Chapter 18: 18. Mirth

For the umpteenth time that day, Tommy scowled at his predicament.

A pair of impenetrable eyes and a borderline comic twist of his mouth gave little way to social discretion. Frustrated by the cumulative series of affronts against his dignity, the mage wondered why such was the case.

How annoying.

For all life had to offer, peace and solidarity proved not to be amongst them. Was it merely an unfortunate turn of events or a cruelly orchestrated fate by a higher power that he was subject to such?

That he had no idea.

He had stood the test of fate. He had killed. He had even survived a wretched father and sister who tormented him to no end.

Compared to those, this should amount to nothing.

Should, however, did not imply what was. The young man, who remained ever vexed with each step of a stone stair, twitched with frustration. The façade of a mage had long peeled, revealing with it a distinctly angered countenance. 

Curse you, Fiend. He thought. Anguished at the currently disabled elevator.

Hastening in tandem with the increased severity of his thoughts, Tommy stepped onto a platform. He had reached his destination. Entering a long corridor, Tommy took the time to look about. He was on the fifth floor. The carpeted room he now stood in was both spacious and decorated with costly tapestries.

Still. Costly as it may have been, it was only costly in relative comparison to the outside world.

Mages were rich folk. And the hallway was cheap in relativistic terms.

It was, in essence, just a means to get from one destination to the other—paling in comparison to the raw display of beauty within the many other facilities.

Regardless, it did share one distinct similarity.

That one unifying factor being that it was incredibly well-kept.

"A taste." Tommy ran his finger down a nearby surface. When he had taken it down a metre's length, Tommy pulled back his finger and squinted at it.

No dust. No residue. None of that filth.

"Time for judgement."

Tommy licked his finger. He tasted nothing.

"So," Tommy said, enjoying its flavour. "This is the power of maintenance."

In appreciation, Tommy examined the walls from top to bottom. He watched the area keenly. Then drifted his eyes to a nearby figure. Under the warm illumination of ceiling lights, it was clear that someone or, rather, something was hard at work. To his knowledge, it was another one of Rainee's so-called 'school benefits'. A magical composite of metal and earth, bringing forth what most refer to be a 'golem'.

How amusing.

Were it not for the promise of a genuine academy guided by the hand of one of the most dominant mages of that era, Althaiez Academy would've been relatively empty. The title 'Althaiez' had been a beacon. A wayward light in a chasm of dark, bringing all those unsuspecting to its source, drifting, flying, and heading towards a supposed strand of hope.

Only until they had set foot, only until a few weeks had passed, did those poor students realise what fools they had been taken for. 

When Tommy thought it over, a wicked grin had seized him.

There was pride to be held in his circumstances.

Unlike those other idiots, he had come here fully realising what lay ahead.

Yes, he had willingly chosen to thrust himself into such a position.

It must be for some cleverly conceived plot, one would think, some dastardly devious plan that would benefit a mage like him so.

Alas, the truth was much simpler and pathetic.

The truth was his father, Absinthe Sessogun himself, punished Tommy by explicitly barring every other option. Having called up many an institution to denounce the boy as a wretched failure without so much as a shred of talent.

Tommy inclined his head and nodded knowingly, taking himself for a wise scholar. He went about his walk for ten seconds. Midway to his room, he then offered a free-spirited leer to the outside world, observing for himself what lay beyond the tainted panes of glass. Above the forested earth was a cloudless sky, showcasing an unfiltered view of what was above. Even if it was night, the view was more than clear. 

Not bad.

He saw a giant sphere of rotating yellow there, the planet of Ed Ibanna, the gas giant that the world orbited around.

Tommy never vested much interest in the natural side of life.

However, perhaps because he had been wronged by people just a few too many times recently, something had changed. Tommy, for once in forever, saw a certain solace in nature.

Unlike people, it was objective.

Harsh in its treatment, sure, but ultimately untampered by concepts like societal expectation or judgement. The thought of its intensely impartial embrace proved more than a pleasant afterthought. Inching closer to his room, Tommy regarded the gas giant with quiet appreciation.

【――――o ̊____. ̅ ̅ ̅ ̅ ̅•____――― ̊ ̅ ̅ ̅ ̅ ̅ ̅.____ ̊ ̅ ̅ ̅_______.】

What came as a muffled sound of an explosion soon quelled such thoughts.

Tommy's nerves, magic vessels, and muscles shirked in response.

The sound was far too loud for an explosion gone wrong.

The sheer force it exuded had even shaken him to his very core.

On impulse, he reached for the knife in his inner waistcoat, a wave of adrenaline washing over him. The weapon was the key to his magic, the material component of his ability.

In that scenario, it might've been his only chance at survival, even.

"You will announce your presence at once!"

Anger breathed its warm primordial ooze into his body, manoeuvring his hand towards righteous judgement.

Was it Azama who had done this?

That wretched knave who denounced him without so much as an ounce of respect?

Tommy allowed that idle vex a moment of his prized consciousness before he promptly tossed it to the side. Danger surrounded him, and enemies could appear from anywhere, so he withheld any matters of pride and vengeance for the time being.

