-oOo-

  Chapter 24

  -oOo-

  Morning dawned brilliantly over the Asphodel Meadows. The heavy clouds and bloody rain had vanished overnight, leaving behind a gray haze. The sun was a blur gazing through the ash. Its scattered, gentle light passed through Sylvia’s window to fall upon a long, silver plait.

  Sylvia checked her braid in the mirror.

  The witch’s hair spilled down to her thighs in a smooth rope of glossy silk. Faded, pink sparkles glittered in the gray morn.

  “Doesn’t look right,” Sylvia mumbled to herself.

  A thread of ki unwound lustrous silver. Soon her beautiful locks were laid out in a wavy, shimmering fountain. The glitter and curls Emily had inflicted remained, though Sylvia had happily abandoned the style the brunette loved. After a minute of hesitation, she pulled out a length of ribbon. The outer bands were black while the inner was pink. The witch wound it around the root of her tail before weaving into her newly styled French braid.

  A small bow was tied at the tip.

  Sylvia checked herself again.

  Cute. More importantly, wearing it like this felt right.

  A moment later, her shoulders slumped.

  “I’m turning into a girl,” Sylvia groaned.

  Here she was, on a far away plane, free to be herself. And what did Sylvia do? She put on her school robes. Her new corporal outfit to be specific. The pink bow clasping the center looked better with her Blood Bone Heels.

  Emily, Sylvia realized, was evil.

  The vile brunette knew Sylvia would never take off those shoes. And while those ribbons wrapped her calves, bows at the back, how could she ever wear pants?

  And, if the bows were showing, then clearly the rest of her outfit had to match!

  There was no salvation. Sylvia had no choice. She had to wear a dress. She had to put the ribbon in her hair. Fashion demanded it.

  It wasn’t that Sylvia wanted to.

  She had to.

  Absolved, Sylvia’s expression turned serious. Slowly, she positioned the black beret on her head. A triplet of four pointed stars glinted gold. Sylvia studied them intently.

  “Nobody will say anything, right?”

  On Earth, an array of stars on a hat was a symbol of military rank. This was particularly true in America. Hell did not abide by this culture. It had its own symbols for displaying power and position. Flags and heraldry abounded. Crowns, diadems, and tiaras were worn by the high nobility to show their superior station. Capes were favored by military leaders, to make them more visible and visually impressive.

  As for captains of a middling rank? Helmets with giant plumes were in fashion.

  Sylvia very much approved. It was impossible to go wrong with a good hat.

  The witch turned, checking herself one last time before exiting her bedroom.

  Sylvia found herself gazing over the flat’s balcony. Pastel pink eyes took in the city. The dark and dusty buildings were bright under the morning’s light. Iacchus spread out across the horizon, a forest of turrets and steeples. Three great bridges stretched over the Archeron. The famous river of woe was a mighty beast, near a kilometer in width. Its red waters glimmered under the sun’s glow, looking like churning blood.

  Sylvia’s eyes fell to the space directly below. Her stomach lurched. Sylvia had become resistant to heights after months of flight, but animal instinct remained.

  It helped to remind herself that even if she fell, she could land safely.

  The streets beneath were thin ropes winding between buildings, roads built for carriages and pedestrians alike. The traffic here was thinner than it was near the harbor, whether due to time or location, she didn’t know. A swell of demons gathered near the shops and kiosks half a kilometer to her right. There, merchants hocked their wares to anyone passing along the street.

  The silver-haired witch had an itch to dive down and start her culinary adventure. She had enough money to splurge, too. A few thousand soli were rattling in her wallet.

  A gust stirred her silver locks. Sylvia brushed back her bangs, enjoying the sunrise.

  “You’re up early.”

  Her head turned.

  Belkis stood inside the apartment, hand on the sliding door that separated interior from balcony. Yesterday’s red dress had been swapped for one of fiery orange. The dark-skinned woman wore a matching pair pumps. Kitten heels. Sylvia could hear Ingrid’s tut.

  The asteri used a bare second to admire Belkis’ long, sleek legs before putting her eyes back where they belonged.

  “I could say the same,” Sylvia said. She frowned. An ethereal haze lingered around the older witch. “Psychic magic?”

  “I was up late. Needed a little pick-me-up,” Belkis answered defensively.

  Belkis stepped out onto the balcony. She leaned forward, head lowered so that her irises of metal and fire could peer into Sylvia’s fractal pink.

  “You have the same eyes as Master.”

  Belkis definitely wasn’t referring to their color.

  “Starlight eyes are a bloodline trait,” Sylvia explained. “All asteri have them.”

