-oOo-

  Chapter 17

  -oOo-

  A pig demon’s axe blurred down. Earth shattered, unleashing a cloud of dust. Sylvia swayed, dancing just beyond the blade’s edge. “■.” Feather-light caught the hogmin, making him float and stumble. The silver-haired witch slipped around his back. “■■■.” Earth spike erupted beneath his feet, cleaving through armor and flesh. The shock sent the hogmin tumbling through the air, end over end.

  “■■■ ■■.” Lightning crackled. A bolt tore through the hogmin’s core.

  Another fight followed.

  Then another.

  Duels. Joint battles. Sylvia fought foes on the docks, this time without the advantage of ambush. She faced demons in the halls of the Academy and challenged wolves on the streets of Orasul Lunii. In the dark neighborhood of the world she left behind, she traded spells with witches. Sometimes she fought one-on-one. Other times, she encountered groups, alone or with companions.

  She died. She died. And she died some more. Every death was a new experience. Every failure was followed by a chance to review the battle and revise her tactics. Again and again. Day after day. Week after week.

  Then Sylvia opened her eyes.

  Her last blank skill book had been used. The lesson, Magical Combat. Sylvia had been holding onto the System item for weeks, waiting until the database was filled with enemies and tactics. She was rewarded with a practice the System named excellent.

  And the wait was well worth it.

  One book and Sylvia was confident she could defeat two of her prior self.

  Overall, Sylvia had dedicated five books to combat. These were All About Wind Blade, How to Fast Cast, Waltz of Flowers, Basic Combat Magic, and now Magical Combat.

  Standing, Sylvia gazed into the mirror and checked herself.

  Dark fabric wrapped her pale frame providing an adorable allure. A wide brimmed hat sat on her head, complete with a snazzy crook, a silver moon hanging from the tip. A witch. She looked like a witch.

  At least, that’s what Sylvia wanted to think. In reality, she looked more akin to a witch-themed magical girl. Especially with her high heels, teardrop earrings, cutesy ribbons and puffs of lace.

  Sylvia slapped both of her cheeks. “Don’t think about it. No one will care after you’ve murdered your first few demons.”

  Appearance was less important than power. This principle applied in both the netherworld and in video games. Sylvia’s shoes and dress looked impractical, but the stats didn’t lie. They were high quality pieces of equipment.

  She was, without question, an armed and armored badass.

  …

  Sylvia sighed. No matter how many times she reminded herself of this fact, the only thing she could see was a cutesy girl dressed up like a magical idol.

  Grumpily, Sylvia left her room.

  The grounds outside the mansion were abuzz. Sylvia spotted Brianna making her way past the wrought iron gates, ready to meet her team. Faith gave a cheer. The silver-haired witch wasn’t sure whether Faith had finally accepted her loss or if she was just faking her smiles. Piper had taken off a few hours early, wishing to organize her group and go over last minute tactics.

  “Go Sylvia. Go, go Syl~vi~a.”

  Sylvia’s eye twitched. Sometime in the last day, Emily had transformed a few first years into a cheer squad. Standing nearby, Riley offered a grin and a lazy wave. Watching from the side was Natalie Ward. The elegant perfectionist flipped her hair, not deigning to grant a word.

  Camila Powell, on the other hand, roared like a British football fan.

  “Rip them apart, mad dog!”

  …

  Sylvia turned her gaze, deciding it better to pretend she didn’t know them.

  The silver-haired witch quickly walked toward the iron gates. Before she could exit the manor grounds, a carriage pulled up next to her. The elegant cart was made of white wood and decorated with carved flowers.

  The door opened.

  “Sylvia, if you’d please,” Lady Vallenfelt said.

  She knew better than to think that a request. Sylvia stepped inside. The stone horse continued forward with a steady clop, clop, clop.

  Today, Esmeralda was especially gorgeous.

  Demonic fashion favored the axes of cool, beautiful, and terrifying. Lacking the grounding of comfort and physics, it often ventured into the extravagant. Sometimes, it went one step further and entered the bounds of the absurd.

  Yet, the gravity of glamour could never be escaped. When fashion went too far, it would be inevitably drawn back to what plainly looked good.

  Baroness Vallenfelt had struck a balance between these two extremes.

  The dean’s dress was spectacular. Long, wide white ribbons floated around her body in a magical display. Her bodice was white with gold trim. Tight and showing her form, though far more modest than what Sylvia was wearing. Her skirts, green and ruffled, ended around her ankles, lending Esmeralda the air of a pure princess.

  Lady Vallenfelt’s hair, as always, was dazzling. It spilled down her back in elegant, patterned waves that suggested the shape of flowers. Earrings framed her face, crystals glinting with light akin to stars.

