Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 70
Micah’s hair and clothes whipped around him as he hovered, half his own height off the ground. Blood was pouring from the gashes in his arm and into the tank, the flames burning higher until they wrapped around him in their scalding embrace.
He barely even noticed his friends’ actions as the words to the ritual changed, the tempo increasing as if some invisible drummer had introduced their own counter rhythm to the mix.
Still, through it all, it felt… right.
Micah stared at the crude carving of a fish in his forearm with feverish eyes, looking past the disheveled, sweaty hair framing his face. He threw his knife to the side, and a quick motion of his hand cut the buffeting wind that supported him.
For a brief moment, he fell, landing in a crouch next to the bonfire atop the sturgeon’s water tank. Without giving himself a moment to think over his actions, including the way he’d changed a dangerous ritual mid-stream solely based upon a hunch and the whisper of instincts, Micah plunged his arm into the bubbling liquid.
The agony shocked him out of his trance. Suddenly, Micah realized where he was. His head was shoved in a gout of flames, blinded but unburnt, and he was shoulder deep in a pool of liquid agony.
He screamed as the altered magic of the ritual poured through his flesh, imprinting golden runes on the bone below.
Micah tried to wrench his arm free, only to find himself rooted in place, his body frozen as forbidden magic coursed through him.
Jo and Trevor ran over, but Sarah waved them off and glanced worriedly back at him. Micah wanted to shout at them, to tell them that now of all times was the most important to keep watch, but all he could do was wail and gnash his teeth as wave after wave of agony overtook him.
Then he felt it: the magic circle he’d inscribed around the encampment, thrumming with power from the centuries of temporal energy that he’d fed into it. It glowed like a massive golden circlet, warding and protecting everything inside.
His fingers touched the tough hide of the sturgeon through the water. The entire fish was illuminated in the same gold as the ritual enchantment. Snakes of power reached out from it, most connecting it to the magic circle, but a handful wormed their way up through Micah’s hand and into his injured arm.
He could feel each worm of power as it burrowed and singed its way through his flesh, creating channels of agony on their way toward the runes the ritual had just inscribed in his bones. For a second they hesitated just outside the runes, as if testing the nature of the seals burned into Micah’s body.
Then they struck, fusing to his arm in a white-hot flash of blinding pain.
Micah collapsed to the ground, left arm no longer bleeding and clutched to his chest by his right hand. He rolled onto his back, reveling in the feeling of his suddenly unfrozen body. Around him, the great green flames of the ritual were gone, replaced by the ozone taste of magic and a menacing thrum of barely contained destructive potential.
Distantly, he heard his friends sprinting to see if he was all right now that the ritual was over.
More pressingly, however, he felt the sturgeon in his mind. He could taste its confusion, its simple desire to return to the lake and live its life as an apex predator, eating, sleeping, and growing older and larger. It didn’t feel any fear, just a desire to protect. To obey.
“Are you all right, Micah?” Jo was on her knees next to him, Trevor right beside her. “Were you hurt when you lost control of the ritual?”
“Lost control?” Micah grinned madly at the two of them. “Everything went perfectly!”
He flipped his left arm over, a manic glint in his eyes. Where there should have been a crudely drawn image of a fish, instead rested a golden sturgeon, a perfect and intricately detailed match to the lake monster they had used as a final sacrifice. Even as they watched, it began to swim, circling around his arm like Micah’s skin was the water of its lake.
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Well, at least whatever that was didn’t mess with his personality. Micah’s still an idiot.”
FORTY-SIX
THE DAEMON
“So”—Sarah’s arms were crossed, her right foot tapping the dirt as she stared at him—“do you care to explain what in the name of the Sixteen you thought you were doing? Don’t try to pretend that stunt at the end of the ritual was something you had planned.”
Micah simply stared at his arm in fascination, watching the golden sturgeon swim across his skin, leaving tingling wakes of yellowish energy as it moved in a broad figure-eight.
