Chapter 3: Chapter 3: In the City of the Dead

That same morning, 3 hours prior.

~

The sun barely peered over the horizon as someone took their first step into the bowels of magic. “It’s basically finished...” Donovan muttered, hunched over a diagram etched into the ground with black chalk. It was . It wasn’t overwhelmingly sophisticated, but to the untrained eye it was  some kind of occultist kitbash containing a multitude of pentagrams, squares, and Venn Diagram-esc overlapping in multiple places and connected with lines of their own varying shapes and sizes.

“This should roughly be enough…?” While the diagram was explained to him in detail, he didn’t understand the theory behind it yet. It was akin to having put together an engine without deeply understanding what each part did, just that it would work if constructed in a particular way. He understood concepts like ‘fuel’, ‘engine’, and ‘processor’, but there were more than a few that lacked any kind of analogy.

Even with extensive knowledge of modern science, there were a frightening number that simply flew over his head. But for the first time in… a very long time, Donovan felt like he was forging new paths. He learned only 4 things in those few hours he had with him, with the cautioned headache being the only physical proof. He would have experienced much worse problems if he spent too long in that ‘dreamscape’ of Rau’s.

His mind wandered while his eyes never left the chalk before him, belated to recognize more flaws in the myriad of shapes. ‘Back to my hell- I mean, my spell.’ If he did it correctly, it would wrap his body in a field that prevented magic from exuding so strongly away from him, still allowing direct contact combined with great focus. After all, it wouldn’t make sense if he couldn’t continue channeling his magic into the ritual because of the ritual itself.

It was actually an incredibly crude spell when it came down to it, relying entirely on the monstrous amount of magic actively eating away at him to sustain itself. And if the diagram could be considered the engine, his mana could be considered the fuel; he simply had to direct it. After all, he was already shedding magic like a human reactor.

He recalled what Rau’jence said as he continued making last-second adjustments; “The basis of magic is intention. Mana, the fuel of magic, can be considered creation itself in semi-tangible form. Yet like all things, to create requires a mix of planning and effort. You need to be certain of yourself when you’re making a sculpture, or your chisel will simply cause the rock to crumble apart.”

“Not getting it? Okay, let’s take a step back. Magic… is science, and like science, it’s the product of planning with an intended result, and the determination to make it happen. You are infusing what can be loosely described as your will into it. Like science, it’s just sitting there for us to harness; most simply lack the knowledge of how. You already know what the result you want needs! Now take it in your hand and make the power of creation your bitch!”

Rau was… in all things, vulgar and demanding, yet at the same time, he realized this was simply a front for his remarkable mind and even rarer drive. He clearly wasn’t the contentious Lord of All Magic that smote naysayers. He despised even the thought of being compared to the ‘wizened magicians of Yore’ as he described them. Even so, from what Donovan saw of him so far, he was keeping a lot under wraps.

Brushing off those stray thoughts, he put his palm to a circle that stood out from the rest, sitting on the very edge of the diagram. He concentrated on that unseen force inside of him- the massive quantity of unfiltered magic coursing through him- and tried to nudge it as gently as possible into the diagram.

Of course, what was intended to be a nudge was more of a kick as large amounts of energy was sent coursing through his palm, simultaneously searing the palm of his left hand and causing the lines of chalk to suddenly glow bright blue. Dusty clouds of chalk went into the air as the misfortunate apprentice cursed his bad luck, “Shit, shit, shit, what went wrong?!”

He grit his teeth in pain as the flow suddenly stopped, barely stifling a scream, and he was able to pull his hand away from the diagram. Glancing down at his palm, it was even worse than the pain had suggested; although it had felt like a burn, it resembled a bad case of skin necrosis, only, his cells were still very much alive, and very much in pain. Just the sight of it made him gag.

Donovan might have lapsed out of consciousness then and there if adrenaline hadn’t already been coursing through his body. Wincing, he shakily grabbed a light red vial from his makeshift backpack with his remaining hand and poured it onto a bandage, then began to wrap it around his injured hand. He grunted in pain as soon as the cloth met his flesh, though he didn’t slow as he continued wrapping the crudely-cut piece of sterile cloth.

The bandage was itchy, but that thought was swept aside as the wound became even more painful once the concoction began to work, piecing his hand back together. He felt like curling up into a ball, yet the sheer pain combined with the inset exhaustion dulled his motion, so instead he simply lay there, waiting for the spell to complete. As an invisible force began to wrap around his body, Donovan inspected the bandage he had hurriedly applied.

Potions of this variety could accelerate the speed of the body’s natural healing significantly, but also took a toll on you depending on how drastically it had to mend your body. Usually this just meant having a faster metabolism in addition to a chemical imbalance, but it could send you into autophagy if the potion was made incorrectly or you used too many at once. He wondered if they could reattach or even regrow severed limbs given the necessary energy and a sufficient concoction, but his knowledge was limited by time constraints.

He was still lying down when the ritual finally reached it’s completion. Something began to shimmer around his body before immediately fading from sight. This would make casting most spells a strenuous task, but it was irrelevant to him; at least until he learned more magic. He could still direct magic by making direct contact with something, though.