  “You weren’t waiting for me, were you?” Sylvia questioned.

  “I was not,” Esmeralda answered. “But our relationship will soon be made public, so it is fitting that you ride with me.”

  Sylvia's stomach twisted. Lady Vallenfelt’s words were an uncomfortable reminder. Lucifer hung over the silver-haired witch like the sword of Damocles.

  “Adjust your braid,” Baroness Vallenfelt commanded. “Your ribbon is uneven.”

  Sylvia groaned inwardly. Concentrating her ki, the silver-haired witch loosened her locks. Sylvia’s pink ribbon had been replaced by one with three bands of black and two strips of pink. In her mind, it held two merits. The style was more sophisticated and the color less girly-girl.

  It’d also passed Emily’s review. Because, if Sylvia had freedom of choice, she wouldn’t be wearing one at all.

  …

  Probably.

  …

  It was kinda cute.

  …

  Maybe she should just commit suicide now? Sylvia would resurrect, to be sure, but at least that horrible thought would be cast into the abyss alongside her phantasm.

  “I hear you have teamed with Iulian Codrin.”

  “I have,” Sylvia confirmed, re-braiding her hair as much with her ki as with her hands.

  “An excellent choice. Iulian has Vilhelm Codrin’s favor. If he performs well in this tournament, he may soon be known as young master Codrin.”

  Orasul Lunii was ruled by the Codrin clan with Demon King Vilhelm Codrin at the helm. Vampires of the greatest merit would receive that last name during the selection ceremony. The rest would be divided into the branches Ghimpe, Frunze, Inima, and Ramura. Those who were rejected year after year would eventually be given the name Gol and made servants of their betters.

  Vampires abhorred slavery. Not in general. Just of their own kind. Mostly because it made the rest of them look bad.

  Being named Codrin wasn't too special. There were a couple hundred Codrins running around the city. Being recognized to the point he could be called young master, on the other hand, was.

  Sylvia scowled. She didn’t like where this conversation was going.

  “This isn’t a trite romance novel. I do not intend to betroth you,” Esmeralda teased, reading the pink-eyed witch’s expression. “In fact, as a woman, I would discourage marriage altogether. It is not an able path to power in the netherworld.”

  “I never thought you would,” Sylvia grumbled.

  “I see. It is the networking you find displeasing,” Lady Vallenfelt correctly concluded. “Relationships are the foundation of power. I want you to treat this as an opportunity to polish your social skills. I have already heard your name on Vilhelm’s lips, which pleases me. Be aware that Iulian will have, most assuredly, been ordered to do the same.”

  Oh, joy.

  Sylvia had no particular distaste for Iulian. She found his flirting and flattery irritating, but the vampire clearly understood the meaning of the word consent.

  “Yes, teacher,” Sylvia sighed.

  Her silver braid floated up. Sylvia scrutinized her work. It looked straight to her. Seeing that Esmeralda had nothing to say, Sylvia assumed her work passed muster.

  “Elroy of Est Somber, by contrast, is disliked by Baron Gris. It would be best to keep your relation cordial yet distant,” Lady Vallenfelt continued. “The other two….”

  “Gavin and Nessa,” Sylvia supplied.

  “Thank you,” Esmeralda said. “Are not worthy of note. Pleasantry and politeness, however, are proper for a lady. I expect you to abide by them.”

  Lady Vallenfelt’s words held a hint of warning. Sylvia knew well enough that if she didn’t project a satisfactory image, then Esmeralda would most certainly arrange further instruction to fix Sylvia’s habits.

  Or worse, another cursed item.

  Sylvia’s punishment for draining the jade scroll had been simple and brutal. Esmeralda had snapped a magic tool around Sylvia’s tongue, sealing her ability to cuss. Now whenever the asteri spoke a dirty word, her curse would be censored into something folksy or cute.

  As for how to end this punishment? All Sylvia had to do was not cuss, not even once, for four weeks straight.

  … Yeah. It was going to be a while.

  At least it was better than months of lessons with Kyna. However, it’d left Sylvia rather fearful. What other evil tricks did the witch have up her sleeves? Sylvia feared, if she continued to make mistakes, she’d end up wrapped in so many curses she’d be a doll.

  “What’s the issue with Elroy?” Sylvia asked, distracting herself from the unhappy thoughts.

  “Rupert did not make his displeasure known,” Esmeralda answered. “There is no need to overly concern yourself with the politics. Children will be children. I ask only that you not be the instigator of political troubles.”

  Oh, good. That sounded better than she first thought.

  Sylvia had little interest in the local scene. The plane was too small and the games too petty. Sylvia found it impossible to take the issues seriously.

  This, however, didn’t mean she was unaware. Her teacher was a baroness.

