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The sky was dark with the promise of rain and oncoming night, as the sun set somewhere in the west, beyond the heavy clouds. Those clouds held the heavens in their grip, from horizon to horizon, except for one space: a bright, silver hole, right above, maybe a hundred meters across, lingering with silver light for but a moment longer. As the light dissipated, twilight purple sky showed through the hole in the clouds, before the clouds rushed in to fill the gap.

A white comet, that was not a comet at all, but quickly resolved into a person, fell toward the city below.

The guards, who were already on high alert, saw the package as it dropped. Mages looked to [Dispel] the possible attack, as that was their usual first response to such an event. Dark magic did nothing, though, for the package was revealed fully as a person, as they tumbled through the sky, waving their hands around, trying to catch the wind.  

This person picked some pretty damn awful timing to experiment with [Gate] magic. Or maybe they were shoved through a [Gate] by someone else? Everyone knew the local Wayfarers were working with Archmage Flatt to figure out [Gate]. Was this, then, some failed attempt? Who was this woman, anyway?

Questions sounded in guardhouses across the city. Anyone know any underworld incani experimenting with [Gate]? No? Rounds of negative answers rounded the various guard stations, while people in charge decided the city’s response. People fell from the sky quite a lot, actually. The obvious [Gate] that had appeared was new, but rookies played around with [Teleport] way more than was healthy. Those sorts of daredevils were usually just tracked as best they could be tracked, saved from splatting if such a save was necessary, and then given hefty fines, later.

… But this woman wasn’t slowing down? She had no flight spells? Or other [Teleport] magic to arrest her fall?  

A decision came down the line, only fifteen seconds after the event began: The unknown —and naked, apparently— woman was headed toward the Lake. Someone go out there and arrest her fall and arrest her, too. Take the drain shackles while you’re at it! She’s to be in cuffs and answering for her shenanigans, as soon as she can speak!

The well-oiled machine of Spur’s Guard, well used to fast happenings and quick decisions, sent a team. Five people appeared Lake-side in a flash of grey light, just in time for those of them with the appropriate sorts of spells to cast [Air Cushion] over the water, and for the woman to splash down. She fell from a great height, but even children could survive those sorts of falls, unaided. The woman was clearly not a child, but everyone spec’d into Strength, so some buoyant help was more than enough to stop her from splatting like an overripe melon.  

… Oh. There’s blood. Uh.  

Maybe she’s a stupid mage who only specialized in mana? Uh.  

Oh holy shit! Lotta blood! That’s a broken arm! Someone was going to get a major talking to for not employing more than a simple [Air Cushion]!

The guards worked fast. The woman was bloody and hurt in multiple ways. A call was made and a healer [Teleport]ed in. The guards, well versed in this sort of thing, helped the healer set the woman’s bones, as [Treat Wounds] knitted flesh and healed organs.  

She breathed! Her eyes fluttered open. Yup; red eyes. Underworld incani. One man paid another, as the terms of their bet demanded the exchange of gold, while others wrapped the woman in a roughspun cloth, and wiped away her blood and otherwise with a gentle [Cleanse].  

Safe! For now. She’d get a hefty bill, but at least now she was alive to pay it. The people on duty quickly closed ranks. There was no body. She was safe. She needed to be taught a lesson in not falling from the sky, so they didn’t help her as much as they should have.  

And now that she was on this side of dead, and not passing over any time soon, the guards slipped shackles over her thin wrists, piercing her flesh just enough to drain her of all her power. Another bet was won; the woman was a mage. See that blue light on the shackles? That’s how you know its predominantly draining mana—

The blue light stopped; it had drained her dry. Ah. A very weak mage, then.  

The air blipped silver, resolving to Silverite in short order. Instantly, the guards looked around. Why was Silverite here? Oh shit. They were in trouble.  

A few looked to the woman. Some of them already knew that there was an attack on the Flatt residence, so maybe this weak looking woman was related to that? A few realized that they were out of their depth. As Silverite silently looked to the guards, judging them, they almost panicked, but did not, for Silverite’s gaze had already passed on to the Underworld incani.

The white woman, laid out on the grass, opened her eyes. She looked up at Silverite. She winced.

Silverite stared down at the woman, asking, “Can you understand me, Justine Erholme?”

Justine sat up. “… Yes.”

“Good.” Silverite said, “You’ve been granted a reprieve from Death; a second chance. How will you use this opportunity?”

Justine, wrapped in burlap and steadying herself on the shore of Spur’s only proper lake in living memory, said, “Us shadelings are not your enemies. We are not tools of the Shades.”

Silverite stood there, on the shore of the Lake, staring down at the white woman. She said, “That’s what they said last time, too.”

Justine, with determined red eyes, turned to Silverite. “I know how to turn shadelings back into people. I can tell you how to grow Stat fruits. I can give you tactical information regarding every known Shade.” She said, “For there are at least ten Shades that need to die, for they would seek to overthrow every peaceful opportunity you could ever hope to achieve between civilization and the Clergy. The rest would be content to live in Kendrithyst, to keep their machinations to a minimum.”

“Slightly different. I’m willing to hear you out.” Silverite said, “I’m okay with killing ten of the worst Shades out there. Maybe your names will match mine.”

Justine stared at Silverite. “Bulgan needs to die, right now. Please help me save my people before he decides to run rampant over Candlepoint.”

Silverite lost her strong persona for a small moment, turning, ever briefly, into a woman beaten down by circumstance. Then she came back to the moment, and she was the Mayor again. She said, “Give me actionable intelligence.”

“I need to speak to Erick.”

“… You do, huh?”

- - - -

“She wants to speak with me?” Erick repeated Poi’s words, both disbelieving and understanding at the same time.  

“You don’t have to.”

“… Yeah I do. And in person, too.” Erick summoned another Ophiel, and then another, as he said, “In a few minutes.”

Poi looked away for a moment, saying, “They’re moving her to a secured location right now; before the sun sets.”

Erick just nodded, and summoned another Ophiel. Five was enough, for now.  

- - - -

The safehouse was an average sized apartment complex north of the Human District, a block from the North Gate. It reminded Erick of any of the other places exactly like it, anywhere else in the city, except this one was directly next to the silver-coated guardhouse, near the gate.  

The building was a simple, two story complex made of orange stone, with a small garden hanging over the roof and bright lights on every corner, holding back the oncoming night. The style mirrored the silver guardhouse next door. The windows were smaller than normal, though, and the front doors were made of metal painted to look like stone, but no guards stood around outside; Erick had no doubt that they were inside, and in their proper positions to guard the captured shadeling.  

Erick stood outside the safehouse, decked out in his layered fabric [Conjure Armor], with his hood pulled down and a pair of tiny Ophiels on his shoulders. Four more Ophiels fluttered around him. He did not walk here; he blipped in. Walking through the city, looking like he did now, would set of more than a few alarms in the populace. As it was, there were still some civilians around that saw him and quickly walked away. Not out of fear of him, thankfully. They actually gave Erick some very encouraging looks, but then they glanced at the sky and raced to get indoors.

 A guard stepped out of the air at the front door to the house, turning off his [Invisible] spell. Erick didn’t know him, but he wore the normal silver armor common to his profession. Poi had already told Erick what to expect, so the [Invisible] guard was not a surprise. The man opened the door to the house, saying, “Welcome, Archmage.”

Erick walked forward, into the small apartment complex. Poi followed. There were more guards inside, but not too many. One of them guided Erick further in, down a staircase and underground to a hallway. Erick’s guide stopped at a closed door, at the end of the hall, before stepping off to the side, to a small station where someone could sit, and watch the door and the hall, which is what the man did right then.  

This, then, was Erick’s destination. He paused, unsure of how to proceed. Voices sounded on the other side of the door; people were talking.

He opened the door. He stepped in, while Poi remained outside.

The room beyond was a simple affair, with nice lighting and nice furniture. In any other setting, Erick would have thought he had walked in on some old friends talking about their days, in the comfort of a familiar setting. There were couches and pillows, tea cups full of steaming pink tea, small cookies set out on a plate, and smaller plates holding half eaten refreshments.  

But there was a sinister feeling in this room, brought on mostly by the charged anti-[Teleport] runes glowing in every corner of the space, and they were not the only runes in the room. Erick glanced around, mentally categorizing a dozen other anti-magic runes. Anti-[Blink]. Anti-shadowsomething; Erick wasn’t quite sure about that one, but it had the Ancient Script markings common to all shadow-centric runes. On the roof of the room, though, laid the most complicated stone rune Erick had ever seen; he thought it had been an architectural design at first glance, like some sort of ridged ceiling that blended in with the rest of the space, but it was not. It was a mishmash of a hundred smaller runes, and it was also uncharged. Stone could be made into runes? Or maybe there was a lightward illusion permanently painted onto the ceiling? Wouldn’t that interfere with the mana flow and—

Erick ignored the distraction.  

Silverite sat on one of the couches, lightly looking at Erick.  

Justine Erholme sat on another. Red eyes, she had. Bright red. Happy to see Erick, but also worried. And also a little sad. Erick felt a tug on his heart. So she had dispersed the Shadeling Curse? Obviously?  

Justine and Silverite went silent, as Erick shut the door and stepped further into the room.  

Erick asked,  “How did you rid yourself of the Curse?”  

Silverite joked, “So no greetings and cookies; straight to it.”

