-oOo-

  Chapter 27

  -oOo-

  “How are you settling in?”

  Her question was directed at Elroy of Est Sombre. The werewolf sat across from the silver-haired witch, a coffee table between the two of them. The white-furred demon was dressed in his heavy metal armor, helmet placed to his right. Elroy’s war hammer rested in the corner of the room, haft against the wall.

  This was not Belkis’ flat.

  Instead, they were gathered in an entirely new apartment. One that neighbored the river district, two streets from Acheron itself. Sylvia had paid a pretty penny to snatch the space for the next three months.

  “I am still suffering mild weakness after my resurrection,” Elroy commented. The wolfman gave a nod. “I am extremely grateful for your assistance, Miss Swallows.”

  When Sylvia had seen the werewolf two days past, he’d been a sleepy pup no bigger than an eight-year-old boy. The witch had plucked him from Belkis’s private pool, claiming Elroy had asked to be moved to a public space instead. Belkis had given Sylvia the side eye, her little smile insinuating Sylvia’s intentions with the wolf were less than honorable.

  Sylvia had offered her best glower in return.

  “How long before you can fight?” Sylvia probed.

  Eyes of fractal pink swept over the white-furred werewolf. Over the last two days, Elroy had bulked out. Sylvia found the process fascinating. She’d never had the chance to see a witch resurrect. Back at the Academy, bodies were incubated in isolated chambers then decanted through stone tubes once the reborn demon was mature.

  Elroy’s steady, golden eyes returned her gaze.

  “Is there a task you require of me?”

  “Only if you’re willing,” Sylvia admitted.

  “I am not one to return favor with ingratitude,” the werewolf rumbled.

  Elroy’s gaze fell on the room’s other occupant, Gavin the Black wearing his true form. The knobby, dark-skinned goblin returned a smarmy smile.

  “Ah, we’re picking on the poor goblin now, are we?” Gavin complained. “Heh, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t the type to pay my debts. Lady Swallows solved a problem for me. Why shouldn’t I solve a problem for her?”

  Gavin raised his chin, tapping his naked neck in emphasis. Sylvia had cracked the goblin’s collar yesterday. She was rather surprised he’d stuck around.

  “I was under the impression you were here for the free housing,” the asteri deadpanned.

  “What can I say? I like having a roof over my head,” Gavin replied. The goblin grinned, showing a mouth filled with sharp, pointy teeth. “Since you’re bringing us in, I’m guessing this has to do with Belkis von Vallenfelt.”

  Sylvia studied the goblin. Then her eyes turned toward the werewolf.

  “Baroness Vallenfelt has ordered me to kill my sister apprentice and examine her soul.”

  The goblin let out a whistle. “Tall order, that.”

  “I presume this sister of yours is quite strong,” Elroy interjected, golden eyes serious.

  “She’s an Awakened witch,” Gavin answered.

  “Which means she’s squishy,” Sylvia pointed out. “Belkis is a Class IV, mid-ranked elemental witch.”

  “Is she experienced?”

  “Very,” Sylvia said, expression grim. “Belkis prides herself as a battlemage, and she’s an adventurer by hobby. She’s been diving the caves of Tartarus for the last thirty years, so I imagine she’s seen her fair share of fights. Furthermore, Lady Vallenfelt herself warned that Belkis is highly skilled and must be handled with caution.”

  “Baron Gris once named your master the plane’s strongest fighter,” Elroy mused, stroking his chin in thought. “If the baroness thinks so highly of her ability, I am not sure if we are her match.”

  Experience was an excellent teacher, but demons made for poor students. Humans were lazy creatures by nature. Learning required effort and commitment. Once a person became satisfied with their results, even harsh lessons often fell on deaf ears.

  For this reason, time alone wasn’t enough to turn a demon into a master. Lady Dai was an example of this. The ieros was Sylvia’s elder by three centuries, but her mastery of combat fell short of Sylvia’s own. If not for this, Sylvia would’ve been crushed in her duel against the kitsune.

  Belkis would be a far more dangerous opponent.

  The ieros bloodline was suited for support. Prisma were born with a slew of traits perfect for combat. Belkis’s battle power exceeded her class by a degree great enough that Baroness Meng had backed off when Sylvia’s sister threatened the woman with a duel.

