Chapter Three Hundred And Eighty Eight – 388Chthonic Tribute!
A storm of Essence and Mana thundered into him as he ran, massive Blade of the Fang slick with molten sands and granular ichor. The blade of the weapon glowed brilliantly with an acid-green virulence, which proved immensely useful in mowing down dozens of the Wraiths at a time. He had killed almost a hundred by that point, butchering at least one with every swing and ensuring their death with liberal uses of his Tribute.
Yet more kept coming.
His Skill levels were stacking up, streaming past his face in bursts. His lesser used Skills got a chance to shine, certainly, all channeled along the length of his Blade.
Wild Threnody is level 74!
Corrosive Strike is level 70!
Arrow of Perdition is level 46!
Green Shaping is level 34!
Rime Shaping is level 37!
Each Skill transformed his weapon as he summoned it through his Wild Threnody, which allowed Mana to imbue his strikes. Rime Shaping expanded the already huge Blade to twice its width, forming a massive cutting edge of ice that sundered a number of Wraiths. Green Shaping was harder to utilize, only making the Blade glow green-gold; once it made contact with the enemy, however, woody growths sprouted from their wounds. This not only slowed them, but sometimes ended up binding a few in a tangled nest of vines. Arrow of Perdition, of all of them, had been relatively useless. While the golden-azure energy shined and burned the Wraiths, it didn't affect them like it would a normal opponent.
"They do not contain a core, Felix! That Skill is useless against them!" Karys had buzzed at him.
He soon dropped it in favor of his old standby. Corrosive Strike had fallen by the wayside when he earned himself Wrack and Ruin, now Rain of Cataclysm. Now, however, his Rain had proven too unfocused. Adding the sizzle of acid to his six foot long sword meant it cut through them in a much more direct way.
And down there, on the ground, he could rip their Essence out with ease.
"Fee...lix!"
"Find..!"
"Bring!"
They're not stopping, he thought while ducking below another iron-clawed swipe. His own transformed hand tore upward, frost glittering off the tips of his talons and sending a spike of ice up through the Wraith's braincase. They're streaming out of the tunnels like a river of bone plates and iron teeth. Where are they all coming from? How many of these things does the Primordial have?
He'd absorbed over a hundred of them already, until his core space swam with diluted pieces of Primordial. Felix had hoped that by consuming so many he would be able to salvage a Memory or even a Skill or two. It was all scraps, however, too shredded and malformed for it to carry anything more than the physical potency of their Bodies. Whatever constituted their Minds and Spirits, or of the Primordial itself, was too mulched to result in anything more than a swelling sense of satiation.
Adamant Discord!
A blast of omni-directional force swept from Felix. He drew on the connections he had to each and every one of the Wraiths, one of shared curse and blood, stronger than most links he made use of; it blasted a full thirty of them in half. Before they could heal, he sent his voice ringing into the air.
"Pit! Lay it down!"
His Companion shrieked and the area around Felix was suddenly bombarded by eight foot tall icicles over two feet thick. The undead annoyances shrieked and skittered backward, only a few slow enough to become impaled. Either way, it let Felix disengage from them with relative ease.
Let's get back to the caravan! he sent to his friend. This fight is pointless, and I'm worried about what they may have run into!
Pit sent back a soaring affirmation before he sped off along the ceiling. Felix flared his Agility and Strength and kicked off. The stone roadway shattered and burst, flinging razor edged debris behind him and into the undead horde.
In seconds, he had left them in the dust.
"Karys! You still there?" he shouted as he ran.
"I am."
"You said the undead didn't have a core. Explain, please."
Karys hummed to himself, the sound transmitting as the droning of a soccer ball sized bumble bee. "They do not need one. They are controlled creatures. Puppets, unable to move without the Will of another. Necromantic Mana invigorates their flesh and bones, strengthens them, but it does not return life to them. No Skill, no matter the rarity, can resurrect the dead."