  Ignoring the Fey Federation’s small claim, the Timeless Beryl Wilderness was split into eight fiefs. Viscount Vilhelm Codrin ruled over Orasul Lunii, while Baron Rupert Gris controlled Loge Sombre. Add in the Baronesses Esmeralda Vallenfelt and Nicola Codrin and she had the development faction.

  The remaining nobles belonged to the resource faction.

  In a rare twist, werewolves and vampires were allies. On most planes, the two were bitter rivals. Blood often decided fate. Vampires and werewolves were pure carnivores. Phantasms didn’t spawn infinitely, meaning the two races were doomed to compete for sustenance. A clash that was made more bitter by their shared nox lineage. In the Timeless Beryl Wilderness, however, the carnivorous population simply wasn't large enough to over consume the wildlife. This let the vampires and werewolves set aside their difference.

  For now, anyway.

  Asteri, by contrast, were above the fray. Kosmovores were rare as a rule, and what they ate didn’t often overlap with that of other demons.

  The carriage slowed. The thump of the wheels was replaced by silence.

  “I wish you luck, my dear apprentice,” Esmeralda said.

  “Thank you, teacher,” Sylvia responded, exiting with a graceful curtsy.

  -oOo-

  Gavin the Black scrambled over the edge of the tender, following Elroy and Iulian onto the airship. The goblin’s skin was as dark as his name, his flesh thick and knotted. His eyes were like emeralds, with no whites to be seen. Goblins were a magical race. As was the case of most, he was short. In fact, Gavin was a foot shorter than Sylvia.

  Nessa was the exact opposite.

  The ship’s deck creaked when the giant stepped onto it. Nessa was a beast-kin whose chimerism derived from the beryl brightwood. She towered over Elroy of Est Sombre by a head and a half, and that was ignoring her green hair which spread out like the branches of a tree.

  Sylvia’s System listed both as C-II/Low.

  Gavin was level 182, just a bit ahead of the silver-haired witch. Nessa lingered at level 159. This degree of strength was more typical of the demons who passed the preliminaries. Iulian and Elroy were veritable monsters.

  “The smell of blood lingers in the air,” the goblin said. Gavin raised his long, sharp nose, drawing a deep breath. “Delicious.”

  “Lady Swallows, may I serve,” Iulian said, offering an arm with one graceful action.

  Sylvia was very tempted to ignore the vampire. Instead, she took the limb and let Iulian help her onto the deck. It wouldn’t do to disappoint her teacher.

  Nessa’s hair waggled, eyes conveying envy. Sylvia would’ve switched places if she could.

  “I think Nessa would’ve appreciated your help as well,” Sylvia commented.

  Iulian’s smile turned stiff. Yet, the vampire was as suave as he was charming. He gave the giant an apologetic bow. “Forgive me, Miss Nessa. I neglected you.”

  Nessa smiled, her expression bright behind layers of brown bark. “No need. No need. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”

  The witch’s expression soured. Was Nessa implying Sylvia couldn’t?

  Three airships floated over Castel Lunii. Beneath, thousands of demons were gathered to witness the ceremony. Today marked the end of the preliminaries and the start of the survival round. The true tournament had begun.

  And not just for the youngest demons. On this day, majors would start their selection round. Those battles would occur in the background while Sylvia’s team traded blows in the Twilight Forest.

  Small boats rose and fell, each bearing a team of hopeful fighters. But it wasn’t the warriors who commanded everyone's eyes and attention. It was the nobles. The lords of the plane were gathered on a balcony overlooking the castle’s lawn. To ensure visibility, their image was projected into the night sky.

  “Now enters Baron Rupert Gris, Lord of Loge Sombre.”

  The herald’s call echoed high and low. The castle was too far to be seen with the naked eye, so Sylvia watched the lanky man walk in using the screen overhead. Baron Gris was in human form, his hair black speckled with spots of gray. He looked casual, his chin sporting a ragged shadow and his clothes a drab trench coat.

  Dropping into a seat, Baron Gris rudely put his boots atop the back of the chair in front of him.

  “Now enters Baroness Esmeralda Vallenfelt, Lord of Vallen, Laureate of Magic.”

  Next appeared Sylvia’s teacher. Lady Vallenfelt was the personification of culture and courtesy. The baroness swept along the balcony, gracefully taking a seat far from the werewolf. The empty throne of the demon king stood in between.

  Words unheard, the distant dean exchanged pleasantries with a woman.

  “Baroness Nicola Codrin,” Iulian identified, tracing Sylvia's gaze to a silver-haired vampiress dressed in tight leather. “It looks like the entire resource faction is absent. They must be furious.”

  Sylvia made a curious noise.

  The redheaded vampire just smiled.