Justine, thrown for a loop for the briefest of moments, centered herself. She fully faced Erick, and said, “You must go to Melemizargo’s Heart in Kendrithyst— Ar’Kendrithyst… You must go with an honestly open heart and mind, hear his side of the story, then decide he is wrong. That is how you would rid yourself of any potential Curse; the same is not said for a born again shadeling.”

A green light flickered on the table between Silverite and Justine; Erick only now noticed the truthstone.  

He turned back to Justine. “That is what you truly believe?”

“It is also the truth,” Justine said.

Erick turned to Silverite.

Silverite noticed. She said, “It’s news to me, too. We had just gotten past the pleasantries when you arrived. What we were discussing, then, was strategic information regarding the Shades that need to die in order for the rest to come to the table and lay down their arms versus the world.” She added, “And what would need to happen with Spur and otherwise, if such an event were to occur.”

“… Happen to Spur?” Erick shook his head, adding, “No no. Forget that.” He stared at Slilverite and Justine, demanding, “How could you possibly think that they’re honest actors? That this isn’t some ploy?”

“Of course it’s a ploy, Erick,” Silverite said, unabashedly. “But I can still get some good out of it.”

Justine whipped around to face Silverite. “I am not lying!”

“You are not lying.” Silverite said, “And even Koyabez vouches for you, for now. But you don’t know the Shades how I know them.”

Justine glared. “I was their prisoner for decades. Through multiple bodies. Through multiple tortures. In the Well and out, twisted into monstrous forms and left to die of starvation or forced to kill and eat others in order to survive. Changed into horrible things…” She spoke evenly, but it was easy to see she was holding back a lot. She said, “I know who they are, Mayor. You might have been around them for a long time, but I doubt that you have seen the same side of them that I have.”

Silverite did not dispute Justine’s claims.  

Erick walked further into the room. He took a seat across from Justine and Silverite, while Ophiels fluttered around him, to hover through the room as they felt like hovering. He asked, “What year did you fall to the Shades, Justine?”

Justine did not look at the Mayor, as she said, “In the Water Season of 1276, 160 years ago, my party and I were denied entry to the Dead City through Spur’s usual channels. So we hopped over the walls, as one does in such an event. We succeeded in our ingress. We went home, back to Irildizirad, under the Grey Peaks of Nelboor, unknowingly carrying Curses with us. My friends fell to the shadows inside their own homes, locked to the bed while rads coalesced around their hearts. The same thing happened to me, too, but it took longer.” She paused. She said, “My former friends opened the gates for the monsters, for the shadows. Then the attack started. The siege lasted a week, but Irildizirad was doomed from the start, for the enemy was already inside. I died somewhere in that. When I woke up, I was inside Ar’Kendrithyst.” She said, “Ever since then, off and on, months at a time, or years at a time, I was granted a modicum of my original sapience, because the Shades occasionally need helpers that are not mindless puppets. That is why my Status reads 98 years old.” She looked down at her hands, and said, “This is probably my hundredth body. I’m not sure.”

The truthstone remained green.

Silverite said, “Her history is being further vetted as we speak, Erick, but I can already tell you that Irildizirad’s fall in the summer of 1276 had always been blamed on shoddy patrols. Justine’s story is new information. I can also tell you that someone named Justine Erholme did apply for a permit from Spur, in that same year; that was easy to look up.” She turned to Justine, saying, “But let us return to the problem at hand. Candlepoint, and Bulgan, and why you needed to speak to Erick.” She gestured to Erick, saying, “There he is; go ahead and talk.”

Justine looked to Erick. She said, “If you were to pay a million darkchips to challenge Bulgan for control of Candlepoint, he would be forced to concede.” She rapidly added, “The city would be yours! You could run it however you wanted, or not at all. But it would be yours, and every single person in there would be safe from him.” She pleaded, “The only reason Candlepoint exists is as a bridge for Melemizargo to communicate with the rest of the world; a way for civilization to come to the Darkness and make up their own minds about what it all means, and how to move forward. We shadelings are caught in the middle between the Dark God and all the rest, but it does not need to be this way.”

Erick almost said ‘no’, instantly. But he refrained from that gut reaction. Instead, almost dismissively, he asked, “Why would Bulgan concede?”

Justine barreled past his dismissive tone, asking, “Do you know anything about the Cult of Melemizargo?”

“Not really.” Erick looked down at the green truthstone, adding, “I’ve stayed away from it, since it seems rather disingenuous cult. They kill people all the time, and—” Erick stopped, suddenly getting fed up. He said, “Understanding the opposition is good and right and important, but it’s rather difficult to care about whatever nonsense that cult spews, when the outcome is torture and harm for everyone they touch.”

Silverite nodded, almost imperceptibly, as she watched from the sidelines.  

Justine said, “Then… You have to understand one thing about Melemizargo before I answer that question, of why Bulgan would concede. It’s a central tenant of the Clergy, and describes everything Melemizargo does.” She said, “To Him, you’re either unmolded clay, ready to be shaped and fired into something better than what came before, or you’re the fire.” Justine stared at Erick, saying, “You are the best fire he has seen since the Sundering. The invention of an entirely new school of magic has managed to burn away his own insanity, Erick. Because of that, he has declared you Untouchable—”

Silverite laughed; once and done. Erick glanced to the silver woman, but Justine kept talking.

Justine ignored the Mayor, continuing, “And because you are Untouchable, if you paid the million darkchip fee to Challenge Bulgan, he would be forced to leave Candlepoint and all the shadelings to you.”

Silverite chuckled, asking, “And then what?”

Justine, still very serious, said, “And then my city would be separate from Ar’Kendrithyst! There would be no need for all this danger and death!”

Silverite lost her mirth. “Do you truly believe that?”

Justine stopped.  

She did not believe her own words; Erick could see it in her eyes. She was not that naive. But she was at her wit’s end. Her shoulders slumped, slightly, as she blinked long, casting a tear to the ground.  

Whatever went through her mind, happened fast. She recovered some fundamental part of herself, and said, “Candlepoint will exist or die at the hands of the world. We cannot defend ourselves; for once we pick up the sword, that is all anyone would be able to see, and we are not strong enough to overcome all of civilization. We are not Shades. We should not be treated as such, either!”

Erick said nothing. Instead, he thought.

Justine watched. Silverite withheld further comment.  

Eventually, Erick said, “I don’t think Veird is capable of nonviolent movements, but I think you’re positioned to try. You almost have the right mindset, but you…” He lost his steam for a brief moment. He turned to Silverite. “I am not sure what ‘success’ looks like, here. What are some concessions you would demand from Ar’Kendrithyst and Melemizargo, in order to make the world a better place?”

Silverite laughed for a moment, then rapidly said, “The death of all current Shades. Monsters no longer imbued with a hatred for all life. The end of Ancients. The end of his meddling in mortal affairs.”

“I feel like you listed off several impossibilities,” Erick said.

She laughed again, then said, “Since we’re [Wish]ing!”

“Why are you laughing?” Justine asked, unsure. “This is not a laughing matter.”

Silverite said, “When Melemizargo stops assaulting the Geodes, when his monsters stop killing, when the Ancients don’t organize the monsters, when the Shades are all dead or impossible to find or incapable and unwilling to affect the rest of the world, then I will believe that Melemizargo is actively trying to make amends for his actions. But here’s the slag in the sauce: The people of Veird will never forgive him, and they shouldn’t! But the only way for actual peace would be for all the anger of the world to go unanswered.” She said, “And that is impossible. You’d have an easier time convincing Melemizargo to abandon all that he is, than convincing the rest of the world to forgive.” She added, “But even the first step, that must be taken by him, is impossible! I’ve heard first hand accounts from dragons who survived the Sundering, and Melemizargo has never been any different. This doctrine of strength through tempering fire has never changed. His insanity has twisted his visions for civilization in sometimes strange directions, but it has always been through violence of action and thought that Melemizargo has made his will known, and felt.

“Look at Bulgan! Killing people who came to Candlepoint in the beginning was somewhat understandable, but then he went and opened up the Wall to the Kingdoms, sending mimics into that land, killing thousands and thousands of people who could not run away. Bulgan is still killing people who displease him. That is who Melemizargo is. He shoves you forward, Justine, asking for peace, propping up Candlepoint as a bridge to the world, while with his most powerful hands, kills whoever he feels like killing.”

Justine had no words to say against Silverite’s.

Erick said, “You cannot engage in meaningful discourse when time and time again, that discourse is turned against you, to tie your hands, while the opposition runs rampant, doing whatever they want to do without regard for you, or your needs.”

“Exactly,” Silverite said.

Justine said, “I can’t do anything about the overarching goals of getting Melemizargo to submit to civility, but I need Candlepoint to be saved from Bulgan. They are my people, and I cannot abandon them.”

“There is something to be said for smaller goals...” Erick decided, “You know Bulgan’s power and capability better than most. If I gave you a million darkchips, then could you kill him, and take over Candlepoint?”

Silverite raised her silverscale eyebrows. She looked to Justine.  

Justine breathed deep, her red eyes going wide. And then she faltered. “I… I don’t think I could. Even if I still had the power I once possessed… But, I lost everything in the rebirth.” She popped a blue box into the air.

