Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday slowly examined the first spell. It was like a small silvery toothpick that undulated, changing its size by growing as big as a forearm and back. It didn’t strike him as particularly strong and no light was coming out of it. The habitat Mera had made for it consisted mostly of blocks of a strange iron-like material that seemed almost nibbled on. Tiny pieces were missing, perhaps because the spell had taken the material to reinforce itself.

“This is the Fearful. It is a strong tool spell that has slain many. It used to belong to a mage who preferred weapons and tools, and he gave it that name. It can function as a spear and its shape can be modified to suit the wielder better. It can stay out of the soul space indefinitely and is extremely essence efficient. He said it is indestructible, although I don’t believe there is anything truly indestructible in this world. It burns all things undeath, just like the true silver of your sword, but it feeds on simple iron, making it easy to repair,” Mera dutifully explained.

Sunday remained silent. The Smash Ball, despite its strange name, had been a very useful tool. Like a third limb that could punch and surprise his opponents. It created an environment in which whoever he fought had to be mindful of yet another factor and gave him both a mental and a physical edge.

The Fearful – he strongly doubted that was its name – on the other hand was not as suitable for him. Sunday had no weapons training, and while he had thought of getting a bat made, he had realized a sword was a much better alternative. A spear also sounded good, since there were probably things out there, he wouldn’t want to get close to or touch. However, he didn’t have the time to find someone to teach him, and he really wanted some serious firepower to his name.

His gaze moved to the second spell, which was a creepy one. It rested separated from the others in a hole dug into the cave wall. Around it were leftovers of various pieces of fresh meat. It reminded Sunday of how Jishu had tried to preserve one side of the Omen of Duality. However, something told him the case was very different here.

The spell itself was a piece of pink moving flesh that floated slowly in the air. There was glass seemingly melted into the stone that separated it from them. It was like a gelatinous mass that slowly moved. That’s quite creepy.

“What is that?” Sunday asked. His enthusiasm was almost gone, instead replaced with another bout of discomfort. He knew power had many shapes, but he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“The augmentation spell. At least, I suppose it is. I bought it from a spell-hunter many years ago. He had found the method to keep it from degrading at the time which saved me the effort – it likes meat.”

“What does it do?”

“I can’t be certain. Perhaps it will allow you to change your appearance or the proportions of your body. Perhaps it will allow you to regenerate your mass, or grow additional limbs. It could be a healing spell for the living, or it could be a mutation spell. These are just guesses. No one but the mage using it knows a spell.”

Shit. I don’t want to mutate. I just started appreciating my current body. This is not what I expected. Where are the goddamn fireballs?! The lightning? At least some sort of armor?

Sunday finally turned toward the last spell. Its appearance told him nothing, and supposedly Mera had no clue either. There was nothing like a habitat built around it. It simply stood in place without a hint of movement at the center of a round crater-like pool, like a stain on reality.

It was a blood-red circle. Unlike the Mesmer Steel’s dull color, this one popped out, but the way it just hung there made it seem wrong. Like was waiting. Sunday felt a strange pull and took a step forward before stopping himself. While not as dramatic or horrific as the piece of flesh, this spell had a certain charm to it.

The red was not perfect, as it seemed to be splattered with dark spots and lines that almost made it look like something familiar… Weirdly, Sunday felt a strange sense from his other spells. They had grown almost restless in his soul space. Perhaps it was a spell helping other spells?

This is the one. This is what I want. He decided to trust the feeling. If what Mera was saying was true then all of the spells would be his and it was up to him to grow and get the slots needed to use them. He was still doubtful about the spear, and trading it as he planned to do with the potential spell from the Arcanum was not an option, since offending Mera would be bad, to say the least.

“How do I take the Smash Ball out?” Sunday asked. He knew, but he hesitated. It was somewhat silly to give it up so abruptly as it remained one of his best assets, but if there was a chance to save it for the long term, then it was worth the risk.

Mera seemed surprised at the question. “I’m no mage. I’d say that you should know better than me.”

That’s right. I’ve done it before. And it’s not like it’s bonded like Phantasmal Fall. Sunday took a deep breath and opened his hand palm up. It took only a bit of effort to replicate what he had done during his first days in the swamp and the spell appeared in his palm, ready to bring the pain. He clamped on it and hugged it close to stop it from flying out, but the force that came was many times weaker than the initial struggles.

Am I strong because of my fame, or is it that much weaker? A combination of both, perhaps. A hint of sadness appeared, but he pushed it down. This was no place for sentimentality.

“Let it go, don’t worry,” Mera gently said as if she had sensed his weird state of mind. He did as she asked and the spell fell to the ground before it shot right at her. Mesmer Steel flowed freely, caging the spell into a cube that grew tighter and tighter until it fully constricted its movements. Sunday watched it stop its struggle and the cube flew unto an empty patch of rock and landed softly.

“I’ll try my best to find what feeds it. I have some experience, but as I said the Arcanum will offer much more in the ways of knowledge,” Mera said. “Where did you find it?”

“Wrecking trees in the swamp. And The Arcanum are a bunch of stingy bastards,” Sunday shot back. He almost loathed the institution. Not that he expected to be given the world and all the spells due to finishing one simple task. I have to put some more time into it.

“Don’t be too harsh. Many are those who want to exploit the resources of such a place. The Arcanum offers a lot to those it trusts. History remembers what happens when unworthy magi are given spells and arts they shouldn’t have access to.”

“And I’m not unworthy, huh?”

“You’re chosen. What you do is your will, however, I am certain you will never succumb to corruption.” Mera smiled.