It felt… uncomfortable, almost, to Donovan. Doubly so when it was something he wasn’t ever used to feeling in the first place, given the absence of magic on Earth. Yet, he could almost feel it on his skin. It was the feeling of mana gathering between the Emission Stopgap and his body, instead of the barrier itself. It didn’t really take any tangible form, but the magic itself could in a pinch.

With it, it would have the side effect of making him incredibly durable, but mostly against blunt attacks and magic. It wasn’t a ‘true mana shield’, according to Rau, as it was simply a side effect to another spell. A mana shield would use it’s energy to directly counteract attacks, instead of simply standing in the way of them. “I guess this means I performed the spell correctly, though.” He thought out loud. ‘It must have been the amount of magic I poured into it, then.’

The newly-established apprentice sat up, clutching his still-painful bandage-wrapped hand, and once he gathered his thoughts, he looked to the north-west. Rau’jence told him that the cyclops’ head- or rather where it once stood- pointed south. Using that to right himself, diagonally left of the cyclops’ torso directed him to where he would have to go.

He was nearly ready, but Donovan thought it would be prudent to go over his supplies before he left. After all, there was a treasure trove right there! Unfortunately, within a day or two, people will come here looking to hunt a monster, perhaps a mage. He couldn’t afford to stay much longer.

He had already picked the backpack clean of everything he could, leaving anything heavy or unnecessary aside. But even leaving those alone, there was a lot of supplies that he couldn’t or wouldn’t go without.

Thankfully, the sizable makeshift backpack was up to the task. 

Donovan had sown it together with sinew, strips of hide, thick fabric, finesse, and most importantly, a hell of a lot of straps, pressing pieces of durable leather to the backpack for durability as well as making sure it all stuck together. When all was said and done, it looked like someone attempted to strangle the damn thing. At least there were plenty of straps for larger objects such as the spear he made and sharpened.

He had organized them based on the pocket they went in, and there were plenty of those, so it wasn’t horribly messy, but it was still hard to find something specific. Laying out everything he could manageably fit inside, it came as follows;

• 1x sewing kit, with numerous spare bone needles.
• 1x Bone Spear
• 1x Bone Club
• 1x human-sized Sextant (‘or something that very closely resembled one’).
• 1x Alcohol Canteen.
• 1x Currency Pouch.
  • $100 in Psyandian ‘Writs’
  • $58 Helman ‘Marks’
  • $77 in Mortem ‘Notes’ (‘Not quite sure if they’re some kind of country or if they’re just the foreign equivalent of inheritance dues. Rau’jence didn’t specify when I asked him.’)
• 1x bundle of thick-cut rope, roughly 15 meters in length.
• 2x massive water canteens, strapped to the backpack’s sides (‘With added tubes to drink from, go me).
• 3x pouches of Powdered Milk.
• 2x pouches of ‘God Essence’ (‘Highly controlled substance. Makes a normal human go into a berserk state. If it’s a cyclops, it just gets them high off their shit.’).
• 3x vacuum flasks of Powdered Flame (‘Ignites on contact with the air. It’s a durable flask, but as a precaution, the pouch containing them will come off if I remove a certain strap. Contingencies, contingencies’).
• 3x vials of cyclops-concentration healing potion (‘Emergencies ONLY’).
• 5x 6x empty vials.
• 8x 7.7x slabs of black chalk (crystal chalk)
• 11x pouches of various colored powders, herbs, and the like.
• 12x rolls of hide parchment.
• 14x 13½x rolls of bandages (‘Really, it’s just sterilized rolls of misshapen cloth, but I’ll take what I can get’).
• 22x 21x vials of diluted healing potion.
• ~25x dried fruits, vegetables and the like (‘I’m not going hungry any time soon’).
• ~67x sticks of dried jerky the size of your hand (‘I’m definitely not going hungry any time soon’).

He was forced to leave most of the alchemical supplies and such alone, as he had no clue what most of the pouches did anyways. Rau’jence simply told him what was useful, such as the ‘powdered flame’ and didn’t bother explaining what the rest did, including a few that he was still told to keep but not told how they worked. 

Now that he was fully geared, the backpack was… 60 pounds, give or take. He had removed numerous excess items and prioritized what was light comparative to it’s usefulness. The optimal carry weight for the average hiker is 20% of your bodyweight, but he took perhaps a bit more than that because he had the supplies to strain himself, and given his weight… ‘how heavy am I, even?’ He had no way of knowing how much his new body affected that, so he decided to try and test it.

On a whim, however, Donovan realized the gravity was likely different as well, so he first had to learn the planet’s gravity (and therefore mass) by comparing it to Earth’s standard. If g= 9.81 m s^-2 was earth, he simply had to calculate it based on how long it takes a standard measurement such as, say, a gallon of water took to fall a meter…

‘But now I’m back at square one, damn it.’ He didn’t have an accurate comparison for height- hell, he didn’t have an accurate comparison for a gallon. So for now, he shelved that curiosity and made an assumption based on his instincts. He was 180~ pounds back when he was on earth, and he felt about a quarter stronger somehow, so he assumed he was somewhere in the ballpark of 240 or so. His height was about… 5”8, but he trusted that estimation even less. 

Once his curiosity was stimulated somewhat, Donovan went back to sorting out his supplies.