  Though, most didn’t have pure starlight eyes, like Sylvia. But the silver-haired witch suspected Belkis wouldn’t know the difference.

  “I’m ~so~ jealous,” Belkis proclaimed, straightening up.

  Sylvia’s lips quirked. “The prisma’s inner grimoire is more practical.”

  The inner grimoire of an elemental witch allowed them to record and repeat spells. It was somewhat similar to the bone engraving method Sylvia’s System used. The biggest difference was the ease of adjustment and the depth of control. Most magical catalysts added a layer between spell and caster, which eroded handling and intent.

  It was an enviable trait. Not so much for Sylvia. She had used a skill book to refine her casting speed. So the usefulness was lowered. Riley, on the other hand, would’ve loved it.

  “No way,” Belkis denied. “They’re not the same at all. Master can cast spells faster than me. Having an inner grimoire is nice when you start, but the more you learn, the less it’s worth. Starlight eyes, though, they’re forever.”

  Belkis sighed in exaggerated lament.

  “Instants. Multicasting,” Sylvia refuted.

  A broad grin formed on Belkis’ lips. “I like you.”

  Most spells invoked through an inner grimoire could be released in a single syllable. In common parlance, spells of this sort were called instants. Furthermore, due to the grimoire’s nature, it was quite easy to release its spells through simple gesture. This made multicasting extremely practical.

  And multicasting was a core skill for any duelist.

  The concept was pretty simple. Form two internal rune chains instead of one. Chant one into existence while using gestures to release the second.

  But it was tricky to pull off in practice. The human mind struggled to handle two tasks at once. Even an action as trivial as patting one’s head while rubbing one’s belly was easily fumbled. Trying to draw two rune sequences and not getting them mixed up? That was a lot harder.

  Add in naturing mana, keeping the ethers separate, and applying both spells to the right task and multicasting became incredibly difficult.

  Not impossible, just difficult.

  An inner grimoire made this easier by removing half the steps.

  Of course, the same could be achieved by using a magical tool. Multicasting wasn’t nearly as transformative as it sounded.

  “Since you’re up, how about I give you a tour of the city,” Belkis said, changing the subject. “After that, I can introduce you to my circle.”

  “It’d be good to learn my way about,” Sylvia agreed. “At the very least, I need to be able to find my way back.”

  “Worried about getting lost?”

  “Not so much now that I know you live in a tower.”

  And an extremely recognizable one, at that.

  Belkis grabbed her broom from the rack. The elemental witch flashed a smile. Then, before Sylvia could react, the brunette threw herself over the balcony.

  “Race you!” Belkis screamed as she fell.

  Tch. Sylvia leapt over the balcony, petals scattering as she drew her broom from her space bag.

  “You’ve actually learned that!” Belkis shouted.

  Despite her hurry, Belkis waited two stories below, giving Sylvia plenty of time to catch up. It was only when Belkis saw Sylvia on her own broom that the prisma started to accelerate.

  Sylvia chased after. Wind broke around her as the witches dove to half their prior height. Soon the breeze was a roar. Wind whipped both hair and robes, making them flutter as though driving a corvette down the highway.

  “Instead of letting me wear reasonable shoes, Teacher made me learn the waltz of flowers.” Sylvia’s grouse came in the form of a shout so she could be heard.

  Plunge transformed into a horizontal sweep. Belkis swung, weaving between spires. The older witch’s flight was smooth and elegant. Sylvia followed, having only half the prisma’s grace. The asteri swished through tight turns relying on her art to keep her path steady.

  With each touch she bled velocity.

  The gap yawned wider.

  “~Jealous~,” Belkis sang again before diving another three stories down. The dark-skinned girl streaked just fifteen meters above the streets. Her golden-brown hair fluttered in the wind. “And I love your shoes, little sis.”

  A few demons rocketed by, flying in the opposite direction. Sylvia swerved to the side, bleeding more speed. Belkis completed a lazy corkscrew, giving her time to catch up. When the two were side by side, Belkis slowed.

  “I only wear them because they help me fly,” Sylvia denied, feeling embarrassed.

  “No way!” Belkis rejected. “They’re adorable. Show them off at the circle. All the girls will be green with envy. Just watch out, they might challenge you to a duel!”

  “Does that really happen?” Sylvia asked in disbelief.

  In the many books Sylvia had read, she’d encountered multiple scenes where high society girls started fights over fashion. Literal fights. The kind with blood, dismembered limbs, and corpses. Apparently, there was a widely held belief in Hell that a lady wasn’t worthy of a fancy dress if she couldn’t murder her enemies while wearing it.

