< 109. Wildcast (2) >
*
-Kurrrrung…!
[What is this…?]
The first to notice the anomaly in the canyon was the Legion’s sole Burial Priest. Immat, gazing at the magical flow crossing the sky, hastily submerged into the Soul Realm.
For the wraiths of Sangasith, stepping into the Soul Realm, the world behind the Material World, was an act that invoked fear and disgust. It was walking through the domain of the Great Demon who had killed, resurrected, and dominated them.
Yet, for the Burial Priests borrowing the deathly power from Mumto and the nobles of Sangasith, it was an indispensable act.
-Huuuung.
Flesh and muscles began to form on his body, now only bones. The wasteland lost its color, and above the sky, giant chains, eyes, and a vortex of magic loomed.
A grayish wind swirled around the wasteland. Before his eyes, the Legion of Sangasith, retaining their living forms, was seen advancing towards the Sario Canyon.
“Huu…”
Mumto’s gaze stickily swept over him. A gaze filled with greed and hatred. Though weakened to the point of losing control over his minions under the great seal, he still wielded magic more powerful than any mortal.
All the dead fear Mumto. A being who became a god in life and killed even gods who defied him. He was a legend. The legend of doom that brought about the destruction of Sangasith.
He was the one who turned the strongest nation in the Material World, boasting vast grasslands, fertile lands, and extensive territories, into a wasteland and graves in an instant.
“I am not afraid of you, Mumto.”
Immat struggled to ignore his gaze. The reason he connected to the Soul Realm was not to feel Mumto’s gaze. Immat looked at the massive magical power surging at the end of the canyon.
The magical vortex descending from the sky and the magic stones forming the canyon’s foundation resonated brightly. Among them, unfamiliar magical harmonies and spells brushed past.
Immat slowly pressed his beastman hand. He brought his index and middle fingers, twisted together, to his eye. Magic condensed in the gap, and soon the canyon seemed to enlarge.
“…Human?”
In the Soul Realm, all beings reveal their true essence; even a mere wraith would appear as a neatly dressed priest here.
But the man standing on the cliff of that canyon…
Is he really human? From his position, Immat could see the being pressing three different beastman hands, each coordinating magic.
*
-Huuung…
Magic wraps around the wrist. The sharp, cold magic of the Soul Realm. Faijashi giggled as he moved his hand.
-Kwaduk!
The wrist twisted, and the blood vessels pulsed. The divinity fiercely rejected the corrupted magic of the Soul Realm. The divinity in his blood rolled around like tiny shards of glass, creating excruciating pain.
But, Faijashi found the pain sweet instead. How long had it been since he felt such pain? Not mental pain, but physical pain.
He missed all those sensations. The hot blood flowing through his veins, the heart pounding madly in his chest, and the dizzying heat rising to his head as if burned…
‘Useless effort, Vaitas.’
The divinity in his blood was rejecting his soul. A sense of alienation and foreignness intensely stimulated him. Skirting the edge of being expelled from his body at any moment—
-Kwaddduk!!
He forcibly twisted his shattered wrist. Not with strength or muscles, but with delicate magical control over muscle fibers, nerves, ligaments, and veins!
-Chwarururuk!
The chains of the Soul Realm hanging in the sky wrapped around his body and descended. Those who use Mumto’s magic inevitably become his minions. But, but.
‘Even when I used Tyban’s magic, I was never his slave. Mumto.’
-Chang!
The chains in the sky break. A sense of omnipotence, as if looking down on all beings in the world, enveloped and flowed through his body. Like the days when he was called the Tower Lord of the Crimson Spire and the end of the world.
The nostalgic sense of omnipotence.
-Huuung…
He delicately coordinated the magic flowing through his wrist. The magic stones embedded in the earth’s ley lines transmitted magic to him according to his will. Half in the Soul Realm, half a split soul, a body opposing his will.
Even using a single spell came with so many restrictions. Nothing in this world is easy. Faijashi smiled stickily.
It’s because nothing is easy that this world is enjoyable.
He drew out magic like threads and draped them over his body. The arms protruding from his back each pressed different mantras, and threads were strung between them.
Like a puppet, his body was caught in between. Like prey caught in a spider’s web. Yes, like an insect caught in a web, pitifully.
Faijashi liked the sound of it. The threads of magic bound his resisting body and began to forcibly coordinate. The divinity in his body, resisting the magic, began to move according to his will.
The first start was [Creation]. His tattered left hand was forcibly straightened by magic, pressing a mantra.
Again, [Binding]. His right hand pressed the sky and slashed down. With high concentration and extreme precision. Perfect angle and timing!
-Chak!
The hands lined up behind him simultaneously changed their mantras. Faint flames rose from behind each hand.
-Chak! Chak!
The shape of the mantras changed, and four hand signs were formed simultaneously. [Sacrifice], [Pain], [Banishment], [Reverse Cross].
And then, the black flames wrapped around his hand began to burn brightly.
– Whoosh!
The halo floating behind Faijashi’s head began to take the shape of a thorny crown. The swirling magical energy gathered into his hands in an instant—
– Swoosh.