Of all the things he had to leave behind, the small (for a giant) book that was likely the cyclops’ diary was perhaps the most difficult. It was larger than even his sizable backpack, so Donovan had no hope in hell of keeping it with him long enough to learn the language inside.

But besides that?

Much of it was honestly junk. What he found beside what he took ranged from bone, alchemical ingredients, to what Donovan identified to be some type of livestock’s umbilical cord, wrapped in animal hides. A magical tool would be amazing, but in a magical dead zone of the likes they were in, very few could work on their own, and the ones that did were way out of a moderately civilized giant’s ballpark.

‘Guess we’re still doing this the hard way, then.’ Donovan thought. To the northwest lay a ruined city. It was mostly picked clean long ago, but the vengeful spirits of the dead hid much and it wasn’t unheard of for new loot to reveal themselves as the years went by, as the less willful of the deceased fully passed on. It also was a megatropolis of some kind, which amplified the chance of scoring something.

In other words, he was to begin his career as a Grave Robber. ‘Hey, the dead are dead. They shouldn't have qualms with making better use of their things... most of them, at least.’ He mused, pushing aside more grim thoughts. He supposed he would be stumbling upon plenty of corpses in the city, given it's size, but he tossed those thoughts aside and focused on the journey ahead of him. With his course set and mind fixed, he just…

Began walking.

As prepared as he was to live out his days here, he had gotten a reason to leave. Not that it would’ve taken much; it was, after all, a hollowed-out corpse that served as his home. Really, he was the most hopeful he had ever been since he had gotten here. He reckoned that, regardless, he would fare better in this new city. “What, am I now a country girl or something? I’m not going to fall in love with some tall, upstanding skeleton, am I?” Donovan joked to himself.

Instead of feeling longing, he felt joyous that he could be rid of this place. He didn’t exactly have fond memories of becoming a human meat sled after all. Without a word of goodbye, he set off on foot northwest, leaving an unseen trail behind him.

~

The incessant wind which had been prevalent throughout his short time in this wasteland had been tapering off for a while when he finally discovered why; lying at the horizon was a large metropolis, complete with tall buildings, large signs, and densely packed streets. It stretched from horizon to horizon, with a decently-sized wall lining the edges. The perfect windbreak, he supposed. Yet, even from three miles away, he instantly recognized the damage

The concrete wall was heavily damaged, pushed aside, or outright gone in numerous places. Most of them leaned away from where he was walking, telling of some unseen wave of force which knocked them down. In the perimeter of the wall, there were a select few patches of ground that plateaued abruptly in places. Though weathered by age, they fell sharply in spots. ‘It’s as if the destruction ignored these little areas. Barriers, perhaps?’ He pondered. 

The force that had destroyed this city clearly didn’t care about them. Though, he spotted no corpses, suggesting either their total survival, complete destruction, or the product of time. ‘Perhaps a mixture of all three.’ He mused. ‘Necromancy’s a thing though right? This place would’ve been practically Skeletor's wet dream if they did die.' They dotted the landscape innumerably, and he even spotted some in the city as well, of varying shapes and sizes.

He let his mind continue to wander as he neared the city, getting a closer look at the destruction. Most of the buildings were a mix of metal, wood, and what was either concrete or stone, cracked in places from age. He’d have to describe the architecture as a mix of Scandinavian and east-asian, as odd as that sounded, with frequent use of curved, double-slanted roofs that seemed odd in a city like this. Many simply looked like someone stacked smaller buildings on top of bigger ones.

The state of the buildings was, in a word, utterly random. Completely lumber-set buildings stood tall nearly as much as stone, metal, and concrete. The street that wove through these ruined structures wasn’t concrete nor stone, but some variation of asphalt. Since it didn’t keep nearly as well as concrete, it might as well have been a cobbled road. Good asphalt can survive three decades, and concrete might last a bit longer without any maintenance.

As he walked through the city, however, he noticed how intact the buildings themselves were, compared to everything else that is. There was significant damage to the surroundings, like what looked to have been a small park that was utterly upended, most of the rubble lying against a building, facing away in the same direction the buildings leaned. It went without saying that it’s soil was just as dry and barren as that outside the city. 

All in all, Donovan couldn’t help the destruction was rather jarring, really. Some buildings were complete and utter rubble, while others were nearly intact. Then there was the lack of corpses, and the strange plateaus and spots that weren't just outside the city, but inside it as well. He expected to find at least one or two lying here or there, but he hadn't spotted a single one. There was barely any rhyme or reason to it. The only consistency is that it was inconsistent, everywhere he looked. So at this point, he just blamed it on magic. He’d ask that middle-aged office worker about it later, he'd be damned if he couldn't get at least something out of this trip.

Here and there he searched the more intact buildings, all of which were tilted, literally, to some degree. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the first or even the hundredth looter to grace this place with his presence. This became evident in one building that only resembled a church from the inside, possessing nearly the same architecture as everywhere else on the outside.

Inside lay a massive hall decorated with white pillars of stone and finely carved overhanging arches, filled with an innumerable number of statues. Only, nearly all of them were vandalized; of the 50-odd statues inside, of them was missing a head barring a single one, at the end of the large hall, with it’s own path cutting through the center of the room. A large, well chiseled, humanoid man, who was clearly the most important in the room. And yet, they lacked a core feature; a face. Whether this was intentional or not, he had no way of knowing.

