___

  Spells:

  

  
• [Wild Art: Alchemist’s Intuition – Crude]


  
• [Spectral Art: Parasitic Connection – Refined]


  
• [Spectral Art: Cauldron of a Thousand Whispers – Masterful]


  
• [Spectral Art: Instantaneous Formation – Masterful]


  
• [Hybrid Art: Core Bestowal – Masterful]


  
• [Ultimate Art: Symphony of a Dead Winter – Extreme]


  

  ___

  ‘Ultimate Art… well, that sure answers what happens when a spell requires both a bloodline, a mutation, and a spectral trait to work,’ they thought, the human body scratching the back of its head. ‘The name is a bit tacky though.’

  Regardless, they finally knew what the tier above Masterful was called, yet that only created more questions.

  Had this so-called “Extreme” tier always existed, or was it something their Status had come up with on the spot? Normally, Masterful spells were meant for Violets and Whites, so who were Extreme spells even meant for? Just demigods? Or perhaps, none but the most talented mortals? If not them, surely a god would be capable of casting something similar, right?

  Either way, one thing was for certain.

  If it hadn’t been for the pretty unique circumstances of the previous battle, they would have probably never merged their spells like this – not even after training for a thousand years. And they weren’t just being modest or pessimistic either.

  While Percy and Micky had done a great job developing so many Masterful spells with such low grades and at such a young age, it was painfully apparent that their new technique was on a whole other level from any of its components.

  It was the result of five Masterful spells fusing – four of Percy’s and one of Micky’s – each of which had been an extremely intricate piece of magic in and of itself. Many of them had involved several moving parts of their own, with three having been close to the very top of the tier in the first place.

  It wasn’t that strange that their fusion warranted a new classification, but getting all the components to fit together seamlessly would have been an impossible challenge for a regular person. They’d only succeeded because they’d somehow managed to get three minds to collaborate perfectly on the task. In fact, they wouldn’t be surprised if they’d consumed a lot of Wiseman’s Murmurs in the process too.

  ‘Hmmm… too much was going on for us to notice but, come to think of it, hasn’t the influx of ideas grown a bit quieter now? We haven’t bled the pyramid dry, have we?’

  The plan had always been to leave some of the resource for the wasp familiar, to give Nephthys a helping hand as she began her new life. It was the least the goddess deserved, considering that the Murmurs had come from her in the first place.

  Hopefully, it was just their imagination, and the only reason the substance wasn’t making its presence known at the moment was because they weren’t practicing their magic. Not that they were planning to do that anytime soon, though.

  They’d already fused half of their spells into the Symphony of a Dead Winter – closer to a hundred percent of their arsenal, actually, if they excluded all the auxiliary spells that had little to do with combat. Consequently, they had no idea how to continue raising their strength.

  ‘We could aim for some incremental improvements, but we’ll probably experience diminishing returns moving forward,’ they realized.

  They should be able to hone their magiscript further the next time they visited the Vault, and they might also be able to come up with a more efficient form of affinity fusion that involved ice, soul and pure mana. They could also try using Green trollsfury tattoos, or even working other variants of potions into their kit. Finally, learning to wield their domain better might help, among other things.

  However, all of those projects were relatively minor – at least compared to everything they’d already incorporated into the spell. It would take several time-consuming improvements for too little gain.

  Not that killing a powerful Violet with only a bunch of Yellow and Green cores was anything to scoff at, but the Lone Wanderer suddenly found himself with fewer promising projects to work on than usual.

  This was perhaps the perfect time to shift their attention to more peaceful ventures. Growing any stronger in their current grades was a tall order, so their best bet would be to sprint toward their next promotions – be they natural or artificial. Of course, their clones were bound to find more interesting things to bring back at some point, opening new doors for them, but that wasn’t something they could plan for.

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  ‘We should try to settle down anyway. Right now, the priority is giving Nephthys a body, followed by figuring out the situation in the Guild and the rest of Remior.’

  Weirdly enough, they had already grown stronger than most of the Violets leading the noble Houses. If they excluded the Green-borns in the Divine Order, there might be fewer than a hundred mortals in the world capable of beating them in single combat.

  ‘Well… “single” if they don’t call us out for cheating…’

  With Deimos out of the picture and their enemies having learned some tough lessons recently, they might not encounter too much resistance if they tried to free Baldy and Orin.

  Then, they could look for some remote corner to hide in for the next few centuries, focusing on the new familiar’s growth, alchemy, magiscript, cleansing their cores, and exploring the universe.