Faijashi’s eyes closed. His head drooped, and his black hair covered his eyes. Beneath his clasped hands, a powerful, writhing magical energy could be felt. Six hands sprouting from his back suppressed and compressed this immense energy.
The pinnacle of magic. One of the five spells he had prepared to stop the four Archangels.
The three elements of magic are incantation, ritual, and sacrifice. And for Faijashi, there were plenty of useful sacrifices scattered everywhere. Below the canyon, the blood and flesh of dying tribal warriors from the Material World flowed into the Soul Realm.
The Burial Priests of the Pharaoh were preparing a ritual to claim their bodies and souls, but they were already too late.
Way too late.
– Swoosh.
Faijashi’s eyes opened. Sssss, fragments of souls torn apart by the curse of the Necropolis flowed out from between his parted lips and began to fly into the sky.
Death was near. Closer than ever before. The Stigma of Vaitas on his lower back emitted a fierce light, beginning to revive his soul. It was the lifeline connecting life and death.
Faijashi found it amusing. No matter how much Vaitas hated him, it could never let him go.
“Faijashi’s grasp of the five thrones.”
– Whoosh…
Across this era and the ones before, no one had ever reached the essence of dark magic. The most powerful mage since Mumto, who founded the Necromancy school.
The founder of the Ensorcery school and a practitioner of dark magic. One of the spells he had created to kill the champion of the gods during his prime.
A spell he had only used three times, even at the moment of his death, was now fully completed at his fingertips.
*
– Whoosh…
A brief silence. And the first to notice the anomaly was Neferka. The numerous protective charms on him began to shatter like glass.
– Crackle!
[What… is this…?]
Neferka stiffened in his seated position, watching the protective charms flow down his neck. Clink, the runes and brass pieces connecting the charms scattered on the ground.
He tilted his head, picking up the scattered gem pieces. The intricate protective charms on his accessories were losing their power and withering away.
And then—
– Crunch…
His attendant turned to dust in an instant. His body was made of Neferka’s spells and the spells of his Burial Priests. Neferka watched the disintegrating body of his attendant, then shuddered at the eerie sensation.
If his spells were fading, then…
[What… what is this?!]
His legion was turning to bone dust and scattering. The soldiers of the legion writhed in unison, slowly disintegrating. A sandstorm of bone powder began to obscure his vision. Neferka watched the surging magical energy and the screaming souls within the chaos.
[What is happening?!]
Neferka jumped to his feet, looking around. The minions not yet raised by magic—those who retained their reason from life, the souls of the Burial Priests and High Nobles—were near him. Neferka frantically searched for them.
[Someone, come here!]
“Don’t bother.”
Through the thick sandstorm created by the swirling bone dust of the legion, a voice rang out with eerie clarity. Neferka instinctively gripped his sword. He swung his blade toward the direction of the voice.
– Clang!
The sword that had pierced into the sand was deflected by a rough force. As Neferka leaped back to create distance, the storm split in half, and a man walked out.
– Thud.
A living human youth with piercing blue eyes. Neferka narrowed his eyes, a red glow emanating from them. Beneath the shroud covering his body, his rage burned fiercely.
[Who are you?!]
“That doesn’t matter.”
– Whoosh! Clang!
Neferka’s blade was caught in the air by the black blade of a greatsword. Clang, the old blade twisted and lodged into the crossguard of the greatsword.
Realizing he couldn’t pull his blade free, Neferka glared at the youth blocking his sword.
“Who I am, what I can do, what’s happening right now—none of that matters, specter. What matters is what you can be to me.”
[What nonsense…!]
– Crunch!
The greatsword shattered Neferka’s blade and came crashing down toward his head. Neferka hastily blocked with the half-broken blade. The sword stopped just above his forehead, the blade nearly reaching the hilt.
The youth adjusted his grip and took a step closer. Tired blue eyes flickered before him.
“If you know something I don’t, I’ll let you live.”
The youth, Fernandez, twisted the blade and flicked his wrist. Neferka’s sword flew from his hand and clattered to the ground.
His condition isn’t normal. I tried to sever his wrist, but… Fernandez chuckled. His muscles trembled, and it felt like pebbles were rolling through his veins.
Damn Faijashi. Fernandez clenched the hilt tightly, his fingers tingling. Looking down at Neferka, drenched in fear and shame, Fernandez grumbled at Faijashi, who stood behind him with arms crossed.
– A deal’s a deal, Fernandez. It’s been a while since I had some fun.
‘That doesn’t matter. How many are left?’
– Hmm. Not many, I’d say.
Fernandez’s black hair was noticeably streaked with white. How much of his lifespan remained? It probably wasn’t much, as Faijashi said.
But it was a necessary investment. Fernandez looked down at Neferka and thought. His life and body were nothing more than expendable tools.
“Tell your king of my existence.”
[Why should I? Death isn’t a good threat to me.]
“You will.”
– Sssss.
Chains shot out from Fernandez’s wrist like snakes, wrapping around Neferka’s neck. Neferka let out a choked gasp.
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