  “If we fight, it’ll have to be an ambush,” Sylvia agreed. “But, hopefully, it won’t come to that. Thanks to Viscount Potami, I know what we’re dealing with. A Duat Dream Drop.”

  Sylvia planted a heavy tome on the coffee table. The dusty, brown leather was titled Creatures of Duat. The asteri flipped open the text to the bookmarked page. There was depicted a butterfly, long paragraphs of neat lettering followed.

  “A Duat Dream Drop is a priceless tool refined from the pseudo soul of a nightmare butterfly,” Sylvia explained. Which meant the butterfly in question was a nether beast as phantasmal beasts lacked souls. “The nightmare butterfly is a dream elemental creature with the ability to nest within a demon’s soul.”

  The silver-haired witch flipped a few pages. Here the book described two spells. The first to find the butterfly. The second to suppress it. The sequences were fifty runes and eighty runes respectively.

  “Once within the victim’s soul, the butterfly can manipulate the demon’s thoughts, emotions, and perceptions. Some extraordinarily powerful nightmare butterflies can even influence their victim’s surroundings. But, this isn’t what makes these creatures so tricky to handle. It’s that the beast is almost impossible to detect or remove without specialized magics.”

  “I assume a Duat Dream Drop operates on similar principles,” Elroy said, gazing at the pages.

  “Yes,” Sylvia confirmed. “The dream drop inherits a portion of the nightmare butterfly’s powers. We are fortunate the origin of this dream drop was weak, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  She shuddered. Mind magics were really creepy.

  “If it’s just a psychic tool then all we have to do is take it off,” Gavin said, miming the removal his own shackle.

  When a spell infiltrated the body of a demon, it would be attacked by a spiritual immune system of sorts. As a result, the runic chain would break down and the magic with it. As the spell sequences became longer and more sophisticated, the duration would increase. Certain weaves and methods could improve upon this further.

  But, short of a nasty self-replicating hex, few spells lasted longer than a day.

  … unless they were cast against superficial features, like say a witch’s hair, nails, or face.

  Sylvia was rather annoyed that she was still in ‘makeup’. At least her hair was finally losing its curl.

  Regardless, no spell survived death.

  How then, did a witch conjure an enduring jinx? Tools and potions were the answer. Of these, tools were favored. An item could be set in the soul, the enchantments working to continuously cast their curse. The seal on Sylvia’s tongue was exactly this kind of item.

  But tools had their own faults. Most required an outward projection so they could breathe the world’s ether. This made the offending item easy to detect by the wearer, their friends, or their associates. In which case, the curse could be removed by forceful intervention.

  Sylvia shook her head.

  “A Duat Dream Drop is refined from the pseudo soul of a nether beast,” Sylvia reminded. “Though the dream drop cannot be called a soul any longer, it still contains a remnant will. This remnant provides instinct and intelligence, allowing the tool to direct its victim’s dream according to a scenario. More importantly, this means the dream drop can recognize threats and will react to them in a manner similar to the butterfly itself.”

  The starlight witch paused, gathering her thoughts.

  “So, we can’t let the dream drop know our intentions, otherwise Belkis will go crazy and try to kill me.”

  Worse, Belkis might flip out and run. If the prisma escaped to Lord Nychta’s estate, there was nothing Sylvia could do. Technically, she could appeal to Marquis Padure, whom Malik served. But that had long odds. Devils rarely cared about the crimes of other devils unless they touched upon their bottom line.

  And this wasn’t even the most disastrous scenario Sylvia had dreamed up. Sylvia’s greatest fear was that Belkis would be transformed into a puppet then used to steal Sylvia’s phylactery.

  Which, incidentally, was why Sylvia splurged on this three month rental.

  “And, for this reason, you sought us,” Elroy observed.

  “Yes. There are very few in Tartarus I trust,” Sylvia answered.

  “I’m touched,” Gavin said, hand over his heart.

  Sylvia’s expression was flat. “I didn’t say I trusted you.”

  “The more the silver the more the trust,” Gavin replied, greedily rubbing his fingers together. “I guarantee it.”

  “I am already deep in your debt,” Elroy contradicted. “There is no need to provide anything.”

