Chapter 24: Chapter 22: A Pause Between Calamities

Nightmares. The phantoms and Geists of destruction surrounded Feyrith, striking at his soul second by second. A draw of agony and despair, the life sucked out of him. Swirling around like a brewing cauldron, chilling and hot at the same time, his blood solid but hot.

He was sinking deep into a pool, chased by a beast on hind legs, sharp eyes tracing every pulse in his body. Bleating bleary cries of the dead, and he was young once more, in the body of a child.

Pain pricked at his heart, but it remained beating still.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Like ripples in a pond of clear water, his heart remained steady, practically numb to the pain. He didn’t know when, or why this happened. Just a few hours ago he would have been agonizing from this pain, but the pricking and stabbing seemed to keep him conscious. Just as he was about to sink, that burning pain reminded him of himself. The feeling of being chased gave him a reason to continue running, and to be a child once more innocent yet aware of the world’s deadly plights.

In the middle of life and death, neither particularly pleasant, but a reminder of each other’s existence. A paradox was the only thing that kept him sane, or insane, depending on how you looked at it.

“You’re holding on better than I expected.” In his ears were the whispers of the devil, who cried solace. A prickly feeling, his own voice used against him, bouncing off the walls of his head. While he might plead insanity from the tempter, his own fallacy led him to choose to make a deal with the most terrifying being in existence. He bet that even the cultists of Demiurge weren’t as foolish as him.

The compliment didn’t feel like much when heard from the devil’s tone, so tired and uncaring. Feyrith didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended.

His eyes were dull as he continued to run forward, spells in his two hands, multicasting which was cryptic to him, available to him in a heartbeat. The blades of wind launched forward, a gust passing by him as they flew.

Stressed out of his mind, he continued to move even when not targeted by the hordes of monsters and the giant behind him. A balance between supporting Lillian and fending off the horde, as much as he abhorred the first bit.

Were magic circles complicated? Yes, and no. Feyrith forgot the latter bit whenever he looked at one, too accustomed to the idea that they all had to be magnificent constructs crafted by geniuses. That very fallacy had been one of his biggest blunders today.

He closed his eyes for a moment and entered that void of darkness, surrounded by tall wooden shelves. His mind and body were at odds with each other, the two desynced from the rhythms that they ticked.

Without a moment’s delay he flicked his hand as theout; bookshelves dispersed, leaving a lone book sitting on a pedestal. Picking it up, Feyrith opened his eyes, now with two fireballs in his hands. He flung them forward, an explosion ringing out from afar.

He repeated this once more, his eyes blinking before blades of wind appeared in his palms. The horde thinned out, he turned around and flung one toward the giant, nicking it. As Feyrith’s wind blades hit the giant, he watched as Lillian swept in with her sword and thrust at it, knocking the colossal back.

“That girl is competent, though anyone would seem like it after you.”

Oh hush. Feyrith ignored the irate voice of the devil, snapping his fingers to produce more spells. As he danced with the enemies, sending the horde of monsters, back where they came from.

“Don’t be so offended, contractor.” The devil’s voice echoed. “Sometimes, the truth is harsh.”

You little. Feyrith cursed.

“Am I incorrect?” The devil jabbed.

… He wondered whether he should start casting more than 2 spells a time, even knowing how suspicious it might seem.

“You fool.” The devil muttered.

I know. I know. It was just a thought. Feyrith replied to the devil’s jeering, receiving an incorporeal roll of the eyes in response.

“Yes, a thought you would have most likely carry out if ever given the chance.” The devil chided.

Tch, bastard.

“Anyway contractor, you might want to focus witonh what’s in front of you.”

Clang! The sound of clashing forces. As he turned, Feyrith watched as Lillian turned up her blade to defend against the giant. Unlike how it may have looked, one of the two were clearly winning, and Feyrith knew that fact would turn the princess careless.

“That girl is going to get knocked back.” The devil spoke.

I know.

“Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

Why would I? It’s a crucial event for the princess’s awakening. His blunder had not been wonderful, but at the same time, as he pondered for a bit longer, he realised that it could become an absolute boon.

His plans had changed. He knew that there was a problem with the magic circle, but he wouldn’t try to inform Lillian until later.

Right until the moment when it became too late, when it would be worthless to attempt anything else, would he strike, leaving the results up to fate.

“Why do something so complicated?” The devil asked. “The risks are much higher than the marginal results you’ll get.”

Isn’t there anything you do for a reason you don’t understand? Feyrith replied.

“Of course not, what am I? A mortal?” The devil said.

Never mind then. Well, for me, these are one of the things I can’t help but follow. A game that’s easy to beat isn’t one worth playing. Besides, the results aren’t marginal.