  ‘Sounds like a plan. All this fighting has gotten pretty cumbersome anyway…’

  Heaving out a tired breath, they closed their Status, having finished going over everything. Their transformation had changed a lot, but they felt that they now had a decent grasp on their new reality.

  Over the next couple of hours, they poured their efforts into mending as much of the soul damage as possible. They weren’t going to recover completely in such a short time, but they wanted to at least be able to carve out a chunk of their soul without fainting, to fashion the familiar out of – assuming that they managed to get an egg from the Starry Queen.

  On top of that, they hoped that they would be able to activate their new spell in a pinch. They still had no idea what the ruler of the magical hive wanted from them, but there was always a chance that things would devolve to violence. Activating the Symphony before they fully recovered wouldn’t be pleasant, but they would need its power to break out of the underground prison if the worst came to pass.

  As they worked on thawing out their soul, they took some time to consider a different issue.

  ‘How are we going to interact with other people, moving forward?’

  Ideally, they should make an effort to think of themselves as “Percy” and “Micky” whenever possible, and to try and behave as two separate individuals – if not inside their heads, then at least when interacting with others.

  Keeping the fa?ade up wouldn’t be easy, as they clearly defaulted to referring to themselves as “they”. Pretending to talk to one another would be the equivalent of a regular person developing a split personality on purpose, making the whole thing as silly as it was impractical.

  Still, as annoying as it sounded, they knew they had to do something to put their friends and family at ease. Conforming to basic social norms and expectations would likely serve them better in the long run. And who knew? Maybe they’d find a way to separate their minds and stuff them back into their respective bodies one day – if only whenever it was more convenient than being fused.

  ‘It’s settled then. I’ll be Percy again, and you’ll be Micky,’ the human body said, getting a nod back. It already felt weird, if not downright cringeworthy, but they’d have to get used to it.

  As soon as they were ready, they finally stepped out of the cavern and into the only tunnel leading to the next one. The elemental body – no. Micky – had shifted back to Percy’s form, ready to fight if necessary. This was the best form to use right now, for several reasons.

  For one, he wouldn’t be able to fly in such a cramped space, so neither the large nor the small birds would be any useful here. The four-armed shape might be a little stronger than the human one, but there was another problem with it.

  Walking ahead, Percy tore a strip from his Cloak, tossing it to his “companion”. The latter poured some phantom mana to regenerate it, soon donning an identical copy. Unfortunately, his other form was too burly for it and had a couple of arms too many. If necessary, he could wear a slightly distorted version, but it was better to use one that fit him properly for now and worry about weaving a new set of clothes later.

  As they passed through the wide tunnel, they couldn’t help but gawk over the colourful minerals lining the walls and ceiling. Among them, they even spotted a material they recognized – a dark vein with hundreds of tiny dots glittering over its glossy surface.

  ‘Obsidian marble!’

  It could be used to craft long-lasting spatial amulets, though they didn’t really need any more of those at the moment. Even so, they were tempted to snatch a few crystals and ores of each type to experiment on later.

  In the past, Percy might have thought twice about disturbing the environment inside the precious hive – if not out of fear of breaking the law, then out of respect for its importance in Remior’s survival. That ship had largely sailed, of course, considering how much he’d disturbed this place already. Besides, grabbing a few rocks wouldn’t really make a difference.

  ‘Not right now,’ he thought, shaking his head.

  Robbing the place when they were about to meet its ruler might not be a great idea.

  Approaching the end of the corridor, they felt the ground rumble beneath their feet, a constant buzzing sound growing louder by the second. Swallowing hard, they pressed on, knowing that there was no avoiding what was to come.

  Reaching the exit, they found themselves inside a room several times larger than the last one. The deposits scattered across the stone surfaces shone even more brightly than those in the tunnel. Countless exits led out of the cavern, each wide enough for at least a Blue bug to easily crawl through, with many being even bigger than that.

  The air was thick with dancing motes, though the particles were constantly disturbed by the thousands of insects of all shapes and sizes crawling out of one tunnel and into another. The Red-cored Starry Drones were as big as a man’s fist, while the Orange-cored Starry Workers and the Yellow-cored Starry Soldiers were as large as foxes or humans, respectively.

  There were plenty of Green-cored Starry Knights too, each the size of an elephant – reminding Percy and Micky of the monstrosity that had nearly claimed their life the last time they’d found themselves inside the hive. They didn’t see any of the Blue beasts around, however. There probably weren’t that many of them in the colony to begin with, or they simply didn’t have a reason to regularly wander through its tunnels.

  Either way, Percy and Micky weren’t paying the scenery or the smaller creatures any attention. How could they, when they struggled to peel their eyes from the behemoth standing smack in the middle of the room, staring right back at them?

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