  “No. I’m paying,” Sylvia refuted.

  “See. This is why I like her,” Gavin crowed.

  Elroy frowned, the human expression defying his canine snout. “I cannot accept.”

  Sylvia raised a brow. Her pastel pink eyes brooked no nonsense. “Oh? Then you have enough money to set yourself up for the next few months?”

  The werewolf remained silent. Gavin snickered.

  “Five hundred soli each. Plus, you have the pool in case of death,” Sylvia said bluntly.

  “It seems I have little choice,” the werewolf rumbled. He pounded his chest in a one fist salute. “My service is forever yours, Miss Swallows.”

  “A few hundred soli is nothing to me,” Sylvia waved off.

  “Then why not up the offer to a thousand?” Gavin interjected.

  The silver-haired witch didn’t deign Gavin’s quip an answer. She was being plenty nice already.

  “Is it the three of us?” the white wolf said. “Or are there others we can draw upon? Surely Belkis has allies of her own.”

  Sylvia grimaced. “I can’t trust Rauno.”

  “The fox’s story stunk,” Gavin sneered.

  “It did,” Sylvia agreed, eyes narrowed. “But he might’ve been telling the truth as he knew it. Now that I understand how a dream drop works, I think it was Belkis who arranged the murder of her adventuring group.”

  The goblin’s emerald eyes gleamed. He licked his lips. “Isn’t that an interesting turn.”

  “Regardless, we can’t risk involving any of them because I can’t be sure,” Sylvia continued. “Which leaves Belkis’ circle. And if Belkis was the traitor then her circle becomes suspicious.”

  Belkis died and disappeared. This was easily confirmed. But what objective did Belkis’ disappearance serve?

  Outwardly, it created the illusion that Belkis had been struck by dream magic. If the elemental witch went to a soul healer after, rare as they were, they’d likely confirm this diagnosis. The effect of a Duat Dream Drop was broad and subtle. To a mage conceptualizing the soul, it would look as though the entirety of it had been gently shifted.

  Few would recognize the dream drop. Most, instead, would declare her case hopeless and tell Belkis to accept the inevitable.

  The soul, after all, was not to be touched. This was the Heavenly Will’s foremost commandment. Those who dared harm to a soul would meet ugly ends. And there in lay the trouble. If dream magic was used to inflict terrible wounds, then a healer could sooth them for easy karma. However, if dream magic was instead used to weave a new personality, then unwinding that creation would be seen as a crime identical to the first.

  “Belkis only has a few groups she trusts, her adventuring party, her circle, and her master,” Sylvia listed. “At first glance, it looks like her party betrayed her. But is this true? Belkis died in the caves, but there isn’t any evidence suggesting her soul was intercepted after. Nor is there any indication her apartment was attacked.”

  Sylvia took in a breath.

  “So, I think the events in the cave were a red herring. The actual perpetrator gave Belkis the dream drop earlier, then they used the dream drop’s power to muddy the waters.”

  Gavin slashed a palm through the air.

  “Thus severing Belkis’s only pillar of support,” the goblin declared.

  Sylvia nodded. “Like this, she’ll turn to her circle where the traitor lurks, guaranteeing her ruin. As for her disappearance? That’s easily explained. If Belkis was already affected by the dream drop, she could’ve disappeared herself.”

  “And you say I have a nasty personality,” Gavin grinned.

  Elroy considered, once more stroking his hairy chin.

  “I fail to see the purpose of this scheme,” the werewolf said, speaking to himself as much as the others. “If the perpetrator can make your sister do all the things you say, then she is under their control. Why engage in this game of indirection?”

  Sylvia scowled. “Because it is a game. No, she’s the game. This is a hunt.”

  At the gala, Sylvia had been granted a glimpse of Viscount Nychta’s twisted personality. If the handsome bastard wanted girls kneeling at his feet, all he had to do was ask. He was so good-looking that Baroness Meng all but threw herself at him.

  Which had drawn Malik’s disgust.

  Lord Nychta, she guessed, was the kind of asshole who wanted to see his prey struggle. He wanted Belkis to know he was toying with her emotions. He wanted her to deny him. Refuse him. To try again and again to escape only to fail.

  He wanted her to think she had a chance while leaving her with none.