Freedom is a sweet elixir that will capture you with a single whiff. I was hooked at the idea before the elixir ever graced my presence, and I’m sure the princess feels the same way. At least, he hoped she would agree.

“I’ll be looking forward to it then.” The devil spoke. “You’re giving me the hope that I made the right decision.”

Do as you please then. Feyrith said to the devil before fully tuning its voice out of his mind. More spells and more destruction, and still his mana was aplenty, a never-ending spring flowing further on. He weaved a melody of destruction, its notes wringing soundly through the air.

Crash!

When he turned his shoulder over, checking on Lillian, he watched as the giant slammed its fist forward, just barely touching her, as she was sent crashing into the ground. Lillian!

His instincts flared as a voice yelled in his head, a fiery sensation travelling down his arms as he sent a burst of fireballs and wind blades toward the giant. As this happened, the horde continued moving toward him, thinned but not gone.

Feyrith was left shocked for just a moment, before regaining his braces. He had been expecting it, planning it even, but seeing it in person drove him to make another worthless blunder. She’ll be fine. I need to worry about myself. He turned his attention back to the horde, doing as he had been, and attacking.

Then a thumping struck the ground below him, the marching of a large army travelling in tandem. He felt the large mana signature which marked the marching’s origin, a mass of high-concentration mana travelling into the main hall. Wonderful. Mother’s finally here, another piece of the puzzle in its spot.

He watched her legion of phantoms march forward to fend the cultists away from their hall. Each step they made caused the hall to rumble, their weight shaking it. He was glad to see the spectral knights used for their actual purpose of battle, instead of house-keeping.

Fight after fight passed by his eyes, none of particularly of interest. Therian was not in sight, as he expected, and Adelaide had entered the hall with blazing glory, destruction following her path. Feyrith was still waiting for one more thing. Just one more puzzle piece to complete everything.

So, as he wished, they soon came, in the form of a larger, louder, and scarier army. The true figures of the cult, not the red-herrings they placed in the hall.

As they arrived, the leader of the cult, the man he recognised as Yéros, began speaking. Feyrith ignored the cult leader, instead choosing to focus on the army behind him. Odd. Why isn’t that here?

The hinge of his plan wasn’t here. Cult summoners that were supposed to be present to build a new magic circle in the centre of the hall. Monsters and fiends, yes, but not the backbones of both his and the cultists’ plans.

Then something struck him, as Yéros’ cackle spread throughout the room. The magic circle he thought as useless, suddenly lit up and began to work, waves of dispersed mana washing over the hall.

A form then gathered above it, and at its presence, a sensation hit Feyrith.

Indescribable, foolish and hatred. The drain of a Blood Witch’s lips, and the bloody claws of a Nemean. Aura that exuded neither dignity nornor holiness, but agony. Clawing emotion and terrifying memories, it was all but unexpected in the grand scheme of things.

Fear, a common response against the concept of danger. Though, in truth, what fear failed to capture more often than not was the concept of the fall. Not from heights or from low, an escapade neither theoretical or physical, but a lunge to capture nothingness, without rope or hook to tie them to the ground, or save them from the sky.

The circle had summoned Demiurge, or at least, its incarnation.

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Not a personification of fear or evil, neither anguish, sorrow, or anger, but the fall, one that Feyrith knew all too well1. A cliff one falls off on, the mortal results of their lives.

It had hurt him more than he could have ever thought, though, he thought that he was invincible. A small prick was nothing in the bigger picture, but it still hurt nonetheless.

The spring,though which was his speciality, endless in nature, ran dry, empty, leaving a cavernous crater in place of its wonder. This was, in a word, the worst. Not only was he out of mana, but it was his mana being drained that made the situation so unpleasant.

Argh!

Mana depletion, Feyrith’s worst enemy in all of existence. His knees buckled, and shoulders quivered. Fall and depletion. He might as well have raised a white flag and begged for surrender. At least one of those options would have led to a quicker death.

Frustratingly, he was wrong, again. Overconfident and arrogant, his grand, sprawling scheme was the only thing he saw in that tunnel. He should have learned from his previous two blunders, but alas, not.

He didn’t know how the cultists managed to do it. A summoning of this scale would have taken a lot more than a simple array of magic circles. This was something else, something above his comprehension.

At this plight, he didn’t know how his mind stayed so cool. Heconfidence, should have broken down at this point. Unlike the other times, this mistake held consequences separate from setbacks.

A possibility of death, however small, but one that existed. Feyrith would have won six jackpots off the scam store on the 62nd floor, before his chances were even close to this probability.

I would have rather won six jackpots.

