Chapter 151: Experiment

Chapter 151: Experiment

Both Isobel and Leland chose to keep Isobel’s worries from Sybil. Whether or not something actually was watching them didn’t matter in the grand scheme, at least not in terms of alerting the Princess. Either they would be attacked or not, which hopefully wouldn’t be an issue for the Huntress to take care of.

It wasn’t until after Sybil woke up that the trio decided on next steps. The plan was simple: find a way home. Being stranded halfway across the world was an issue, however, an issue that could only be solved with time and money. Travel, at the end of the day, was expensive and tedious... of course that was after they got to a place with available travel.

There was a sheer lack of ships or transport caravans in the Archon Valley. In fact, there was a sheer lack of, well, everything in the Valley. As the group moved beyond their humble beginnings on the beach of ash, that sentiment echoed like the silence of a forest burnt to the ground. There was no life, despite being surrounded completely by shrubbery and trees.

“There are no bugs,” Isobel muttered, crouched down inspecting the root system of an odd vine.

The vine in question was yellow and stuck out against the green like a watermelon in a pumpkin patch. While weird, the fact that the vine was throbbing made even the Huntress pause. Like a snaking trying to inhale its prey, the vine lapped up something from within a great oak.

“Stand back, it’s—”

A stark shriek escaped from the roots when Isobel plucked at them. The vine instantly shriveled, snapping out with razor thorns. The plant wrapped itself around her, but was unable to draw blood. Isobel hummed as she continued tearing through the roots, eventually finding a ball of sorts. She ripped it from the dirt, holding it to her noise and taking a whiff.

Thrusting the ball out and away from Leland and Sybil, Isobel said, “Smells like poison.” She cracked open the ball like an egg. Hundreds, if not thousands, of dead bugs leaked out. “Well that answers that.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sybil.

Being distracted by prying the vine off her, Isobel deferred to Leland. He answered with a short head nod. “It could mean many things, the least of which are good. I can, however, say that this looks like an experiment.”

Sybil grumbled at the declaration of an “experiment,” knowing that the lack of a real answer was probably for the best in this case. Before setting off from the beach, Leland and Isobel had informed her of the Archons and their “experiments.”

“The Archons are creators,” Leland had said. “What they make, most don’t understand nor are particularly useful.”

Isobel added to that, “Most have to deal with the environment. So don’t touch anything that looks out of place.”

Sybil had nodded along at the time, but was suddenly starting to rethink her nonchalant attitude. As the hours passed and they encountered more and more oddities, she started to rethink most things, especially once her feet started to hurt. She could count on the one hand the number of times she’d walked in the woods, most of which were for less than ten minutes before returning to her carriage.

Her whole life, Sybil had lived in the capital under a protected roof. She knew little of her father, but she liked to imagine him as a dashing hero, one that sought the preservation of others’ lives well before his own. She remembered falling asleep while imagining his journeys, fighting monsters and saving lives.

It was her twelfth birthday when someone told her the truth. Her father was a Count, a title just powerful enough to court the Queen, if she deemed it, of course. Unfortunately the Count was just trying to jump steps and skip directly to Duke or higher, ultimately casting Sybil aside crushing that dream.

Sybil never dreamed of her father past that day and resigned herself to becoming a Princess.

Lucia and Spencer Silver rekindled the flame of adventure some years later. It was their persistent talk of their son, of their exaggerated tales of heroics, and their reminder that being a princess meant more to those wishing to be Sybil’s friend than actual companionship. It only took two failed courting attempts to see the wisdom in their words.

It was around then that Sybil started to view the castle as a prison, and it was after the kidnapping that she believed herself to be living inside one.

Oh how she dreamed of venturing where her mother told her not to go. Oh how she wished to explore desolate lands and drink at a tavern with true friends. Oh how she wished to be elsewhere than her chambers, having a handmaid touch-up her makeup or replace her comfortable dress.

So Sybil fought through aching feet, hoping that her mask would conceal the anguish on her face. She was getting her wish, after all, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to become a burden for it. Hiking through the woods would take time to get used to, but it beat the castle any day of the week.

When Isobel and Leland abruptly stopped, Sybil remembered something. She was powerless, Legacy-less and far, far from home.

“Kid?”

“I see it.”

“Take care of it.”

Leland broke from staring ahead at a section of trees. “Excuse me?”

Isobel did the same. “Kill it.”

“I’m a—”

“Mage, yeah I know. A particularly weak one compared to most other mages at your rank. Think of this as an opportunity to exponentially grow in power.”

Leland gave her a hardened stare. “And how do you figure I could fight that thing without having someone take its focus?”