  Then, when she broke, he’d eat her.

  That was Malik’s thrill.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Elroy said.

  “It’s better you don’t,” Sylvia said darkly.

  Sylvia only understood thanks to Eric’s overconsumption of porn.

  …

  Speaking of, one of these days she really needed to buy those communication features.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Elroy nodded once before hammering his armor with his fist. “Regardless of the danger or the reason, my arm remains yours Miss Swallows.”

  “Thank you,” Sylvia returned.

  “You don’t need to thank us. You just need to pay us,” the grinning goblin interjected. “So, when do we die heroically in this ill-advised attempt to save your sister?”

  Sylvia gave him a dull eyed look.

  “If things go as planned, you get to die, like the rotten mercenary you are, in three days,” Sylvia explained. “I want everything squared up so I can cut and run should things go south.”

  Lady Vallenfelt had given Sylvia permission to buy both a slip ring and a realm ring array. The latter required a degree of custom work. Then she had a shopping list to fill once the deal with Viscount Potami was sealed. After, there was a second list of nice to haves. Manuals to fuel future skill books. Cheap enchanted items. Resources to scan for merit points. Tools for pioneering a wilderness.

  Sylvia had her teacher’s bank card, and she intended to abuse it.

  “And what happens to us when you turn tail?” Gavin probed. The goblin tented his fingers like a proper villain.

  “I can’t take you with me,” Sylvia said, perfectly blunt. “This apartment should be safe. I used cash to rent it and anti-divinations before and after every visit. Only Belkis knows I brought Elroy with me to Tartarus, which is a risk, though a limited one. As for you Gavin, you’re even further under the table.”

  “In other words, we’re on our own,” Gavin concluded, spreading his hands.

  “My anchor will be here when we pull the operation, so it’s as safe as I can make it,” Sylvia returned. “But I won’t lie. The man chasing Belkis is Viscount Nychta. I have no idea how he’ll react. He might blow his top, or he might treat our intervention as part of the fun.”

  Sylvia’s nose scrunched as she pronounced the last.

  “There are risks in all things,” Elroy rumbled. His golden eyes veered to the goblin.

  “I can’t say I like my odds against an angry viscount, but, heh, if I were the type to balk just because of a little danger, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” Gavin accepted. The goblin leaned back with a smile. “Depending on how things go, I might start calling myself Gavin Witchslayer.”

  Demonic bloodlines often collected into tribes and clans. Within these groups emerged a kind of sub-culture. Not a true, independent culture as all demons were stewed in the pot called Hell, so their cultures bled into one another. But a distinct difference nonetheless.

  Goblins were no exception.

  Shortly after birth, goblins were gifted a surname based upon their features. Since Gavin had black colored skin, he became Gavin the Black. He could, just as easily, have been named Gavin the Sharpnosed or Gavin Warty Knees. Regardless, goblin culture declared those members named after their features the lowest of the low.

  If a goblin wanted a better name, they had to seek achievements. A middling goblin would be named after their occupation. Gavin Smith or Gavin the Hunter. A great goblin, however, was remembered for their deeds. To call himself Gavin Witchslayer was not quite as bold as Sylvia dreaming herself an archduke, but it was about halfway there.

  It was also a dumb name to take. For many reasons.

  “I’m sure Hell’s numerous covens won’t take exception,” Sylvia pointed out blandly.

  “Heh. That’s half the point. If it’s a name you don’t have to defend, then how can it have any worth?” Gavin replied. “But I’m still a wee little goblin. Perhaps, I should set my aspirations lower. Gavin Shacklebreaker will do well enough to start.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. Thankfully, Gavin wasn’t such a fool that she feared he’d brag about freeing a devil from the clutches of a viscount.

  “Ordinarily, I would be opposed to criminality,” Elroy mused. “However, seeing that I am now a deserter cohabiting with an escaped slave, perhaps I should keep an open mind.”

  “Elroy, my friend, there is a whole world of lies and corruption for you to explore,” Gavin declared.

  “You are not my friend,” Elroy corrected. “We are merely companions.”

  “Lady Swallows,” the goblin said conspiratorially. “I like you more than the mutt.”

  The silver-haired witch ignored him.