  Whatever. She was only trying to kill time anyway.

  “Now enters Viscount Vilhelm Codrin,” the herald called. “Lord of Orasul Lunii, Demon King of the Timeless Beryl Wilderness, First Prince of the plane.”

  A hush fell over the gathered crowd. Sylvia could see the faint flux of ether facilitating the quiet.

  Demon king was a position, not a title. Politically speaking, the demon king was the chief executive of the planar government. In terms of authority, the position was akin to president or prime minister. The king’s most important power was the right to command the army, though his privileges weren’t limited to this.

  Interestingly, demon kings were not appointed for life. They held their position for a single century. This somewhat democratic process was perhaps not so surprising when one realized that Athena was the third Emperor of Hell.

  Just a few tidbits of netherworld history.

  Vilhelm Codrin wore a dark suit, trimmed with golden knotwork. On his back fluttered a stately cape of crimson. His hair was black, like coal, sharing Iulian’s curls. His beard was well trimmed perfection.

  Sylvia envied it.

  As Eric, she’d always kept her face well shaven. But she did admire a good beard. Not that she ever had the patience to maintain one. A pity that here in the netherworld, where hygiene was easy, Sylvia would never sport such a magnificent creation.

  Life was full of regrets.

  All she could do was stroke her smooth chin and lament.

  … and maybe learn a few transformation spells.

  “When I came to this plane eighty-four years ago, there was nothing but mountains and forest,” Vilhelm Codrin spoke, his voice booming over the entire city. “The largest encampment consisted of cabins, tents, and a dirt wall set at the mouth of the River of Fire. Five thousand. There were only five thousand souls living in this great wilderness.”

  The demon king paused for a moment, to let everyone imagine it.

  “Today, that number has swelled to one-hundred and thirty-seven thousand. In this once empty land, we have erected great cities. Orasul Lunii. Loge Sombre. Lup Rosu. We have forged pools and ports. We have built fortresses to guard our territory and carved paths so that ships might fly across our skies.

  “But this is not enough!”

  The demon king hammered the podium.

  “Is this to be a sovereign plane or a rural backwater? Will we live in a thriving civilization or a forgotten wilderness? For long, I have dreamed of something greater. And now the doors to a better future have been thrown open to all!”

  Gavin scoffed. He fingered the iron shackle wrapping his neck. “For all? I think not.”

  Nessa nodded in agreement with the goblin, touching her own collar.

  “We have long known that to the south lie the Frozen Wastes,” Lord Codrin continued. “A forbidden land where even time stands still. Hunters dare not tread it, for if death takes you, your soul will be caught in an eternal moment, like an insect trapped in honey.

  “Yet, in that timeless place lies the plane’s greatest gift. For tens of thousands of years, souls have emerged from the world’s depths only to be frozen in that space. Over the millennia, they have formed an immense reservoir. For decades, we struggled to tap this resource. Brave demons faced the dangers of the Frozen Wastes, some never to return.

  “But could we leave our brothers to this cruel fate? No! Could we forget our sisters who were never born? We did not! The Frozen Wastes are our destiny! To all the souls trapped within, we will grant freedom!”

  Sylvia snorted. Freedom. Right. Viscount Codrin was going to free them right into slavery.

  “Today, I am proud to announce our moment has come,” Lord Codrin continued. “Thanks to the enduring effort of the Obsidian Tower, we have found a cheap and effective means to tread the Frozen Wastes. And this method will not be restricted to the lords and their fiefs. It will be shared with any who dare seek their fortune.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Hunters, go forth! Head south and find riches! Merchants, expand your shops and your workhouses! Grand prosperity lies ahead of us. Twenty-five million mortal souls. Fifteen million of which are born from beasts. Ten million bearing the hearts of men. Today’s tournament is not just a celebration of a new generation, but the start of a new future for the Timeless Beryl Wilderness!

  “Now, let the games begin!”

  Bang! B-b-bang, b-bang! Bang! Fireworks filled the sky, casting shapes and images. Demons fought demons. Warriors were devoured by wildlife. Limbs were torn and thrown askew.

  The crowd went wild.

  “Kill!” “Kill!” “Kill!”

  A steady chant echoed from the mob below. A mad thrill tainted by the lust of blood. Grins spread on the faces of greedy gamblers. Demons were caught in dreams of glory and destruction. The coliseum of Hell was a greater entertainer than the one of ancient Rome. For, in this world, there was no guilt and no responsibility. Only the pleasure of watching the plane’s strongest fighters tear each other apart with devastating arts and shocking magic.

  The airship lurched.

  Sails spread, catching magically induced wind. Below, a chain of demons marched toward the coliseum, carrying a parade of torches. Many would watch the first participants of the majors fight in their preliminaries. In a few hours, the survival round would eclipse their current interest, the highlights shown in the sky above.

