Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

With some surprise, I note that the next person to emerge is Norman, of all people. I kind of expected him to fail his challenge, but he makes it through, shortly followed by Jess. 

The man stumbles out of the portal, crashing against the rocky wall, barely catching himself, then slowly sliding to the floor. He’s bloody, hurt and in pain, but he laughs. “I survived,” he says, his voice rough.

Jess, compared to him, walks through with cold dignity. When her eyes fall on me, she smiles faintly, too, that facade of untouchability softening. “Hello, Snow. Amelie. I see you have also made it,” she says.

“It’s okay to cry,” I tell her, holding my phial in one hand as I walk over to Norman. Gently, I [Select] him, then I twist my mana in that strange pattern, knitting the worst of his wounds closed. To him, I say different words than to his wife. “You levelled,” I say. I checked. “Place a point in heart.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding out,” I say. “Place a point in heart. I don’t wanna waste more mana on you than I need, in case someone else gets hurt.”

Jess, behind me, stands frozen like a statue, staring at me and her husband. I throw her a glance. “It’s okay to cry,” I repeat, with the same calm indifference as before. There is nothing special about the statement, really. It’s silly for me to give her that permission, but…

Her expression remains cold. “Thank you, Snow, but I’m okay.” 

Turns out Jess is a liar. Well, I tried. Letting her be stoic, I turn back to Norman, and it seems he finally decides to listen to me, as his skin knits back together. He grimaces, and I [Suppress] his pain a bit. “Damn it,” he winces. “You couldn’t have let me enjoy the win a bit longer? Said it a bit more nicely?”

“Said what more nicely?” I ask, tilting my head. 

“Calling me a waste of mana,” he says, staring me down.

I shrug. “You had points. But, sorry.” 

With that, the conversation is over. Jess kneels down to him. “I got an item for water,” I tell them. “Please use your requests to sort out food and light, maybe shelter.”

“Requests?” Norman asks. “What requests?”

Hmmm. Maybe they didn’t earn any. Or they haven’t read the notifications yet. Oh well. I trace the runes on the phial again, waiting for the arch to glow and spit out someone else - and it does. Not a member of our group, though. It’s the shirtless man, broad shouldered. He whistles as he looks around, his torso covered in cuts.

“Whoooowee!” he says. “This place rocks. Who’re you people?” 

I don’t reply. He steps towards me, sitting on the floor, closest to the arch, and reaches for my shoulder. I pull a knife and-

“Don’t touch Snow,” Amelie warns him, and the man stops. 

Slowly, he turns to the girl, running a hand through his dark beard, grinning widely. “Or what, girly?” he asks. 

Amelie looks to me in reply. I say nothing, and the man’s eyes drift to me again. Then, he breaks out in laughter. “My, my! You’re a boisterous little rascal,” he says noisily. “Bahahaha! I like youse. Join my team.”

“No,” I reply.

“Come on. They’ll be through any-” 

“No.”

At that, he raises his hands. “Fine, fine! No need to give me that look. I’ll be… sitting in that corner exactly, until the rest of my comrades show up, yeah? Ah, if you hurt any of ‘em, I might needa smack you a bit, yeah?” he flashes me a smile at that last bit.

It feels a little like a promise. Then, he heads off to the side, sitting in the corner he gestured at. I take a long, deep breath. What a pain. A cavern, slowly filling with people. What a nightmare.

One by one, people trickle in. I focus on the small things, engaging with Amelie and the enchantments. Thatch comes with Inu, both in one piece, Opal with Richard, mildly injured but okay. I save my mana, even now. Until Sylves comes through.

Missing an arm.

I dart to her side, and she stumbles into my arms. There is no talking, things just happen. Inu uses [Empathy], and some of that pain flows into me, and some into her, being [Resisted] and [Suppressed]. Richard helps, too, and I see Amelie already creating bandages from her silk. 

Very, very gently, me and Opal lean her against the wall on the cavern. The muscular man gives us a sad look, but I ignore him entirely. Instead, I focus, sharpening my mind more than ever before. I forget about the runes, about enchanting, about taking things apart. I focus on choosing. 

With everything I have, [Selection] triggers.

The world becomes like the point of a needle. I forget the cavern, I forget her pain, none of it matters. Everything falls away to the single purpose I have. Healing her arm. Making the waterfall of blood stop.

[Selection 6 > 7]

I breathe. Letting it all fall away, pouring myself into the mission. There is a task to be done, and nothing else matters.

Mana courses through me. It’s allowed to exist in this minimized world of mine. Brilliant strings of blue and grey in my chest. But right now, I need them to do a specific thing. To stop the bleeding. To turn into muscle and flesh and veins and to close the wound. 

Strand by strand, I twist the mana, the world slowing down. I’ve practiced this a hundred times over and was deemed not good enough. Now is my chance. Now, I need Sylves to survive. Not to bleed out. 

I form that shape, the terribly complicated one, reduced down to something just mildly horrifying. My eyes bleed, I’m sure, but it doesn’t matter. I cast the spell, and it lands on Sylves. Her skin wriggles, growing back slightly, but it is not enough. 

Again. I pour more mana into it. I simplify things, I make them as easy to understand, as efficient as I can possibly make them. I trace an even simpler design onto her with my finger, faintly glowing lines in the air. My hand is steady, unshaking, unwavering.

It is not enough.

With every slowing beat of Sylves heart I feel my own failure creep in on me. I discard that fear, and focus the world in tighter. Sylves’ face fades from view. My own legs disappear. It is me and the wound.

I cast the spell, and the skin wriggles once more, and I know that it will never be enough.

Another reduction. Less. Less. The muscles don’t matter. I don’t need to regrow anything, not yet. I just need her to live. Everything non-vital gets discarded. Skin? Who cares. Muscles? Unnecessary. Veins. Those, I need to close.

A deep breath. Another, twisted, malformed cast. A spell that doesn’t reinforce, that doesn’t properly heal, it’s about survival. It’s about keeping the heart beating.

My mana strikes forward, a torrent of it, through all of the inefficiencies, the simplified pattern traced onto her arm - and it works. My mana threads into the wound, seeping into it as a tiny cloud of dull white, and the blood slows. 

One more cast, this time, pouring even more power into it, scraping against the bottom of my vessel. I have it. I hold the spell. I modify it one more time, carefully, only doing what I know, with certainty, will succeed. It must be enough. In this reduced world, my will imposes itself on reality and demands it be enough.

[New Skill acquired!]

[Flesh Restoration 0 > 1]

Mana spins, whirls, creates fractalling patterns that cycle in on themselves, complex patterns that are just a bit better than I ever could have made them, then courses into the wound. Her arteries close. Her veins grow shut, making tiny cycles to allow for circulations.

It’s an ugly, raw thing. Her skin hangs off it in loose flaps, torn and sheared muscle fibres still meeting open air. But the wound is closed. No more blood.

I breathe a shaky breath, and the world comes back into focus. Sylves’ eyes are closed, but her heart beats. Another breath. My pants are stained with a pool of blood. Sylves’ chest rises and falls.

It was enough.