  “Since you’re both in, let’s talk about the plan. I’ve already picked out an area for the ambush, what I need you two to do is….”

  -oOo-

  “Just like that. Nice and steady,” Drugi Potami commented.

  The Utrecht was a pleasure vessel measuring fourteen meters from bow to stern. It swam through the starry void like a flat backed sterlet. The wooden beams that formed the hull were a smooth charcoal-gray spattered with white dust. At the head of the ship was a figurehead depicting a mermaid, one breast bare to all the world.

  Sylvia stood behind the helm. The wheel had been sized for Lord Potami. For an asteri, it was so large Sylvia had been forced to stand on a stool so she could see over the spokes. Her silver braid reached out to the right, tip gripping a long lever as though it were a third hand.

  With it, Sylvia controlled her ascent.

  The witch felt a little ridiculous beside the viscount. If anyone were watching, they might think a father was guiding his daughter on how to sail his ship.

  “So what are you planning to use my dear Utrecht for?”

  Sylvia considered for a moment before answering. “My master doesn’t wish to be tied to the Timeless Beryl Wilderness.”

  There was a certain degree of truth behind her words. She was also avoiding Drugi’s question. The viscount was polite enough to play along.

  “The baroness is free spirit then,” Lord Potami laughed.

  “More like, a war broke out,” Sylvia explained. “The rebels brought in the Hoga while the demon king is asking the Padure for support. My master fears her fief will be ruined in the contest.”

  “I think Nandru mentioned something about that,” Drugi Potami replied without the slightest interest. “Pull her closer to the rocks, I want to see how you handle the currents.”

  Sylvia steered the wheel as directed. The Utrecht shifted, fins gripping the void like a rudder grasping the waves.

  “Cut the catch,” the asteri yelled.

  “Cut the catch!” phantasmal sailors echoed.

  Men made of bones and decaying flesh scurried across the deck. The phantasms pulled in lines and adjusted flows of ether. Each sailor was a pale corpse collected from Helheim then imprinted with the psychic memory of a true mariner. The eight of them weren’t much in a fight, but their Class II strength was enough to deter pests.

  They also held a simulacrum of true intelligence.

  The Utrecht closed with the craggy shores of Tartarus. The witch murmured under her breath, chanting a divination to better sense the flow of chaos. Void crashed against the rocks creating a turbulent churn. The ship rocked. Sylvia leaned into the wheel, swimming with the stream.

  “Beautiful,” Drugi praised. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a few years behind the helm.”

  No. Sylvia had exactly one thousand hours, though only around six hundred of those were behind the wheel. The rest had been spent learning other skills and mastering tricks on how to maintain an astralship.

  The System did love to be thorough.

  Of course, those thousand hours had included all kinds of insane stunts. A captain a hundred times Sylvia’s senior might not have experienced half of what the System had conjured.

  “Given how much you love this ship, I’m surprised you’re selling,” Sylvia commented, gliding a mere fifty meters from the rocks.

  “A decade back, I ran into pirates out in the deep void. They nearly crippled my darling before I thrashed them.” Viscount Potami sighed. “It was only then that I realized how close the Utrecht had come to death. Without her, I would have no choice but to stride the stars with my own two feet.”

  “At least you know how to navigate your way back,” Sylvia pointed out. Not many demons could.

  “Even if you can’t, you’ll wash ashore in a few years or a century,” Drugi commented. “Though the experience, I’ve been told, is quite dreadful. Even for a man as old as me, the thought of being alone in the dark for a full year was discomforting.”

  Lord Potami patted the wooden rails of the Utrecht affectionately.

  “So I commissioned a bigger ship.”

  “One with weapons?”

  “You noticed the Utrecht is lacking.” Viscount Potami thumped his chest. “I always regarded myself as the best weapon. What pirate would dare raise their hand against a great demon? Turns out, the kind that didn’t know a great demon was on board.”

  Drugi let out a trumpeting laugh.

  Sylvia could only imagine. Lord Potami was a Transcendent of the fifth consolidation. By the System’s measure, that’d put his level between eighteen-hundred and twenty-hundred. Throw in tier advantages and enough traits to make Belkis balk and Sylvia was looking at a real monster.

  But the true terror was the Drugi’s skill.