  But first, Sylvia and the rest would be brought to the River of Fire.

  There, demons would die to the raucous screams of Orasul Lunii.

  Even a veteran gamer like Sylvia felt the scene was a touch macabre.

  White wings flickered in the moonlight.

  Sylvia’s head turned. A hook-nosed sailor landed on the deck. She frowned, pastel pink eyes following as the man slipped into the hold.

  “Did something catch your attention, Lady Swallows?” Iulian asked.

  “I thought I recognized one of the sailors,” she answered. “Also, I told you to drop the lady.”

  Iulian put a hand across his chest in a noble gesture. “How could I dare such familiarity with a beauty like you?”

  Sylvia really wanted to roll her eyes. The courtly vampire had complied fast enough prior. Clearly, Iulian had been spoken to about her, just as Lady Vallenfelt had discussed the vampire with Sylvia.

  “He’s an enemy,” Gavin said. The goblin wore a wicked grin filled with sharp, triangular teeth. “I can feel the malice.”

  “In my heart or his?” Sylvia questioned.

  Gavin was a redcap. Officially katergaris xotiko aima. Redcaps were a species of demon that had high sensitivity to all manner of negative emotions. Hate. Fear. Anger. Guilt. If she felt them, Gavin would pick up on it. Perhaps not the exact mix or context, but he’d know her thoughts had turned in a dark direction.

  This trait led redcaps to have nasty, cynical personalities. A problem augmented by the fact that all demons of the katergaris lineage were prone to roguish thoughts.

  “Both, Lady Swallows. Both.”

  Sylvia’s eye twitched. This bastard was calling her lady because he knew she didn’t like it.

  “I’m curious as to how Miss Sylvia came about such an enemy?” Iulian asked, graciously using her first name.

  “I ran across him on the docks a few nights back. I’m surprised he’s free,” Sylvia said, eyes dark. “Baroness Vallenfelt ordered him arrested. But I suppose, he got away because he’s Baron Ishii’s man.”

  Iulian frowned. “The Plutous?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lord Codrin approved the warrant,” the redheaded vampire said, his bright red eyes narrowed on the hatchway. “If that sailor is from the Plutous, he shouldn’t be here. Wait a moment, I will talk to the captain.”

  Iulian headed for the helm. Sylvia followed. The rest trailed behind.

  “This won’t get us disqualified, will it?” Nessa whispered quietly.

  The ship’s captain was a vampire. The System marked him C-III/Low, which was run-of-the-mill for important positions. This was a key distinction between young nobles, like Lady Vallenfelt, and older ones, such as Demon King Codrin. The King had long built an array of loyal servants and retainers, ensuring he could man every important position.

  “Captain Sergiu,” Iulian greeted. “My companion, Lady Swallows, says she spotted a man from the Plutous among your sailors.”

  The captain snorted. “Iulian Codrin, you dare imply I would hire a criminal? Much less a man loyal to another lord.”

  “I’m implying no such – ”

  “You seem to think you are Young Master Codrin already, boy,” Captain Sergiu snapped. “This is my ship and I will not be questioned upon it. Especially not so that you may appear bold before your tart.”

  Sylvia’s eye twitched.

  Iulian’s gaze darkened. “Take care with your words, Captain, lest you regret them.”

  The captain’s expression turned furious. “It is your tongue you should hold. One more word and I will have you thrown overboard.”

  Sylvia frowned. Her eyes found the helm. A frightening name appeared over the first mate’s head.

  “Wait,” Sylvia said, she pointed at the helm. “Who is – ”

  “Seize that girl,” the captain ordered.

  The fuck? Sylvia’s eyes snapped back. A few sailors moved. What bullshit was this? Her gaze flickered to the man at the helm then the captain again.

  “Captain Sergiu!” Iulian shouted angrily, stepping forward in defense.

  “And this – ”

  Fuck this.

  “■■.”

  Sylvia waved her staff. Foomph. Ether flowed out, blossoming into a blazing orb. The sphere struck the helm. Flame rolled, swallowing the demon whole. Without waiting to check, the witch leapt back. One foot pushed off petals as she flew over the banister to land on the main deck.

  “You dare!”

  “He’s a fa – ”

  Her retort was cut short. The captain vanished, form fading into shadow. His body blurred back into reality right in front of her. Darkness coiled around his arm. A blade covered the vampire’s open palm.

  The captain thrust.

  Sylvia moved.

  Instinct bred by a thousand battles made Sylvia lean. With a light step she swayed, transforming dodge into spin. In a blink, she was at the captain’s left flank.