Looking over the other statues, each was a little iconic, even without the head. One gave off the semblance of a judge, decorated with flowing robes. It held a gavel in one hand (just the handle, that is), and in the other, a stone tome, it’s cover inscribed with characters he couldn’t read. Likely due to the sheer weight of it, the arm holding it fell off at some point, leaving the faux tome lying on the ground. 

Then there was a pair of statues that sat side to side, with locked arms. They were nearly naked, besides a pair of shorts and a set of spiked metal gauntlets that were irremovable from them, and on closer inspection, were merely metallic paint. One of the two was missing a leg, which sat in several pieces on the ground. 

Even so, it was held up by the counterbalance of the other statue. Each was smug, with bold pecs and flowing… chest hair? ‘How on earth did they manage to make chest hair out of stone?’ On closer inspection, however, it was merely fuzz attached to the statue. ‘Rather interesting design choice’ Donovan thought, appraising the craftsmanship for the muscled duo.

Another outright looked like a valkyrie, which was conspicuous for it’s lack of arms, or a head, for that matter. The statue was literally just a torso with legs. The only indicating feature that told him it was a valkyrie of some kind was the feather-decorated armor, chiseled out of- you guessed it- stone.

As he was admiring the curves of the ‘finely made’ statue, something… paranormal occurred.

A set of large stone doors marked side rooms to the left and right of the faceless statue. He hadn’t entered them yet in favor of exploring the main hall first, yet the door on the left suddenly began to open, surprising him as the loud sound of it grinding against the floor reverberated throughout the building.

Donovan eyed it warily; he had been warned by Rau that most specters- ghosts resulting from massive disasters- that although most were regretful instead of mischievous or outright malicious, the few that remained after this time were likely the ones that managed to kill or capture their accosters over the years.

In a city as large and old as this, there were bound to be quite a few who refused to ‘pass on’ as he phrased it, which raised even more questions. You know, the ones about Life, Death, and the Meaning of Existence, the Source of All Existential Dread. The old office worker promised to tell him it- Life, Death, the Meaning of Existence, and the Source of all Existential Dread that is- later, but he left his explanation at just the warning for now.

Even so, Donovan didn’t think it was likely he had actually come across one in such a passed-through building. He couldn’t imagine those stone doors being opened without some automatic system. Specters that would actually try to open such a massive door after such a long time would be incalculably rare, he cited. Even so, he decided to be more safe than sorry, and cautiously approached the door.

It was a large and simple, perhaps even crude door operated by a large cylinder wedged into the floor and ceiling, giving it an anchor so it only moved on one axis. It seemed a bit primitive but he guessed it might be cheaper than an actual hinge. It also looked cool, so that was a plus. He didn’t trust it’s weight to prevent the ghost from just shutting him in, however, so he dragged a gigantic copper greatsword still attached to a beefy-looking arm in the way of the door, hopefully preventing it from closing.

Just to be sure, he walked inside slowly, crudely-fashioned club in hand, his eyes darting from the room itself to the entrance every so often. The room wasn’t very large, perhaps just a few yards wide in each direction. He could quickly sprint to the door if necessary, but he quickly found his attention occupied by the jackpot he had stumbled upon; an untouched storage room.

Storage racks sat in the middle of the room, filled with things like medallions and rings, glowing white vials of liquid, as well as the occasional ceremonial decor or item, but the strangest thing he found there were unmarked squeeze drink pouches, comparable to a Caprisun in size. Tucking a few of each in his bag, the door never left his sight.

As he carefully looted the room, wary of the door closing itself, it became known how utterly cramped the room was. There was barely enough space for him to walk relatively normally through it, so it was rather slow going with his attention split between not being locked as well as his loot goblin impulses. He had been walking on the side of the room when he turned the corner and nearly tripped on something that had caught his foot. Looking down, he was stunned at the sight before him.

It was just as jarring as the ‘cyclops head incident’ and twice as tragic. There were two things clutched in the hands of the ghoulish corpse; a much smaller corpse, possibly that of a child, and the missing arm of what appeared to be the valkyrie, which itself gripped a metal spear. It left him in silence for a moment, his gaze wavering over the seemingly mummified corpses. Long enough for someone to get a word in: “Help… him…” uttered a feminine voice, which seemingly came from everywhere.

Immediately on guard, he glanced back at the door from a gap in the shelves, and yet it hadn’t moved. Looking back at the corpse, he didn’t know exactly what it wanted. It was clear the two of them were beyond help… did it just want him to bury them? Just as he approached the corpses to get a better look, it… exploded. Who he could only assume to be the woman who spoke suddenly began vibrating and quivering, causing him to quickly back away, only to be met by an explosion of blood and gore.

Even from a few feet away, it stained part of his attire deep red. Too stunned to register that he had already gotten covered in blood again, he was even more confused now. “What the fuck just happened?” was all he could say in response. First they had asked him for help, then they just… ‘spontaneously combusted? Fuck, I could use his advice right now.’

He hurriedly packed the rest of the stuff he had found, and glancing back at the remaining corpse, he decided to at least take it with him for now. He estimated the corpse to be of a five year old by it’s size, so it didn’t take up much space. 