“I appreciate your confidence my contractor, but caution isn’t always bad.” The devils spoke to him.

Don’t try to act like you’re not a part of this. What happened to stopping me before I had the idea of doing something ‘Foolish’.

“You complain too much, contractor.”

Shut it. Feyrith cursed at the devil, a little peeved at the situation. He still needed a plan, a chance to recover from this injury. The price didn’t matter to him, whether it be his blood or soul, he just wanted to win. Pain from mana depletion continued to strike, making him more desperate by the second. Think. Think. Think.

“Hah.” The devil let out a deep breath. “I do not wish to see you in this state, contractor. So here’s what I’ll do,”

“Your contract. Along with the help of the amazing me, you also have access to one more thing.”

“Hah. I wish I didn’t have to tell you this.”

“I know power is what you desire at the moment.” The devil spoke. “So, I shall give it to you.”

“Contractor...” The devil spoke. “I will give you another chance to succeed, and all you will need to achieve it.”

“Your soul and blood are not the cost, but prepare to use them as payment.”

“So...” The devil continued. “Do we have a deal?”

“...” Feyrith was silent as he pondered his choices. Another deal that would affect himself. A choice that would change his very soul. He didn’t know what to do, stuck at the multiple choices that surrounded him. Though, very quickly, something changed his mind.

As his eyes met Lillian’s, whose dazed stare screamed lifeless, a sudden pang hit him. At that moment, he made his decision.

In the face of the eyes of the Fall, he would once more sell his soul to the devil.

“Yes.” He replied with frigid breath. Feyrith was ready for whatever torture he was about to face. Nightmares weren’t the only problems he had, but it was enough to assure him that he would barely survive this ordeal.

“In that case, ask that girl for her bag.”

What?

“Just do it.” The devil replied, as Feyrith furrowed his brows. He faced the now dazed Lillian and called out to her.

“Lillian!” He yelled. “Throw me your pouch!”

Quick and simple, the princess snapped out of her trance, her head titling at Feyrith’s words. Without saying anything else, he reached out his hand.

In time, Lillian decided to give Feyrith her bag, throwing it in the air. Catching it, he opened the pouch and reached inside. What am I even looking for?

“A vial. There should only be one.” The devil answered.

Rummage. Rummage. He reached through the large dimensional bag, feeling it out until his hands came across what the devil was talking about.

A vial? Feyrith pondered as he stared at the vial in his hands.

“A phantom.” The devil said. “I believe you should know; it came from your memories in the first place.”

Phantom... Feyrith thought about the devil’s words for a moment. Then a lightbulb appeared above his head. The phantom druid! He realised what the devil meant, but was filled with even more questions now.

“Yes, yes, whatever it’s called.” The devil spoke. “It’s what do you call it? A hidden piece.”

A hidden piece? Feyrith thought. The phantom druid was not a hidden piece, as far as he knew, but only a guardian. If it was the case, and the boss monster was something users could use, then his fundamental understanding of the tower would have flipped over on in his head. No, now’s not the time.

He stopped his thoughts and closed his eyes once more, the devil appearing in front of him with a piece of paper in its hand.

“Now, without further ado.” The devil announced. “Blood and sacrifice.”

Feyrith heaved out a heavy sigh, his eyes scanning the battlefield. Right now, he still felt drained of mana. This was, in most situations a very bad idea. Whatever, what can I do about it, anyway? With conviction, he tightened his fist, the palm wrapping around the vial destroying it.

Crack!

Shards of glass dug into his skin, droplets of blood falling slowly to the ground. The pain was sharp, but nothing unbearable, especially for what he was about to go through.

Feyrith was struck by an unimaginably painful headache. He could not think; The world around him dark. For those few seconds that it occurred, he felt like he had been standing still for millennia, a foot further into death. Then, it occurred, as the pain dissipated, replaced by an intense surge of power, and a green tome placed on a pedestal in front of him.

A rush of memories, or rather information. Everything he needed to know contract and more importantly, the tome planted in his mind. He reached out his hand with a steady grip, and grasped for the tome, his outstretched hand barely reaching it.

As his fingers caressed its cover, a line of text appeared in his mind.

Alchemical Calamity: Phantom and Druid.

“Here, a gift, free on the house.” The devil spoke. Then, an array of notifications popped up in front of him, the same thing that had happened with Uriel.

<Skill ???? has granted user a temporary connection to the tower>

<Skill, [Almanac], detected>

<Skill, [Almanac (Deep Reading)], activating>

“This is my contract. An almanac of these stories you love oh so much.” The devil said. “I’ve given you all you need, so then, show me your chops, treasure hunter.”

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