--

Justine Erholme

Incani, age 98

Level 0, Class: None

Exp: 17/100

Class: -/-

Points: 0

HP, 110/110 , 130 per day

MP, 190/190 , 190 per day

Strength, 11 / +0 / [11]

Vitality, 13 / +0 / [13]

Willpower, 19 / +0 / [19]

Focus, 19 / +0 / [20]

--

Erick looked at the Status, then looked to Justine. He asked, “What, exactly, happened to you, to cause all of this?”

Justine began reciting her story.  

Not once, did the truthstone sitting between them shift pink, to indicate a half truth, or red, for a lie. When she was done talking of gods debating with the Darkness, and of Bulgan’s growing violence, she waited for someone else to speak.  

When no one spoke, she said, “The citrus tree was nice. I’m sorry it didn’t get to live.”

“Me too,” Erick said, as a numbness spread through his body.

More silence.

Silverite spoke for the first time in twenty minutes, lamenting, “Truly we are in a time of turmoil.” She said, “The Darkness creates new Stats, to follow the first new magics in a millennia, and gods argue over the fates of us all? Ha! They argue! There are always harsh words before the worst tragedies happen.” In the moment, Silverite was not the friendly, silver woman that Erick had known in the less stressful moments of their interactions; she had become something tougher, something more like in those first moments of meeting, when Erick was in the stands of the courtroom, and she sat on the podium above; administering. “I am as hopeful of a peaceful resolution as anyone, but it appears that is impossible. Melemizargo has pulled this shit too many times for me to ever believe his word as true, because, as you say, his philosophy is Strength Above All, and that motto is truer for him and his than most will ever know. If you have the strength to enforce your wishes upon the world, then it is Good and right for you do do so— Nay! It is your solemn duty to wield your power against those who would encroach upon you and yours.” She looked to Erick, saying, “Untouchable! Do you know what this means?”

“No,” Erick said, the answer coming before he could even think to obfuscate his words.

“Good.” Silverite said, “Then I do not have to dispel a lie in order to imbue a truth; If a Shade ever calls you Untouchable, it means that they will look to harm you in every way they possibly can, without impinging upon your freedom, your mind, your person, or your soul. I was declared Untouchable for a time, 105 years ago. I sought to use this bounty to end the Shades, with a Great Conquest of Ar’Kendrithyst. That disaster ended in the Great Purge of Spur. I lost myself, and when I found myself again, everything was different, and nothing was how I wanted it to be.  

“Untouchable! Ha!

“A blight upon Melemizargo! A blight upon them all!” Silverite launched to her feet. “I have other duties to attend.” She turned to Erick, saying, “Help or harm Miss Erholme at your own displeasure, but know that there are no good choices going forward. Let me know if you choose to confront Bulgan; I will need to prepare the Guard and the Army for a Shade attack on Spur.” She turned to Justine. “Bulgan needs to die, and Spur is willing to assist in this. In the following hours, you will be debriefed of all the information you know regarding Candlepoint. In return… We’ll figure it out.” She waved a hand, adding,  “Answer Erick’s questions, first. You’ll answer ours after he’s through.”

Justine rose to her feet and bowed deeply, saying, “Thank you, Mayor Silverite. This is more than I could have hoped for.”

For the first time, the truthstone shifted pink. Everyone noticed.  

Silverite gave one hearty, “Ha!” before walking away, opening the door to the room, then stepping out of sight, muttering, “Untouchable...”  

Poi stepped into the room and took his position near the entrance, closing the door behind him.

Justine sat back down. Erick looked at her for a long moment. She waited for him.  

Erick formed the full question in his mind, then he asked, “With regard to physical or magical might, and political power, what would it take for you to be able to challenge Bulgan and take control of Candlepoint from him, and then keep the shadelings from going out of control?”

Justine nodded once, then said, “To be able to challenge Bulgan, I would need [Shadowalk], [Lightwalk], and 70 more levels. Even then, I would be giving my life for the cause. To win would be a miracle, but even then Bulgan would likely survive, and he would go to ground in Ar’Kendrithyst. Removing him from Candlepoint would be enough, for now, but as for what would come afterward, I do not see Candlepoint as being able to solve any of our problems on our own.” She said, “Us shadelings would not go out of control; No. Silverite was right about what to expect from other nations. As soon as there’s no longer a Shade in charge, the rest of the world would descend upon that place and pluck it of all its treasures.”

“There’s an obvious solution to that: You don’t need treasures.”

“… True.” Justine said, “Obviously. I… Yes. You’re right. But… There’s a problem with that thinking, and it is this: None of the prizes are kept in the city; they’re all [Teleport]ed in, on demand, by crafters in Ar’Kendrithyst. But I know several of the pieces of the spellwork to make those items, and I am not alone.” She said, “I would entreat the Mind Mages for mind wiping, but that wouldn’t matter. Some people would still attempt to capture us, to try and force out answers we do not have.” She looked hollowed for a second, as she said, “The original, fully knowledgeable shadelings… They were ritually sacrificed in the process of the Stat creation.”

“Ah.” Erick said, “Even if you only have pieces of the puzzle, it would mean a larger hunt.”

“Yes,” Justine said, desperately.  

Erick watched Justine; her eyes, the tilt of her head, her posture. Even with the truthstone on the table, he did not consider that small magical item as all-knowing. So he searched for the truths in her words that were actually lies, as he prepared a question that would mean life or death, or something in between for all shadelings; a hunted existence without peace or prosperity.  

He asked, “Are those Stats all traps?”

Justine took a long moment to answer.  

“What I am about to say does not apply for shadelings pulled from the Well, like I was. For those like I, and many others, we must first be allowed to regain our sapience, and then we must choose to give up everything we have gained through the Script, in order to return to our original race. Levels, extra Stats. All of it. Most will never survive this process. I did not survive this process. But I was brought back in order to facilitate a bridge to peace.” She said, “That said… If someone falls to the Shadeling Curse by imbibing more than one Stat, the safest way to rid themselves of their affliction it is to journey to Ar’Kendrithyst, to Melemizargo’s Heart, at the base of the Spire. There, the afflicted will have the opportunity to listen to the Shades of the Spire, to hear Melemizargo’s version of the events of the Sundering. From there, you leave as a person, or as a shadeling; your choice. But either way he wins.  

“Either you choose to be a shadeling, and you contribute to his godhood with your very existence. Or, you have heard his history, and by its very nature, call into question everything you’ve ever heard about the gods, the Sundering, and the Script. The Mind Mages would call it a mundane memetic hazard. Melemizargo just calls it the truth.” She said, “So, yes. The Stats are traps. But they are not a trap for any individual person. Taken in their entirety, they are a trap for society as a whole, and the gods. Mostly, they are a way for Melemizargo to leverage his power against all who oppose him, if they choose to continue to deny him.”

“… Ah.”

Justine sat silently.

Erick had quite a few more questions, but he had heard quite a lot, today. So he picked the most prudent questions he could think to ask, “How do you make a Stat fruit, and how do you prevent the Shadeling Curse from taking hold?”

“The second is easier to answer than the first.” Justine said, “Separately, the Curse does not look like a curse, at all. It is only in aggregate that the Curse occurs. So if you only ever have one extra Stat unlocked, you will not be Cursed. You also won’t be Cursed if you already believe Melemizargo’s side of the story. In the second case, you can unlock as many new Stats as you can afford fruits.”  

Erick sat up straight. So that meant the orcol of Archmage Syllea’s tribe, the one who had managed to eat both a Constitution and Dexterity fruit, was already a part of Melemizargo’s cult? Is that how that worked? Did Archmage Syllea know? Erick would need to contact her, later.

Justine continued, “But more than 20 fruits always leads to… uncontrolled monsterfication. It’s a rad-overload problem; too many potions, sort of thing.” She added, “And that thing that Silverite said about Melemizargo controlling the monsters? That wasn’t true. Monsters are still monsters, mostly. He is capable of appointing Ancients, though. Those monsters have specific controls against their lessers.” She said, “But about creating the fruits: The process involves precise applications of [Grow] along with the creation of souls with specific colors of magic. The deep and the shallow of it, is that it’s soul magic.”

“… Ah.” Erick decided, “That is enough for me.” He stood up. “I had hoped that this would be easy, but it looks like it’s only going to get harder for everyone. Especially for you.”

Justine stood up. “I want to help you in any way necessary, Erick. You’ve done so much for Candlepoint— The Shades don’t care about us as individuals, at all. But you did. I hope you still do. Please, if you wish to know more… I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Erick looked at Justine. He nodded. He said, “Good luck, Justine. I’ll be seeing you around.”

A small happiness broke across Justine’s entire being, from her risen shoulders to her tiny smile, to her clasped hands. She bowed to Erick, just as deeply as she bowed to Silverite.

Erick left it at that.

- - - -

Erick walked into the kitchen, and smelled food already cooking. Meats and onions and vegetables, along with a hefty dose of that savory bluebell scent. Teressa was at the stove, flipping steaks on the grill.  

She smiled as Erick walked past the corner, and said, “Welcome back, boss!” She noticed his white armor, saying, “I heard there was some trouble.”

“Oh my gods. I need a drink.”  

“That bad, huh?”

“Actually...” Erick paused. He looked at Teressa. The last time there was talk of shadelings coming back from their Cursed state, she lost it; she Raged, and almost killed Poi. So Erick spoke softly, saying, “Teressa.”