  The viscount had seen Ragnarok with his own eyes. A demon as ancient as Drugi had plenty of time to master arts, forget them, then master them again. With his wealth, jade scrolls were easily afforded, amplifying his skill. Sylvia was certain that Lord Potami was, at the very least, an expert of the transformation realm. It was entirely possible he had reached enlightenment.

  That kind of strength could smash a warship to tinder.

  “You see pirates much?”

  “Out in the deep void?” Drugi questioned. “Not often. It’s rare enough to meet another ship far from the common lanes. I think I crossed a total of three vessels in the last decade.”

  “Then, I’ll just have to count on luck and my fate compass,” Sylvia said, nodding to the dark sphere at her left.

  Many chaos domain magics were more effective in the starry void. The astral realm was not only thick with astral ether, it also lacked interference. For this reason, seers and mages with a chaos tilt often built their homes beside the starry void. The Starlight Nether Witch Academy had been positioned for exactly this reason. The cliffs against the void provided the ether which fueled the students’ cultivation. It even served as food for the plants that condensed astral dew.

  A fate compass was a tool which made use of chaos magics to carry out broad divinations. Like most fate magic, the answer was vague, indicated only by the position of an inner ball with regard to the three axes. Danger versus safety. Discord versus stability. Opportunity versus misfortune.

  Right now, the marble floated two notches in the direction of safety and stability. This meant Sylvia faced little risk or threat. Opportunity was high, at four notches. Which brought hope the deal would be closed, though it was hard to say whether the opportunity favored Sylvia, Drugi, or the Utrecht.

  Sylvia hoped it was her. She could really use a spare five hundred thousand.

  “Any pirate worthy of their ship will use anti-divinations to mask their approach,” Lord Potami reminded. “Fate is a fickle woman. It is best not to place too much trust in her hand.”

  Magic could counter magic. Divination was too easily fooled, especially by those who could afford the tools or mages to guard their secrets.

  The Utrecht pulled away from the rocks. Sylvia guided the ship into port. This was a private harbor jointly owned by Viscount Potami and a few other nobles. Fifteen ships were docked at the wharves, ranging in scale from ten meters to one hundred.

  Thud.

  The ship touched lightly on the dock. Phantasms moved in a hurry, leaping overboard to tie the Utrecht into place. Sylvia released the helm.

  Viscount Potami paid her no mind. His eyes were on the ship alongside.

  “And there she is. My new love, the Vrede,” Viscount Potami said.

  If the Utrecht was a small pleasure boat, the Vrede was a monstrous warship. One hundred and twenty meters long, the beast dwarfed the Rechin Sange Sylvia had seen at the Fortress of Dawn. Four light cannons were attached to her hull. Raijin models even more advanced and expensive than the Raijus she had picked up for Lady Vallenfelt.

  But what really caught her eye was the large muzzle set under the bow.

  “Is that a calamity cannon,” she asked, eye twitching.

  “It is indeed,” Lord Potami confirmed. The broad man showed a vicious grin. “Next time I run into pirates, they will be in for a nasty surprise.”

  Pirates? Why was he talking about pirates? The Vrede could eat the Timeless Beryl Wilderness’s entire astral fleet. One glance at the Vrede and any pirate would turn tail and run.

  “How much does a ship like that cost?” Sylvia murmured.

  “I paid a little over a billion for her,” Drugi said proudly.

  … And he was quibbling over half a million? Sylvia felt like a pauper.

  “Do we have a deal then?” Sylvia asked.

  “We do,” Lord Potami confirmed. “Was it three million we settled on?”

  The silver-haired witch wanted to give the man a dull eyed look, but she held herself back. Drugi seemed nice enough, but he was a few levels above her station.

  “I was thinking two-and-a-half.”

  The Utrecht was, unquestionably, superior to most ships of its class. Its ether bank was larger, and the ship had better speed and control. But astralships of her size usually went for around a million soli. The phantasms were expensive, Sylvia would grant, but even with all the adds, it was hard to say the Utrecht was worth more than two million soli.

  “You wound me,” Lord Potami replied, taking her haggling with good cheer. “After seeing the Utrecht and all her beauty, you still try to talk me down.”

  “You just told me the story of how you almost lost the ship to pirates,” Sylvia pointed out.