 

He wrapped it up in cloth as delicately as he could. Donovan had… mixed feelings to say the least. He felt bad for them, but also was unsure of their intentions. He didn’t even know how unusual of an occurrence this was in such a world. For now, he just finished looting the place, which included the now blood-soaked spear to replace his crudely-fashioned weapons.

Whispering a silent thanks to the deceased, he inspected it closer as he wiped it down with another spare rag. Because of how well it was preserved, this one was in even better condition than any of the few weapons outside that were too heavy for the average looter to run off with. 

Given the lack of rain and with how air-tight the room was, he imagined there to be little that could cause rust to form. The spear was heavy, but at least light enough to make stabbing motions with; probably due to it being entirely made out of steel, perhaps iron. However,

He probably couldn’t handle a sword well, but a spear was simple enough. With it, he could at least fend off the smaller creatures; he doubted he could kill even one of the things that eviscerated the cyclops… hey, that has a ring to it, why don’t I call them Eviscerators for the time being? He thought idly as he walked down the stone steps of the church. ‘…but, I still haven’t found it yet…’

~

Donovan wandered the streets for hours, fending off the occasional wildlife. Of the few he found, even fewer attacked decided to actually attack him. These few were easily put down by his spear. One such was a rather large, skittering rat. If it wasn’t so loud in the otherwise still city, he may have had trouble stabbing it before it could bite into him.

‘How long have I been out here? Six, eight hours?’ Donovan thought idly as he struggled to detach his spear from a large, felled rat, it’s screams stifled by the metal appendage stuck in it’s chest. He didn’t feel bad; it could’ve given him some disease if it had gotten to him.The damnable thing leapt at him while he was going through a cupboard, and it lodged his spear it’s ribcage. He eventually had to wedge it out by breaking it’s ribs with his bone club.

His crudely fashioned club saved his life then and there. He barely managed to pull out his old club in time to crush another’s neck. He imagined that to be the result of an insidious piece of evolution; if you die, may as well have your fellows finish the job. He kicked one in frustration; they could’ve killed him but he got nothing in return, he had more than enough meat and hide.

Other than that incident, though, nothing else really gave him cause for pause.

He looked inside what buildings were intact and he didn’t find much that was of substance. He’d find a trinket here or there that he could pawn off but it wasn’t what he was looking for. More specifically, what Rau told him to look for. Besides what he found in the church, there was very little of value; people had scraped this place clean long ago. What he did find was usually small and easily missed, as in near-garbage.

He had spent nine hours picking through broken skyscrapers and toppled houses by the time he found something of note. He had found his way into what almost looked like a commercial district, with various buildings bearing weathered signs and smashed storefronts. This place was hit even worse than any of the other areas he had stumbled into, and it wasn’t difficult to guess why.

Doors were torn from their hinges, windows were smashed, and reception desks were pulled apart for anything that might sell. Anything not bolted down was torn asunder or thrown aside. He found even less of value than before, looters having left their mark on every building the eye can see. Donovan combed through what buildings looked less wrecked, and yet he found absolutely nothing.

His search was fruitless for at least another half-hour, walking circles in the area to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He was rewarded for his thoroughness when he did, in fact, spot a small vendor he hadn’t originally seen. It was perhaps the smallest of the buildings he had found, which definitely proved a boon as it blended into the landscape very well. It squeezed between two other buildings that were practically skyscrapers three times it’s size, making it diminutive in comparison

The only reason he spotted it at all was because part of the roof was barely visible underneath the remnants of a different building entirely, which had toppled due to it’s lower, ground-inset foundation. He imagined what little rain came weathered through it over the decades, as opposed to the higher ground. It was fortunate, however; he imagined not many others noticed the quaint little store as a result.

The entire front of the store was covered the overturned building’s rubble. It looked to have collapsed upon impact with the ground, whatever invisible force protecting it ceasing to be. This meant the main entrance would prove inaccessible, but after going down a side-alley he found a back door that…

Didn’t budge at all. 

To his chagrin it was a push door, and no matter how much he strained himself it didn’t move an inch. It felt unlocked, there just was something blocking it on the other side. Seeing it wouldn’t open like that, he attempted to chip at the hinge with his spear. As he expected, the door was somehow just as durable as the building as it proved to just sharpen the spear on the undamaged hinge.

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He scanned the perimeter of the building for any other entrypoints, but each of the windows was barred to prevent looters from getting in. A few were chipped or damaged, the windows they protected being shattered to pieces a long time ago, but it was clear that none of the others who had noticed the thing thought it was worth the effort. Which, ironically, meant it was worth the effort.

Rapping his knuckle against the door, it barely made a noise of response. Distinctly odd. “This door is far too sturdy, is this some kind of enchantment or reinforcement?” Donovan mused to himself. Seeing as it wouldn’t open, supposed it was time to test out the third thing that Rau’jence taught him; excavation magic. 

Well, a perverted form of it to be exact. 

Instead of moving rubble or clumps of dirt, this was far less specialized. As in, it could move anything so long as it wasn’t ‘anchored in space’, though that was another can of worms Rau’jence didn’t bother elaborating on. Apparently, the less specified a spell’s use was, the more energy it required, but it also required far less focus and memorization. Perfect for Donovan.