The large muscular orcol woman on the other side of the grill, went on high alert. Her easy stirring of the vegetables instantly stopped. She set the spatula down. Shoulders relaxed, but ready. Emerald eyes focused on the grill top, then lifted up, to Erick. She breathed. She asked, “Yes?”

“Justine Erholme, the woman I meet every time Ophiel goes to Candlepoint. She’s in town, under guard by the North Gate. She’s not a shadeling anymore.” Erick ripped off the bandaid, saying, “She says that as soon as any shadeling is allowed their sapience back, they can voluntarily give up their power, and they might be able to survive the transformation back to being a person. It’s not a sure thing. She didn’t survive her transformation, either. But she’s here as a messenger for Koyabez, for peace. Level 1; I saw her Status. Parts of her story are true, at least.”

Teressa nodded along as Erick spoke. When he was done, she stayed silent for a moment, turning her eyes to the food on the grill. Then, she said, “Good to know.” She breathed deep. She said, “… Good to know. Thanks for telling me.” She jolted. She smiled in a sad expression, lifting her head as she said, “They weren’t allowed their sapience.”

She meant her own team, of course. Erick said, “It’s my understanding that most shadelings never are.”

Teressa rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist, saying, “Yup. Candlepoint is an oddity.” She asked, “Any other world shattering events happen today, boss?”

“Just the one, I think.” He tried to lighten the mood, “Oh! I did manage to make [Teleport Other], though.”

Teressa smiled, though her heart was breaking, as she teased, “Do I have to cover up some missing persons reports?”

“What! No!” Erick said, “I made a magic tree and blipped it away.”

Teressa laughed.

Erick said, “It blipped into Candlepoint. And then it landed in the backyard. I’m not sure if Bulgan threw it that far, or if he had someone move it for him.” He asked, half disgusted, half morbidly curious, “Would you have really covered for me?”

“PhHH! No!” She chuckled, saying, “Silverite doesn’t run that kind of town, and we’re all better for it.”

“… Good.” Erick reached over into various parts of the kitchen with his [Greater Lightwalk], saying, “Dinner smells great, by the way. I meant to make it, but things sort of got out of hand.” With his connection to the items he wanted established, he blipped it all onto the kitchen table. A keg of beer appeared on the solid wood surface, along with a bottle of wine, some crackers, and some good, hard cheese. Mugs and cups came next, disappearing from their spots in the cupboards and reappearing by the keg and the bottle. Erick offered, “Snacks before dinner? Beer and wine?”

Teressa said, “Yes, sir! Make mine a double.”

Poi smiled, as he went to the crackers and cheese, saying, “That went well.”

Teressa chided him, perhaps too harshly, “Was there ever any doubt! You shouldn’t have to worry about a Rage.” She turned subdued, as she said, “I am ashamed that I ever… Sorry.”

Erick poured himself a glass of wine, for a change, and let the topic of Teressa’s Rage drop. The woman was obviously uncomfortable and deeply ashamed that she had an accident and almost killed Poi. If Erick were in her shoes, he would have run away and never come back. Teressa had almost succeeded in running away. Thankfully, that did not happen.  

Erick poured her a mug of good gold beer, and set it next to Teressa, saying, “I’ve got to go talk to Archmage Syllea about her own shadeling problem—” He turned to Poi, “It’s still a problem, right?”

Poi said, “I’d have to check, but as far as I know, what you heard today, just now, was the first definitive information regarding the process by which the Shadeling Cursed can transform back into their original race. Syllea likely hasn’t heard more than you have.”

Erick said, “So yeah. I have to go talk to Archmage Syllea. Last I heard, she was the person most interested in undoing the Curse.” He added, “Some of her people took some Constitution and Dexterity fruits. Most of them turned shadeling, but one didn’t. The only reason he didn’t turn, was apparently due to already being a part of Melemizargo’s cult? Or something? I’m not quite sure on that.” He said to Teressa, “So that’s the plan. Want to go?”

Teressa emphatically said, “Yes.” She added more bluebell to the steaks, then flipped them. They were already crusted with savory flowers, almost like a bread coating. She said, “I haven’t been to Treehome in a… In a long time. It’s time to see some people, especially if you’re going there with that sort of news.”

“Good.” Erick said, “I’m glad.” He looked over at the steaks. “And those look done.”

Teressa smirked. “They can cook a little longer.”

It was well past dark by the time dinner was over. As everyone went their separate ways, Erick went to the library to read, and to wait for a response from a question he set out during dinner. That response came ten minutes before he was ready to call it quits, and tuck in for the night.  

Silverite sent, ‘Come to my office, and we can talk.’

Poi walked into the room, and nodded. He was still dressed in his usual armor, and ready to go out on the town. Erick had dismissed his own conjured armor well before now, but he briefly considered putting it back on. He decided not to.  

Erick got up, stretched, and sent, ‘Be right there.’

He took tiny control of the light next to Poi’s shoulder, and asked, “Ready?”

“Ready,” Poi said.

Ophiel squeaked on Erick’s shoulder. He was ready, too.

- - - -

Silverite’s office was the same as it had ever been. Lots of shelves on both sides, one half of the room full of books, exactly as one expected to see in the office of a judge, while the other shelves on the other side were laden with knickknacks of various kinds. Kendrithyst crystal shards on silver stands, stone globes, lots of tiny landscape paintings, and even small painted portraits of people Erick had never seen before save for here in these portraits in Silverite’s office.

The Mayor sat behind her desk, in her large chair. Her silver metal body was in its usual dragonkin shape, while her clothes were of Silverite’s usual light, airy style. Her countenance did not seem light and airy, though. She was harder than usual.  

Erick had blipped in moments ago. He quickly oriented to the space, as the Mayor watched.

He said, “Hello, Silverite.”

Silverite, all hard edges, said, “Hello, Erick. Have a seat.”

Erick took a seat, while Poi stepped to the edge of the room, to silently watch.  

Silverite ignored Poi, to focus on Erick. “The days ahead are going to get rather rough. Shades have always been power over substance; flash over forethought. Sometimes they’d throw you for a hard turn, but you could recover, because their plots always hinged on unhinged minds, and the truly crazy ones were always eaten by their more stable compatriots.” She said, “But that was before… Before Justine Erholme and her story, and Koyabez’s own proclamation to me. I will not share with you what is not mine to share, but I can say that the war I was expecting is not going to happen.” She paused, for a moment. She said, “For the sake of clarity, ask your question again, so that I know you truly did say those words.”

During dinner, Erick had sent out a question to Silverite, and she had told him she needed time to think. Now, he repeated that question, saying, “I would like to know how to make Curses, so as to be able to lock Shades down in a fight. I’d also like to know of Soul Magic, in order to take the power of Candlepoint’s Stat fruits out of their hand, and maybe extract the Shadeling Curse from that fruit in order to create a product outside of Melemizargo’s control.”

Silverite glanced away, lamenting, “Curses and Soul Magic.” She looked to Erick. “It always comes down to Curses and Soul Magic, you know? Or maybe you don’t. One, is the denial of the soul. The other, is the bolstering of the soul. Since souls are a person’s connection to the Script, it always comes down to soul mutilation.” She said, “I have a request.”

Erick waited.

“Justine has been vetted by multiple Mind Mages, as well as my God. Take her into your home.”

Erick boggled for half a second. “Really? Uh. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with that.”

“I’m not comfortable with anyone gaining necromantic powers, but here we are.” Silverite added, “But besides that, Justine is going to get murdered unless she is in a secured location. Strangely enough, your [Prismatic Ward]ed house is among the most secured locations in Spur. Just think about it. But don’t take too long. Her entrance into Spur was widely visible by many people. We’ve already had to stop one attempted kidnapping.”

Erick felt the blood rush from his face as his heart beat hard. “Shit.”

“She knows a lot, Erick. A lot more than what she’s said.”  

“… Fine. I’ll… I’ll think about it.” Erick offered, “If she’s vetted by Koyabez, she can’t be all that ill-intentioned.”

Silverite looked like she had something to say, but she did not. Instead, she said, “She might not stay with you for long. She has her own journey ahead of her. She is planning on spreading her knowledge far and wide, and then hopefully coming back to Candlepoint to challenge Bulgan for control. She is expecting your help on that front, to at least pay for the Challenge, if nothing else.”

“About that… Could it be true that I could Challenge him, and he would back down?”

“Yes.” Silverite asked, “Do you want that? Control of Candlepoint?”

Erick’s answer was a foregone conclusion. He said, “Absolutely not.”  

Silverite went silent; thinking.

Erick filled the silence, saying, “Did you hear? Melemizargo appeared to my daughter and offered her a paladinship, wanting her help to ‘clean house’?”

Silverite sat in her chair for a long, absolutely still moment. Then, she said, “I had not heard that.” She looked away, to the knickknacks on her shelves, saying, “We live in interesting times, and I hate it. Spur is full again. The nightlife is booming. Ar’Kendrithyst is as evil as it ever was, but if it weren’t for Candlepoint, they’d be plodding along with their own little intrigues as they normally do. Backstabbing each other while tempting invaders with treasure and gold, to assist them in their backstabbing. But now we have the Dark Dragon making plans that are more nefarious than ever before.” She exclaimed, “And cleaning house, too! How dreadful. How unlike him.” Her tone turned flippant, as she said, “Bulgan is set up to fall. He’s gotten no obvious help from inside the Dead City. According to all historical signs, he’s been abandoned. But we’re going off of a flawed history… I have no idea what is coming next.”