“First of all,” Trevor said, shooting Sarah a dirty look, “are you all right? You were really screaming for a bit there. Secondly, I would like to second Sarah’s question, just… you know. A bit nicer. What in all hells was that?”
Jo simply grabbed him by the shoulder and shook. Micah blinked, tearing his eyes away from his forearm to look at the rest of his party.
He grinned. “It worked even better than I thought. The enchantment around the lake should be strong enough to hold the daemon off for at least an hour on its own, but at the last minute I realized that enchanting our compound was just the beginning. I was able to latch on to the sturgeon’s spirit before it died and—”
“Did you warp the laws of nature and create another abomination?” Drekt asked, a frown on his face.
“No more so than I’d originally planned.” Micah waved a hand, dismissing him. “The ritual was always meant to use the essence of the sturgeon as the lynchpin for the enchantment. Initially, my goal was to create a space inside the ritual circle where the spirit could be summoned to direct the flow of the energy invested in the wards. Then, midway through finishing the casting, I realized that there isn’t any reason why I couldn’t link myself to the enchantment—”
“Did you bind yourself to a daemon?” Drekt cut in. “Yes or no. No need for a lecture on magical theory that none of us will understand. We just need to know if you’ll start emitting toxic energy or something.”
“Nothing like that.” Micah closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath in an effort to calm himself. “The enchantment lets me channel my mana into summoning a captive spirit. It’s much closer to summoning a normal spirit or an elemental. There’s no corrupting outside force to worry about; everything comes directly from me.”
Before anyone could ask further questions, a dome of golden light flashed into being around them as the Luoca attempted to fly overhead once more, only to slam into the magical barrier surrounding their encampment and rebound.
It shrieked in rage, spinning in the air and ramming into the hemisphere of mana hard enough that the ground shook beneath their feet. It glared down at them, rage and madness in its human eyes as it began to slam its insectoid legs into the barrier with piston-like speed and precision.
The stalemate was forgotten. Whatever unspoken detente held the daemon back was thrown in the trash the minute it slammed into the glimmering dome of magic. One look was all it took for Micah to confirm that this was it. The Luoca wouldn’t be content stalking and terrorizing him any longer. It wanted his head.
Even from almost three hundred paces away, Micah could hear the sizzling crack of the enchantment straining against the Luoca’s absurd Body attribute as the daemon tried to force its torso through the shining barrier. The muscles of his arm clenched, and a moment later a silhouette of the awakened sturgeon launched into the air.
“Hell of a birthday present, eh, Micah?” Trevor asked tensely, staring at the enraged monster. “I know you said that you needed to cast the ritual today, but it hardly seems fair to you.”
“It’s the way magic works.” Micah frowned, trying to estimate how much damage was being dealt to his enchantment with each earth-shaking blow from the daemon’s spike-like legs. “Humans have internal rhythms, and we peak at sixteen. It’s how the gods bless us, using the beacon of our cresting mana signature to push their will onto Karell and imprint us with their power. Theoretically, anything magically crafted by a sixteen-year-old would be significantly more potent. It’s just that no one has tried before me.”
The sturgeon flew into the sky, gold and translucent as it undulated, swimming through the air toward the spot where the daemon was struggling to burst through the mana shell. A low moan heralded the giant lake monster’s ascent, the bass note from the fish’s cry vibrating deep in Micah’s bones.
Jo’s hand on Micah’s shoulder brought him back from staring at the daemon as it strained against the barrier, face pressed against the glowing field of golden energy.
“What’s going on?” she asked worriedly, eyes flicking from him to the monster. “Can we defeat the Luoca, or should we start evacuating to the teleportation formation?”
Micah paused, staring at the monster as it slashed its wings into the dome of mana, his mind whirling. Already, he could see and feel the spell starting to weaken.
Escape might have been the best option, but as he watched the giant fish swim methodically through the air toward the daemon, an ember of rebellion sparked in Micah’s heart.