  The vampire was faster than her. A lot faster. But nine-tenths of speed was skill. When Sylvia mastered the waltz of flowers, she had learned how to dodge and move. When she used a skill book to learn combat, this practice had been refined into something new.

  A prowess seen only among true experts.

  The captain, however, was no slouch either.

  The vampire whirled. The shadow on his arm elongated as he swung, transforming into a full scale cutlass. Inside the darkness, the embryo of his sword was taking form.

  Sylvia leapt. “■■.”

  The brief exchange bought Sylvia time for two syllables. Water rippled, drawing deep from her water palace. An umbral cutlass sheared through the liquid plane. The shock sent Sylvia’s small body skittering higher.

  In moments like these, being petite was pure advantage.

  Sylvia oriented herself in midair, toes tapping off sky to enhance her flight. Sergiu’s left arm flicked up. Black knives shot from the captain’s palm. The silver-haired witch shifted. The first blade went wide.

  The other two were spot on.

  “~■.”

  Dispersed water solidified then burst. A torrent of liquid sprayed through the knives, forcing the captain into a dodge. The two shadow blades tumbled in the wrong direction then vanished.

  Sylvia landed on the balcony, closer to the helm than when she began.

  The entire exchange lasted mere seconds. In that time, the bridge had been thrown into chaos. Elroy’s hammer had smashed through the helmsman. The demon twisted, true form revealed. A naga. Sylvia knew his name. Chenzira, First Mate of the Plutous.

  Elroy was not the only one who moved. Iulian Codrin seized the wheel then threw the ship hard to port. Screams echoed as the ship swayed. Sailors scrambled to take control, only to be ambushed by their companions. As the chaos peaked, the truth dawned.

  “Sergiu Ghimpe, you’ve been boarded by – ”

  Ka-BOOM!!!

  Kilometers away, an airship exploded. A ball of fire filled the night, drenching the city in light as bright as the midday sun. The orange illumination washed over the Orasul Lunii’s South Tower. Then, with ponderous speed, the building collapsed.

  Captain Sergiu vanished into black mist. One blink and he was at Iulian’s side, throwing the young scion of the Codrin clan away from the wheel.

  “Cut the sails!” He roared. “Kill the traitors, then throw these shits into the brig.”

  “Iulian, we must get off this ship!” Elroy shouted.

  The white-furred werewolf didn’t wait for confirmation before running toward the starboard side. Sylvia leapt from her place, leaving behind scattered petals. Water rolled around her, a second water shield erected during the period of confusion.

  “Don’t you – ”

  “None of us can fly!” Iulian shouted over the captain’s roar.

  “Trust me!” Sylvia yelled in return.

  She jumped off. Elroy of Est Sombre was only a second slower, having paused to snag Gavin then huck him over the edge. Iulian flew over right after, followed by a screaming Nessa.

  “Elroy, you bastard! I’m not a sack for you to throw about!” Gavin yelled in indignation.

  Sylvia turned, wind whipping around her body. The darkness was lit by pale petals. The asteri picked out her plummeting companions, starlight eyes capturing the hue of energetic ether in their bodies. She waited, letting the airship shrink overhead.

  Then she chanted. “■, ■, ■, ■, ■.”

  Strings of runes flew from her staff. Feather-light wrapped her teammates in its gentle embrace, the spell made a touch faster after a thousand hours of Magical Combat polished her skill.

  The magic sank into herself last.

  Their rapid plunge reduced to a slow drift. Above, the airship continued its slow, grinding turn, curving away from the West Tower. Then the sky flashed. The starboard sail snapped. The ship swayed drunkenly to the same side. Demons spilled overboard, ten seconds later than Sylvia’s team and now too far for the witch to catch.

  Sylvia reminded herself that death was but a passing thing here in the nether.

  “■, ■, ■, ■, ■.”

  She repeated her spells. Boom! The airship shook again, this time a burst of flame exploding from the port side of the hull. The ship was thrown into a lateral spin, then a bare second later –

  BOOM!!!

  The sky shattered.

  The sound was a physical force. Air crashed into her like a giant’s fist. Her shield splintered into mist, a spray of fine water hitting her face. The world went white. A ravenous blaze rolled through the sky, shedding searing heat. Sylvia was sent into a tailspin, hair, legs, and arms whipping as she tumbled through the night.

  Crinkle. Thud.

  She plowed into a roof, her armor’s barrier cracking under the impact. The silver-haired witch bounced once, rolled dizzily through the air, then dropped into the street below.

  Somehow, she caught herself with the waltz of flowers before she hit.

  Sylvia blinked.

  The world whirled around her. The ground shuddered. She looked up to watch the tower sway. Massive blocks of stone fell from it, plummeting onto the walls and city below. Fragments of the ship were tossed into the sky, blazing with fiery light.