  “I’m kidding. The witches in my circle would never do that,” Belkis laughed. “This way, little sis. I’ll show you the landmarks.”

  Belkis climbed higher, rising above the surrounding roofs. Her orange dress was a blaze against the hazy gray sky.

  “The main street is 7th Avenue,” Belkis hollered. “It runs through the center of the city, between Archeron and the coast.”

  “Do all numbered streets run the same direction?” Sylvia asked.

  “Most of them,” Belkis confirmed tilting right. “The lower the number, the closer to the coast.”

  Sylvia nodded. As they turned, a giant castle rose ahead of them. The massive structure was made from pure obsidian.

  “The building up ahead is Archduke Damballa’s palace. The city and all the surrounding regions are part of his kingdom. To the west, you can see Castel Padure, which belongs to Marquis Padure. The Marquis serves under Damballa. Nandru Padure is the governor of Iacchus.”

  Nobles were split into three major ranks. Lesser nobles consisted of barons and viscounts. Typically, these leaders controlled fiefs with populations ranging between five thousand and one hundred thousand. The high nobility, counts and marquises, were distinct in that they could take lesser nobles as vassals.

  Dukes were one level higher. As such, even the high nobility could swear themselves to a duke’s service. They were, by mortal standards, kings.

  As for archduke? The difference was even simpler. An archduke was any duke who was also an archdemon. These days, there was talk about moving the threshold to the seventh consolidation, mostly because Hell had more archdukes than dukes.

  Such was the inevitable result of society’s advancement.

  Sylvia couldn’t imagine what would happen to the title when Lucifer added eighty thousand archgamers to the netherworld.

  “Padure of the Padure Clan?” Sylvia probed.

  “You know of them?”

  “Vilhelm Codrin is Demon King of the Timeless Beryl Wilderness. The Codrins are a subordinate branch of the Padure Clan,” Sylvia explained. “One of the Codrin elders came with me on the Aripa to entreat with them.”

  “A viscount as demon king!” Belkis snickered. “I forgot how small the Timeless Beryl Wilderness was.”

  Belkis should be glad Lady Vallenfelt wasn’t here or Esmeralda might’ve slapped her.

  “What’s that over there,” Sylvia said pointing.

  The far western side of Iacchus opened up into a broad park. Green trees and white marble sprouted from the ground. A lake glinted in the light, filled with crystal clear water.

  “Lost Eden,” Belkis answered. “Back during the Blood Crusade, Heaven brought so many phantasms to Tartarus that the world logic became twisted. They cleaned up most of the damage a millennium ago but kept Lost Eden as a war memorial.”

  The Blood Crusade was the second of the three great wars, better known as the Unification War outside of Hell. Five hundred years after the Utopia War, Hell had fractured into multiple tribes and states. Heaven, led again by Zeus, brought an army to the unprepared collective, seeking to reunify the netherworld.

  The result was pure horror.

  Heaven’s armies tore through Hell, facing little resistance. Where they went, they carried out a great purge, hoping to utterly destroy the traitors. Souls were rent and scattered. Millions were ruined. The atrocity grew so great that Heaven itself was struck by the Curse of Ruin.

  It was only this that allowed Hell respite. The broken states reunified, appointing Athena as Demon Emperor. New laws and structures were formed. And, while Heaven reeled under the weight of their sin, the Fey Federation rose. Faced with these threats, Heaven sued for peace. Neither of the opposing powers were in position to press.

  So the war was settled.

  But the hatred born from the Blood Crusade festered. The twilight of the gods loomed on the horizon – a war that would be all the more terrible because now every party knew the importance of stockpiling karma.

  “Interesting,” Sylvia commented.

  “It’s a great place to relax,” Belkis said. “But you have to watch out for the unicorns.”

  “Unicorns,” Sylvia repeated, deadpan.

  Her eye twitched. Unicorns. Prancing. In Hell.

  “Yeah, they only like virgins. And who here is a virgin? I mean, imagine not just dying a virgin, but still not getting any even after living for centuries in the netherworld,” Belkis laughed. “Isn’t that hilarious?”

  Yes. Real fucking funny, Sylvia thought sourly.

  “I think I’ll be able to orient myself now,” Sylvia mentioned. “How about you show me to this circle of yours.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Belkis turned, accelerating through the air. Buildings flashed by beneath as they raced across a third of the city. The Archeron glinted to her left, reflecting the sun’s light. Occasionally, they’d shift to one side or another to give other demons berth.

  It didn’t take long for them to settle in the small courtyard of a one-story building. As the pair landed, Sylvia stuffed her broom into her space bag.