“It won’t hold.” He brushed her hand off his shoulder as he stood up, his eyes trained on the two gargantuan magical beasts. “But maybe that’s for the best. It doesn’t know how much I’ve invested in the rituals around the camp. This is our chance to bring it down once and for all before it runs off into the mountains and becomes a ghost, haunting us when we try to leave but disappearing when we’re ready for it.”
“So then, we’re fighting it?” Jo’s eyes sparked. “Thank the gods. I’m sick of being cooped up in here. I’m not sure I could spend another week of talking with your younger sister about what her friends from school are up to.”
“Are you sure?” Drekt frowned, flinching as a crackling tendril of yellow light sprang from the flying sturgeon’s mouth and flashed into the magical barrier.
The ground shuddered once more as the magical field brightened, drawing a scream of rage from the Luoca. Its flesh hissed and sizzled. The sturgeon flipped over in the air with a flick of its massive tail, circling around to make another pass at the shrieking daemon.
He watched the Luoca rear back, slamming its wings once more into the defensive barrier. A web of cracks erupted in the magical field, spreading like lighting as it bowed under the monster’s relentless abuse. Micah knew it was taking damage. There was no way that it could continue throwing its body against the sizzling energy raised by the ritual without suffering from any number of burns.
“Trevor”—Micah turned decisively toward his brother—“get Mom, Dad, and Esther down into the underground chamber and come back with the silk wraps we've been practicing with.”
Trevor took about two steps before stopping, swiveling his head to Micah with panic written all over his face.
“But I’m still practicing with those!” His voice trembled. Above them, the Luoca slammed into the defensive shield once again, the chitin on its insect torso blackening and flaking as it rammed into the defensive enchantments. “I can barely control them, Micah. I’m not sure I’ll be able to actually—”
“You’ll do your best.” Micah closed his eyes, letting the network of golden runes that made up the enchantment spring into his consciousness. Mentally he reached out, running his perception over the web of energy. “I don’t want you to beat it on your own, just slow it down.”
“I—”
Micah could feel Trevor hesitating a dozen or so paces from him. “Go.” He brushed his mind’s eye over the runes, loosening some connections and redirecting others. “Make sure our family is safe and get back here with the wraps. They’re heavily enough enchanted that you should be able to use them from a distance, and I’m pretty sure they should be able to withstand the Luoca’s aura.”
He grunted, a hint of a smile on his face even as the sturgeon reared back, a glowing ball of energy appearing in its mouth.
“They’d better,” Micah muttered. “I spent long enough on their protective enchantments.”
Jo touched his upper arm, then asked insistently, “What’s going on, Micah? Talk to us.”
“Agreed,” Drekt rumbled. “I’m still not sure it’s the best idea to fight the daemon. I’ve seen that thing in action, and I’d like to have a couple dozen more levels under my belt before I take a crack at it. Nevertheless, if we are insisting on battle, I would appreciate being in on the plan.”
“Catch.” Micah threw the metal focus looted from the ritualist to Drekt. A second later, he slipped a ring of greenish native copper off of his left hand and passed it to Jo.
The runes around him flickered and dimmed as a bolt of energy fired from the sturgeon’s gaping jaws, blasting past the defensive field and sending the Luoca reeling.
“You shouldn’t have.” Jo’s voice had its usual playful lilt. “Buying me a ring won’t change the fact that you’re underage. I’m not going to put out just because—”
“Focus,” Sarah grumbled. “Any of us could die in the next five to ten minutes. You can save your flirting and ribald comments for when we don’t have an abomination trying to murder all of us.”
Micah nodded at the archer gratefully, his eyes still screwed shut as he made final adjustments to the enchantment.
“In about twenty seconds”—he isolated the runes associated with the mana flow to the defensive field—“I’m about to take the shield down. When I designed the enchantment, it had two major modes. One to keep small predators out, and one for now, to enhance the fighting capacity of the people inside.