That’s a lot of faith to put into someone you just met, lady. “I’m flattered,” he said in a flat tone. Then took a deep breath. Having the space open felt weird, but also excited him. Spells were a drug, and he was a fiend.

Suddenly, another thought wormed its way into his head and he reached for the Repel Dirt spell he was keeping in his pocket. It was one of the three he had picked on his way out of the swamp after having lost his initial collection during the fight with the hound. The other two were under his bed in his room.

“What’s this?” Mera asked with curiosity.

“A simple spell. It’s called Repel Dirt.” Sunday took it in easily and felt his slot fill. This was the first time he would be casting it as a proper mage. He felt it drink greedily from his essence. It didn’t seem to care about anything else. Still, the amount it took in was quite small.

He cast it without warning and a cloud of dust particles instantly puffed out from him, making Mera retreat with preternatural speed, almost like a spider. Ah, that’s the stuff. He felt cleaner than ever in his life and smiled before letting the spell drink some more essence.

“I’ve heard of such spells. They’re common, but quite valuable.” Mera slowly said. “This one will be quite useful to alchemists.”

Oh? “Then the Arcanum might be interested. I have a few.”

“Maybe you can give one to Riya? She’s a budding alchemist after all, and that is the path she will be taking after her awakening.”

That was a surprise. He didn’t fully understand what an alchemist was capable of, but he vividly remembered his experience with the strange alcohol. If such effects could be replicated, then there were limitless possibilities that could help with the process of practicing the soul-forging arts, among many other things.

Sunday took only a moment before throwing the newly shiny spell at Mera. Mesmer Steel flashed and in a repeat of the previous performance caged the spell. It was smart to build some goodwill, and what she was offering, and perhaps what she would give him in the future by her mere presence, was worth way more than a simple stone he had picked up in the swamp. Hell, if the spell was as valuable as she claimed, then he would just make a trip to the swamp and gather some more.

“Consider this as thanks. Give it to her yourself though. While we have… something going on, I don’t want her to misinterpret my intentions.”

Mera nodded. “You already have a warrior’s mentality, Sunday. We seldom seek close relations with those around us out of fear of what may happen if we allow them. Consider it done.”

No… I’m just not ready for commitment…

“Should I perhaps try them all?” Sunday asked. Why limit himself?

“I’d suggest against trying the Fearful if you don’t intend on taking it. It is quite temperamental for a tool spell and takes after its former master. It might not take kindly to being tested and refused. Then again, your relationship with spells might be much different than what I’ve seen, considering what you are.” Mera said.

Again, treating spells like living beings. I’d have to agree with that mindset from what I’ve seen. It was Jishu who was wrong to call them tools. Even the tool spells are as if they are alive.

“I just want to see what the fleshy one does. It’s quite creepy.” He had enough essence for some tests.

“That one is a glutton, and we have plenty of fresh meat in the city. Be my guest.”

Sunday approached it tentatively the glass slid sideways easily. Sunday reached with a single finger and touched it. It didn’t become essence like other spells had done, rather it flowed into his own flesh, making his hand tingle. As soon as he felt it nestle in his soul space, he also felt his whole body shift weirdly and for a moment he lost balance due to the weight changes before everything returned to normal.

What the fuck is this. He looked at Mera with hesitation but decided to go for it. She knew what he was, so even if she saw the golden page, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

Spells 3/3

Phantasmal Fall

Omen of Duality

Flowing Flesh

Flowing Flesh? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Reaching for the spell and trying to cast it made a whole lot of his essence disappear. Sunday felt himself about to black out as the flesh of his forearm shifted like something was crawling beneath his dead skin and slowly turned into a bestial fleshy claw. Then with another thought it became a blade, his fingers merging into one and the bones beneath shifting strangely. It was like the flesh from his body moved to aid the transformation. The feeling was not bad, but his essence was almost completely depleted from the small experiment. It had taken more than a few casts of the Omen of Duality, which was not ideal for his current level.

“Fascinating,” Mera said. “While I can easily replicate this due to my state, I believe this spell has great potential. Perhaps its limits will be only your imagination once you grow stronger?”

“Y-Yeah,” Sunday said with difficulty. The flesh was harder than his own, and he felt the spell reach for the last dregs of his essence in an attempt to finish what it was doing. This is too much. He released the effect and felt relief as his hand reverted back to what it was and the rest of his body filled out.

This is not useful for the current me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to utilize it with this body. More mass would mean more substantial changes and more to work with. While he hadn’t felt weaker due to the shift of mass, perhaps due to the spells’ effect, he didn’t see how it would benefit him. Holding a sword was much easier.

“It should be able to mend you or allow you to avoid attacks if you grow proficient at changing your proportions. There is perhaps a way to store more energy in it, so you don’t have to rely only on your own body’s mass. It might also make you much stronger, or at least the parts it's affecting,” Mera speculated out loud.

I didn’t think of that. She knows way more than me about spells.

The Flowing Flesh appeared hovering on his hand as he willed it to exit his soul space. Separating it felt equally as weird, and perhaps even worse than taking it in. It was quickly put back in its habitat and Sunday watched it start consuming some of the meat by flowing over to it and covering it. Will it eat me? Maybe it was a spell for the living, who could eat a lot of food to supplement it. He was undead. I’ll deal with that another day.

“That leaves…” Sunday looked toward the last spell. He felt quite weak right now, but at the very least he wanted to know its name. The strange circle remained inactive as he reached it and used a finger to touch it.

Excruciating pain wracked his body and made him scream, but then all was well as the spell nestled comfortably in his soul space as if having anticipated it. Sunday didn’t say a word before he pulled up the golden page and scoffed at the strangest name so far.

Visage of the Berserk Moon.