  Strictly speaking, Sylvia had more things than she could shove into her soul. Her staff weighed in at forty drams. Her shoes and dress massed around the same. Throw in odds and ends along with the space bag itself and she was already running up against the limit.

  A broom with a spiritual weight of around twenty-eight droms definitely wouldn’t fit.

  Which was why she’d left her Witch-Princess Dress in the closet. May it never again see the light of day.

  “Belkis!”

  A cheerful voice called out. A short witch stepped from under an awning. She had dark blue hair, fading to green near the tips.

  “Fiia!” Belkis returned, waiting for the other girl to run up to her.

  The witch, Fiia, grasped both of Belkis’s hands happily. Then she peered at the silver-haired witch beside, eyes like pure blue pools.

  “Who’s the new girl?”

  Releasing the pale witch’s hands, Belkis gestured. “This is my sister apprentice, Sylvia Swallows.”

  Fiia’s head quirked. “Not von Vallenfelt?”

  “I already had a last name,” Sylvia inserted.

  Even so, Lady Vallenfelt had seen fit to modify it.

  “How interesting,” Fiia commented. She gave a small dip, her expression was bright and friendly. “It’s nice to meet you, Sylvia, I hope Belkis only had kind words to say about me.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you too, Fiia,” Sylvia replied, with a delicate curtsy.

  “Oh my, she’s such a lady,” Fiia praised. “And so adorable. If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of witch are you?”

  “Asteri,” Belkis answered on her behalf. “It’s my master’s bloodline. Did you see her eyes.” Belkis sighed dramatically. “Not only are they beautiful, she can use them to see runes and ether.”

  “Oooh,” Fiia cooed. She raised a hand like a cat’s paw, making snatching motions. “I want them.”

  “I know,” Belkis affirmed.

  “They’re staying in my head.” Sylvia interjected bluntly.

  Fiia let out a silvery giggle. “Come in. I’ll show you around.”

  Fiia waved them into the building.

  While many bloodlines collected into clans, witches preferred covens. A circle was a group of three to thirteen witches, plus guests, apprentices, and affiliates. When a circle grew too large, it would be broken into sub-circles. To coordinate, these sub circles would elect representatives to serve in a higher, unifying circle.

  This multi layered collective was called a coven.

  Covens were something of a cross between a guild, a union, a group of friends, and a professional association. Most witches were born into covens. As such, their formative relationships would orient around their coven. Sylvia’s experience of being raised in a magical academy was the real oddity for a witch.

  “We call ourselves the Deep Seekers,” Fiia said conversationally. “We have a few adventurers and a couple hunters in our group, but most of the witches here sell tools or information to those diving the caves of Tartarus.”

  “Which type are you?” Sylvia asked.

  “Me?” Fiia sounded. “I’m an adventurer like Belkis.”

  Sylvia nodded. That Belkis was an adventurer was no secret. Lady Vallenfelt had told her such repeatedly.

  “Is Phoebe in?” Belkis interrupted.

  “She’s in the scrying chamber,” Fiia confirmed. She gave the other witch an excited look. “Are you finally ready for a new dive?”

  “I’m just looking to buy a few things for my master,” Belkis refuted. “I figured if anyone knew where to go, it’d be her.”

  “That’s a shame,” Fiia sighed. “It isn’t good to let fear take hold of you, Belkis. Adventuring is in your blood. I know it. You just need to get out there and rush into the unknown! The moment you do, you’ll fall in love with it all over again.”

  “Fiia,” Belkis said, voice hard. “Don’t.”

  “You should at least talk Rauno. He keeps – ”

  “Don’t,” Belkis snapped. Her blazing eyes roiled, magma on the edge of eruption. “Rauno can fuck right off. I never want to see that shitty fox again.”

  Fiia’s smile turned tight. She raised both hands defensively. “Okay. Okay. I won’t say anything more about it.”

  Belkis stormed past the other witch. Sylvia followed behind, hurrying to keep up. When they turned the corner, Sylvia spoke.

  “What was that about?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Belkis brushed off.

  Sylvia frowned. Sensing her hesitation, Belkis came to a dead stop.

  “Don’t,” Belkis said sharply. “Just don’t.”

  Okay….

  Whirling, Belkis continued down the hall.

  The scrying room was paved with pale blue brick. The space was brightly lit by a circle of soft, white light overhead. Beneath lay a podium of similar size and shape. The stone rose from a shallow pool of still water. There stood a woman. Long, black hair fell down her back like a river of ink, the ends a mere hand span above the floor.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  It was the first time Sylvia had seen a girl with hair longer than her own.

  Belkis motioned for Sylvia to stop. The pair remained beneath the arch leading into the scrying room. This space was as wide as two doors.