"Puppets," Felix said, stretching out the word in thought. "And their connection to the Primordial is"
"Very strong. A normal necromancer would have a limit on the range of their control. This Primordial...I cannot get a sense of its limits. Perhaps it does not have them, at least not in the same fashion as you or I."
"A Primordial without limits, how new and exciting," Felix joked. His steps broke the road beneath him, but Felix fought back the wince with each footfall. No on used the Latticeways regardless.
"Find out if it is a Lesser or Greater Primordial, Felix. I...I cannot recall what that should tell us, but there is something there," Karys said. "Be careful."
The Wraiths appeared to be gaining on him again, and Felix flared his Agility once more. Within his core space, he fed the glut of Primordial Essence into the dark abyss. The pressure of it all vanished. "I'm...unf...I'm always careful."
Kuyyt Ma'ar, neophyte of the Temple of the All Burning Flame, did his best to scrub the Cathedral's floors. His thin arms quivered beneath the strain of his fourth hour toiling atop the white marble tiles and gemstone inclusions. His skin was cracked with repeated exposure to the harsh soaps and scalding waters, split but not bleeding. Never that. If he bled, it would get in the cleansing solution and that...that would be bad.
Kuyyt shuddered. He couldn't help it. Holy Flame, please forgive me. I shall not spill my blood upon the Walk.
The Walk of Scintillating Facets had existed since time immemorial. Since the founding of the City, according to the Matrons. It was maintained by the neophytes of the Temple, and contained the Altars of Ancients. He didn't know what the Altars did, or who the Ancients were, as that was not information given to neophytes of the Temple. His role was to cleanse.
So when one of the Altars began glimmering with swirling, sparking vapor, Kuyyt was frozen with sudden fear. Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself before the Altar, as the vapors of power washed over him. The billowing light tingled against his skin, drawing a pleasantly surprised gasp from his chest. A note, proud and pure, shook through the air like the tolling of a tiny yet profoundly resonant bell. It...rippled his soul.
And then the voices came.
What in Yyeros blighted backside is this?
Its a message array, you uneducated lout! Get away! Hear me! This is Atar Vas, once apprentice of Sig'nyh Kel'lyv, Grandmaster of the Desert's Fire and sitting Council member! We are under siege! We require you to open this gate immediately! Hello? Hello!
The neophyte stood on slow, shaky legs. His skin still tingled with the light that caressed him, and his mind was awash with mad voices. This was the work of gods, he was certain. Of She Who Burns. Yetit spoke of one of the Masters. Trembling, he stepped toward the Altar, screened away like all the others by an intricately carved wall of stone.
Atop an ornate marble plinth shaped as a rising wave of...sand? The shape confused Kuyyt, but he quickly disregarded it, for atop the plinth was a green crystal. The crystal was the size and general shape of his head and polished until it was utterly smooth. From within it the vaporous light emanated, flaring now with purple lights, interspersed with intense golden shimmers. The lights intensified as Kuyyt drew close, causing him to squeak in terror. But when he opened his eyes, the lights had congealed into an illusory image of a bloody and tousled young man. Their eyes met, and the bloody man smiled.
Ah! The priesthood! Please send someone down to open this door! Notify the Council! By She Who Burns, I swear we are without guile in this!
The mans image briefly glowed with a brilliant yellow flame. A testament to his word.
Kuyyt gasped and stumbled away, body clipping the carved wall and skidding across the slick marble tiles. He did not care. The Matrons must know!
Hello? Where did you go? Atar shouted into the door. The Mana construct that had formed from the door's frame fizzled and popped, vanishing entirely. "Damn it!"
You scared him off.
Shut up, Evie," Atar said off-handedly. He'd spent entirely too long frantically searching the door for some way to operate it. The sigaldry was all but impenetrable, however, so dense with restrictive layers that he would need to break them all to get at the opening mechanisms. And if he could do that, he wouldn't need to open the damn thing. "The door won't open. Not from out here. We need someone in the City to open it."
Evie paused after drinking another Stamina Potion. "I thought you said no one knew about these roads?"