He’d be activating it with a ritual again to make it easier, and this one was far less complex than the previous one. It was a memory game from here on out, double checking his own mental notes that he had made under Rau’s tutelage. The man knew exactly how to make the best use out of their 3~4 hours, and made sure to use an array of rather mundane techniques to make important things stick. 

This helped him in his own improvisation; it would be difficult to perfectly memorize precisely how it would need to be drawn, so Rau made sure to lay out the rules that key elements like the ‘processor’, the ‘parser’, the ‘emulator’ and so on had. For example, the ‘processor’ couldn’t be directly parallel to the ‘parser’ and needed to have the ‘emulator’ between the two, yet the ‘performer’ also needed to be between the two as well.

The brunt of his knowledge was just what those looked like and how they correlated. He only really knew how to draw each part of it and what it should look like when it’s done. Even this was completely different than the masking spell despite the fact that it was far simpler, due to all of the same functions having an entirely different result.

Oversimplified, the result was a circle, pentagon, a set of ovals and a large pentagram all laid out in order, facing the door. Each shape had it’s own complex notches and the like however. Some were simply notes to remind him about correlations, but others had specific functions. They were all related to the movement of either energy or information, connecting the various functions.

Adjusting the angle with just a few more lines of chalk, aiming the spell, he once again began the strenuous process of performing the ritual. This time, he was even more careful. He attempted to pour as little as he could into the spell, to avoid the same result as last time. His hand still resounded with a dull ache even with the potion’s help. 

I was expecting a ‘great power great responsibility’ schtick as the consequences of using magic, not Necrotizing Cellulitis.' He thought absently, mentally preparing himself. He sure hoped his hunch was correct and that there was actually something of value in here, otherwise this would be a significant waste of time and skin.

He went even lower than a mental nudge this time as he put his hand to a furthest circle from the door. He tried to let out just a trickle of energy. Just a twitch. Of course, it became more of a punch. Grimacing, he tried to draw out how long the flow of energy transpired this time. Previously, he panicked and tried to remove his hand which ended in almost all of it coming out at once, instead of the spell stopping.  Go with the flow, I guess… 

He bit down on a rag this time as the spell channeled itself, as to muffle any pained screams. Nothing drew predators better than the sound of a dying animal. As he continued, so did the throbbing in his hand, which slowed from a sharp pain to a dull throb as the black chalk began to glow, brightening in places with each passing moment.

Finally, it began drawing mana from him. If his failure last time felt like a searing burn, this one felt like his hands were pressed against hot concrete. This nearly broke his concentration, but he pushed on, maintaining the spell while minimizing the damage to himself.

Eventually, the spell finished, and part of the chalk began fizzling out just as the pain did. He let the dull ache he felt from his hand fade into the background, focusing on observing the diagram literally do it’s magic. As soon as about half of the chalk disappeared, seemingly out of nowhere a white bolt of light shot out at the door, at the angle he set it to, wrapping it in a brief glow. Recalling it’s settings, he “programmed” the spell to throw the door backwards and, decidedly, stepped out of the way just in case-

woOOOOsh.

Nearly snapping his neck to set his eyes on the thing, he barely got a glimpse of it going through a building, crashing somewhere on the other side as it’s momentum failed. Still in a daze, he idly observed as part of the building collapsed due to the gaping hole, spitting at his attempt to not attract attention. The tall, thin building probably had a structural pillar cleaved in half by the magically enhanced steel door going through it at the speed of a freight train. Perhaps it was just the freight train part that caused it to happen. 'Who knows?'

Turning to the now open doorway, he looked on the positive side of things. “Well, at least I can look inside now…” He thought absently, before hurriedly going inside the building. He’d have closed the door behind him, but, well, we know how that went.

~

“It’s an antique store, of fucking course it is!” Donovan swore, punting a large vase into a wall. He went wide eyed as it seemingly embedded itself in the drywood wall. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the piece of art sprouted an arm just to give him the middle finger in retaliation. It looked like it was thoroughly stuck.

Inspecting it closer, he thought about what it might’ve been used for. “Wait, could these be…?” His goal might have very well been stuck in the wall at this very moment. As it would happen, he was scouring the city for two things; a hard drive or some other digital storage medium, and similarly, a medium for storing magic energy, or mana. The former was much more vital as he would need it to better communicate with Rau’jence, but the latter could be staved off for a while. Though, some of these probably could store magic, he guessed.

Seeing the durability of the vases, it was clear they were magically enhanced at least, just like the buildings. What he assumed at first to be a normal antique shop could hopefully have other things in store for him. “I have my work cut out for me I suppose… huh?” As he glanced around, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He pursed his lips as he took in what he saw, “Another corpse…”

Yet another ghoulish corpse lay before him. This one wasn’t nearly as well preserved as the last one, given the circumstances, and lay against the wall beside the vacant doorway. It didn't smell, though. It was far too dry for that. He hadn’t seen it as it was in his blind spot, sitting against the corner to his right. Seeing this, though, he wondered why these were the only two he found. 