  “And I find myself in a pit of my own making,” Drugi laughed. He reached out, taking the witch’s forearm with his massive hand. “We have a deal, Miss Swallows. But only because I see a fine pilot in the making. Take care of my dear Utrecht. I am near as fond of her as I am of my mortal daughter.”

  “You have a mortal daughter?” Sylvia questioned, curious.

  “From when I descended to the material world, four hundred years past.”

  She was wise enough not to mention that Drugi’s daughter was three hundred years dead.

  Sylvia gave the fate compass a glance. Opportunity had fallen, with marble floating just above the boundary of misfortune. Stability had, surprisingly, moved a full notch toward discord.

  “It seems you have eaten your luck,” Lord Potami observed.

  “Opportunities come and go,” Sylvia agreed. She looked at the great demon with serious eyes. “I will take good care of her.”

  “See that she sails,” Drugi breathed, voice thick with nostalgia. “A ship is made to swim through the void. Better she dies among the stars than waiting lonely on the dock never knowing the spirit of adventure.”

  Sylvia allowed Lord Potami his moment. The karnabo walked around the Utrecht one last time, taking in every nook and cranny. The Utrecht was nearly one thousand years old. How many centuries had Drugi sailed this ship? How many lands had he gazed upon from her deck. Time, in the nether, didn’t have the same meaning as it did on Earth. A long history would only make an object deeper and stronger.

  But those things existed at the margin. No matter how much the Utrecht experienced, it would always be a simple pleasure vessel. A rich man’s yacht. In fact, those same years would make it difficult to change her. Even a ballista mounted on the deck might be rejected.

  The Utrecht knew its form for better or worse

  The ship, however, suited Sylvia’s goal just fine. The small hold stored plenty and all the witch needed was a vessel to carry her to her destination.

  “Shall we retire to my estate while the paper work is settled?” Drugi Potami asked after a long while.

  “It would be an honor, Lord Potami,” Sylvia accepted with a light curtsy.

  “Then allow me to be your escort, Miss Swallows. I have some of the most – ”

  The viscount cut off.

  Half a kilometer away, a demon flew in on carpet, voluminous red robes billowing behind him. He had a sharp, white beard and purple-tinged skin. On his head was a magnificent turban, one feather hanging off to the left. He was a magia. Sylvia could tell by the prominent third eye between the demon’s brows.

  When the magia drew close, he stepped off his carpet. The man knelt, fabric rolling up behind him.

  “My lord,” he said, tone respectful.

  “Moswen,” Lord Potami trumpeted. Drugi looked displeased. “What brings you here in a hurry?”

  Moswen’s dark eyes shot toward the silver-haired witch.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Swallows,” Drugi sounded.

  “I will retreat to the cabin,” Sylvia offered.

  “Remain where you are,” Lord Potami rejected. “Moswen.”

  Upon his command, the three-eyed demon stood. The pair were swallowed by a bubble of spells. Though their privacy was already secured, Sylvia retreated to the Utrech’s rail to allow them room.

  She hoped whatever this was wouldn’t interrupt their agreement.

  Three minutes later, the sphere dispersed.

  Slit, yellow-green eyes found her. They were hard and chilling. Sylvia felt a cold frost flow through her veins. For a second, she was unable to breathe.

  Then the harshness relented.

  “Lady Swallows, I fear there is business to which I must attend immediately,” Drugi said firmly. He turned to the purple-skinned man. “Moswen, see that the lady’s matters are handled and the title to the Utrecht passed to her post-haste.”

  “As you will, my lord,” Moswen acknowledged with a bow.

  Without another glance, Drugi leapt.

  Thunder boomed. The giant man shot into the sky. Air rumbled as he passed. The great demon blurred across Iacchus skyline as though he were a lightning bolt.

  Moswen’s three eyes fell upon her. A simple glance at his tag revealed the demon was almost certainly a devil. Sylvia curtsied, as was proper.

  “Sir Moswen.”

  “Magister Moswen,” the demon corrected. He bowed. “It is my pleasure to serve you on my lord’s behalf, Lady Swallows. If you would provide your seal, I will close out your purchase on behalf of Lord Potami.”

  “Of course, magister,” Sylvia replied, maintaining her manners. The witch pulled the Vallenfelt seal from her space bag.