  “■■ ■■.”

  Sylvia conjured a frost shield and placed it overhead.

  Flipping open her status window, she checked the damage.

  “What the hamburgers just happened?” she asked.

  Cinders rained down around her, flames mixed with etheric mist as fractured essence crumbled. Larger, denser objects crashed into houses surrounding. A wooden beam cracked off her frost shield before bouncing onto the cobble. The impact drove her to her knees.

  “Sugar.”

  Tongue tingling, Sylvia found her feet. Using her staff as a lever, she slowly condensed ether from the elements space and metal. Then she fed these energies into her armor, letting the rune chains within transform it into the aspect force. It’d be faster to burn pure mana, but with everything turning to shit, Sylvia feared she’d need her barrier and every point of energy she could scrape up.

  “■■.”

  Raising her staff, Sylvia sent a shot of fire into the air before making it explode. Then she found a nice set of stone steps, adjusted her skirt, then sat.

  She wasn’t alone on the streets.

  Demons poked their heads outside. Beast-kin were most prevalent, mixed with vampires and a few werewolves. A pair of vanara leaned out a window, tails curled around the sill, pointing at the tower. A karnabo stomped outside, checking the damage to his roof, his elephant trunk waving angrily.

  Though she was far from alone, the crowd remained thin. The coliseum and the demon king’s speech had drawn much of Orasul Lunii’s population. The residences here, near the wall, were poorer. The density was no match for the bustle of city’s core.

  Feet scrambled on a roof nearby. A dark skinned goblin dropped over the edge. Gavin the Black had a smarmy smile, his sharp nose raised high.

  “Little witch, I thought that might be you.”

  Sylvia’s gaze flicked to the smaller goblin. Then her eyes rose to the West Tower. The fires were fading, but she could still see the side that had been smashed in by the explosion.

  “I suspect the survival round has undergone a small revision,” she noted blandly.

  “Heh,” the goblin laughed. “At first I thought you’d be a snooty high-born, dressing yourself up all pretty. Instead, I’m starting to like you.”

  “Believe it or not, I didn’t choose these clothes,” Sylvia sighed.

  “Better someone choosing your clothes than your life,” Gavin replied, pinching the iron collar around his neck.

  “True,” Sylvia agreed. She stood. “How did you end up in the tournament, anyway?”

  Gavin showed his jagged, triangular teeth.

  Sylvia looked down the road past him. Wrapped in thick armor, a white furred werewolf strode through the streets. Elroy of Est Sombre. Beside him was the woodborn beast-kin Nessa. The wolf appeared singed but otherwise unharmed. Nessa looked more ragged, with many of her twig hairs broken.

  “How are you holding up?” Sylvia asked as they neared.

  Elroy grunted. “Superficial injuries.”

  “What’s happening?” Nessa babbled in confusion. The woman looked a little shell-shocked. “Why were we fighting on the airship? Why did the ship explode? Are we disqualified?”

  “I’m thinking the tournament is the least of our problems, leaf girl,” Gavin responded.

  Elroy ignored the two demons, his golden eyes fixed on the silver-haired witch.

  “Once we find Iulian we should proceed to Castel Lunii.” The werewolf glanced back over his shoulder, toward the tower and the city walls. “I fear this is the start, not the end.”

  “You’d be right,” an urbane voice interjected. Iulian flowed out of an alley’s shadows, his cloak billowing as his body gained substance. The redhead’s expression was grim. “Lady Swallows, thank you for your quick-witted action. If we’d remained on board that ship a moment longer….”

  “We’d be toast,” Gavin said snidely. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little death, high-born.”

  “Not at all,” Iulian contradicted. “But I prefer to avoid it. Unlike you, I must shoulder the cost of resurrection. And, if we perished beyond the wall, it is quite possible that our souls – ”

  “Iulian,” Elroy interrupted. “Do you have information?”

  “Yes,” the vampire confirmed. “Upon reaching the ground, I formed a familiar to check the situation. The tower’s garrison remains intact, but beyond the walls lie at least ten Helheim Legions.”

  “Helheim legions?” Nessa asked.

  “But there’s worse,” Iulian continued. “When my familiar returned, I spotted scores of shamblers in the city. Perhaps hundreds. They are clearing out houses a kilometer from the tower as we speak.”

  Sylvia frowned. “Shamblers lack intelligence.”

  “Which means there must be a centurion guiding them,” Iulian said, walking quickly down the street. “We must leave. Now.”

  “Snickerdoodles,” Sylvia cursed.

  This day had truly turned to shit.

  Also, it was four more fucking weeks before she could cuss properly again.