Silverite looked like a woman on the edge of falling apart. She had already laughed at Justine’s proclamations earlier, and then she stormed off. And now she was talking flippantly of Shades. She had never done that before. Erick felt a spike of worry in his gut.  

Silverite noticed, and read him like a book. She said, “Oh! Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. It’s just! Every time it’s difficult, you know? This time more than most.”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Silverite smiled, and returned a little to her usual solid self. She did not speak. She obviously did not want to talk about what Erick came here to talk about, regarding necromancy, curses, and Soul Magic. So she went silent.

Erick changed topics, slightly, asking “Have you ever heard of Melemizargo’s Heart before?”

“If you’re thinking Melemizargo’s Heart, is a weakness, it is not. That name is more flash than substance; most people call it the Well.”

“Oh! That thing they pull people out of.” Erick said, “I had not made that connection, yet.”

“It goes by many names. ‘Melemizargo’s Heart’ is one of the more popular. It is not his actual heart, nor does it have any connection to him at all. We’ve— assorted people from Spur, Killzone, me personally, and a few others— We’ve destroyed the Well before, but it always comes back, because it is the end point of a vast magic; it is not the center that it appears to be.” Silverite sighed, then she said, “Since you’re getting into necromancy, I might as well tell you: The Well is a dark mirror that does some arcane thing to every person who has ever touched a shadow in the world…” Silverite paused. She said, “I don’t know if shadelings are real people, or not, but we have known a few important facts about them for a long time. One of the major facts is that every soul that does not go to a god, or to the End, has a chance of being reborn as a shadeling. Another great fact is that I hate necromancy and all of its assorted evils, and sticky questions.”

Erick was blown away. Shadelings were truly a ‘resurrection magic’ problem? Like with Messalina’s [Resurrection] magic? But… No. The Well sounded slightly different. Shadelings were dark reflections? But maybe there was something there as to why the resurrected, like Savral, had problems coming back from the end?  

Did Messalina get her magic from Melemizargo?  

Erick rapidly asked, “Did Messalina get her magic from Melemizargo?”

“No.” Silverite frowned. “She did not.” Silverite asked, “Do you really want to learn Soul Magic?”

Erick could not ignore the sticky implications Silverite just laid out there. Her reluctance to speak further of Messalina seemed wrong, too, somehow. But eventually, Erick brushed over it, knowing that he would pick the topic up at some other time. He said, “Yes. I want to know more about Soul Magic.”

“Why do you want to learn Soul Magic?”

Erick explained, “It always struck me as… Even if I got strong enough to kill a Shade, they could just run from the fight. It is wrong that Shades can run from a fight, when the people they fight had no choice. So I want to be able to Curse any potential Shade with a— I don’t know. A [Curse of Potential Collapse], so they could not run away. But I’ve also been informed that Shades could likely throw off curses, and that I have no idea what a curse actually is. So… That’s why I want to know about Curse and Soul Magic.” He added, “And now we’ve got Stat fruits that need to get made but stripped of their Shadeling Curse, so that Candlepoint can exist without being plundered and pillaged by the nations of the world as soon as the Shades aren’t there to protect them.”

“When the Shades aren’t there?” Silverite asked, “Why do you think they would abandon the city, even if Bulgan was defeated?”

“You misunderstand.” Erick, hard toned and white eyed, said, “The Shades all need to die, Silverite. That’s the goal. If the shadelings are truly just another people being mind and soul controlled, then they need to be freed, and their evil masters need to be put to the sword. Every. Last. One.”

Silverite looked at Erick for a long moment.  

Erick stared back.  

Silverite said, “Speak to Apogee about the curse you’re looking for. He managed to make one that affects all forms of Spatial Magic. And you’re right; it is useful against Shades. You’re also right about not being nearly strong enough to kill one, or even seriously threaten any of them. But that Curse would help.” She added, “And you don’t need to learn Soul Magic. It changes people when they’re able to toy with the inner workings of their own body, and then they see ‘imperfections’ in others that ‘need’ to be ‘healed’. I’m not sure if you would be that kind of person, but it is unnecessary for what is to come. I advise you to not pursue this line of thought, for your own good.

“But besides that: I heard what Justine said to you, and I highly doubt that what Melemizargo pulled off with these new Stats is doable through mortal means. What has to happen, is those Stat Fruit trees need to be stolen from Ar’Kendrithyst, and then they need to be stripped of their Shadeling Curse by consummate professionals. They should not be remade, for the process likely involves the sundered souls of hundreds of individuals.”

“… Okay.” Erick nodded. “That works, too. How are we going to do that?”

“I gotta be honest with you, Erick.” Silverite said, “It likely won’t involve you, at all. You’re much better as a deterrent against widespread danger, than walking into the shadows. It takes a certain skill set to fight a Shade, and you are not there. We’ll get Killzone and the Army on tree relocation as soon as we get more information from Justine on possible areas.”

Erick frowned a little, as he said, “Ah.”

- - - -

Erick laid in bed, thinking, for two hours. And then it was time to get up. Two hours was enough rest, though.  

Once he decided to get up, the next morning started rapidly. Toast, jam, the addition of peanut butter and peanuts to the list of things to reinvent, and a quick cup of coftea, was all that Erick needed for breakfast. In the middle of all that, he sent a message to Apogee, asking for some time to talk.

But according to his son, Fork, the former Guildmaster of the Wayfarer’s Guild was out of town. And then, a small conversation with Fork, the current Guildmaster of the Wayfarer’s Guild, turned into talk of [Gate]. Erick let slip that he remade quite a few [Teleport] spells, so Fork insisted on meeting, as soon as possible. From there, it ballooned into a whole thing. Erick had too many things to do to be trapped by talk of [Gate] right now, but he gave Fork some of his time, and thus, he found himself in the meeting room of the Wayfarer’s Guild, handing their little black book back to his three [Gate] co-conspirators: Rexarix, the incani from the Wasteland Kingdoms, Fieldsmith of the Greensoil Republic, and Fork, of Spur.  

Rexarix beamed, as he said, “You remade them all in under a month—”

“Under a week!” Fieldsmith laughed, as he looked to Ophiel, on Erick’s shoulder. “Your [Familiar] sure is something!”

Ophiel trilled in contented violins; yes, he certainly was awesome, alright.  

Fork asked, “Can we please see the [Gate] quest?”

Erick popped out the blue box, handing each of them a copy, as he said, “I’m not sure what the Worldly Path is, but I’d imagine it’s about traveling the world?”

Rexarix marveled at the blue box, saying, “If Everlin Etherspray would have lived past the death of all Halves, then she could have told us what it meant. According to popular theory, she was slated to give all her secrets to her apprentices, but that never happened.”

“What my colleague failed to say is that we have no idea what ‘The Worldly Path’ actually means.” Fieldsmith said, “No one has been able to figure it out, and rarer are the people who actually manage to unlock the Quest, itself. Do you have any ideas?”

Erick offered, “Traveling the world with companions? Showing others the sights out there? Spatial Magic seems all about stretching possibility out into two different spots, so I’d imagine [Gate] has something to do with transforming an area into being capable of automatically transforming the possibility of all people entering the area.” He said, “Honestly, I have been swamped with a lot of responsibilities. I haven’t gotten a chance to try it out. And speaking of responsibilities, do any of you three know how to lock down someone from [Teleport]ing? From casting any Spatial magic? I need to know to stop Shades from being able to run away.” He looked to Fork, saying, “That’s why I needed to speak to your father.”

The atmosphere of the room changed, dramatically. From jovial and open, to cold and closed.  

Rexarix said, “I have heard that there is trouble brewing. Bend, of the Kingdoms, formally offers you sanctuary if you should need to run.”

Fieldsmith shot the incani a deadly look. Then he softened, saying, “Surely a more neutral option—”

“Yes yes.” Rexarix said, “I apologize. If there is a more neutral option, then by all means.”

Erick said, “What I would prefer, is for the Wayfarers to sign on to defend Spur, when the time comes.”

Fork said, “I am already promised to the defense of my home town, as is our branch is here. We will hold the line, whenever we are needed, in accordance with the duty of all citizens of any major city, and especially of Spur.” He continued to say something, but another voice cut in.

The day instantly went from trying to horrific.  

Poi sent, ‘Ballooning Spiders are falling on Candlepoint. More information is coming, but shadelings are already dying due to scouting spiders, and automatons are killing anyone who fights the spiders. Bulgan is defending the Crystal, and nothing else.’

Erick felt a sudden swell of cold. His heart beat hard, as a chill ripped up his spine. He closed his eyes, and spoke softly, “… Shit.” He forced his emotions down, as he opened his eyes.  

The three Guildmasters were looking at him; concerned. Fieldsmith glanced to Poi. He must have seen the tendril of thought between Erick and Poi.

Erick said, “I have to go. There’s an emergency.”  

Fork said, “Of cour—”

Erick blipped away, leaving the Guildmasters to their own devices.  

- - - -

Erick reappeared in his home, in the library; one of the safest parts of the house for extended Ophiel control. Poi and Ophiel blipped in on the other side of the room, one in a flash of blue, the other in a flash of white and a trill of miffed flute notes at being left behind. Erick apologized for leaving suddenly, as he began summoning more Ophiels.  