“There will still be a suppressive field in place that will limit the daemon’s strength and regenerative capabilities.” He put the finishing touches on the spell form leftover from the ritual, a webwork of gold and silver light reworking the original flow of mana through the massive circle. “I will be redirecting as much of the enchantment’s power to the aura and the guardian spirit as possible.
“As for the four of us?” Micah opened his eyes, his mental finger hovering over the switch that would lock. “Drekt has the focus rod. I don’t think that it will be enough to stop the Luoca, but with any luck it will slow and confuse it. Jo can take to the air, and the ring I gave her will let her cast air knife periodically. Sarah? Well, your bow is enchanted. I don’t think I need to spell out your portion of the plan.”
“Once it’s through the barrier,” Micah continued, “the three of you will need to harass and distract it. The spirit will be able to do some real damage, but even with the daemon injured, I don’t think it will be enough to actually kill it. That will be up to Trevor and I.”
“Trevor?” Sarah frowned, flinching as the daemon knocked even more cracks into the defensive barrier. Slowly, they began to repair themselves.
“I’ve been working with my father to enchant some of his finest bolts of cloth.” He glanced up at the battle between the titanic daemon and spirit above them. “Unfortunately, besides me, Trevor is the only one with enough mana to actually control them. If I can hit the Luoca with a strong enough spell to knock it out of the air, he should be able to immobilize it long enough for me to finish it off with my spear.”
“That’s an awful lot of ‘ifs,’ Micah.” Drekt frowned. “What happens if the three of us can’t keep the daemon distracted, or if you can’t bring it to the ground?”
Mentally, Micah released his grip on the knot of energy that held the enchantment surrounding their encampment in its current shape. With a blur of magic, it shifted. The barrier disappeared, replaced by a dark golden glow that seemed to illuminate every bush, tree, animal, and person within the massive ritual’s range.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the Luoca erupted into an inhuman scream of triumph, diving through the air toward the giant flying sturgeon that rose up to meet it.
“In that case”—Micah took a deep breath to steady his racing pulse—“there are sixteen gods; pick your favorite and pray that I can hold the daemon off while the rest of you scatter.”
Drekt stared at him a moment before nodding grimly and hefting the short metal baton. When he replied, the concern was gone from his voice, instead replaced with an almost savage glee.
“For Ankros’ honor it is.”
FORTY-SEVEN
CLASH OF TITANS
The sky above them erupted into an aurora of gold and red, a beam of scintillating yellow magic bursting from the sturgeon’s mouth and slamming into the side of the Luoca as it dove toward the encampment. The daemon screamed, more in rage than agony, before flipping on its side and lashing out with its remaining legs.
Above Micah, his spirit twisted sinuously, swimming through the air to avoid the daemon’s piston-like strikes. He waved a hand and fired a pressure spear into the Luoca’s wing, knocking it slightly off course and drawing another atonal shriek of rage as its eyes locked onto him.
It changed course, a buzz of its wings pulling the abomination away from the spirit fish before it began to plummet toward him.
Quickly, Micah judged its rate of descent, his mouth moving soundlessly for a second before a grin erupted on his face. There should be enough time. Barely.
His spear trapped in an armpit, Micah began forming the hand seals for binding vines. Occult syllables clawed and tore at his throat as he constructed the spell’s form. With his eyes lidded, Micah could barely make the spell out as it assembled itself, a spiderweb of glittering energy filled with twisting runes.
Distantly, he took note of an arrow zipping through the air. A string of magic linked it to Sarah’s bow as it clattered off of the Luoca’s chitin. A moment later, an air knife hit the daemon in the thorax.
It barely even noticed, instead folding its wings tight against its body in an attempt to minimize wind resistance. Behind it, the sturgeon wove through the air, its mouth partially open as a glowing ball of mana began to accumulate.
Then a burning chain of red energy struck the daemon, sinking through its flank and deep into the thrashing creature. Forty or so paces away, Drekt held the focus in both of his hands. Sweat poured down his face and neck.