  “Phoebe is an oracle,” Belkis whispered. “She acts as an information broker, helping hunters and adventurers find caves, party members, equipment, and sometimes sponsors.”

  Hecates Magissa Gnosi was a witch bloodline with a powerful affinity for causality and fate. Oracles had eyes which gave a glimpse of both elements, a focus of vision which far surpassed an asteri’s within their niche. Further, their core could record images cast by the flow of fate, allowing oracles to grasp more from their divinations.

  Of the three most common magissa bloodlines, gnosi were the rarest. They were ten times rarer than a prisma.

  Which meant they were ten thousand times more numerous than the asteri.

  Sylvia was part of a super rare species. Though it didn’t feel like it in the Timeless Beryl Wilderness.

  “Thank you for waiting, Belkis,” Phoebe said, her voice soft and placid like water. Milky white eyes found the silver-haired witch. “Is this your sister, Sylvia?”

  “Yes. She’s cute, isn’t she?” Belkis bragged.

  Sylvia would’ve rathered she hadn’t. Nevertheless, she gave a small curtsy. The gnosi returned a gentle nod.

  “It’s important for sisters to look after each other,” Phoebe said, her tone pleasantly smooth. “Belkis is lucky to have such a lovely soul at her side. I can see the sparks of possibility in you. Light and fire. You’re an agent of change. Though the reverberations you leave on fate are still small, I can feel it growing.”

  Sylvia frowned. She eyed the gnosi warily.

  “Enough teasing,” Belkis interrupted. “What do you have for us?”

  Phoebe flicked a letter in their direction. “■.” A quick spell turned the throw into a graceful flight.

  “A jade scroll on the subject you desire will be auctioned in three months, but the ebb of fate feels ill. I think your outcome will be better if you purchase a manual from either store I listed.”

  Belkis nudged the silver-haired witch. “What do you think, little sis?”

  “I’d rather a bookshop over an auction,” Sylvia said.

  Astrogation wasn’t the only manual she wished to peruse. Plus, Sylvia would rather not try and outbid wealthy nobles. Lady Vallenfelt was rich, but she was rural baroness rich, not countess from a major plane rich.

  “You also asked for an astralship,” Phoebe said, softly. A whispered spell spread pale light through the pool. There was little sign as to what the oracle was watching. “This one is difficult. A vessel which can be sailed by a single captain is a rare thing. Such a ship may be commissioned, but I presume you are not willing to wait eight to twelve months for delivery.”

  “I am not,” Sylvia affirmed.

  A year from now, the war would enter its second phase, stoked by the investments of the Padure and the Hoga. If Sylvia was delayed until then, Lady Vallenfelt would struggle to provide support. They might even end up in a scenario where Sylvia was forced to put aside her mission and aid her master.

  “Then your best choice is Viscount Potami,” Phoebe said, smooth and serene. “The viscount wishes to sell an astralship with the attributes you desire. However, to meet with him will be quite difficult.”

  Sylvia looked askance. “He’s just a viscount. Belkis is a devil. There are only two ranks between them. Surely it shouldn’t be too challenging?”

  Belkis tucked the letter into her space bag, expression dark. She sucked in a breath. “Drugi Potami is not just a viscount. He’s a great demon of the fifth consolidation.”

  Ah. Therein lay the problem. Personal power was just as important as social rank. Though Belkis was a devil, it was quite a stretch to meet a man whose strength rivaled a marquis.

  “We’ll worry about it later,” Belkis said, wearing a fake smile. “Come on, Sylvia. We have a lot of shopping to do.”

  Sylvia followed her senior sister out.

  -oOo-

  Sylvia reviewed the weapon’s stats. Compared to the last two cannons, this one had better range and penetration. The ether consumption was a little on the high side, but that would hardly matter once it was connected to the Academy’s flow.

  The event log scrolled. Merit points were rewarded. Sylvia’s heart fluttered. It was hard to resist the urge to grin.

  Most shops reacted poorly when a witch started casting spells inside their walls. However, when transacting goods of this value, the staff could hardly object if Sylvia insisted that she had to divine each item before purchase.

  Who in their right mind wouldn’t?

  Of course, the saleswoman might’ve reacted differently if she knew Sylvia was absconding with each weapon’s blueprint and enchantment code.

  Reward: +12 pts – Nether code: Charged Amber (variant 3)

  Reward: +9 pts – Enchantment code: Raiju Lightning Lance

  Reward: +11 pts – Enchantment code: Targeting Scope

  Just like that, she’d earned more than four hundred merit points in one sitting.

  Beautiful.

  “I’ll take two,” Sylvia said, raising a pair of fingers.