He sent one of them blipping over to his tower, to grab a specific item from underneath the floor. In another two moments, Erick held a purple crown in his hands. It was a weighty thing, made of twisted iron and three void-dark octahedral diamonds, each the size of a small fist. Purple lightmasks covered each gem, ensuring that the only light to get inside was attuned to every conventional Stat. Erick took off his rings so they wouldn’t explode, and put on the crown. Plus 213 All-Stats. Slightly more than the 210 it had been before.  

That was odd, but there was no time to investigate that oddity. Erick looked to Poi.  

With a dozen lines of intent coming off of his head, Poi looked away, saying, “Spur is on alert for a counterattack. You’re cleared for engagement.” He turned to Erick. “We want Bulgan dead, too, sir. If it looks like you can do it, then do it.”

Right. Erick had almost forgotten that he wasn’t the only one Bulgan had wronged. The Shade had apparently been killing humans inside Ar’Kendrithyst and working with Tania Webwalker, Melemizargo’s Champion, for a long while. Years, perhaps.  

Erick continued to summon Ophiels, quickly reaching his maximum. With over 8000 mana to begin with, 9 more Ophiel only cost him most of his original mana pool. With his crown-improved Stats, he had over 17,000 maximum mana. Each Ophiel he summoned, while wearing the crown, would have that much effective Health, too, along with his near 76,000 Mana Regen per day, but only if they were Resting.

With a directed thought, nine of his Ophiel, all tiny with fluffy white feathers and bright eyes, blipped away in white flashes, to positions outside of Spur, over the sand. Stone raised from the sand, forming [Teleporting Platform]s under each Ophiel. Each [Familiar] then expended most of themselves, 15,000 mana each, in order to create 90,000 point [Prismatic Ward]s over each platform.  

Ophiel would be easy to [Dispel] if he were on his own, but [Ward]s had to be destroyed, or [Dispel]ed on a 1 point of defense per 1 point of [Dispel] basis. Erick smirked to himself. Let’s see how Bulgan dealt with that. 90,000 points of [Solid Ward] was massive!

- - - -

Over a shadowy city laden with rainbow light, wide awake in the minutes before the dawn, there were no clouds of water as there had been for the last week, but instead, threads of spidersilk adorned the twilight above. Perfectly straight, those threads tangled on no errant winds, for the winds were controlled. Spider silk drifted forward, riding the prevalent breeze toward the target.

Many-legged monsters, with many eyes and many minds, spun those threads into the breeze, and casting in concert, flowed toward the shadowy city. There were some complications in the attack, but they were accounted for.  

A spike of crystal rose from the center of their greater target. The first waves of scouts had determined with their lives that the crystal spike was like the crystal city far to the east; a target of last resort, and laden with defenders more than capable of ending an invasion. But below that crystal spike! Oh, the bounty! The squishy bipeds in the dark buildings were slippery, but they tasted fantastic. So much nutrition! Some had even been wrapped in bundles and already spirited away below. They didn’t even fight back.

This place was primed for feasting, and the Horde was ravenous.  

—The air shifted as white flashes disturbed the descent.

Oh? Birds? Birds dare to try the Horde? Or...  

Not birds? No!

The many winged, with eyes to rival our own! The Hated! The Horde had heard about them! They were worse than the crystal maws on the sands. Retreat! Retreat! Run a—

An orb of bright darkness flickered at the tip of the crystal, in the center of the city.

- - - -

Ophiel fluttered into position, between the oncoming horde and Candlepoint.  

Through a hundred different vantage points, Erick saw a hundred different things. Shadelings died in the streets below, either from spiders as they tried to defend themselves, or from automatons as the shadelings tried to defend themselves, but they weren’t allowed to defend themselves from anyone, or anything. Adventurers in the city rushed to save themselves, and some shadelings in the process, killing spiders and automatons with flashes of swordplay or spellwork, earning the ire of both the many-legged monsters and the animated armors.  

For a brief moment, Erick watched as a pair of guards turned to shadow to get away from the greatswords of a pair of automatons, only to run into the fangs of an orcol-sized spider. One guard was killed and devoured on the spot. The other seemed to fly, uncontrolled, into wrapping threads, turning from person into a bundle of white silk in seconds.  

Everywhere, spiders captured people, and rushed into the ground, burrowing holes in fractions of seconds, pulling still-living cargo into the depths below.  

But the worst part was that spiders, under the control of the mother spiders, were all invisible, and working in concert, under expertly controlled hive minds. Erick had to infer what he was seeing when he looked upon Candlepoint. For what he actually saw was people suddenly sprouting blood, so a spider must have gotten them. People tripped on nothing, and were ripped into cocoons. Some shadelings slipped away in shadows, running as best they could, but then they stopped for some reason, and fell down, paralyzed or dead or dying. Spiders were inside the shadows, too. They were everywhere.

The dark crystal in the center of town, the Crystal, where people traded darkchips for treasure, was the only fully defended spot in the city. But it was not safe for shadelings, or anyone. Automatons congregated there, killing everything that moved. The land was red and black with blood and shadow, as people tried to flee the spiders, only to fall to automated defenses.  

Everything else, from the Garrison with its adventurer defenders, to the Farms, to the bordellos and the hotels, was under attack by invisible enemies, and full of holes leading down into the dark below.  

And above it all, was a dark man, standing on the dark crystal, looking upon his kingdom, and laughing. He bellowed hateful joy into the spider raining sky. When they got too close to him, he waved his hand, and they blew off course, down into a part of the city that had been doing okay, until suddenly exposed to another round of invisible attackers.  

Ophiel had only been in the air for ten seconds, and Erick already knew that half of Candlepoint had to be dead, already.  

This was the true terror of the Ballooning Spider Horde, when it fell upon an unprotected populace. This was the true nature of Veird, in its most bloody, most dangerous moments. Erick had made light of this reality with his own ability, and his own magics, but here, mutated nature was allowed to happen, unimpeded.  

The air cleared of booming laughter.  

Erick looked to Bulgan, as the Shade pointed at one of the Ophiel.  

The Shade flashed with white, grey, dark light. Erick watched both from the outside and from the inside, as dense air collapsed around an Ophiel. Space folded, as reality crushed inward like a closing fist. Dense air cracked, and broke. Wing snapped and dislocated. Ophiel and all of his defenses, crushed toward a center of compacted space.  

And then Erick was watching from the outside, as one Ophiel was no more, and the space where he had been exploded in dark light. A pulse of dust and pure force rippled out of the implosion, for that is what it had to be; Bulgan had imploded a small part of reality, somehow.  

The eighth Ophiel died in a similar fashion. It took Bulgan seven seconds to crush an Ophiel, but it still happened. Erick still wasn’t strong enough.  

Bulgan yelled, “I do not authorize your assistance, Erick! Go away! Candlepoint is fine without you!”

Shadelings below screamed as they were torn apart by invisible fangs, or packed into cocoons by nimble legs and air currents.  

Seven remaining Ophiel ran away from Bulgan, for they could not blip. The air was full of scratchy denial of all Spatial Magic. Bulgan’s [Teleport Lock] had come on in the last few seconds; maybe even as soon as he had seen Ophiel. Maybe the Shade had been waiting for Erick, or anyone, to make a play.

Ophiel flew in every direction, into the horde, away from Bulgan. They cast stationary, multi-kilometer layers of [Withering] into the spider filled sky, into the falling monsters. Hopefully none of the shadelings thought to fly away; it certainly didn’t look like they were doing anything but huddling and hiding. There was no time for subtlety or properly shaped spells, and even such a [Withering] defense could be navigated by those hive mind spiders; Erick had seen it before.

For a brief moment spiders died and the true attack stood revealed, as invisibilities failed. The horde was the same size as all the rest Erick had killed. Millions of spiders. All hungry. All deadly. From the largest white mothers with their black lined bodies, to the smaller fully white males and younger spiders.  

Against an undefended people, they were genocide.  

Bulgan reached out, easy as flipping his hand around, and canceled the nearest [Withering] hanging in the sky. One layer out of seven vanished. And then he did it again, quick as a grip, ripping spellwork down through sheer force of will. Erick didn’t even see the characteristic dark flash of [Dispel].

Ophiels flew further, and higher, through the falling spiders, collecting them on the dense air of their floating platforms like semi trucks rushing through a bug swarm. Legs and eyes and splashing exoskeletons of spiders that had yet to die to the [Withering], fell to the wayside.  

Bulgan killed another Ophiel from over two kilometers away; a twist of a raised hand, and the [Familiar] imploded, then exploded. Shockwaves bounced through the horde, scattering dried corpses.

New Ophiels joined the battlefield, flying in from afar, casting [Withering] into the sky, with multiple layers over dozens of kilometers. Each of them cost 750 mana. Every expenditure took over half a minute to regain, even with 76,000 Mana Regeneration.  

Bulgan popped Erick’s [Familiar]s like they were overripe grapes. Casting [Prismatic Ward] across a floating platform bought each protected Ophiel an extra three or five seconds of life; enough for two or three spells, which they cast out as fast as they could. The sky filled with more easily and quickly dispersed [Withering]s and [Call Lightning]s, briefly turning the twilight morning back to deeper darkness. But Bulgan’s grip was irresistible; final. Clouds vanished. Thick airs dissipated.  