  Magister was a title whose meaning was similar to doctor or professor on Earth. It was a name that could only be earned by those displaying deep knowledge of magecraft. Among wizards and witches, the title was often viewed as more prestigious than the ranks of lesser nobles.

  Above magister was master magister. And above that was a Laureate of Magic.

  Sylvia’s master, Lady Vallenfelt, was a Laureate of Magic. A title she earned by discovering the rune yithmafar. That said, Esmeralda was not officially a magister, so the flavor of respect her name commanded was entirely different.

  Moswen accepted the seal, carefully looking it over. Satisfied, he snapped his fingers, summoning a roll of parchment. “Then while you look over the terms, I will check the ship and ensure the enchantments are in working order.”

  -oOo-

  Grimoire:

  Wind Scythe

  Runes: 74

  Mana: 60 to 300; 33%

  Attack: 420 to 1620

  Penetration 90 pierce, 200% multiplier

  Life: 3 seconds

  Velocity: 150 m/s

  Wind scythe is a powerful, advanced magic sometimes called the reaper’s whisper. Functionally and structurally, it is similar to wind blade. In fact, wind blade was created in a bid to copy wind scythe’s performance. Superficially, the spells are similar enough that wind blade can be used to train a mage in how to best manipulate the scythe’s motion.

  In practical terms, the spells couldn’t be more different.

  Wind scythe is far faster with only slightly less curvature and control. The biggest difference, though, is in the blade’s integrity. Wind blade disperses upon hitting any substantial target. Wind scythe, however, will retain its shape after impact and won’t be broken short of attacks with the proper characteristics to cleave it. This means a single wind scythe can strike an opponent 2 to 4 times, depending on the range, the caster’s control, and the target’s actions.

  For groups, it is even more deadly. While a scythe is not infinitely piercing, it is entirely practicable to kill 10 to 20 phantasms with a single cast. Furthermore, unlike lightning lance or meteor blast, this does not require the foes be grouped in a convenient manner.

  Unlike wind blade, wind scythe cannot be chained.

  Meteor Blast

  Runes: 56

  Mana: 180 to 810; 12.5%

  Attack: 414 to 1863

  Penetration 50 pierce, 100% multiplier

  Max Range: 1.5 kilometers

  Velocity: 170 m/s

  Area: 2.8 to 6.0 meter radius

  Meteor blast is perhaps the most beloved attack magic in the netherworld, challenged only by lightning bolt and lightning lance. Similar to flame shot, meteor blast creates a ball of fire that flies like a common projectile. For this reason, to reach the maximum range, the spell must be fired at a 45-degree angle.

  However, the biggest difference other than the sheer power and improved penetration, is the incredible speed at which the blast is launched. This, combined with the slightly better effect radius, makes the spell difficult to dodge. This is true even at maximum range, as the spell can skew nearly 100 meters in any direction when striking at its limit.

  Like most fire spells, meteor blast 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 mana to unleash terrible destruction.

  A variant rune chain of meteor blast, artillery blast is the inspiration for the enchantments of the flame mortar.

  Lightning Lance

  Runes: 89

  Mana: 100 to 500; 20%

  Attack: 450 to 1850

  Penetration 100 pierce, 15% DRR, 100% multiplier

  Max Range: 5000 meters

  Velocity: 3000 m/s

  One of the deadliest attack magics in the netherworld. Lightning lance is an advanced rank spell with long range, good penetration, and flawless accuracy. It can be considered a direct upgrade to lightning bolt with the only major change being that the lance can penetrate through multiple foes and has better range and velocity.

  Variations of the lightning lance spell are used in nearly all lightning cannons.

  One important characteristic of the lightning lance is its ability to pierce. This reduces the effectiveness of the traditional method to block lightning spells, which is to hide behind a shield or cover. Typically, the bolt can pass through a meter of material, whether it be stone, dirt, or wood. Parries and blocks not augmented by ki or magic will be entirely bypassed. Even those that are will only reduce or scatter a portion of the bolt’s energy.

  If scattered by a ki reinforced block, the lightning will regather into a stream shortly after. A skilled warrior can use their aura to ensure that this passes outside their body. However, the spell may still threaten the next party in line.