  “An excellent choice,” the old hag encouraged. She gave a toothy grin, showing five of her pearly whites. “Will you require lightning crystals as support?”

  Sylvia pondered.

  Lightning crystals were an elemental source. Like all sources, they stored ether of the associated type. If the cannons were to shoot, they had to have enough ether to cast their magic. The Academy already had lightning crystals, but Sylvia wasn’t sure how much capacity they had in reserve.

  The problem was, these crystals weren’t cheap. Enough storage to fire the cannon would set her back another ninety thousand soli.

  “Enough to fire each cannon once,” Sylvia reluctantly decided after a moment’s thought.

  “One million soli, gone, just like that,” Belkis groaned, looking sick.

  “One point two million soli,” The old witch corrected with a greedy smile. “I’ll have the Raijus delivered to the Aripa before the end of the day, along with the Homusubi mortar you ordered. Didn’t you say you were in the market for an earth drum? We have a Namazu which I’m sure will delight.”

  The saleswoman was a three faced witch, a bloodline from the hexe genera. The three faced witch had the natural ability to transform. They could take the body of a child, a woman, or a crone as they wished. Each shape had its own attributes, the younger tilting toward the physical, the older having more potent magic.

  “Not today,” Sylvia rejected.

  Lady Vallenfelt had provided Sylvia a purse of five million soli. In addition to siege weapons, she still had to acquire a ship, manuals, equipment, and materials for the venture. And there was a real risk that they’d have to spend extra on the ship, since what Sylvia needed wasn’t readily available on the market.

  “If you change your mind,” the old woman said, licking her lips.

  Before Sylvia could say anything, Belkis grabbed her arm and dragged her out.

  “I thought that woman was going to suck Master dry,” the prisma lamented.

  Sylvia laughed. “We still have a lot of money to spend.”

  Belkis’ expression was dark.

  The two took to the sky, flying over Iacchus. The sun had slipped toward the west, its hazy glow obscured by thickening clouds of ash. After a year of eternal morn and a week of endless night, Sylvia welcomed the shifting light.

  She even enjoyed the changing weather. The rain on the day she arrived had been a pleasant surprise.

  “I understand the weapons, but what is Master planning with the ship?” Belkis questioned.

  Sylvia stayed silent.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything, little sis. If Master wants her reasons kept hush-hush, I understand,” Belkis said. The elemental witch bit her lip. “I think I know a way to meet with Viscount Potami, but I need to talk to a few people. Are you alright buying the books by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Sylvia confirmed. It might take an hour to find the place, but find it she would. “One thing, before you go. I have a friend of sorts in need of resurrection.”

  “A friend?” Belkis questioned. Her expression turned sly. “Don’t tell me it’s a boy.”

  Sylvia sputtered. Belkis’ eyes gleamed brighter. She was a guy inside, damn it. And even if she weren’t, she wasn’t a furry!

  “Nothing like that. He was in a political mess, so I helped him out.”

  “Sure, little sis,” Belkis ‘accepted’. “I believe you. I’m certain you have a real good reason to be sneaking boys where they aren’t supposed to be behind Master’s back.”

  The silver-haired witch scowled.

  “The expression on your face!” Belkis laughed. She gave a dainty little wave. “Just buy some essence from the public pool to top us off. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Master about your tryst.”

  “It’s not a tryst,” Sylvia hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Sure. Sure,” Belkis teased.

  “It’s really not a tryst.”

  Belkis stifled a laugh, hiding her face behind a hand. Sylvia glowered. If Belkis was Riley, she would’ve thrown something at her.

  “See you tonight?” Sylvia queried, changing the subject.

  “See you tonight,” Belkis confirmed. “If you run into any trouble – ”

  “I’m tougher than I look.”

  “No matter how tough you think you are, you’re still a first consolidation ant,” Belkis warned.

  “I know my suicide spells,” Sylvia answered with a sigh. “And the common counters to soul magic.”

  In the netherworld, if the going got tough, it was often better to die then to stay and fight. Sylvia had learned this lesson when facing Dumas during her first ill-fated excursion out of the Academy. Suicide spells were quick and difficult to stop ways for a demon to off themselves. The good ones even shielded the soul, reducing the risk of capture.

  Of course, there were always counters to the counters. And counter, counter, counter magic to that as well. The netherworld had a long and rich history when it came to warfare. Sylvia couldn’t claim herself well versed, just good enough to save herself from a random thug.

  “In most cases, the best solution is to fly straight up,” Belkis advised, pointing toward the sky.

  “That also works,” Sylvia agreed.