Erick almost abandoned the extra defense of [Prismatic Ward]. Maybe he could get more spells out across the city if he abandoned the extra five seconds it took to construct the platforms and the dense air. Maybe Ophiel could fly faster without lugging around stone and defenses. But three seconds was still three seconds, and without those defenses, the spiders would tear Ophiel apart.  

… Or maybe not. They had 17,000 effective Health, now. And they had [Greater Lightwalk].

Ophiels blipped into the sky, naked. They turned to untouchable light, and then they turned hard, and edged. There was no organization to their transformation; they simply became like clouds of luminous swords. Every Ophiel on the scene transformed, abandoning all defenses. Then they began to spin, chopping up—

Bulgan reached out, and soaked into the nearest Ophiel. Thin lines of substance cast long shadows into the spider filled morning. Those shadows rammed inward and ate the lightform [Familiar], like he was a simple, delicious snack. The Shade repeated the procedure against every Ophiel in sight.

In moments, Erick’s entire flight was gone. Erick summoned a [Scry] orb onto the battlefield, just to see what had happened.  

Booming laughter once again filled the sky.  

Bulgan stood upon his dark crystal, like a man made of void in the middle of the sun. Wreathed in gold-white radiance, the laughing Shade was the deepest pit of darkness Erick had ever seen.  

Erick’s sight cut as Bulgan stared right at the [Scry] orb staring at him, and popped it.  

- - - -

Erick breathed hard. Cold sweat stained through his light shirt. Poi looked on from the other side of the room. Teressa stood guard by the door, watching both of them.  

“Everything is happening too fast and my mana regen still isn’t enough!” Erick said.  

Poi looked away from the air. He said, “We have potions.” He looked to Teressa. “Get them.”

Teressa blipped away in a flash of grey light.

“Right. Potions.” Erick laughed a harsh sound, as he joked, “I’ll have to get tested for intestinal rads afterward.” He looked to Poi. His voice turned strained. “I don’t know what to do. If I could use [Greater Lightwalk] I could have Ophiel hunt the invisible spiders in the city. But he ATE MY LIGHT, Poi! He can do that?! I know you said light make shadows stronger, but I never— He’s going to kill them all—” He said, “Wait. I have this left.”

Erick applied his last Favored Spell, to [Summon Ophiel]. 750 mana per Ophiel became 375, doubling his rate of summoning. 35 seconds per Ophiel became 17. He lifted his hand, and began summoning Ophiels. One, two, more. Each of them appeared hard edged, each of them already running [Hunter’s Instincts].  

Erick turned the skill on himself. Why hadn’t he done this before? He did not know.  

Suddenly, everything seemed calmer. Quieter. The horror of the moment became a clinical experience, and somehow slower at the same time. This was the true power of [Hunter’s Instincts]; this disconnect. Shadelings were dying, and there was nothing Erick could do about that at this particular moment, but Erick’s mana was ticking upward.  

And then he gave each Ophiel [Defend]. He should have been doing this, too. It might help.

--

Defend X, 1 minute, 1/10 HP

Take 50% less damage for 1 minute, cannot take more than 90% of your HP in damage in 1 hit.

-- 

Teressa blipped in, holding a small wooden box. She handed it over to Erick, asking, “Have you ever had a mana potion before?”

Erick said, “No,” as he opened the wooden box, which was more like a crate, now that he looked inside. He plucked a glass vial about half the size of his fist from inside. Blue liquid fully filled the vial, while white wax kept the juice inside. “Just down it, right?” He thumbed the wax off, easy as a flick of his finger, then downed the potion. It was made to be easy to use.  

It tasted like blue light and burned like the world’s worst rotgut. Erick endured.  

“Yup, just like that.” Teressa said, “One every minute with a max of five per week is the maximum dosage. The good ones last a minute. Those last a minute. It should multiply your Regen by 10, then taper off.”

Erick looked at his mana while Teressa spoke. The numbers on his Status rose normally for a few seconds, then, as the blue potion settled inside, his 21 mana per second Regen suddenly multiplied, turning into 210 per second. Ten seconds later, Erick had enough mana to resummon all of his Ophiel.

The first ones were already blipping across the Crystal Forest, to Candlepoint, with slitted eyes and hard feathers, and instincts out for blood.  

- - - -

Ophiels tried to blip in three kilometers north, south, east, and west of Candlepoint, as well as every direction between those. But Bulgan’s Blessing had radiated far and wide, denying transport anywhere near the city. If Erick were to guess, he might be ten or even fifteen kilometers out. Candlepoint was barely a dot of rainbow in the distant, twilight horizon. The blot of dark-light atop the city was more than visible, though. Bulgan glowed with stolen power, like the bigger stars in the void above.  

Erick was mad at Bulgan’s stolen light, in a disconnected sort of way. How did that even work? How did Bulgan steal power?

… This might be fine, though.  

Eight Ophiel conjured weather into the sky, and fires down below. Rain fell, and twisted. Northerlies turned to easterlies as a counterclockwise spin took control of the heavens. Tempests turned around the city of Candlepoint. Ophiels joined their spellwork, multiplying their effects, and their domination of the sky.  

Spiders remained in the eye of the forming hurricane, though. There was no stopping those. But the ones that had yet to land. The ones in reserve?

Erick tore them down from the sky like he was cleaning an old house of spiderwebs. A small hurricane formed over the sands of the Crystal Forest, winds reaching up and down, tearing at dunes, clouds manifesting out of thin air. Sand blew harsh, ripping at mimics and agave. Mimics chimed in worry, then in horror, as winds picked up battering them, tearing them from the soil.  

Ten thousand mana casts from each Ophiel in each of eight directions, was more than enough to start the storm. The winds reached all the way to Candlepoint.  

The spot of darklight at the top of the central tower, took off like a comet, toward the north.  

Erick had a brief moment of introspection. Was he really doing this? He was antagonizing a Shade; an enemy he was not capable of fighting on equal footing. Erick didn’t really know where to begin. He wasn’t a fighter.  

But.

Yes. He was. He could fight, when he had to. When it was necessary.  

Killing Shades was the most necessary violence in this entire world.  

He steeled himself as Bulgan came for the northern Ophiel. That naked Ophiel activated [Defend], and lasted a good five seconds; almost as long as with a full [Prismatic Ward] set up. After crushing Ophiel in a telekinetic fist, Bulgan turned his attention to the sky, wasting precious seconds to tear down the storm. Ten seconds at first, then twenty seconds; gone. Erick had already resummoned the northern Ophiel, and was just waiting for Bulgan to move on.  

On instinct, he sent the Ophiel in early, casting [Call Lightning] into the world.

Bulgan noticed. He also noticed the lightning arcing down at him. Bright, flashing light burned through the Shade. When the flash went away, Bulgan was still floating there. Briefly, Erick noticed that one of his wrists ended in a stump. And then the moment was over. Shadows crawled over Bulgan’s body, restoring his missing hand.  

He was brighter than before. Fractionally brighter, for sure. But still brighter.  

Shit.

That Ophiel attack was just the distraction, though. Three other Ophiels blipped into the city with instructions set and skills imbued. Three Ophiels turned into light, and then into something that was not unlike an ooze. They washed into the dark streets like liquid death. The spiders’ invisibility spells did wonders against those who could not defend themselves, but that trick did not work against ultraviolet, or infrared senses. Ophiels became beings of hard edged light, cleaving invisible spiders, saving shadelings— saving people, as they could.

The storm, still active, still getting supported by Erick after Bulgan passed, did a lot, too. Wind pulled every flying thing out of the city, like an immense vacuum cleaner, while the horde tangled on the storm wall kilometers away from Candlepoint. The horde would have been killed, if Erick had been given time to kill them.  

But Bulgan abandoned playing with Ophiel on the edge. He came back to the city. He was dimmer than before, but a simple stretch of the hands toward the flowing lightform Ophiels in his city, turned those Ophiel into snacks. The Shade bloomed back to full, dark radiance.  

Erick kept summoning Ophiel, kept sending them in to do what they could do; he had never stopped. At five seconds per Ophiel, and twenty seconds per Ophiel death, Erick churned them out like a never ending swarm, easily keeping ahead of Bulgan’s—

The Shade took the top of his dark tower, and then took a knee on the Crystal’s surface. In a radiant moment, the tower itself, once dark, began to become more than that. Veins of light traced down Bulgan’s arms, through his stump, flowing into the Crystal, revealing shadows deeper than Bulgan himself, inside the structure. Veins of light became arteries of radiance that expanded into rivers, then to full brightness, as the Crystal completely turned to light, bathing the city in a white-gold luminosity.

In a detached, horrific moment, Erick witnessed Bulgan’s magic through a [Scry] eye hovering over the city.  

First, the few visible spiders still on the ground, still eating people, went berserk. Meager adventurer defenses and shadeling doors and blockades were instantly overwhelmed by invisible and visible, glowing white spiders. At the same time, the dark automatons in the city doubled in size, as they too went berserk, their colors changing from black to light, as they began pouring out of the Crystal like a radiant flood released. They chopped down everyone they saw, except for the spiders. Perhaps, they did not see the spiders? All they saw were people fighting something.

Erick was reminded of the problems of improper summoned creatures—

Poi sent, ‘Sir. Bulgan needs to die.’

‘Thank you for bringing me back to the moment, Poi.’