Until he had confirmed his safety, Tommy would divert his focus to the environment, looking for any sign of change.

Alongside the walls, shining blue symbols, dozens in number, now formed.

Tommy recognised them to be basic magic sigils, ones primarily used for the purposes of summoning skeletons. The level to which the monsters could reach was relatively low, so that wasn't the problem.

The issue was the sheer quantity.

Behind such a display of magic, a vast quantity of mana must've been required.

Yet, his enemy, nonetheless, settled on summoning such weak opponents.

You would dare mock me with such child's play?

He stood head high, then, with a confident movement of his free hand, took out a grimoire. 

Bound by red flamerat leather, Tommy opened the book and flipped to the third page.

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"Banquet of despair."

Resting his thumb on the page, Tommy cut it with his knife.

"Grant thine esteemed wielder his rightful due."

Scarlet drenched its once-white pages.

"Bring forth thou beloved visage and length."

Tensing his muscles, Tommy ripped the page straight from the book and then tossed it to the ground. Blood had coursed through its page, forming a beautiful bright red in the shape of an ancient sigil.

Though much of the process was done, the summoning had not neared its completion. 

Apparently,  the sigils along the wall proved quicker than Tommy was.

Very well, then.

Tommy saw bones protrude from the walls, a constant rattle of its jointed parts in full force.

Meanwhile, his summoning would require a bit longer.

The full duration of which was surpassed by that of the enemies.

A series of unstable crashes reached Tommy's ears.

They served as a reminder of what was to come. The due process of the newly formed skeletons, now sprawled on the floor.

Before long, they had begun to stand, fuelled by an unnatural vitality.

Strange incoherent groans forced their way out of skeletal larynxes, bringing to Tommy's attention their swords and shields.

His expression lightened.

Without hesitation, one charged forward. Tommy raised his arms to defend, bearing the blow of a metal sword.

He had no reinforcement spells, armour to mitigate blows, nor anything to boost his physical aptitude.

Using only the tiny resistance offered by his Resolve, Tommy grimaced.

Though, even that proved to be of little defence.

He was not a warrior or even a mage with lacklustre physical capabilities. He was practically an anaemic one trick, dedicated to one skill and one skill alone.

Compared to someone like Ode'go, who could probably even repel a dozen unaltered pistol bullets with aura alone, Tommy could maybe two.

As such, the blade had cut into his arm on the first hit, drawing a clean slash down the middle.

The pain stung. Thousands of imaginary needles, it felt, were threatening to skewer through flesh and bone alike.

Blood, alongside flashes of fiery pain, poured from the open wound, flowing down both the weapon and skeleton. 

Its scarlet hue serving as a very apparent and physical reminder of Tommy's own fickle mortality.

You think I hard-pressed?

Despite that, however, the boy showed little sign of fear or dread. 

Little indicator as to even the remotest glimmer of submission.                            

It took a moment to manifest, but with little more than a grin, the pairing of agony and the totter of his arm alike were swept away.          

Scum. You know nothing of true power.  

The right to supremacy was his.

Two hundred years of lineage had built up to his existence. Countless years, each coming with the passing of a generation of magic, had built up to the mage known as 'Tommy Sessogun'. 

There was none who could stand in his way, he felt.

None, save for his own lack of conscience and focus.

Thus, the agony in his arm, once throbbing like wildfire, soon diminished to nothing more than a spark.

At that moment, his eyes burned with neither fear nor dread.

Only the sustained ego of a mage in over his head was reflected within Tommy's gaze, that which swore to dominate and destroy all that crossed his path. 

Steadying his arm against his unrelenting opponent, Tommy propelled himself with renewed vigour.

He had taken a dangerous gamble, but it had paid off in the end.

"Come forth, Larasel!"

Mana coursed through his arm, the air, and then into that which lay at his feet.

The page beneath the skeleton flashed with light, causing the once intact monster to crumble upon itself. Given its status as a weaker monster, Tommy had used it as a piece for his own ploy.

The Material Component needed to fulfil the spell he would enact.

Tommy might've been rough with social cues, but when it came to battle, he was more than capable.

Now all that was left was to seize victory.

Manifesting on the ground, where the skeleton lay, was a vast circle of red.

It happened in a split second. The link between the material world and the demon was established. Erupting out of the ground a moment after was a demon.

Coiling around him, in an almost snake-like resemblance, was Larasel.

A five-metre-long centipede-like creature with hundreds of legs on each side and a human face at the end.

Speaking in terms of superficial strength, Larasel ranked far above any of the minor skeletons before it. When applying tiers, it could be said that the centipede held the status of a Fifth Rank, while the aforementioned skeletons a clear-cut lower Eighth.

Tommy swallowed hard and looked forward in a fit of overbearing smugness.

When it came to summoning, he had yet to meet one who surpassed him.

Though the enemies before him were innumerable, his now-perceived power was even more so.

As the skeletons encroached ever so closer, and as the demon heeded the words of its master, he finally spoke.

"Now then, Larasel."

Tommy gestured with a flick of his hand.

"Kill every last one of them."

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