  The majority of demons lacked the ability to fly. The ones who could, would hesitate before starting a fight in broad view of the public.

  With a short wave, Belkis broke off.

  Sylvia watched the elemental witch shrink into the distance before resuming.

  Buildings of black and gray passed beneath her. Obsidian pillars rose from the city at points, marked with large signs to help demons traveling by air. Sylvia flew low and slow so she could better navigate the city. This meant dealing with a lot more traffic.

  But this traffic was far less than Sylvia had experienced on the highways back home.

  It took twenty minutes to reach her destination.

  Brooms were faster than cars but Iacchus was by no means a small city. Thrice during her flight, Sylvia dumped a hundred mana into Observe Terrain to add to her map. On her second cast, she’d earned a side glance from an imp, but the demon flew on having only faint curiosity. Magic and spells weren’t rare in the netherworld and her actions were barely worthy of note.

  “I should buy a causality source,” Sylvia mused, directing her boom down.

  She landed on the street, twenty meters short of the Tomes of Tartarus.

  The store was built from red-gray basalt. The squat, two-story building was squeezed in between two larger brothers. If not for the sign, Sylvia might’ve mistaken it for a residence.

  The witch entered. A little bell rang, announcing her presence. Simplicity, it seemed, was universal.

  Tomes of Tartarus was lit by warm, yellow ether light lamps. Bookshelves filled the space, running along the walls and dividing the store into aisles. Thousands of tomes and novels could be seen, spines of cloth and leather facing out. There was a musty smell to the air, the scent of paper and ink.

  Sylvia walked past, letting her fingers brush over the books. No graphics. Just plain covers in the colors blue, brown, green, and violet.

  On Earth, Eric had long become used to reading stories on a computer screen. To handle physical books was wistful. It brought back memories of his childhood and the broad libraries in his schools.

  Nostalgia, however, wasn’t everything.

  After a year spent reading book after book, Sylvia sorely missed the ability to search, copy, bookmark, open multiple tabs, and enlarge text when reading. Books were very awkward compared to electronic readers.

  “I should buy the library feature,” she mumbled to herself.

  Alas. Right now, merit points were too precious to be spent on frivolous niceties.

  One day, though. One day.

  Sylvia approached the front desk.

  A demon sat behind a barrier of dark wood, his beak buried in a book. Crimson feathers covered his body, the tips of his wings somehow acting like hands. On his head rested a shiny, black top hat. Its style complimented the avian demon’s dapper suit.

  “Nice hat,” Sylvia commented

  The feathered proprietor lowered his text just enough so that his sharp, yellow eyes could gleam over the cover.

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “I heard you sell manuals,” Sylvia continued, brushing past the awkward moment.

  Finally, the avian demon set his book on the desk, carefully slipping a ribbon of cloth between the pages. “We sell martial manuals of all kinds, along with manuals on other subjects. But we keep them locked up in the back to discourage thieves.”

  The demon’s narrowed gaze seemed to suggest the question, are you a thief?

  Sylvia felt no insult.

  Books were expensive. A typical tome ran between one hundred and five hundred soli. It was already surprising the proprietor made as many books accessible as he did. Eric had been to many stores that put items behind glass even though they were worth far less.

  Manuals were much more costly. This arose from the price of replication. The netherworld lacked a printing press. There was no helping it. The written word had to include a psychic imprint. Spirit speech was a major convenience, but it also meant no one had tried to unify the language. People spoke with whatever means they preferred. Written works were even worse. Many demons had never been literate in their mortal life. So they might write their books using chicken scratches, relying on spirit speech to convey their meaning.

  “I’m looking for manuals on astrogation,” Sylvia clarified.

  “You’re a witch?” The demon leaned forward.

  “Yes,” Sylvia answered, miffed that it mattered. “And you?”

  “Garuda,” the proprietor said, unbothered. “If you’re a witch, I recommend Charting the Stars by Maeve Magee. It’s dry, so it’ll only set you back three thousand. The manual focuses on navigation spells with a side of practical magic.”

  Oh. That’s why he asked.

  “I’m interested,” Sylvia said. She pondered. “Do you have anything more oriented toward sailing?”

  “The Churning Void. It’s a premier edition, so it’ll cost you.” The garuda pinched his feathers together in emphasis.

  To mass produce books, an author would start by writing the master copy. This book would be thick with intent, similar to a jade scroll though not as well conducted. Spells would then be used to duplicate this book, creating a hundred or so first edition clones. These would then be fed through magical tools which would produce a thousand copies from each.

  One to a hundred. One hundred to one hundred thousand.

  The intent held in these books would be reduced with each step.