Sybil spoke up, “What ‘thing?’”

Isobel ignoredher, responding to Leland with, “Figure it out. I’m not helping.”

Leland growled a breath out. “We’ll just go around—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Isobel crouched and picked up a small stone.

“Don’t do it,” Leland warned.

“Or what?”

“Excuse me,” Sybil tried.

“Or... or... or I’m not going to—”

Type: Curse

Rank: 11 (B-)

Call upon the ethereal familiar of the Lord of Curses.

Summon a full murder of 15 ethereal crows to attack targets for up to 2 minutes.

When all crows are present and attacking the same target, their beaks and talons are enhanced.

All resultant damage dealt by the crows bleed the target for an additional amount over 10 seconds.

The bird arrived in the mortal plane with the longevity of a replacement horse. They dived from the canopy, piercing into the monster with force akin to a warrior’s punch. Quickly their talons sliced into the leather-like skin on the creature, the crows singing as they went. Caws were the least of their song, a harsh note of bloodlust making use of the rank-two curse.

Enhanced talons and beaks made quick work to bleed the monster, the crows smart enough to focus in on weak points and tender joints. Paired with Curse of Collapse’s slowing effect and enough broken bones to warrant total bedrest for most creatures, the boar knew it was fighting a losing battle.

It pushed against Leland’s shield one last time, sliding off the water into a sprint. Controlling its one good wing, it changed the light source in such a way that the shadows covered its retreat.

It made it the distance of six trees away before a wall of purple fire closed off its escape. It tried to slow down in time, but ultimately crashed into the flames. No pain came, however, only a green mist. It spun, finding its attacker standing tall beyond the fire. Fear gripped it as another attacker sprouted from the ground.

The boar died moments later, succumbing to bleeding wounds and soul damage.

Leland let out a sigh of relief, dismissing his shield and turning his attention to the soul of the Damned.

Circle of Souls:

Type: Curse

Rank: 11 (B+)

Call upon the souls of the Damned, channeling the power of the Lord of Souls into an area.

Encase the souls of those within 50 yards, siphoning their lifeforce while chaining them to this reality.

Fully consume a soul to increase your magical potency by 10% for 1 minute.

Held lost souls may now be given to a soul of the Damned as payment for a task.

Damage dealt to one target with the circle is duplicated onto all targets inside the circle for 10% effectiveness.

What the grimoire entry failed to mention about the curse was that only the souls of humans could be “held.” Monster souls required to be consumed or used right away, something which Leland found to be quite an annoyance. While he didn’t like using souls as weapons, he saw pragmatism in always having a repertoire of ammunition to fuel his attacks.

Still, this was the first soul Leland had acquired since learning about Lodestar, the summoning tattoo now residing on his hand.

“Well kid,” Isobel said appearing next to Leland. “That was... something.”

“Uh huh,” he muttered back, craning around her to find Sybil.

The Princess was hiding behind a tree, staring at them rather intently. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was staring, but her mask made it quite hard to tell exactly what she was looking at.

Leland took a wild guess. Between the purple halo flying just above his head, to his eyes burning with purple heatless flame, to the soul of the Damned kneeling at his feet with its glowing arm outstretched in offering, he figured Sybil was staring at him.

“Quite frankly, kid, I’m disgusted.”

“About what?”

“Just how inefficient you fight. Any capable mage would have killed that thing almost instantly.”

Leland ignored the comment, kneeling down before the soul of the Damned holding the lost soul of the monster. He took the lost soul carefully, allowing the soul of the Damned to finally rest after an eternity of penance. It gave him a final bow, fading into reality, disappearing until it would eventually be reincarnated.

“You should have never had to create the shield, such a waste of a valuable resource,” Isobel continued.

“’Resource?’” Leland asked with both hands held out before him, partially paying attention. One was glowing green because he was holding the lost soul, the other naked besides his two tattoos.

“The enchanted item you used to create the shield. Having to recharge it—”

“Not an item,” Leland interrupted. “A spell. Infinite uses, in other words. Mana depending, of course.”

Isobel hesitated, suddenly going over months of following the boys. She recounted every spell Leland had used, counting each one. Five primary Legacy abilities or spells was normal, six if the Legacy had a special or unique ability. There were rumors about seven, but they were only that, rumors. She supposed she might have counted a cantrip or two as a proper spell... but then again, just how many cantrips could heal at the touch or create a shield of water?

Slowly Isobel raised her gaze, settling it on the grimoire that floated silently off to Leland’s side.

That was when Leland’s hand stopped glowing green and started glowing black.

A beat passed, and then he said, “Uh oh.”