More Ophiel blipped in around the city; Bulgan’s Lock was much smaller while he was locked to pouring power into the Crystal. But that was a lie, apparently. Bulgan straightened. He smiled. He lifted his stump, creating an open hand of darkness to replace his lost flesh. He crushed down with that darkness, ending an Ophiel in one quick, effortless movement. And then his [Teleport Lock] expanded. He was holding back on purpose, luring Erick to move his Ophiel closer.  

Before Erick could pull back and save some of his forces, Bulgan snapped his fingers. Five Ophiel imploded at once, leaving one behind, and likely just because the Shade needed an Ophiel alive so he could speak.  

Bulgan’s words vibrated across the sky, directly at Ophiel, “You haven’t paid the million darkchip price, Erick! If you continue to pursue this fun time, I’m going to have to come to Spur and drag you out of your home, and do what I should have done months ago!”

Ophiel floated a hundred meters away from the Shade, as Erick yelled through him, “End this madness, Bulgan! Your people are dying!”

“They don’t matter! There’s more in Ar’Kendrithyst. There’s more in the Well. I don’t even matter! None of this matters, except to teach you lessons! To teach you that defiance has a cost, and that you are weak!” Bulgan yelled, “Too weak to act when you need to act! Too weak to power through the barriers set against you!”

Bulgan reached out and popped Ophiel.  

- - - -

For a few moments, Erick sat in his safe chair, in the safety of his warded house, in the safety of his city, surrounded by his safety net of personal guards.  

No one was safe in Candlepoint. Not one of them had time to think, like Erick had right now. If Silverite was right about the Well, and if Bulgan was right about what he could do with the Well…

Erick almost questioned his desire to help people who were hurting, but who would get over it, in time.  

But…

It was right and good to help people who need help, no matter if whatever they were going through was temporary. And besides that, there were adventurers in that town. They only had the one life… Unless they got revived as shadelings, too.

Erick checked his mana. He was half full, at 8,000 out of 17,000. His mana potion had worn off several seconds ago, but he had been using that mana this whole time. Eight thousand was a lot; it was enough for what he needed to do next.  

He created an Ophiel, then blipped him out to a buried treasure. It was a small box under the sands in a specific location Erick had never marked, but was easily accessible to him, since [Teleport] put you right where you wanted to be, if you knew where you wanted to be. A [Stoneshape] brought the box to the surface, and then unveiled what was inside. Darkchips. Tiny fragments of some dark crystal or other black stone, maybe obsidian, maybe not; that didn’t matter.

Erick certainly couldn’t hope to [Duplicate] a million of these in the next ten seconds, and throw them in Bulgan’s face. With a bit of math, and aided by the clarity of his [Hunter’s Instincts], getting a million darkchips would take a million casts of [Duplicate]. Ten Ophiel meant he could have ten of them work at the same time, meaning only 100,000 casts per Ophiel, but even then…  

A full day only had 84,000 seconds; 84,000 possible casts. That wasn’t taking into account mana, either, which would surely have to—

In the heat of the moment, Erick’s [Hunter’s Instincts] supplied him an answer. With 76,000 mana regen, it would take 2.5 seconds to get the 50 mana necessary to cast a Clarity-assisted 100 mana cost [Duplicate]. Meaning, one Ophiel could do 33,600 casts per day, meaning 10 Ophiel could do a third of a million per day, meaning 3 days for ten of them to cast [Duplicate] a million times.

Erick wished he had more time, or that he had had this idea earlier than now, but that was not to be.  

So he had to work some magic, first, and fast.  

He tried to [Duplicate] the whole box. He got a second, empty box.  

A shaped [Duplicate] on one stone ended in a misfire.  

--

Double Duplicate, instant, touch, 150 Mana

Create two copies of a non-magical, non-living item.

--

Failure.  

Erick tried not to think about people dying. If he got this right, if he managed to pay the million darkchip price, then Bulgan would have to abide by Melemizargo’s rules, wouldn’t he? That’s what Justine thought would happen. But then what?

Erick tried a 500 mana Extreme Mana Shaping, from a target, to an area. He cast upon the entire box. Darkchips pumped up from the box, like a swelling tide of obsidian flakes.  

--

Multi-Duplicate, instant, touch, 600 Mana

Create copies of every item in a small area.

--

Better. But Erick could do more. The third test had Ophiel pick up the box, while other Ophiels hovered below, waiting.

Mana Shaping. Aurify. [Duplicate].

--

Duplication Aura, instant, small range, 600 mana per second

Create copies of every item in a small area.

<Civilization will judge you for what you do.>

--

Erick expected stone boxes filled with darkchips. And he got that.

Stone boxes tumbled from the air, each of them filled with 1500 darkchips. Ophiels caught the boxes, and held them tight, making sure that none of the pieces spilled.  

But he also got something else. Wind flowed from Ophiel like he was the center of an outflowing tornado. Other Ophiels readily rode the storm, easily holding on to themselves and the hundreds of boxes popping out all around the central Ophiel.

666 boxes. That’s all that was needed to make up the needed million. Erick added on more boxes, though, just to be sure.  

He hoped this worked.

- - - -

“Bulgan!”

Ophiel popped into the sky above Candlepoint, a hundred meters from the central Crystal, booming with Erick’s voice.  

Some of the rainbow streetlights were broken, and gone, but daylight was fast approaching, and the central pillar of gold-white radiant Crystal showed the damage done to the city, and the damage still being committed by person-sized white spiders and four meter tall white automatons. Shadelings ran, but could not get away. Adventurers huddled under [Solid Ward]s, while monsters and machine-like summons beat on the glowing cages. And everywhere, there was no escape, because Bulgan, the Shade assigned to Candlepoint, stood atop the central, glowing Crystal, laughing at it all.  

Bulgan laughed once, louder than before, then shouted, “You have no fee! Go away!”

“I have your fee!” Other Ophiels blipped in beside the first, carrying their heavy cargo on [Teleporting Platform]s. “Here are a million darkchips! I challenge you for control of Candlepoint!”

Bulgan smiled; a wicked thing, full of fangs.

In a flashing second, the Crystal under Bulgan dimmed to darkness, as radiance flowed up into the Shade, transforming him back into a radiant void. He bowed. “Welcome, my brother of Darkness, Erick Flatt.” He straightened, fully in control of himself, saying, “Thank Melemizargo that you’ve finally taken your rightful assignment.”

And then he vanished.  

Erick came back to himself, feeling as though something awful had happened. Poi looked to him with soft eyes. Teressa looked to him with a questioning stare.  

Erick said nothing. Candlepoint was still dying. He went back under, back into Ophiel’s senses and positions, over the shadeling city.  

The spiders still fought invisibly, down below. Automatons still killed people. Erick recast the storms and [Withering]s outside, quick as he could, making sure he did not cast into the city; that would just kill every shadeling, too. The Crystal had already stopped producing summons, so he ignored that, for now. He discarded the darkchips, dismissing the platforms like they held nothing of importance at all, for they did not. 666 stone boxes of obsidian flakes fell to the roof of a building below, and shattered, spilling black flakes onto the black building.  

Erick turned every single Ophiel into oozing light, and set them into the melee below, aimed at heat-bearing invisible spiders, and flowing into killing automatons. Spiders died, but not fast enough. Erick summoned a spell he had never used outside of its initial cast, because it was the only thing he had that was small scale, and what he could trust not to race around and kill shadelings. Otherwise, he would have used [Shooting Star].

--

Flying Weapon, instant, close range, 100 MP + Variable

Create a nigh unbreakable weightless weapon that flies at your command. Lasts until dismissed.

--

Each Ophiel summoned a bevy of daggers to augment their oozing [Greater Lightwalk]s.  

Automatons were tougher than spiders, though. They carved through people without care, and two Ophiels and simple summoned weapons could not harm them. [Spell Breaker] did not work either. They were more than 1500 mana per summon. He tried [Teleport Summon], but that failed, for some reason.

Feeling disjointed from it all, Erick joined [Flying Weapon] to [Strike], wanting to harm and hurt the dark shelled summons like a god pressing a button and ending a threat. The summoned beasts were covered in blood, and he would end them—

Back in Spur, a blue box appeared.  

--

Flying Striker, instant, close range, 250 MP + Variable

Create a nigh unbreakable weightless weapon that automatically Strikes opponents at your command, draining your mana for each Strike. Lasts until dismissed.

--

And then another.

--

Class Ability Quest Complete!

Create a well-made tier 3 skill or spell born of a Health-cost skill and a Mana-cost spell.

Reward: Blood Mana

--

Erick would explore the full ramifications of Blood Mana later. Right now, he cast [Flying Striker] with every oozing, lightform Ophiel.  

Automatons fell under the multitudinous [Strike]s as lightform [Familiar] flew through Candlepoint like the wrath of an angry god. Spiders ceased to be, as their [Invisibility] was no match for Erick’s knowledge, or his power.  

Erick couldn’t face a Shade in combat and win, yet. But he could certainly help save some people on the ground. Silverite had been right. Erick was much better at widescale destruction, than concentrated fire.

As a white orb above the Crystal created a map of all spiders in the area, and Ophiels followed the map to their enemies, Erick watched, and organized, as best he could. He briefly came back to himself a few times, here and there, but nothing important was happening in Spur right now. Hopefully it would stay that way for a few days.

But Erick doubted it.