He had first assumed it was just because it was well preserved in the unventilated stone church, but perhaps it was for another reason. ‘What do they have in common? Almost nothing, except... they both were hard to access.’ He pondered this as he analyzed the corpse, identifying it to be some young man who likely managed or perhaps even owned the antique shop. Though, he was strangely dressed. He was adorned in robes, contrastingly to, say, something a clerk might wear. ‘Is this just the city’s fashion or something?’ He leaned away from that line of thinking, however.

'Perhaps it isn’t an antique shop, then?' He stereotyped the type of person who would man an antique store as elderly or at least aged. It was likely he ran this store, though. His clothes suggested a different kind of merchandise, or so he hoped. His attention was quickly drawn to the amulet on his neck, though. It was rather intricately detailed, and was made of various precious metals that he recognized at a glance as well as a few that he didn’t. 

Glancing around, there were a few visually stunning pieces- such as a well-preserved sculpture depicting a swordsman shielding the flames of a dragon- but it was mostly due to how exotic it was to him, he suspected none of it to be particularly valuable on it’s own. He recognized none to have the telltale parts or diagrams of magical items.

He grasped the amulet to get a better look, and, unexpectedly, he immediately felt the strange feeling of something heavy being lifted from him… only, metaphorically. He hurriedly pried his fingers from it in shock, realizing what it is. ‘Is this… one of those advanced mediums he mentioned? Well there’s the latter…’ His gaze was then drawn to a tiny earpiece he wore, ‘...and there’s the… former? Could that work?’ He carefully removed the earpiece from the corpse’s head and, dusting it off, put it on. 

He heard the voice of his mentor once more as the earpiece flared to life, making a weird chirping noise as it did. “-u-” It spoke, with Rau only having the chance to make out a syllable before it droned into static. ‘At least the speakers work.’ Donovan sighed. He may yet be able to fix it. He grabbed a small hammer from a display shelf and lightly banged it against the palm-sized earpiece before attempting it again, but it was no better. “-n!” 

He cursed his luck as he inspected it further, eventually finding the panel he was looking for. Prying it aside with his sewing kit, he looked for any identifying damage in the internal components revealed by the well-placed metal panel. The earpiece was about twice the size of his thumb, and had a smaller piece of rubber which wrapped around the ear, and the panel reached all the way to the speaker itself.

Looking inside, apparently the problem was with the power. None of the other functions seemed to be impaired. It simply was on the last legs of it’s energy stores. Whatever powered it had lost juice a long time ago. Though, he couldn’t ascertain the ‘what’ of it. He soon discovered that the box that likely powered it had some kind of wire connecting to a little nub visible on the side whose panel he hadn’t removed.

On a whim, he decided to press his finger to it and push a little bit of energy into it. A trickle became a flood, though, causing the speaker to instantaneously flare to life, carrying a warning with it. “-un! You have thirty-” Was all he got out of it before it went back to dull static, overwhelmed by the rush of energy. 

A bit of steam came off of it- thankfully not smoke- but he barely had time to process this as he looted what he could in a flurry. He grabbed what few items he had set aside on the counter and practically threw them into his bag, including a lidded vase for storing magic.

In fifteen seconds flat he was practically ready to leave. He had just grasped the amulet and put it onto his neck with shaky hands when he heard the distant sound of tremors. Fearing the worst, he threw himself out the back door and he thanked himself for doing so a mere second later.

Something that crashed into the front of the building, the sheer tremors as a result sending him sliding further, sprawled across the ground. Turning around, still on the ground, he saw a figure through the dust clouds that poured off the impact site; what was left of the room he had just gotten out of. A very muscled figure that happened to be speedwalking towards him.

The figure became a visible, perhaps very angry woman as the dust clouds from the rubble slowly cleared. It was only by this time Donovan had it in his mind to use the only non-ritual spell that Rau’jence had taught him; teleportation. He grasped his amulet tightly, trying to recall how in a panic. The amulet wasn’t a torrent of energy and could be more easily harnessed, so he was relying on that heavily here.

Teleportation is an incredibly complex, if reliable, spell, possible only with advanced knowledge in quantum theory. Entanglement and the transportation of information and the like. Normally such a spell would require copious amounts of time to learn both the theory behind it and how to actually put it into use as a spell.

Fortunately, Donovan was allegedly hand-picked for the depth and breadth of his knowledge in most modern sciences and then some; quantum mechanics being included. Therefore, “all” he needed to learn was how to perform the spell itself using what he knew. That, however, took the better part of two hours to learn, and even then he wasn’t able to put it into practice very well. You’d be surprised, however, at how much the thought of a human freight train turning you into a meat pulp and then mashing your head in a suitcase for convenient transport puts you into a steely focus.

The strange woman was only four meters away by the time he put the spell together in his hand and tugged at the invisible flow of magic centered on the amulet. He could hear her cursing him out as she turned into a blur of motion, mere milliseconds prior to him vanishing into thin air.

“The fuck did he go?” She swore, having barely missed creaming him with her fist, which she pried out of a brick wall she had torn asunder. “That wasn’t according to plan, Lady Guard.” spoke a voice from behind her. She swung around to face him, only to drop her guard when she realized who they were; Obrix, Silent Guard and colleague. Most of the princess’ retainers didn’t even know about him, and the few who did swore an oath of secrecy.

His job was, when all was said and done, to prioritize her safety over all else, no matter the cost. Which begged the question; “Why aren’t you with the princess?”