  The master edition was always destroyed as a side effect. First edition books, which had never been cloned, were called premier. Dry editions were those used to produce copies but still had enough intent to qualify as a manual.

  Unsurprisingly, there was a huge difference in cost.

  “I’ll take both.”

  “I have to confirm your finances,” the sharp-eyed garuda warned.

  Sylvia pulled Esmeralda’s seal from her space bag then placed it on the desk. The garuda waved a wing over the top, muttering an incantation.

  “Looks legit,” the proprietor accepted. “I’ll send a runner to check with the bank before you pack up, but I can let you take a look at the books while you wait.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  “I’m also searching for manuals on survival, resource collection, construction, and pioneering,” Sylvia said, ticking off her list. Though manuals were expensive, they were cheap compared to siege weapons and jade scrolls. “I’d also like to buy spell books.”

  She’d happily take all the spell books. Each one was a happy little pile of merit points, along with being an addition to her Networked Grimoire.

  The garuda’s beak turned down. “Spells related to shaping or essence extraction tend to be very specific.”

  “I know.”

  There was a reason shaping was conducted with ki and not magic.

  “Very well,” the proprietor said, standing up. “Spell books can be found on the far shelf to the right. As for manuals, I have The Essential Form. Though oriented toward alchemy, it also includes many tricks and tips when working with essence. It pairs well with Foundation of Creation, which covers construction from a magical perspective.”

  The garuda paused, having stepped just beyond the desk.

  “On survival, your best bet is Pioneering the Planes. It’s a diary written by a warrior, however, so only around half would apply to you.”

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said.

  Then she moseyed on over to the spell books. After today, her grimoire would be nice and thick.

  -oOo-

  Death and Resurrection

  Death is the elimination of the material or phantasmal body. While the root of self lies in the soul, without this body a soul cannot move, think, or act. On material worlds, the uncoded souls of mortals drift after death, following astral currents. Over time, they are drawn up, out of the material world and into Unus Mundus.

  Only around one in ten makes its way to the nether.

  Coded souls, on the other hand, will remain buoyant. These will float on the top of Unus Mundus, drinking elemental ether and essence to rebuild the body which was lost. By nature, the soul will first dip into the one world before emerging in a place of safety. Typically, though, demons don’t rely on instinct and instead place an anchor to ensure this process.

  Under wilderness conditions, resurrection takes roughly nine-months. If resources are abundant, this time frame can be reduced to a week. Inversely, where ether is thin, it may take a full decade before a demon is reborn. Individual attributes, as well as level, may further affect the resurrection period.

  Roughly halfway into the process of resurrection, the soul generates a physical imprint. This will eventually resolve into a husk, egg, fruit, or cocoon. This proto body can be destroyed, forcing the soul to start the process anew.

  Resurrection Pool

  A resurrection pool is any fixed infrastructure that gathers and condenses essences and energies which accelerate resurrection. Pools are so named because the primary elements are water and blood, typically coalesced into the amniotic aspect. All three of these exhibit a fluid nature, meaning that a resurrection pool is often, quite literally, a pool.

  Having dense essence accelerates the resurrection process. To ensure this benefit is enjoyed, pools are designed to serve as anchors, drawing the disembodied soul to them. Furthermore, since resurrection pools are almost always more secure than the wilderness, the rebirth process can be completed unimpeded.

  The netherworld uses both public and private pools. Public pools are owned by the government, which charges annual anchoring fees along with individual use fees. Large cities often have multiple public pools offering different grades of service, ranging from economy to luxury.

  Wealthy demons, however, almost always prefer to own and operate a private pool. This not only allows them to resurrect in their own home, but it also provides an opportunity to use resurrection tools that might be forbidden in a public space. The creation of phantasmal husks, clones, or fetuses is one such technique.

  Public pools, as with all matters of the soul, are overseen by soul officiates. These bureaucrats ensure the safety and sanctity of the soul, an important task as karma is a valuable resource.

  Anchoring

  A well anchored soul is important to every demon’s safety. Strong anchors can draw a soul across the entire plane. A poor anchor won’t reach more than a few hundred kilometers. Weaker anchors are more easily disrupted, facilitating capture, whether by bandits or hungry phantasms.

  The strength of the anchor also impacts the speed at which a soul is pulled through Unus Mundus. This means weaker anchoring methods may result in slower resurrections, especially when the distance between soul and anchor is appreciable.

  Anchors are usually set by demons intentionally, binding themselves to the pool of their choice. However, anchoring can also be forced. This tactic is often used in prisons. Slaves rarely get to decide where they are anchored.

  Because the starry void is vast, astral travelers are often without an anchor. This makes death in the void especially dangerous.