Fallen Mage Regressor

Mal arrived at the base of the mountain, the sun, a scant few minutes from its apex. His feet beat against the dirt as he ran deeper and deeper into the forest. Before long, the hustle and bustle of Exodi City was nearly gone. He sniffed the air and something drew him to the left. Following his instincts, he stopped at a field of bright yellow wildflowers.

This is the spot.

He cracked open his witchcraft journal, read through the instructions, then set it back inside of his satchel.

First, he needed to make the remaining objects he hadn’t created yet. He looked through the forest behind him and picked up a forked stick—a stang. He didn’t fully understand the symbolism behind it, but he trusted in what the journal said. Then he picked up a long, thick staff, solid oak about his size in length.

Mal hadn’t yet reached the stage where he would create his own custom staff and stang. He still had some development to go before he was ready for that, according to Cassandra. So instead, he was making do with wild ones found in the forest floor.

But he had one small change that might make all the difference in the world.

The Cup of Tears rested within his satchel, filled up halfway with water.

He started by circling the field, staff in hand. He held it in front of him, base close to the ground.

For the first few seconds, he felt nothing.

Then, somehow, he could sense it.

Mana rising from the soil, through the roots, up to the stems, all the way to the petals. He wasn’t seeing it with his vision, nor was he smelling it. It was more just something he knew.

He walked around in a second loop, conscious of the fact that the sun was about to reach its apex. This time, he raised the staff into the air.

Mana, fluttering down from above in every direction. A tiny amount, so small he couldn’t see it with his senses, but he could tell that it was there, nonetheless.

The sun reached its apex.

Mal laid down the staff in front of the centre of the wildflower field. He took the stang from his satchel and inserted the single side into the ground, forked end upright. He sat down in front of the stang, breathed out slowly, then picked one of the flowers.

The sun beat down on him from above. The robes were thick and warm, and sweat pooled in every inch of his body. He ignored it and stripped away the leaves on the stem.

With his fingernail, he cut a small slit in the stem just below the petals. He repeated this about twelve more times.

Using the slits, he chained the flowers together until they’d formed into a chain.

He set the chain on the stang.

Next, he took the leaves that he’d just taken off of the flowers, then repeated the same process until he had a chain created through putting together the leaf stems.

He hung the leaf chain on the stang so that it was lying along the flower chain.

Mal sensed something twist in his chest. His breath came quicker—overheating? He pushed past the uncomfortableness, then laid both of his hands atop the mixed chains.

After shutting his eyes and whispering a soft prayer, he took out the Cup and stood to his feet. He sprinkled droplets of water across both his surroundings and the base of the stang.

“I give thanks to the earth and to mana.”

He stood in the middle of the clear section of ground, wildflowers around him.

Nothing happened.

Mal looked up at the sun one more time. It was just about to slip out of the apex.

“Well, that was a whole lot of nothing—”

He jerked.

There was a cricket on the flower behind him. Just to its right, a butterfly was on the verge of erupting from inside of its chrysalis. There were different varieties of wildflowers—it wasn’t all just one species, and how hadn’t he noticed it, it was so obvious?

He shut his eyes and the radius of awareness expanded even further. It slipped past the small sphere and into the trees, where two bluebirds were inside of a nest. One of the branches was loose.

Like clockwork, one of the bluebirds shifted and the small twig dropped out of the nest and fell to the ground.

Mal opened back his eyes and the awareness closed inward. If he had to estimate, it was about four or five feet in any direction with his eyes open, and it expanded out to a good ten or fifteen with his eyes shut.

He looked up at the sky.

”None of these powers make any sense,” he said.

The sun did not respond.

He put the cup of tears back inside of his satchel, the touch sent a hum up his arm to the base of his spine.

”The real question,” he said. ”Is what to call it.”

He rolled through a few name ideas in his head.

Enhanced perception? No. Far too blunt. A thousand eyes? No. There’s no vision involved. It’s like a sixth sense of sorts.

Total Awareness.

Yes, that sounded like a reasonable name.

The next step was figuring out what Total Awareness could be used for. He had a feeling that there was more to it than met the eye.

He shut his eyes and tapped into his Bramblevine Bracelet. A column of roots blasted out of the ground behind him and writhed in the air. He knew exactly where it was, and he knew where every other living creature was in relation to it.

The most obvious implication would be that it would be very difficult to sneak up on Mal. He pulled his connection away from the roots and was about to open his eyes and—

When he noticed something at the very edge of his Total Awareness.

It was underneath him. Just below the ground.

He jumped clear and a second later, the ground burst open and a claw swiped through the air where he’d just been.

Mal clenched his right fist and it lit up with flames.

It was a mole, but not like one that Mal had ever seen before. It was the size of a man, and the normally pink skin was a pale white. It didn’t take any breaths. It abruptly it sniffed the air and turned in Mal’s direction.

What the hell is happening? He thought. Don’t tell me—!

Mal’s eyes traced out the shape of blackened mana.

Withering-type.

”So you’re the one that the Nima boy has been so obsessed with.”

Out of the woods, a figure emerged.

He was wearing all black, his face exposed, and a pure pale white. Meanwhile, the pupils of his eyes had transitioned to a dark pink, nearly red shade.

He carried a wand in one hand, his other hidden beneath his black cloak.

Mal recognized this man.

Violent images of slaughting the bastard in front of him filled his head. His hands shook before he caught himself.

”I suppose it’s only right to introduce myself,” Ekron said.

Behind him, two more animals crept out of the forest, their hair having long since fallen off, eyelids shut and lips withered and dry.

”My name is Ekron. And I’m here to kill you, Endbringer.”

Mal shut his eyes.

Nothing else in sight. The Withering-Type mana was a blot on the paper that was Total Awareness. He couldn’t have missed it if he tried, but it was concentrated specifically on the two dead deer behind Ekron and the Mole.

He’s not supposed to be here this early, Mal thought. And why hasn’t he used the dead plants? Damn it, I don’t have enough information.

If Mal were in his previous body, he would have thrown a blast of a Void Orb at Ekron, but Mal’s options right now were—

Then Mal realized that for once, he wasn’t fighting on top of a mountain, nor was he fighting in a building, or in any section where he would normally be limited.

They were in the middle of a field, and this was Mal’s home turf.

The Bramblevine bracelet twitched.

Vines shot up out of the ground right below Ekron’s feet.