his vulnerability. Yet, Talax had a countermove in mind. Swiftly, he started casting his quickest spell, conjuring forth a twenty-centimeter-long spike of rock. It shot from his hand towards the nearest specter, sending it back.
Encouraged by his success, he cast the spell again, launching a spike towards a wraith to his left. The stone projectile struck its chest, producing a howl of rage. However, Talax noticed that the spike failed to cause damage to the creature. The spell, Stone Spike, may be fast but it didn’t hold much power.
Fueled by hope and desperation, Talax continued his barrage of spells. Each casting drained a portion of his dwindling mana, unleashing spikes of rock upon the approaching specters. While not every spell hit its mark, his nonstop casting exacted a toll, stopping some of the wraiths and creating momentary gaps within their ranks.
As he sprinted toward the radiant portal, the tide of insubstantial darkness in the river surged, birthing an unending torrent of dark figures.
Closing in on the portal, his battered body gave off a faint cerulean luminescence from the innumerable scratches, Talax realized the urgency of his situation. The tide of wraiths, an unyielding wave of malevolent entities, was about to overwhelm him before he could reach the portal. The Stone Spike spell, once a decent weapon of defense, had lost its impact. The sheer number of wraiths made it as inconsequential as a raindrop in an ocean.
As yet another wraith lunged, its spectral hand outstretched, Talax reacted instinctively. His upheld hand radiated the feeble light of his Armor of the Deep, momentarily stalling the creature. But then it screeched and attacked. The spectral claws bit into the hardened rock and Talax saw it crack into tiny pieces, shooting an excruciating pain down his hand.
He clutched his ruined hand as another attack struck his shoulder, each contact draining him of health, his life force dwindled with every claw mark. Desperation drove him to seek a solution, a means of survival against this relentless onslaught. He turned to his core, needing a spell to fend off the encroaching wraiths, if only for a few precious seconds.
His mind raced through his repertoire of spells, considering the options. The Fog of Mystica water spell seemed promising, capable of disorienting a multitude of foes within its area of effect. However, its long casting time made it impractical for casting while running. He needed a swift solution, something to keep the wraiths at bay until he reached the portal.
Rejuvenating water was another choice. The spell usually didn’t have an effect on opponents, but neither did the Armor of the deep ability. Maybe it could work the same way, scaring the creatures away.
Amidst the chaos in his head, a glimmer of hope ignited. His attention shifted to a new sphere of energy within his core. Wide-eyed and heart pounding, he inspected this newfound addition, clinging to the promise of what it might offer.
Dark magic, level 1
1% resistance to dark magic
Wait a minute. A new magic sphere? When had that happened? It hit him like a lightning bolt. The epiphany he experienced while observing the intricate ripples and the subsequent surge of mana, a sensation akin to acquiring a new skill or leveling up. The connection clicked, and his heart raced as he realized that he had unlocked a new element of magic through that moment of revelation.
A puzzled frown creased his forehead as he realized the peculiarity of this new magic. Unlike his other spheres of magic, which were accompanied by smaller orbs orbiting the larger ones, the newfound dark sphere stood alone. A wave of unease washed over him. He didn’t have any dark magic spells! How is that possible?
The resurgence of panic gnawed at him, fueled by the impending threat of the wraiths and his apparent lack of offensive spells. He ran with all the desperation he felt. The relentless pursuit driving him forward, frustration growing as he racked his brain for a solution.
"This is a dungeon," he muttered, his voice strained. "There's a reason behind all this. I wouldn’t have acquired dark magic simply to die the next moment." With determination, he delved into his core, studying the enigmatic black sphere as if it held the key to his salvation.
Another hand clawed at his back, making him bend over from the excruciating pain. With his feet shuffling barely at the pace of a run he desperately checked and rechecked the black planet. He didn’t have a spell so how could he use the newly acquired magic?
His mind raced with possibilities and guesses, one more unlikely than the last when he remembered the portal. Then an idea sparked. A connection between his newly acquired dark magic and the portal. He remembered how the portal harnessed mana, not just any mana, but a fusion of life, death, light and dark mana. Dark mana! That’s the key!
The conclusion seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, yet he felt sure in its accuracy. He had a vague notion that when he studied the intricate pattern that helped him acquire dark magic, he was imparted with knowledge related to that branch but also the inner workings of magic in general. Just like when he got any skill or ability.
The real problem was he didn’t know how to create dark mana... Something he had never attempted before. In the past, he hadn't needed to do it, so the idea had never crossed his mind. Yet, as he reflected, he realized that when he cast spells, his core's ambient mana transformed into the specific magic type he used.
Each magic sphere acted as a conduit, altering the natural mana into the elemental fuel necessary for the spell. He just needed to see how that happened, then he might harness the newly acquired dark magic. Determination ignited within him, and he resolved to unravel this mystery.
He focused on the new sphere. He cast his Stone spike spell while his attention was trained on his core. As the mana flowed into the earth sphere, he observed the transformation. The green, liquid earth mana coursed through his pathways and emerged at his fingertips to shape the spike.
A triumphant smile graced his lips as the spike struck a wraith, causing it to wail and plummet into the river. Understanding dawned, this was how spells worked. They channeled his mana through the specific magic sphere, facilitating the transformation and manifestation of the desired spell.
With newfound enthusiasm, he willed his mana to flow into the dark sphere. The ambient mana hesitated before reluctantly obeying his command, slowly changing its essence. The transformation gradually accelerated, flooding the dark sphere to its limits. However, attempting to send the altered mana through his pathways proved a struggle.
Unlike his conventional spells, directing the transformed mana from the new sphere required deliberate effort. It was an unfamiliar skill that he had yet to master. Usually, when he cast a spell, the progression was instinctual, like muscle memory. He didn’t have to actually have a conscious thought in order for the spell to work, it just happened.
Now, it was his task to guide the mana along his pathways and into his hands. The dark mana complied, though its progress felt agonizingly sluggish, akin to burning liquid coursing through his veins.
After an arduous journey, the dark mana finally arrived at his fingertips. An idea came to his mind. He envisioned enveloping himself in a cocoon of dark mana. If his assumptions held true, the wraiths might hesitate to harm another being infused with the same dark essence. With sheer willpower, more mana poured into the sphere, its infusion purifying the essence into pure dark mana. This transformed mana flowed through his body at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Controlling the mana proved to be an immense challenge, and a new migraine threatened to overcome him. His concentration teetered on the edge, he knew the risk of losing focus and dispersing the mana would mean he would be defenseless once again. The portal loomed ever closer. Overcome by pain, he stumbled in a lopsided gait since his left leg was ruined by claws, leaving nerves exposed, and blood flowing into the river beneath him.
His shuffling steps faltered as he realized that the river's cacophony had stopped. Deafening silence replaced the incessant screeching and howling that had haunted him. Stopping, he looked around with astonished eyes. The wraiths, once relentless pursuers, had now formed a semicircle around him, a quiet procession of ethereal figures. The shock momentarily shattered his grip on the dark mana he had meticulously formed around his torso, causing a part of the creation to crumble into oblivion.
With a desperate attempt he quickly regained control and stabilized the formation. The wraiths, however, remained unmoving. An eerie hush enveloping them, mere meters away from him.
He was safe. He was finally safe.
The realization flooded him, and he released a sigh of profound relief. Without a second glance he marched towards the beckoning portal.