  -oOo-

  Bestiary

  Gavin the Black C-II/Low

  Species: Redcap

  Lv: 181

  Hp/Mp: 298+80 / 561

  Atk/Def: 103/28

  Celerity: 135%

  Dominion: 92

  Traits:

  Malicious Heart, Flesh Manipulation, Flesh Aspect Well, Malleable Flesh

  Nessa C-II/Low

  Species: Beast-kin (beryl brightwood)

  Lv: 159

  Hp/Mp: 659+33 / 165

  Atk/Def: 187/67

  Celerity: 131%

  Traits:

  Beast Core, Ki Release: Beryl Brightwood, Tough Hide, Protective Bark

  Grimoire

  Earth Spike

  Runes: 13

  Mana: 40 to 100, 3:1

  Attack: 280 to 400

  Penetration 40 to 100 pierce, 50% multiplier, 15% DRR

  Max Range: 20 meters * Mysticism

  Causes a flower of sharp stone to explode from the earth. The earth, in this case, is any thick and solid surface. This may include walls and ceilings, making the spell extra tricky in caves and castle hallways. The point of emergence is set in the second before the earth spike erupts. However, the shards can twist toward the target. As such, to dodge the target must escape the point of origin by one to two meters.

  Because the spell is easy to dodge by anyone with decent ether sensitivity, it’s recommended to use earth spike in a spell combination or after reducing the target’s mobility.

  Like most earth magics, earth spike has high defense penetration. It is, therefore, an excellent spell against slow and armored opponents. It's also decently effective against large, fixed assets. The mass of the stone can push through guards and thick material, assuming it can even be blocked. Most demons find it difficult to parry spells that come from below.

  Water Knife

  Runes: 23 initial, 11 chain

  Mana: 30, 3:1

  Attack: 210

  Penetration 50 pierce, 100% multiplier

  Max Range: 150 meters

  Velocity: 75 m/s

  Water knife might better be named water bullet. This magic forges a projectile of hardened water that pierces the enemy. The effect is simple and direct. Water knife can be chained, allowing fast iterations after the first casting. Further, the bullets may be held for up to three seconds, allowing for various rhythms of release.

  Like wind blade, water knife can curve along the trajectory of flight. Unlike wind blade, it may never curve back onto itself, nor veer more than 80 degrees off its initial direction. Further, the rate of turn is far less intense, achieving no more than 180 degrees for every second of flight.

  However, water knife can be quite tricky to dodge, as the bullet can jitter if controlled by skilled hands. This allows the spell to displace itself up to half-a-meter along the column of its path. This feature is independent of the spell’s ability to change its overall trajectory.

  Contrary to most spells, the energy that can be placed in a water knife is fixed. Because of this, the magic is considered highly technical, challenging a mage’s casting speed and control rather than their raw power.

  Flame Shot

  Runes: 9 (14 variant)

  Mana: 30 to 270, 8:1

  Attack: 60 to 540

  Penetration 10 pierce, 100% multiplier

  Max Range: 60 meters

  Velocity: ~35 m/s

  Area: 1 to 3 meter radius

  One of the simplest, effective combat spells in existence. Flame shot forms a ball of fire that may be lobbed like a common material projectile. In order to maximize the range, flame shot must be thrown at a 45-degree angle, with the caster moving in tandem to enhance the velocity. The normal variation of the spell has minimal control, only able to skew 5 meters in any direction when cast at its maximum range.

  Like most fire spells, flame shot easily accommodates great amounts of energy and ether. Mages can put about twice as much energy into the spell as they can into ordinary attack magics while retaining control. This allows anyone with sufficient energy to unleash terrible destruction.

  Despite flame shot’s drawbacks, it remains a rather popular spell in the netherworld.

  A 14 rune wind dual-element variant of this spell exists. By adding 10 wind ether, the spell’s velocity and trajectory control can be greatly improved.

  Cremation Hex

  Runes: 17

  Mana: 15, 3:1

  Power: 0 to 250 fire damage

  Duration: 0 to 60 seconds

  Despite the name, the cremation hex is blood element magic, not fire. The cremation hex forms a runic curse that embeds itself in the target. The duration is approximate, as the actual span depends on the comparison between the caster’s mana integrity and the opponent’s ability to break down the curse.

  The cremation hex creates channels that absorb fire ether, burning the target from the inside out. This completely bypasses all defenses, causing direct and horrifying damage to the blood essence. Each curse is sufficient to channel around 100 ether into the body, but is consumed after triggering. Multiple curses have an additive effect while compounding the duration by the resultant.

  Interestingly, independent curses can be braided into a super curse with greater power and function. Each thread beyond the first increases duration and function by +25%, to a maximum of 200%. However, this rarely comes into play as mages of sufficient skill have almost always moved onto advanced magics.