He shrugged, “She herself asked me to ensure you caught him quickly, and you failed. I know counterspelling techniques nearly as well as any anti mage, so he won’t be able to teleport again.” She thought about cussing him out right there, “You could’ve helped me, you know.”

He shook his head, “I can’t jump nearly 80 meters in less than a second, unfortunately, so I just got here. I had to run here; the rest are on our heels.” The cloaked figure narrowed his eyes at the spot Donovan teleported from. Getting closer, he crouched down and looked closer. “The thread’s only ten units long, roughly. Why didn’t he go further?”

He put his palm to the ground and performed some kind of spell that produced a visible thread, slowly revealing itself tracing to the second story of a nearby building, to the left and behind the antique store. He smirked slyly with the smile of a cat that had caught a mouse in it’s trap. “Catch the rat, Lady Guard.” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She barked, cursing him out under her breath. She broke into a sprint, jumping into the air and leading with a kick, sailing directly into the second story wall of the building it led to. Suffice to say, when her foot met the wall, the foot won. She smashed through it, barely missing a Donovan that had dived out of the way.

Before he could even move an inch from the spot in which he landed, she grasped Donovan by the neck, holding him up with just enough strength so that she wouldn’t strangle him. He held his own neck in an odd way, his eyes burning into hers with mixed surprise and terror. She scanned him over, not seeing anything odd: which she thought was even stranger.

“No body modifications… what in the four hells is an unofficiated grade 7 doing all the way out here?” She questioned him, pressing him against the wall. She felt the silent tug of magic, but it was abruptly cut off by someone; Obrix, she assumed. “No more magic, spill it or I’ll spill you all over the floor.” Somehow, Donovan believed them. He saw where she was speaking from; about a foot above him.

“Treasure hunting.” He spat out. Much to her chagrin, one of the rings she wore lit up green in response. “For what?” She pressed, squeezing on his neck for emphasis. Donovan sensed he couldn’t lie to her, but couldn’t think of a convincing half-truth fast enough, as the vixen squeezed harder on his neck. “I’m going to count to ten. No more half-truths, tell me exactly what brought a mage of your cut ou-”

“A digital storage… device and a… mana storage mecha… mechanism.” He spoke through strained breaths, cutting off her sentence. Her ring glowed green in affirmation. As if in approval, she dropped him onto the remaining half of a couch that got eviscerated by a combination of time and destruction incarnate, otherwise known as Tia. She didn’t even wait for him to get his breathing under control before interrogating him further, “Have you knowly gone against the law? And are you responsible for the lack of corpses in the area?”

This question briefly stumped him, but he answered quickly, “No, I haven’t, and I’m not responsible.” Once again, her ring glowed green, confirming his statement. Abruptly, his earpiece whispered some words of advice. A thought occurred to him; he could hopefully play off being some kind of unlicensed hermit. He wouldn’t be able to easily explain how he had grade 7 energies swirling around him, though.

The woman became distracted a moment with an earpiece of her own. ‘Good.’ He thought, deciding to stay busy brainstorming various ways he could get himself out of this situation. ‘Try to get out of range of whatever’s blocking my teleportation? No, I doubt I could get far enough without becoming meat paste. Could I stall her long enough, perhaps? No… everything leads back to convincing this musclehead I’m either not worth the effor-’

From out of the blue, a great swelling heat saturated the area as it slowly became brighter. While he was still trying to identify the cause, the muscled woman threw him out a window and into what he barely identified to be a rusted dumpster before careening into it, the lid closing shut due to the impact. His ears were ringing, and he could barely make out the sounds of the woman yelling something through the open second story.

Seconds after he had fallen, he could hear the click of a lock being clipped outside, and someone smacking their hand against the metal. A voice spoke outside, different from the woman who had interrogated him. “Stay her-”

Whoever had locked him in were abruptly cut off by the sound of a loud explosion, and he was once again met with sheer heat just as the dumpster lurched upwards. He briefly hung in freefall, tumbling inside of the dumpster. He curled up into a ball just before being thrown around when it finally crashed into the ground, smashing him against the sides of the metal box. It slid against the concrete for a moment before having it’s momentum stopped by some kind of object, probably a building.

Then a massive, distant tremor sounded out, which reverberated through the air like lightning, followed by numerous other explosions, sending the dumpster tumbling against the building from the sheer force, smashing into some kind of overhang before falling back down due to gravity. He heard other buildings crashing to the ground around him as well, thanking his luck when none of them fell on him. However, just when he thought he had gotten a reprieve…

Crack.

He felt telltale sounds of the ground opening up underneath him, slowly but surely, and frantically attempted to open the lid. 

Crack.

When that failed- ‘There’s a fucking lock on the thing you clown!’ -he immediately concentrated on teleporting somewhere nearby. ‘Anywhere but h-’

CRUNCH.

Before he could finish his spell, he once again felt himself get put into freefall as the crack abruptly widened. He smashed his head against the metal side, which had faced upwards, as soon as it did, leaving his thoughts blurry and unfocused. ‘Ah, fuck… a concussion?’

The dumpster, with Donovan still inside, was sent tumbling into the darkness. His clunky backpack clattered against the sides as he fell into the inky void beneath him.

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